When they entered the courtyard, people ran from all directions in the cold drizzle to meet his demands. The horse was immediately taken to shelter, and they were bundled within heavy blankets and led into the house. The man possessed an amazing number of servants. They stoked the fire, gathered clothing, fetched hot water, and prepared a meal. Arleigh sat upon a bench, wrapped in her woolen blanket, and stared into the fire of the hearth, waiting to discover her fate.
A tall woman with long black hair entered the main hall. She walked regally across the stone floor, her rose-colored dress stirring up dust as it swept the path behind her. At first sight, Arleigh presumed they were near the same age, and yet when the woman neared, Arleigh saw the fine lines around her eyes and mouth.
“Cameron,” the woman said. “Welcome home. Thy travels must have led thee far afield.”
She leaned toward Lord Cardew and put her mouth against his in a proprietary kiss.
“Thou hast brought a guest?”
Lord Cardew embraced the woman, glancing at Arleigh over the top of the woman’s head. The first signs of discomfort registered on her captor’s face. His eyes narrowed. His glance raked across her shivering body, and Arleigh knew he had made a decision he did not want to make.
“No, gentle wife,” he said, “a gift for thee.”
“Where didst thou find such a wondrous gift?”
“The woman is slow-witted and dull,” Cardew said, “but should make thee an adequate servant. She is a widow but hast no memory of the life she has lost, so I brought her to thee.”
The elegant woman had studied Arleigh for a few moments, and the way she cast her eyes back toward her husband proved she had not believed his story. But she smiled and thanked him with a kiss.
“We shall give thee a new life,” she said, pulling Arleigh to her feet. “I am Cullen Flynn, Lady Cardew. Thou art most welcome in my service. We shall see thee are happy being with us. Come.”
She had taken Arleigh’s hand and bundled her through the dark and dismal chambers of Cardew Manor and led her to a room that blazed with candles and shone with as much sunlight as could be gleaned from the cold, dreary afternoon. The tapestries hanging on the wall were airy and filled with images of childlike creatures and fascinating beasts from myth and legend. The bedclothes were dark pastels, and the curtains that surrounded the massive bed were white and draped with wildflowers.
“I like not a dreary world,” the lady said. “’Tis Cardew Manor and the Lord within that filleth the world with darkness. My heart once filled with sunlight and music, laughter and joy. My father’s estates lieth to the east of Cardew, and the manor house is filled with cheer, but Cameron is my lord, and his desire is to dwelleth here. I will not be dragged into his darkness, so I keep my light sheltered and locked in these four walls.”
“You are a lady true?” Arleigh had asked.
“Indeed,” she said. “Most of the land, the stock, the servants are mine. My father hast been most generous. My husband is a man that hast desires beyond his station. He wed me though I be near ten years older because he wanted what I possessed.”
“Why did you…why did thou wed him?” Arleigh asked.
The woman considered for a moment. “He is pleasing to look upon and a great warrior. He hath the ambition and talent to find greatness. My heart filled with him.”
“Is thy heart still full?”
“No,” she answered curtly. “He hath killed the love in my heart, and there is naught that can be done to waken it.”
She had ordered clothing found and a hot bath filled for her new serving girl. As three other young women added water to the tub, Arleigh dropped her wet shirt to the floor, and an older woman scooped it up. The lady wrapped a soft dressing gown around her shoulders.
“What name dost thou answer?” the lady had asked.
“He calls me Arleigh Donovan,” Arleigh answered. “I don’t know if ’tis my true name.”
“Your past hath been completed, Arleigh Donovan,” the lady said. “We shall think on thy future. I know not what my husband hast promised, or threatened, but his tongue hast tricked him, and thou art now mine. He shall not touch thee.”
Arleigh burst into tears, grateful for any protection and comfort she could find, and the gentle lady had wrapped warm arms around her and cradled her like a child.
Arleigh vowed she would do anything the lady asked in thanks for her guardianship. She served her well, doting upon her lady with quiet grace and respect. She slept in a small trundle bed that tucked beneath the lady’s own, and before sleep came each night, she thanked the woman who offered her shelter and companionship.
One evening when the lady stitched a baby frock in the glow of the hearthlight, Arleigh dared to question her.
“My lady, hath thou no children?”
Cullen Flynn shook her head sadly and smoothed her hand across the child’s garment.
“Nay,” she said. “The joy of a child’s presence hath been denied me. Six births, five dead children. All I ever wished for was a child of mine own. To raise. To love.”
“Were they stillborn, my lady?”
“Nay,” Lady Cardew said. “All born alive but five met with death. The sixth is safe for now. My father hath taken him far from here. Perhaps some day he will be mine again.”
Arleigh wanted to question the lady further but saw the heartache spread across her face. She could not bear to open the wounds and cause further damage. But soon the lady put aside her sewing and came near to sit beside Arleigh on the hearth rug. She told her a story. It was the legend of the Leanan sidhe. Arleigh found it fascinating, and when the lady told Arleigh what she wanted her to do, she took only a moment to make her decision. She said she would do what the lady asked.
Chapter 35
Light blazed behind his eyes, and he tightened his lids against the sudden burst. The last time this little trip had knocked him out, but he seemed to be getting used to the evaporation of his molecules. He lay very still, listening for sounds, afraid to move even the smallest muscle for fear parts of him hadn’t arrived yet. He wished he understood how this worked.
After a few moments, he cracked his lids a tiny bit. He thought for a split second he had gone blind, but gradually, shadows began to return to his vision, gray movement inside a field of darkness. A flash of black darted past, another of a light blue. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the face of a woman in her thirties.
She had long dark hair, parted in the middle and framing a perfectly oval face. A golden headband circled her forehead and captured the straight locks of hair before they could sweep across her face. She had the most gorgeous blue eyes he had ever seen. Check that. He had seen them in sets of three over the past few weeks, or hundreds of years if you wanted to get technical.
He rose to his elbows, winching at the pain that flashed behind his eyes. The time-travel hangover hurt like a bitch, and he struggled to focus. Two younger women flanked the beautiful blue-eyed woman. All three wore sky blue dresses that swept the floor and puddled at their feet. He let his gaze roam over each. It was like looking into a crystal ball and seeing the future faces of his sisters. Check that again. Looking into the past. He would never keep it straight.
“You don’t have a frying pan behind your back, do you?” he asked.
The oldest woman gaped and pulled back, appraising him like livestock. Her brow furrowed, marring the smooth flesh and revealing her age. The two younger ones smiled.
“A frying pan?” she asked. “Thou art most odd. Why wouldst thou be thinking that?”
“No reason.” He held out his hand. “I’m Ryder Kendall.”
“Aye,” said the woman, with a huff. “We felt thee through the chasm. We thought thee would arrive sooner.”
“I don’t think it was a direct flight,” Ryder said.
The woman looked at him dubiously then reached for his outstretched hand. She grabbed it and pulled him to his feet.
“Welcome to thy past, R
yder Kendall,” the woman said, “but I must remind thee, for me and my sisters ’tis but the present. And the present is fraught with danger.”
Ryder smiled. “I’ll try to remember that.” Ryder studied the large chamber he had landed in. Now here was a place that didn’t have the familiar contours and comfort of his keeping room—cold, sterile, and austere yet, at the same time, oddly soothing. “I like what you’ve done with the dungeon.”
The three women looked around. Puzzled, they glanced at the gray rock walls, the stone floor spread with rushes, the gigantic hearth that filled one entire wall, and the dark tapestries that rose from floor to ceiling. He saw them exchange a look he had seen many times before. The youngest one peered at him from beneath a fringe of dark hair.
“The dungeon? Sir, thou art mistaken. ’Tis our main hall. Hast thou been struck on the head?”
Ryder laughed. “Repeatedly, but no concussion this time. You must be Caitlyn.”
“Indeed, sir,” she said with a smile. “Wilt thou meet my sisters, Fallon and Honora?”
“Ladies, I am most pleased to make your acquaintance,” Ryder said. He bowed with a flourish and turned to the oldest of the sisters. “You must be Fallon. For some reason I expected you to be younger.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “I am as old as I am. Thirty-eight summers.”
Ryder held up his hand. “Not an insult, I swear. You’re very lovely. I’ve been with, well, let’s see, one sister’s been twenty-three, the other thirteen. I guess I thought we’d be going backwards. I was afraid you three would be kids.”
“Kids?” Fallon wrinkled her nose. “Why wouldst that notion float through thy head?”
“Not important,” Ryder said, “but you’re holding up great here in this time. Way better than I would have thought, considering what life must be like here. It’s a bit dismal. Faith’s got it made if she’s going to look like you.”
“Faith,” Fallon said, “aye, the one in the 21st century. She is known to us.”
“So you’ve seen Faith? Do you have a crystal ball or something?”
“A crystal ball?” Fallon tapped her lip. “An intriguing notion. Nay, I need not an object of any kind, Master Kendall. The future is everywhere. ’Tis in the fire of the hearth, in the water of the spring, in the dust of the earth, in the air around me. Look and thou shall see.”
She waved her hand in front of her face, and the air in the chamber tossed and rippled like the waves of the ocean. Her face blurred behind the glistening air, and her fingertips shimmered when flashes of pale blue light sparked from her hands and tiny crystals hung in the air. For one moment, he caught a glimpse of Fiana, Hannah, and Corliss running through the field near the cottage. Jack Kensington and Mistress Cullen watched over them like proud parents. He knew his mouth dropped open, but he couldn’t help it. Fallon laughed.
“’Tis not difficult for me, Master Kendall. I see into everywhere. I see us into many distant years, and my heart grows warm. The Trinity legacy holds much power, and ’tis steadfast in its unity. But Faith and her sisters are as far as I am able to see. The alpha and the omega.”
“Fiana said something like that,” Ryder said absently. He watched the pale blue light wane and dissolve. “That was some parlor trick. You could make a lot of money doing that. You’re better than David Copperfield.”
“Truly?” Fallon asked. “I am not familiar with Master Copperfield. Is he a witch or a conjurer?”
Ryder laughed. “I’m not sure, but he’s pretty impressive. He scares the heck out of me. Does it worry you that Faith is as far as you can see?”
“Nay, not a bit. In reality, ’tis not happened yet.”
“In reality…” Ryder echoed. He didn’t like the sound of that.
Ryder’s stomach churned. He was going to have an ulcer if he didn’t get home soon. These women all scared the bejesus out of him. How had they survived in this century with such obvious power? A visible ring surrounded each one, as though they were cloaked in a web of color. Distinct auras of red, green, and blue shimmered around them, winding in and out of their bodies like pale ribbons of light. Surely someone else would have noticed they were like no other women. They should have been hunted down and burned. The thought made him sick.
“Very few fear our power, Master Kendall,” Fallon said. “We are accepted and sought out for our skills in this place and time. We are called upon to heal, to curse, to charm, to predict. We are most respected in our community.”
She had read his mind. Damn these women.
“That’s not what I’ve always heard about witchcraft,” Ryder said. “What about the hunts, the trials, the burnings? I’ve been a student of history all my adult life. I know this family can’t always have a happy ending. Not with what I’ve seen you all do.”
“Aye,” Fallon said, “’twill indeed be sad times ahead. A century or two doth change perception, and belief turns to suspicion. Care will be taken, secrets well-guarded, and yet still men will be cruel and unjust. ’Twill be heartache, loss, and sacrifice.”
“You see all this happening?” Ryder asked. “And you can’t stop it?”
“The tides of the sea cannot be changed, Master Kendall,” Fallon said. “To know something doth not always make reason enough to change destiny. There are many reasonings of reality I do not ken, although I try. Honora could explain them to thee perhaps.”
She waved her hand in the direction of her sister. The air shimmered with a dusky radiance. Ryder toyed with the collar of his shirt, trying to get more air. Fallon knew that, some time in the future, the three sisters might not survive, and yet she accepted it all as fate. He could not understand how she could possibly do that.
She waited for him to say something. What had she asked him? Oh, yeah, something about reality.
“No, don’t bother with explanations,” he said with a smile. “I wouldn’t understand.”
“As thou wish,” Fallon said. “Some day I hope to see beyond thy sisters. But I have seen thee in many places.”
Honora stepped forward. “We have seen thee. We have listened to thee.”
“Do all of you girls spy on me?” Ryder ran his hand through his hair. “Not one of you respects my privacy. Do you watch me in a bowl of water or one your little candles? You all seem to have your tricks to keep tabs on me. Hell, my own sisters are constantly reading my mind. There is such a thing as privacy, you know.”
Caitlyn smiled. “’Tis not a bad thing we do, Brother. We watch thee because we love thee.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ryder said, “but the Trinity witches get to have all the secrets, and what does Ryder get? Jack shit. No power. No magic lessons. No aura. I can’t even do a simple card trick. Why? Because I’m not one of your precious Caindale clan.”
He paced across the stone floor. It didn’t matter what century he landed in. Annoying sisters still bugged the hell out of him. He paused when he heard Honora speak.
“Thou speakest as though thou art of no importance to the family.”
He turned to her and shrugged. “I guess I wouldn’t go that far. I know everyone loves me.”
“But to thee,” Caitlyn said, “the love hath not been enough. ’Tis always been distressing to thee thou art not a Caindale true, when in fact, nothing could be farther from the truth.”
“What’s the truth?” Ryder asked. His glance lingered on each of the women then settled on Fallon.
“We are the truth,” Fallon said, “and we are the beginning. Come, I will show thee.”
She moved toward a doorway and grabbed a torch from a sconce on the wall. The black smoke swirled around them like a dark cloak, and the burning smell of oily vegetation assailed his nostrils. The shadows cast by the torch shifted, and gloomy visages spread across the gray wall. He followed her down a long hallway and up a flight of curved stairs that had no railings and dropped straight to the rock floor below. He hugged the wall as closely as he could. Honora and Caitlyn climbed behind him, whispering as they moved up t
he staircase. He knew they were talking about him, but he was afraid to look back. He didn’t want to fall to his death to make a face at them. How would that look on his gravestone?
Fallon paused at a thick wooden door and pushed it open, revealing a room with rounded walls and tall, narrow windows.
“The castle keep,” Fallon said.
“I’ve been here before,” Ryder murmured.
Tapestries partially covered all the windows, but the fire in the hearth cast enough light on the bed for him to see the occupants. A young man stretched across the straw-filled mattress. His long blond hair curled across his shoulder. A thin blanket partially covered his naked body. His body was muscular and well-used, despite his youth.The man’s flesh was marred by numerous scars. He suspected the scars had not been acquired during the exuberance of childhood. The man’s face had the innocent quality of a child tucked into bed for the night. He could not have been more than twenty.
But this boy was no child. He tucked a young woman against his arm, her head on his chest. Her red hair spread across a pillow, and though he could not see her face, he knew who she was. Her petite, naked body had fully blossomed into womanhood, with full breasts, long, slender limbs, and gently rounded curves. It was a body he had loved only hours before, but a visible difference existed between the woman he had loved and the woman who lay before him. A velvety lavender sheen wrapped and curled around her like a heavy mist. Touching her flesh and threading through her hair, the gentle, luminous shimmer wavered with each breath she took and hovered around her like an aura.
“Arleigh,” he breathed.
Ryder ran his hands across his own body as he looked at the boy on the bed. The young man had slim legs, a broad chest covered with light hair, narrow hips, strong shoulders. He had seen the facial structure in the mirror every day of his life, and the hair was a shade lighter than his own. This boy had spent most of his days outside instead of trapped in a school, and his hair shone with the kiss of the sun. The boy upon the bed, a boy that in the 21st century would be a college student, was himself.
Carlton, Amber - Trinity Magic (Siren Publishing Romance) Page 36