Maig's Hand

by Phillip Henderson

  “Are you convinced of that?”

  “I’m tired, can we not do this now, please?” Danielle wandered over to one of the soft chairs in front of the crackling fire. The maids had turned down the oil lamps and the flames from the fire in the hearth shone through her nightgown revealing her slim frame in soft relief before she settled into the chair and folded her legs under herself. She pushed a thick mane of blond tresses from her face and glanced back at him.

  “What are you making?”

  “Something to help you sleep.”

  She shifted in the chair and lay her head down on the back of the chair to watch him. “One of Glomar’s concoctions?”

  “One of the sweeter ones, yes. And one that does not require a quill in order to administer it!”

  She grinned wearily at that and buried her teeth in her lower lip.

  He glanced at her as he worked. “You want me to stay?”

  “Please. Truth is I don’t want to be alone tonight.” She frowned adding. “What made you think I might be doubting the existence of the slaves on Lord Helidon’s estate?”

  “Because if the slaves are where your dear Lady Winter’s says they are, then your brother and the Archbishop will see the executioner’s rope, and you would have no reason to fear this prophecy and these dreams you keep having.”

  Danielle rolled her eyes and turned around in the chair. “I know all that.”

  “I’m just saying is all.” James went over and handed her the cup of tonic he’d made, before kissing her head and taking off his tunic. He undid the top button on his shirt and knelt to put a few more bits of wood on the fire to take the chill out of the chamber. With the afternoon to reflect on the events of the morning there were several things that were bothering him. Perhaps more than several. But one in particular kept nagging at his thoughts, troubling him.

  Cotton rustled and a dainty foot touched his back and toes tried to burrow under his shirt. James grinned and quickly turned to grab his fiancée’s foot.

  Danielle squealed and tried to kick free, so he shuffled forward on his knees, slipped his warm hands under her nightgown to cup her tight little buttocks and lifted her out of chair and onto his knees. Her long legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck and her lips found his with abandonment—or more likely escape. She giggled when his manhood hardened against her, but his troubled thoughts got in the way and he broke off with a sigh.

  “What’s wrong?” Danielle asked, concerned.

  “I thought you might want to talk? You know, like we usually do? You have said nothing about being locked in the cellar and the fire and I might as well not even have accompanied you this afternoon for all the comfort my company brought you.

  She shrugged. Her eyes suddenly vulnerable. “What do you want me to say? You were there. You saw the horror of it.”

  He saw he’d upset her and drew her head against his shoulder and held her. “I’m sorry. I’m here if you want to talk.”

  “I know you are. You don’t need to worry. Joseph’s agreement to keep me informed on the search into the veracity of my dreams and this prophecy and what the Lady Winters shared with me and that is enough for now. Besides, right now, I just want you. Close as possible. And safe.”

  She moved to kiss him again, but he stopped her. “There’s something else I need to say.”

  “What?”

  “These dreams you keep having.”

  She sighed and abruptly dislodged herself from him and got up. “I really don’t want to think about this right now.” She took her cup from a side table and walked away to her desk.

  “Dee, this last one almost got you killed. I’m just saying, perhaps you shouldn’t put quite so much faith in them. And one has to wonder with all the discord and danger these dreams are creating that Joseph is right, and Fren is behind them.”

  She rounded on him. “Do you want to know the truth?”

  He said that he did.

  “I don’t want this any more than my father does and I see the contradictions well enough, and the dangers. And believe me, I do not trust whoever is doing this to me. But I can’t let it go, at least not until the Archbishop and Kane have been executed. Even then, I don’t know. I just don’t know. Though I know what I fear can’t be allowed to come to pass.” She stopped abruptly and turned away as misery swept across her face.

  James crossed the room and hugged her close. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.”

  She nodded, working to compose herself. After a few minutes letting him hold her she reached up and laid a lingering kiss on his cheek. “I know. It’s what we’ll find when we do that scares me. Let’s go to bed. I think that tonic is beginning to take affect.”

  After making slow gentle love together, James lay on his back. Danielle was sound asleep, snuggled up beside him, her head resting on his chest. The room was dark and Dee’s deep steady breathing was the only sound he could hear. But he couldn’t sleep. Instead he lay there and wondered how he could protect her if what she feared proved to have even the slightest truth to it.

  ***

  Danielle woke with a start. James’ chest was rising and falling under her head and she could hear his heart beating steadily. Hers was racing. There was someone or something in the room, she could feel its presence and she knew instinctively that it was watching her. She also realised it was the same ethereal presence that had visited her during her last dream. She thought of waking James only to have a horrible image flash into her mind of what would happen to her protector if she dared do that.

  What do you want with me? She thought rather than spoke the words. The only answer she received was a compulsion to go to her day room. Careful not to wake James, she eased out of bed. The chamber was cold and she shivered as she pulled on his shirt by the dim glow of the two night lamps. After buttoning it up she bent down to retrieve his sword. The steel grated softly as it cleared the scabbard and the moonlight coming in through a gap in the curtains caught its edge for a moment. What good the weapon would do her, she didn’t know. But that this presence would threaten the man she loved, and do so in her father’s house made it more enemy than friend—and more so after her previous dream, which as James had rightly pointed out, had been less than accurate.

  On light feet, she crossed James’ chambers to the hall, and then padded across his day room to the door that gave entrance to her chambers. The hinges squeaked softly as she opened it, and she glanced back and listened to make sure James was still asleep before easing the door closed. She stood listening to the deathly silence. Even the quiet sounds of the garden at night were absent. She could feel the ominous presence waiting for her in the darkness.

  I mean you no harm. The words were whispered within the confines of her consciousness.

  You lied to me yesterday morning. And now you violate my chambers and threaten the life of my protector and husband-to-be, so excuse me if I do not trust you.

  If you wish to save Arkaelyon you will come. And trust me or not, you have willed this.

  Danielle kept her sword at the ready and went cautiously up the hall to her day room. James had left several of the oil lamps burning low, and there was enough light in the gloom to reveal her room as they had left it hours before. The air was still but her skin tingled as the presence moved around her. It was male; she sensed that much though she could not see anything.

  “Who are you? And why are you doing this to me?” she said quietly.

  One of the oil lamps flared and a small flame took flight. It hovered in the air like a firefly. Danielle quickly brought her sword up and backed away. “I said who are you?”

  Your true husband, guardian of your bloodline.

  “I have a fiancé and you will leave him alone.”

  He violates and desecrates our holy bond.

  “He saved my life yesterday morning, more than can be said for you.”

  It is not as you think, Danielle. It was not I who visited your dreams yesterday. It was Fren wh
o called to you. However, when your thoughts sort me out from the terror of the cellar, I saw your plight and came to your aid. The floor did not collapse because I held it firm until you could be rescued. The heat too, I kept at bay, and the air you breathed, that too was my doing.

  Danielle had wondered about their miraculous escape.

  “What do you want?”

  In answer to her question the orange flame broke into four and each flame darted away. They moved quickly, and like fingers of light they crossed the stone walls of her chamber leaving glowing words in their wake.

  Fighting fear and curiosity in equal measure and careful to keep her distance Danielle tried to make out the language, but it wasn’t even close to any of those she knew.

  “This tells me nothing,” she hissed, angrily.

  You’ll know the truth when you wake.

  “Am I dreaming?” She was quite sure she must be. Yet this seemed so real.

  There was no answer, but she gasped with fright as she suddenly floated off the ground. “What are you doing to me?”

  Showing you the way. And readying your blood to know itself.

  “Put me down.”

  You have willed this. And once it has begun, it cannot be undone. Your blood must be cleansed of the touch of the dark one’s hand, and your maidenhood restored.

  What was being said was madness, but she could feel the power holding her growing in strength and her own fear with it. Her ankles and wrists were pulled apart until she was stretched spread-eagled. Then her fingers were peeled off the handle of the sword and the weapon floated away.

  She screamed for help and writhed trying to break free, but no guards came to her aid, nor could she break free from the invisible hands that held her. The walls were alive with flickering writing, and the heat and the glare made her squint. That’s when she saw an ethereal hand take the sword. Something gripped her shoulder and before she could scream again the point of the sword was thrust into her guts with enough force to run her through and drive the air from her lungs. Then it was pulled free and left to slowly wheel away, end over end through the air, its blade wet and glistening red with her blood. Oddly there was no pain. Only shock.

  You are reborn in blood and fire and when you wake you will know the way. You are Druid’s Bane, beloved of the first Mother, slayer of the Hand.

  A breeze stirred the air and an ethereal kiss touched her cheek.

  Danielle closed her eyes hard and tried to wake. Except for the patter of blood as it ran down her legs in rivulets to splash to the floor there was only silence. It was the oddest thing. She opened her eyes again and nothing had changed. She was still floating and bleeding. However the flaming words were now floating free from the wall, the letters like a swarm of fireflies. They began to move around her in a vortex, swirling faster and faster, until the chamber became a blur beyond the orange light. Then without warning the world dissolved into blinding white light and a deafening explosion ripped through the chamber.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was dark by the time Kane stepped out of the back entrance of the abbey. The bell high up in the White Tower was sounding dolefully across the city, calling the populous to evening prayers. Noblemen and their ladies were climbing the wet glistening stairs and washing past him. A few of them acknowledging Kane with a polite nod or greeting. He returned the salutations as he made his way down the stairs to the torch lit readying yard with its wet cobbles and muddy puddles. Fren had told him that someone would be here waiting to take him to the meeting she had arranged with her colleagues. He was naturally curious to know the identity of these men she had referred to as trusted friends. He was also eager to get down to the business of organising his sister’s demise. He had been contemplating that off and on for much of the afternoon. Gods, to be rid of her once and for all would be more than a relief.

  Reaching the bottom stair, he stopped and searched the yard. Most of the faithful had already made their way inside, but with the few stragglers still stepping down from carriages, and the mass of vehicles and their attending servants crowding the yard, it was difficult to see who might be waiting for him.

  “Milord.”

  Kane turned expectantly. A pretty young woman was waving to him from the window of Lord Henry Cameron’s carriage. Kane suspected it probably wasn’t a coincidence that a carriage belonging to Lord Cameron had been sent to fetch him; after all, the diary that had set the Archbishop on his present course was found on lands belonging to the head of the realm’s pre-eminent mining family, and even then Kane had wondered if this was entirely happenstance given what Fren had told him earlier.

  The young woman stepped down as he approached. She was fashionably dressed and had the look of someone with Surlemian heritage: her shoulder-length hair quite blond, eyes brown, and skin a lovely olive shade. She also had the pretty heart-shaped face and tall, well-proportioned frame so well regarded among her compatriots. A woman such as this was a rare sight among Arkaelyon’s predominantly dark-haired population, and doubly so since Surlemian gentlemen were well known to be extremely protective of their daughters.

  “Milord, it’s an honour,” she said. A playful grin spread across her lovely lips as she curtsied. Kane smiled back, intrigued. It was clear the woman fancied him and he was never one to turn down an invitation. Though he did wonder what the association might be between this Surlemian beauty, and the Camerons, for he knew of none by marriage or otherwise. And he certainly hadn’t seen this pretty little filly around court.

  “How may I be of assistance, Milady?” He took her white-gloved hand as she rose, and kissed it with his practiced charm.

  She blushed a little at his touch, saying, “I believe it is I who can be of assistance, Milord. A mutual friend sent me to collect you… She said you’d understand?”

  Kane grinned. This woman was offering a great deal more than the service of a chauffer and in truth, after the day he had had, he could not think of a better way than to fall asleep beside her. “Would this friend happen to be a woman of particularly short stature and significant years?”

  The young woman laughed. “Yes, Milord, she would.”

  “Then I expect you can be of assistance after all.” Kane raised his eyebrows expectantly and gestured towards the carriage door, and taking the woman’s hand, he helped her back up into the carriage, surveying her lovely little bottom as he followed.

  “Lord Cameron’s coach I see?”

  “Also a friend, Milord.”

  Settling onto a seat opposite the young woman, Kane wondered how many more surprises the day had in store for him. He would never have guessed that Fren had associates like the Camerons, or that the head of such an esteemed and wealthy Arkaelyon family would be interested in aiding him in something as dangerous as the execution of his sister—not that he was about to complain. He had always thought highly of Lord Henry Cameron, at least in reputation. The general understanding was that Lord Cameron was a very shrewd businessman, albeit somewhat of a recluse. He had been left off the guest list of secret meetings arranged to broker support for the slavery bill, largely because the Archbishop argued that he was too much of an unknown quantity—neither a devout reformist nor orthodox—and that with his vast wealth and the considerable respect he drew from the nobility with holdings in mining or lumber, it was best not to risk involving him.

  The young woman called out to the driver, instructing him to proceed. A whip snapped, and the coach jerked forward. As they turned onto the busy southern promenade, Kane said, “So I take it you are related to Lord Henry Cameron?”

  “I’m sorry, Milord, but I’m not permitted to say,” she replied amiably, her lovely eyes lingering on his face.

  Kane shifted in his seat and sat forward. “But you can tell me where we are going, of course?”

  “Again, Milord, I can only show you.”

  He flashed her a charming smile and picked up one of her elegant hands. “May I at least have your name?”

  The woman grin
ned and inched forward. “My name is Lea.”

  “Lea?” Kane reached out and carefully brushed a long blond tress from the girl’s face. She didn’t move to stop him, and her smile broadened with invitation. “Well, that is a very pretty name and very fitting for a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

  “You’re most kind, Milord. And may I be so bold as to say, you are very handsome also?”

  Kane chuckled as he looked into her eyes. “You may say as much, as long as you agree to let me get to know you a little better. Perhaps this evening we might take dinner together—as long as your lord will allow it, of course?”

  “I have no lord, only an irritable uncle who has no say on what I do. So yes, this evening would very agreeable.”

  “Then dinner it is.” Kane lifted her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it. Lowering it, he said, “So, my dear Lea, you know Fren, then?”

  “Yes, Milord. Quite well in fact.”

  “It seems an odd association. A beautiful, young Surlemian lass like yourself and an old witch like Fren.”

  “She’s no witch, Milord,” Lea countered with a girlish laugh.

  The girl had not let go of his hand so accepting the invitation Kane grinned and moved to sit beside her. The sound of her mirth was almost as enticing as the sight of her lovely cleavage and full lips. He longed to touch her, to do things to her that would make her moan with pleasure. “If you had seen her at work in her hovel in the woods, you wouldn’t be so quick to deny it.”

  Lea laughed again, and teasingly, made out that he must be mistaken.

  As the coach rattled along, she burst into more laughter and added comments, relaxing, as Kane talked of his experiences with Fren over the years. As they conversed, he noticed that the coach had turned off the southern promenade and they were now moving through the southwestern quarter of Illandia. It surprised him a little. Like the northern quarter of the city, and the high streets of the wharf district outside the city wall, it was the common born, from merchant to apprentice and all the occupations of labouring masses in between, coupled with a good smattering of the lower gentry, who made these teaming smelly streets home. Men like Lord Henry Cameron wouldn’t purchase a residence here on principle.