by Teri Barnett
Don’t do this! The words screamed inside her soul. It’s going to be him! Panic—already living in the pit of her stomach like a hungry snake—uncoiled and shot through her chest. It choked her with its intensity. She couldn’t breathe. With a sudden gasp of air, she took heed of the warning and turned to bolt back down the stairs. At that moment, a door opened behind her. She froze as Abbess Magrethe spoke.
“Maere? Where are you going, girl? I’ve been waiting for you.”
Slowly, tentatively, Maere turned around and faced the abbess. Magrethe waved a long thin hand delicately toward her. “Come along. There’s something we need to discuss.”
Maere followed the older woman into her chambers, dragging her feet across the slate floor. She braced herself—ready to run if need be—as her eyes darted around the room. When she saw the abbess was alone, she let her breath out and relaxed a little. Not much, but a little. Could it be that Robin was mistaken in what she’d told her?
“Take a breath, Maere,” Magrethe bade, her watery blue eyes mirroring concern. “You look frightened half to death.”
“Is it true?” Maere asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Is there a man here to see me?”
“Don’t mumble, girl,” the abbess scolded as she took her place behind the finely carved desk.
Maere cleared her throat and asked louder this time, “Where is he?”
Magrethe frowned. “Robin has obviously told you more than she had a right to. It’s a fine testimony to your obedience training you came at all, given the events of late.” She leaned forward and crossed her arms in front of her. “What exactly did the child reveal to you?”
“Only that there was a man here who wanted to see me.” She wrung her hands together and glanced around the room again. The sun had gone down and she could see the rising moon outside the window behind the abbess. “Is it true?”
“Yes, it’s true. A man is here for you.”
Maere’s eyes grew wide and the abbess quickly added, “But he’s not the evil you fear, my daughter.” She shook her head and offered a small smile. “I’ve spoken with him. He’s not the evil you have dreamed about.”
Maere took a tentative step forward. “What manner of man is he then, that he should come seeking me?”
“He was sent by your kind Uncle Eugis.” Magrethe watched the younger woman closely as she continued, “He is your betrothed.”
Maere’s mouth fell open. She quickly closed it again. “Betrothed?” She dropped into the wooden chair opposite the abbess’s desk. “I have no betrothed.” Her eyes widened. “Even if it were so, I couldn’t leave. You and the sisters are the only family I have ever known.”
“That’s not true,” a male voice replied.
Her back grew rigid and the hair on Maere’s nape stood on end. She frantically searched her memory. She’d heard this voice before, but where? Was it from one of her dreams?
“Would you tell me truly you have no memory of your people?” he continued. “The Dumnonii who live in the lush green hills and thick forests of Tintagel?”
The abbess rose and walked toward the door. “Please, enter, sir. It is most unfortunate but, you see, Maere has no recollection of her life before arriving at Saint Columba’s.” She ushered him into her office. “In the beginning, we tried everything we could think of to bring back her memories. After a while, when they didn’t return, we determined it was God’s will she remain apart from them and we let it be.”
“God’s will?”
“You question the workings of our Savior? Ah, you are pagan, aren’t you? I suspected as much.” Magrethe sat back down at her desk and spoke directly to Maere. “Think of the joy in heaven you’ll bring for converting this man.” She sat back in her chair and directed her words to the man, “Maere and I were just now discussing the details of your arrival.”
Maere heard the man walking toward her, but she couldn’t turn around. She was frozen solid, like a stream in the dead of winter.
Oh, Sweet Virgin, where is my strength?
Get a firm hold on yourself.
She held her breath as he approached her chair.
“So I heard as I neared your office.”
That voice! She remembered now! He was the pilgrim who’d left behind the strange drawing, the one who knew her kin’s names. Maere finally forced herself to breathe and, gripping the arms of the chair, pushed herself to her feet. Slowly, she turned to face him, to face the nameless entity who had haunted her ever since that brief encounter.
As she turned, she found him standing close to her as if his being there, so near, was the most natural thing in the world. Her eyes met his—as dark as a winter’s night, they were. She ignored his mild look of amusement as her gaze lingered on what otherwise would be a most serious face…That face! She had never seen such a man. He was handsome and dangerous-looking, with well-formed lips, high cheekbones, and wild black hair hanging to his wide shoulders.
Fear enveloped her, overwhelming in its intensity. Her head swam. Maere took a step back and bumped into the desk. She grabbed hold of the edge, squeezing so hard her fingers hurt. Dearest blessed Mother but he was the man in her dreams! He had to be! Never mind she’d never seen the face of the demon in such detail, she sensed a connection between the man from her dreams and this man here. And the thin silvery scar that ran like an easy caress down his cheek only served to make him even more striking in appearance. He was from another world, there could be no doubt about it.
She shuddered as his eyes moved over her face and down her body. The black orbs returned to meet hers and held her own in a tight embrace. Near the open window, a raven cried out and the spell was broken. Maere’s gut jumped and stumbled over itself as she looked toward the sound.
With a thumping of wings, the raven settled on the window’s thick stone ledge. It sat quietly, with silver eyes that seemed to take in its surroundings, though its eyes were much too shrewd for a simple bird.
Maere looked from the man who was staring at the raven with a frown, to the abbess, whose own fair face had grown even paler. She watched as the older woman made a quick sign of the cross over her breast.
“Abbess?” Maere cried out weakly. “What goes on here?” Her legs trembled and her knees threatened to give way. She forced out the words, “Surely you cannot mean for me to go with this, this devil?”
“Really, sir. Can’t you see you’re frightening the girl?” Magrethe said, gesturing at the bird. “Is that your bird?”
The man smiled stiffly. “I am acquainted with the raven. ‘Tis but a harmless thing, seeking some attention.”
The raven glared at him and ruffled its feathers.
Magrethe waited a moment, looking pointedly from man to creature and back again. She shook her head and set her mouth in a firm line. Lifting a document from the pile of precious parchment neatly stacked on one side of her desk. she looked it over, sighed, and handed it to Maere. “This is the betrothal agreement. Turn it over,” she said. “It bears your family’s mark and seal.”
Maere glanced at the paper but couldn’t really see it. She felt eyes on her from all around. She looked up to find the strange demon of a man and the raven both staring at her, their gaze so tangible it all but pierced her flesh.
The man took a step toward Maere and she instinctively withdrew. “Can it be true that you do not remember me?” he said. “Are you certain you have no recall of the times we shared?” The words were low, somehow expectant.
Maere cleared her throat, searching for her voice. “Aye, I remember you,” she finally said. But the smile that had formed on his face quickly faded when she added, “You’re the man who came when I was in the anchorage.”
“Of course. I should have recognized you myself,” the abbess said. She clasped her hands in front of her. “Why didn’t you make yourself known to us upon your arrival in Glastonbury?”
Maere interrupted before he could respond. “Tell me true, sir. Who are you?” She held her breath, waiting for the response. Legend had it if you asked a demon a direct question he couldn’t lie in the answering. And if ever a demon existed, it was this man.
He smiled again, a flash of bright white against his olive skin, and bowed before her. “I would be most happy to introduce myself. It is as you have said. I am the same who visited you when you were ensconced. But I am also your betrothed, Dylan mac Connall.” He watched her, his gaze hard.
She squirmed under his scrutiny. Did he expect her to respond in some way to his declaration? Oh, but this had to be one of her visions…
“You would say, in truth, my name means nothing to you?” The man leaned forward, pressing his point. “What new game are you playing, Maere?”
Maere squared her shoulders as anger began to work its way through the raw fear that had overpowered her earlier. She shook off the question. Game, indeed. “You have not answered the abbess. Why didn’t you identify yourself to us?”
“I prefer to take my time with such matters. It is my way,” he said. “Besides, I assumed you would know who I was.”
Maere pitched the parchment to the floor. “A document from an uncle I haven’t seen in ten years means nothing to me.” She let her gaze wander over him. She raised her chin and tossed her loose hair behind her. Seelie was right. She desperately needed to find some courage. Her voice quavered when she spoke again. “You and your claimed betrothal mean nothing to me. I will not leave the abbey.”
Dylan took a step forward. “You will leave, Maere cu Llwyr. And when you do, it will be as my wife.”
The bird screeched loudly, flapped its wings, and disappeared through the window, its black form lost to the night.
Dylan turned to the abbess. “Please explain her duties to her. I’ll return in an hour with one of your priests.” He watched Maere for a moment. “Have your belongings gathered and be ready to leave. I’ll not be kept waiting any longer.” He pivoted on the ball of his foot and left the room.
Maere turned to Magrethe. “You cannot mean for me to go with this, this man.” She gestured toward the door Dylan had just passed through. “You saw him with that creature of his. He is not Christian!”
Magrethe rose and approached the younger woman, forcing a smile on her drawn face. “Yes. And as I said, what a wonderful opportunity for you, to be handed a pagan soul for conversion.” She put her palms together. “I will have a word with Father John. Given the change of events, it would be unseemly to go to your betrothed after such a penance as flagellation.”
She took Maere’s hands in her own and nodded toward the document where it rested on the floor. “The paper is binding and you must honor it. Your good uncle himself told me he would find you a husband by your eighteenth year.”
“I remember you telling me this.” Maere fell back into the chair. “So much time has passed. I’d hoped he’d forgotten all about me.”
Magrethe lightly touched Maere’s cheek. “If it were up to me, you’d stay.” She shrugged. “But it is not my place. I’m sorry, but you really have no choice in this matter.” The abbess blinked and a thin tear traveled down her lightly lined cheek. “No choice whatsoever, child.”
Chapter 12
“You will explain yourself to me, Dylan mac Connall.” Morrigu paced back and forth in front of him. The sharp pine needles littering the ground caused her no obvious discomfort as her bare feet padded over them.
Dylan glanced up from where he sat on a tree stump and stretched his long, muscular legs out in front of him. The fire he’d lit cast a warm glow on the goddess’ body. Normally, the sight of her in human form was enough to drive all reason from his mind. But now, he was surprised to find he actually had other thoughts. Thoughts of long copper hair and sea-green eyes. Eyes so innocent and beguiling—such a contrast to the woman before him—whose own eyes now shone with venom.
“There is nothing to explain,” he said, his voice tense.
“You are greatly mistaken.” She leaned over and aimed a sharp fingernail straight at his face. “There is much you must answer for.”
He pushed her hand aside. “Such as?”
“What are these words of marriage of which you spoke? That was not part of the agreement we made earlier. You were to only act on the betrothal, not actually wed the girl!” She straightened and presented her slim back to him. “You test my patience, mortal. Tell me now this marriage will not take place and I may yet let you live.”
Dylan pushed himself to his feet and stood directly behind Morrigu, a good head taller than she. But he knew this was part of her game, her temptation, to appear small and vulnerable. To appear as if she needed him. He shook his head. She didn’t need him. He realized that now. But a question remained: Did he need her? He shifted uneasily. “Are you jealous, Goddess?” he finally asked.
Morrigu turned on him in fury, her silver eyes glowing with the reflection of her sister Nimue, the moon. “I’m not certain I heard you correctly,” she said, her voice low and forbidding. “Have you accused me of possessing one of your human emotions?”
“You forget too easily how well I know you, Morrigu.” Dylan stared hard into those glinting eyes. “Dowse the fire that burns in your breast. It’s most unbecoming.”
She reached out and grabbed the back of his neck with her hand, scraping her nails along the tender flesh. Dylan flinched, but his gaze never wavered. Morrigu took a deep breath and, as the air filled her lungs, her body stretched and grew. Another breath and she was two feet taller than him. A third breath and she was so large, Dylan only reached her navel. She released him and crossed her arms in front of her. She looked down, a smug smile on her lips. “You were saying?”
Dylan walked in silence to the pine tree behind him. He touched his forehead to the rough bark and immediately saw in his mind’s eye an explosion of golden-yellow color, the amber lifeblood of the tree. “Bend, that I might stand tall,” he whispered. The tree began to shake as he stepped away from it. It continued to tremble and quake, sending dead needles to the ground as, ever so slowly, the thick trunk bowed before him. Dylan grabbed hold near the center of the tree, settled his feet on a stout branch, and said, “Rise.” Then, just as slowly, the pine righted itself until Dylan was face-to-face with Morrigu.
“I have gifted you with this power and you would challenge me with it?” The goddess’ cheeks grew red with anger. “Without me, you are nothing,” she hissed.
“I am Dylan, son of Fox and Dara mac Connall, same as I have always been.” He lowered his voice. “With or without your assistance.”
Morrigu shook her head and laughed. The loud, cold sound shook the very air itself, its vibration causing all manner of forest creature to flee their nests this dark night. “Do you think you can cast me aside so easily? Do you believe there would be no repercussions for such an action?”
Dylan leaned into the tree branches and they wrapped themselves around him, cradling and protecting him. The trees were his true friends, his instincts told him that. The smell of pine tar filled his nostrils, an aroma he knew would always remind him now of Morrigu, of this moment. “It was arranged by our families all those years ago,” he said. “I’m bound by their pledge. I must marry her.”
“No, Dylan, you mustn’t. Take her away from the convent, if you insist on hiding her from Eugis, but deposit her with some unsuspecting farmer.” She smiled. “Then you and I can move on to other things.”
Dylan snorted. “I am merely a plaything to you Morrigu,” Dylan touched the scar on his cheek, the scar she’d left behind the night she first made love to him. Nay, not love, he corrected himself.
“And what is so wrong with that?” Her silver eyes blazed at him. “You have never seemed to mind before.”
“I would see the circle mended, Morrigu,” he said changing the subject. “It was broken the night E
ugis murdered our families and took Maere away from me. Do you think it’s been easy for me, spending all these years waiting? While I learned everything I could about the nature of power?” He ran a hand through his thick black hair and his eyes met the goddess’ again. “I won’t wait any longer. I am going to marry the girl, with or without your permission. Our destiny will be fulfilled.”
“Ah, I understand,” she whispered. “You seek her power. You believe the first who beds her will share the gift she possesses, don’t you?”
Dylan rubbed away the tension in his neck but pulled his hand away when he felt stickiness. It was covered with blood left from the goddess’ touch. Wiping his hand on his breeches, he said, “That has nothing to do with this.”
“Of course, it does. You cannot fool me.” She took a step forward. “Simply take the girl’s virginity and be done with her.”
His eyes narrowed at the callous suggestion. “No matter how much you may desire it, Maere is my betrothed and I won’t dishonor her. Manfred was my teacher and friend and I promised him I’d always care for her.”
Morrigu began to laugh again and her body slowly resumed its smaller, mortal form. Dylan bade the tree to let him down to the ground. In two long strides, he was behind the goddess. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. “I would know what it is you find so amusing.”
“You. And your sense of honor. Do you really think that matters? I thought you were cleverer than that.” She jerked away from him. “This world exists for the strong and for those who would seize life and power, not for those who hide behind pretty words and noble promises.” Morrigu reached out and ran a fingertip across and down his chest. “Now, this is the last opportunity I will grant you to change your mind. Call off the marriage.”