by Teri Barnett
“I says I’m very sorry it’s a girl-child. I know how disappointed ye must be.” She pulled her homespun shawl tighter around her shoulders as light snowflakes began to fall.
Manfred waved her away impatiently. “Nonsense, woman. Girls have their value, and my daughter will aspire to greatness.” He puffed his chest out. “She will be a leader of the Dumnonii. Nay, of all the Keltoi tribes.” He gestured to the sky. “Tell me you don’t see the signs!” Manfred lowered his hand. He ran a rough finger down the babe’s cheek and stroked the downy thatch of dark red hair covering her head. “Leave the babe with me and go watch over my wife in case she wakes.”
“But, Sir. It’s gettin’ much too cold fer the child to be out here.” She glanced around, as if hoping for someone to support her position. “Sir?”
Manfred’s expression grew dark. “You heard me. Off with you.” When she hesitated, he barked, “Now!” The midwife took a step back, then turned and ran into the hall, her shawl trailing behind her.
He chuckled, then gazed down at his new daughter. “Dylan,” he whispered as he crouched down. “This is an important lesson and I want you to remember it. Look at this babe. Life is sacred. It should never be taken from another in vain or for the purpose of calling up healthy crops.” He sighed. “There are those who disagree with me on this matter, but, as your teacher, it’s important to me that you understand.”
“I’ll remember, Sir.” Dylan leaned forward, his eyes wide as he looked at the baby. “She’s beautiful. Prettier even than the lady in the stream.”
Manfred laughed. “Of course, she is. And, because of your vision, I have decided to name her Maere, after the water spirit.”
Dylan smiled proudly. But as he continued to watch the babe, his smile faded. He touched the child’s tiny hand and whispered, “I swear by all the gods and goddesses that I will protect her for you and the Lady Rhea.” He raised his eyes to Manfred. “Always.”
Chapter 1
Eighteen years later
April 883 A.D.
Tintagel, Cornwall, Isle of Great Britain
“Come,” the woman’s voice bade. “Come to me.”
Dylan mac Connall opened his eyes and rose from the herb-and-grass stuffed mattress which served as his bed. Dylan strode to the window and pushed back the homespun curtain. To the west, the full moon was still high in the sky. The breeze caressed his face, as gentle as a maiden’s touch. Quietly, he dressed and, on silent feet, made his way to the door of the sod-and-timber cottage that had been his home these past ten years. He smiled at the sound of soft snores coming from the room at the other end of the humble abode. His adopted mother and mentor, Hekate Athelred, was sound asleep. How many times had he slipped out just this way? If Kate knew about his nocturnal wanderings, she kept it to herself.
Perhaps she doesn’t know whom I go to meet?
If she did know would she warn him against it?
“Come…” the voice whispered again.
It was her. As it had always been these past four years. He’d just reached eighteen summers when she’d come into his life once more. He’d been in a deep sleep after a long day assisting Kate with drying and storing the herbs and powders she used in her potions, balms, and poultices for healing and her magical incantations.
A beautiful voice began calling to him in his dreams. The melodic whispers woke him from his sleep and awakened in him a restless yearning…
The buzzing sound of insects vibrated in his ears, urging him forward. He walked in the direction he was being drawn, the same as he’d done so many years ago when Kate had rescued him.
It was night, too, when he’d evaded capture by Eugis’s men. They had been hot on his trail after the Samhain massacre, after he’d lost Maere and everyone dear to him, after he’d witnessed the murder of her mother and father and his own Da. He’d survived the treachery only by diving into the thicket and tumbling down a steep hill. They thought him dead and left him where he lay.
The buzzing intensified; his senses heightened. He pushed his way through the dense covering of bushes at the edge of the clearing, through the trees and saplings. Then, the faint gurgle of the stream and the tangy scent of the sea touched his spirit and he understood.
Morrigu was here.
He hadn’t seen the goddess since the night Maere was born, but he always sensed her presence nearby. He somehow knew, deep inside, that she guided him. Cared for him. Perhaps loved him.
“I’m here,” he whispered. A raven cawed in the distance, in response. Its raucous song came closer and closer until it seemed to come from all around, enveloping him. Dylan looked up. Sitting in the branches of a sacred oak was the bird, as large and unmoving as any he had ever seen. It stared hard at him and he stared back.
“What is it you cry so loud and hard for, Friend Raven?” he said. “What is it that brings you here to me in the middle of the night?”
The bird cocked its head to one side and the white moonlight touched its eyes. “Caw!” it screamed again.
“Were you, too, awakened from a dream-filled sleep and lured to this very spot, the same as me?”
In response, the raven let loose with a furious beating of its wings, descended from the branch and landed on the ground in front of Dylan. It took a step forward and, as it did, slowly grew taller and taller, its very shape transforming before his eyes.
Dylan took a step back, his gaze transfixed on the sight before him. He’d seen much of magic over the years, during his lessons with Kate. Water flowing in reverse, lead turned into gold and back again, fairy folk and all manner of strange beings. But he found —to his own surprise—that he was unprepared for the shape-shifting raven.
As he watched, the bird continued to metamorphose. It beat its wings again and they changed into shapely arms. It stomped its orange claws on the ground, and they turned into long, well-formed legs. It tilted its head from side to side as if its neck ached, and the feathers and sharp yellow beak were slowly replaced with a woman’s face. The cheekbones were high and angled, the eyes slanted at the outside corners. The hair, as black as the feathers, cascaded down her back. Everything changed but the color of the eyes. They remained the same luminous silver as the raven’s own.
“Who are you?” Dylan said. His throat was tight and dry, and the words were more of a croak than actual speech. Wide-eyed, he stared at the naked woman that stood before him. Her breasts were creamy and ample, her hips round and full.
“I am Morrigu,” she said, her voice low and husky. “Do you not know me?”
Recognition dawned on him. “Forgive me, goddess. I saw you but once and I was only a child then.” He spoke quickly. Morrigu’s temper was legendary among the people who still followed the old ways. It could be deadly to cross her.
Morrigu’s eyes roamed over his tall, lean frame. “Not so much a child any longer.” She smiled and the moonlight reflected off her wine-red lips. She ran her tongue across them, wetting them, drawing his attention to their fullness.
“Why is it I never saw you again?” he said. “I’ve sensed you, knew you were here—”
She took a step nearer. “The moment wasn’t right.”
Her musky scent rose on the air and floated to Dylan. The aroma entered him like a potion. It silenced his tongue and he couldn’t speak. He continued to watch her as she approached.
Morrigu reached up and ran a long fingernail down the side of his face. A thin trail of blood seeped through his skin where she touched him. “Until now.”
Dylan opened his mouth, then closed it, still wordless. He shifted uncomfortably as the damp ground chilled his bare feet. What was going on here? Was he dreaming?
“No. No dream,” she said quietly. “I’ve been waiting for you all these years. Waiting for the perfect time to show myself to you.” She reached for his hands and placed them over her breasts. With gentle motions, she showed hi
m how to knead them, how to pull at the dark rose peaks and tease them to hardness.
“Tell me, Dylan mac Connall. What do you want more than anything from this lifetime?”
He dropped his hands to his side and his face hardened. He found the full strength of his voice and answered, “Revenge.”
She tossed back her head and laughed, the sound a spell in itself. It stroked and taunted him. He felt desire begin to burn in his loins. Desire for the goddess and desire for the death of the man who had destroyed his life.
Morrigu’s eyes locked onto his. She touched his shoulders and forced him to his knees. “Remember this feeling,” she said. “The desire for revenge can rage as hot as the desire for a woman. But do not let one interfere with the other.”
He looked up at her, puzzled.
She laughed again. “For now, do not fret over what I say. You will have time enough to ponder the meaning of my words.” She leaned over him and dangled a full breast above his lips. He took it in his mouth like a ripe peach and suckled. Morrigu wrapped her fingers in his black hair and pulled his head tighter against her bosom. “Sweet Dylan,” she moaned, “you shall have all that you wish from me. I will teach you the magic of love. And one day, in the future, I will set you forth on your quest for vengeance…”
He arrived at the same clearing as he had so many times before. And she appeared to him once more, in all her dark, voluptuous glory.
“You are here,” she purred, sauntering up to him, her naked form bathed in moonlight.
“Aren’t I always?” he replied.
She laughed and her long inky black hair shook with the movement. “You are a devil, you know that?”
He stood silent. Still. He’d learned not to show eagerness. He’d learned everything there was to know about pleasuring a goddess. And in those first years, he was eager indeed, and couldn’t wait to be in her arms. Believing that she loved him. Foolish boy that he was.
Morrigu didn’t love anyone, possibly not even herself. She would play the coy maiden one night and the seductress the next. She was elusive and fickle Morrigu was, calling out to him every night for a sennight and then disappearing for months at a time. Eventually he’d learned to accept who and what Morrigu was. She could not be controlled, only handled.
Morrigu twined her arms around Dylan’s neck, pressing herself against him.
“Tonight, I will release you from the shadows that keep you here. Tonight, I will tell you where Maere is.”
His chest clenched. Finally, after all this time, he would know the truth. He’d endured Morrigu’s quicksilver temperament as he continued to learn his own magic, biding his time, knowing she would one day tell him where Maere was.
“Don’t you want to know this very minute?” She ran her finger along the scar on his cheek, her mark. “Don’t you want to see your betrothed again after all these years? She will be eighteen soon. Ripe for the plucking. And you, my darling, will be the one to pluck her…”
“You know I do.” He considered the goddess. “Will you tell me now?”
Morrigu pulled him to the ground. “Soon.”
As he lay there, half asleep, Dylan ruminated over Morrigu’s words. She’d spoken so carelessly about Maere and her prophesied powers. Maere, his childhood friend, the young girl who’d made the world a magical place and had been taken away from him by her evil uncle Eugis, in a horrific act of betrayal.
Dylan had no idea what kind of person Maere had grown up to be. Did the shock and horror of that long ago night forever alter the fiery spirit of the child she’d been? Would she still have that fearless sense of adventure or would she be forever changed?
Now that he knew where she was hidden, he could cut his ties with the goddess and forge his own path forward.
Soon, I will see you again Maere. And all will be as it should have been.
Chapter 2
St. Columba’s Abbey
Glastonbury, Isle of Great Britain
The form of a man emerged from the darkness of the fog, his body a lean dark silhouette against the swirling gray mass. The moonlight touched his hair and it glowed blue-black in the night. Stars danced about him and the very trees themselves tipped and bowed as he passed.
Walking—nay, gliding—he moved with purpose and determination along the road leading toward the abbey. The evening offered him a cloak and he wore this mantle proudly, becoming one with the nighttime.
On silent feet, he approached the old, ivy-covered stone walls of Saint Columba’s as if it were a cornered animal. He paused for a moment, glanced about him, and then resumed his advance.
His breath billowed about his head, obscuring first his face as he passed through the quiet walls of the abbey itself, and entered her small cell.
The young woman, deep asleep, struggled against the bed linens entangled around her limbs. He grinned as he watched her slender legs push and kick while her hands pulled and tugged, until she was finally free of their unrelenting grasp.
He reached for her, the feral glow of his eyes penetrated the blackness and touched her with their intensity. “Come to me,” he rasped, his fingers inches from her face. “Come to me.”
The young woman bolted upright. Her chest heaved as she tossed the offending linens to the floor. Sweat beaded her forehead and dripped down the lightly freckled cheeks of her otherwise fair skin. Her back was damp as well. Her heart beat so fiercely against her breast she feared for her life. She clutched at her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She glanced frantically around the small room. The walls seemed to move in toward her, threatening to crush her. Panic set in. Where was he? Where had he gone? Was he still here?!?
“Sisters!” she screamed. “Help me!”
Within moments, Abbess Magrethe shoved open the cell door and rushed to the young woman’s side. “What is it, Maere?” She searched her face. “What troubles you so?”
Maere huddled against the wall at the head of her small cot, her knees drawn tightly to her chest. Her dark copper hair tumbled over her shoulders, clinging to her damp skin. Slowly, she raised her green eyes to the abbess’s and peered at her through the long, wild strands. She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat.
“It was another nightmare, wasn’t it?” Magrethe asked, as she set her candle gently down on the nightstand. She drew Maere to her.
Maere nodded and began to sob. “Who is this man who haunts my sleep? Why won’t he let me rest?”
“If only I knew,” she murmured. Magrethe held Maere out at arm’s length and searched her face once more. “Was it the same dream? Was he coming for you?”
“Aye, Mother. He’s close, too. I saw him outside the abbey walls. He walked right through them.” Maere’s voice shot up a notch. “He was here!”
“Poor child,” Magrethe sighed. “If you had not been having these dreams for so many years now, I would believe the pleasures of the flesh were calling to you.” She released Maere and picked up her candle, lighting Maere’s with it. The light cast tall shadows on the wall, mimicking the woman’s motions.
“You believe that’s what these dreams mean? That I am thinking of being w-with a man?” Maere rolled the edge of her gown between her fingers as tears fell onto the fabric and stained it. “If that were true, why does he appear as if he is hunting me down, like a deer or a fox?” The small flame flicked and sputtered. “I know he wants me dead.” She turned her eyes away from the light. “Why does he want me dead?”
“I cannot explain the Devil’s lure, but it’s widely known he seeks young women such as you, those nearly ready to take their vows.”
Maere rubbed her eyes furiously. “I appreciate your counsel, Mother.” Maere let her head fall gently back against the wattle-and-daub wall. “If you think this is Lucifer’s work, then I must do penance. I must seek forgiveness for bringing this demon to me.”
“Maere, you’ve been d
isturbed by these images for more years than you’ve been a young woman, so this may not be the case with you.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I know not the answer, child.” The abbess drew the young woman to her breast again. She stroked Maere’s hair until Maere was calm and her breathing even. “I think it would help if you prayed about this. Perhaps a fast and meditation might bring the answer to you.
Maere remembered the glowing red eyes. They were animal-like, fierce in their determination to seek her out, more frightening than anything she could ever remember seeing before. “Do you really think it would help, Mother?”
“With God anything is possible. You know that, girl.” Magrethe patted Maere’s cheek, then helped her get back under the covers of the straw-filled mattress. “For now, try and sleep. It’s almost time for Matins and Sister Aubrey will be most put out if you doze off during prayers.”
Dear Aubrey—her lined face—came to Maere. The image of the old nun tapping the sisters and novices on the top of the head with a thin willow stick as they fell asleep during the two-thirty a.m. service made her smile.
“There, now, that’s much better,” Magrethe said, as she stood and blew out the candle.
“Thank you, Mother,” Maere whispered.
Magrethe nodded as she left the small cell. She stopped outside the doorway to talk to the sisters who had gathered there, curious what the commotion was about.
“It’s the night terrors again, isn’t it?” whispered Sister Bernard harshly. “It’s the pagan soul in her, I tell you. The girl is tainted.” The tall, thin nun made the sign of the cross over her breast.
“Really, Bernard,” another scolded. “Her mother and father may have followed the old ways, but she’s been with us many years now, raised since but a small child to be a good Christian.”
Magrethe frowned. “Enough of this,” she quietly ordered, shooing them away with a wave of her hand. “Everyone, back to bed. Maere’s fine and there will be no more of this discussion tonight.” She offered one last glance at Maere’s now-sleeping form, Sister Bernard’s words echoing in her mind.