Reece tilted his head back, inhaling the dampness of the cold, night air; it had no effect.
From the depths of his stomach, the weight of his rage forced itself to the surface, as years of agonising heartbreak and depravity fed his rising anger.
Having witnessed his friends’ wrath in battle, many times, Asai recognised the signs when fury took control of Reece. Even he—his most loyal confidant—could not prevent it, realising he would have to do something, before its influence took hold.
‘Reece!’ His voice was firm and adamant. ‘Do not let it in, my friend.’ He moved to his side, prepared to do what was necessary. ‘Not now that you have found the future you were denied.’
Reece raised his head, staring into the Samurai’s deep-set eyes. ‘She lied!’ he said, through gritted teeth.
At that moment, the Samurai could feel the energy of the immense hatred his friend was feeling for the Valkyrie; it was like no other.
‘The whore lied to me! Kara had me believe my wife was dead! She even revelled in telling me how Onóir pleaded with her to “take her life”, such was the torture she enforced on her.
And I foolishly believed it. I had no reason, not to. She also took pleasure in displaying the green shawl I last saw my wife in. It had blood stains on it! How could I not believe it?!’
‘You know how she is, Reece,’ Tam remarked, recalling the Valkyrie’s persuasive powers. ‘Open your mind to her, and she’ll have you believe anything that pours from her vile mouth. She’s quite convincing.’
Reece’s eyes slid towards the Highlander. ‘As you are more than aware.’
Tam hung his head in shame. His encounters with the Valkyrie had been all too easy for her; after all, he was young, and had been tempted by her seductive lure. At first, he could refuse her nothing; she had possessed him—used him for the wants and needs of her sexual desires. And, with the ability to control his thoughts with her sweet scent, it had left him with little or no recollection of it. Had it not been for Reece and Asai’s intervention—teaching him to refuse her advances—it was only a matter of time before she would have dispatched him—like the others. However, with each refusal, it seemed to enticed her more—it eventually becoming an advantage in their escape. Although unpredictable and dangerous, the game they had played with the Valkyrie had been worth it in the end.
‘Forgive me, my friend,’ Reece begged, conscious of Tam’s remorse. ‘I sometimes forget how vital you were in our escape.’
‘Och! Sure, ’tis nothing to forgive. Ye have every right to vent your anger.’
‘But not on my friends.’
Tam acknowledged his colleague’s apology with a simple nod, illustrating his respect for him. The gesture was promptly returned.
‘I must go after her!’ Reece decided. ‘Can you imagine what is going through her mind? She has a right to know. There is so much to explain.’
‘And much to learn,’ Asai added.
‘And, besides…’ he replied, looking at the dagger in his hand, ‘this needs to be returned to its present owner.’
‘Then let us not waste any more time,’ Asai stated, making his way in the direction Eleanor went, with Tam by side.
‘Is it possible, I wonder?’ Reece asked, as his colleagues started towards the night-light.
They turned to meet his bewildered face.
‘That she is still alive?’
‘What does your heart tell you, Reece-san?’
‘I am afraid to ask it.’
‘Then, my friend, your answer waits beyond those trees.’
Eleanor threw herself at their wooden door, fumbling for the brass-ringed handle, then pushed it wide open. The three family members stopped and stared as she slammed it shut. Burying her head in her arms she held it closed, against the outside world.
Rave jumped up, barking, as though calling for her attention. Eleanor spun round to see the curious faces of her mother, Gill, and grandmother gaping at her. Unable to control her heavy breathing, she could not find the strength or composure to release her words.
Suddenly her world seemed to slow down against her racing heart. She glanced around: her grandmother appeared motionless in her comfortable, old chair by the fire, and yet the book she had been reading seemed to slowly glide towards the wooden floor—dropped by the
abruptness of her entry; she saw Gill reach for a sly piece of loaf, but the slowness of his movement seemed to take a lifetime, while Rave took longer than usual to greet her; her eyes then flickered to her mother, whose head slowly tilted as she steadily dropped her hands onto her hips.
‘Where have you been, Eleanor Shaw?!’ her mother snapped, bringing her back to them. Rosalyn began the irritating tapping of her foot on the floorboards, letting her daughter know how annoyed she was at her lateness. Gill rolled his eyes, shaking his head, then continued chomping on the bread he had been warned not to eat before their evening meal.
Eleanor, ignoring her mother, moved to the small window near the door, heeding caution. Peeping out into the night, she narrowed her eyes, searching for the strangers in the dark. Save for the prowling of a local, wild tom cat, searching for scraps in their yard, she saw nothing.
‘Eleanor!’
Still ignoring the sound of her mother’s voice as it launched into; “Did I not tell you—” Eleanor then turned, when she heard her grandmother’s.
‘Nori?’ the old woman interrupted, her voice soft and concerned, as she retrieved her book, before rising from her seat. ‘What ails you, lass?’
The young woman stared at her grandmother—the swell of tears and panic visible in her blue eyes. Lost for words, Eleanor bit down on her quivering lip.
How do I tell you? she thought, feeling a trickle down her cheek.
Even in her sixty-seven years, Eleanor saw youth in the lines that had seen decades of struggle and hardship. Her grandmother had been a survivor, refusing the hands of marriage from those who had offered her and her child a respectable life—after being left alone without a husband.
“There was, and, is, no other I could love, more than he”, she had told them, her heart remaining true and honest to his memory.
‘Oh, gran-maw!’ she cried, throwing her arms around her. Eleanor now saw the blur of her mother’s concerned face, staring at her, through her tears.
Casting aside her anger, Rosalyn rushed to her daughter’s side.
‘What is it, Eleanor?’ she asked, perturbed by her distress.
The young woman pulled away, staring at their worried faces.
‘He’—she paused, taking a long, deep breath— ‘he said he was my… grandfather!’
Chapter Thirty-Two
The three, arcane figures lingered on the fringe of the woods, contemplating their approach on the lonely house staring back at them. The moonlight—in its contrast with the night fire—brought life to the structure; and above the flame, a cluster of moths fluttered wildly, their prominent, Silver Y-marking, glinting pale-gold against the firelight, as they, too, waited for an opportunity to enter the lodging. Hidden away from the outside world, the dormer size abode was adequate—enough to house a sizeable family. The ground lodgings bore two glazed windows—each throwing out a warm glow from behind its lattice. The exterior—clad in wood—was coated with a terracotta plaster, with beams of horizontal timber, crossing paths with their vertical match. It was clear, from first impressions, the abode was well-maintained.
‘Oran chose his location carefully!’ Asai stated, beneath his breath. ‘Had it not been for the girl, we may never have found it.’
‘I hear voices,’ said Reece eagerly. ‘Two?’ he surmised, listening intently, in the hope of recognising one in particular.
‘Three—for certain,’ Asai replied.
‘And a dog, it seems,’ Tam added, inhaling deeply.
Reece cast the Highlander a wary eye. ‘Be mindful of the company we are about to meet, Tam.’
The swift movement of a cat, chasing a mouse, distracted him fro
m the enticing scent of the individuals behind the door they were about to pass through.
‘So…’ Tam started, swallowing his temptation. ‘What do ye propose to do, now?’
Reece surveyed the black door. It seemed to beckon him forward. Taking one hesitant step, he paused. ‘Bearing in mind, I have just been threatened by my… granddaughter, with the dagger—once own by my wife—’ He stopped and shook his head, trying to comprehend it. ‘I’m baffled! What do you propose I—we do?’
Tam grinned. ‘Well… we could knock on the door… or…’
‘I think not, Tam!’ Reece returned, throwing him a disapproving look. ‘Breaking the door down is not the way to introduce ourselves.’
‘You are certain the dagger is your wife’s?’ Asai enquired. ‘The girl may have found it, or, dare I suggest… stolen it—claiming the weapon as her own.’
Reece stared at the house, recalling their chance meeting. No, he was in no doubt of what he had seen. Shaking his head, he looked at the great Samurai.
‘She has the same fighting spirit—and I see Onóir in her blue eyes.’
‘Then, if your convictions are true, my friend… why do you hesitate?’
‘Because, I am…’ He wavered, scouring through his confused emotions.
Rolling his eyes, Asai muttered something in his native tongue, before snatching the Dirk from Reece’s hand. They watched as the Samurai strode with graceful fluidity towards the house. Then, with one soft knock, he entered with natural ease, sending the heightened voices behind the door into stunned silence. Not even the dog stirred.
Noting the hunting Dirk in the stranger’s hand, Gill quickly rose, gaping at his sister.
‘This is your grandfather?!’ he cried.
Asai’s striking presence took precedence over the household. It was only then, as he stood alone, Eleanor truly noticed him. Never had she been confronted by another, whose poise and unique features captured the attention of, not only she, but the rest of her family.
Gone now was the sinister threat created by the shadowy darkness of night. She now noted the slight warmth in his face, telling her there was nothing to fear. He held an aura which struck her in the most unique way. The Samurai bowed—in respect of their home—while holding the hilt of his Katana. As he did so, his sleek, black hair fell before him like thick strands of satin. His audience stood speechless, until Rave’s sudden outburst of barking roused them from their silence, hurdling them into a sudden state of realisation.
‘Rave!’ Eleanor snapped.
Asai threw the hound a sharp look; she retreated, whining, before shrinking away to her hiding place—beneath the table where their meal still waited above, on its surface.
‘Who are you?!’ Gill demanded, outraged by the treatment of his dog. ‘And what have you done to her?!’
‘She knows her place,’ Asai replied, his voice calm and confident. ‘The dog will come to no harm. You have my word.’
The Samurai then turned to Eleanor, his face softening as he held her gaze for an instant. ‘I came to return this to you.’
Rosalyn and Onóir looked on, dumbfounded, as Eleanor moved towards him. Keeping her eyes engaged with his, she reached out, letting him place the dagger into her small hand. She glanced down when his cold hand tipped hers. It was the slightest of touches, and yet she was conscious of its discerning impact. She felt compelled to smile, and nodded in return.
But the moment was crudely interrupted, by the dagger being wrenched from her hand. Eleanor jumped as Rosalyn pulled her away, stepping between them. Removing the blade, with precision, she wielded the sharp weapon in front of the Samurai. In an instant, Gill was by his mother’s side with a red-hot poker he’d snatched from the fire.
Asai surveyed the Dirk, intrigued, then raised his brow. ‘It seems there is truth in what he says,’ he remarked, his tone serene and complacent, noticing how she brandished the dagger with her left hand.
Rosalyn shared a confused look with her son.
‘Why are you here?’ Gill demanded, holding out the poker, its tip still smouldering.
‘And what do you want?’ added Rosalyn.
When Asai moved slightly, Rosalyn, with a steady hand, jerked the dagger at him. The Samurai straightened his stance, until his eyes met Gill’s. He surveyed the young man, recognising the similarities between father and son.
‘I will use it!’ Rosalyn threatened, despite having no plan. ‘Keep back, I say, or I will thrust it through your heart.’
‘No, Rosalyn!’ cried Onóir, looking on in horror, as she threw her protective arms around Eleanor.
Reece looked sharp at Tam—the wide-eyed look of recognition in his eyes, raising his hopes; he had clearly heard it: the voice from his past, telling him, it was no longer a fading memory.
Reece felt the beat of his heart urging him forward. I know it is her!
His response was immediate.
The sheer force inflicted on the door almost tore it from its hinges, as he suddenly appeared on its threshold. Rave rose from her hiding place, barking uncontrollably at the intrusion of yet another stranger to her domain. Asai glared at the hound, silencing her once more. But Reece failed to hear the commotion as his eager eyes searched the room. At first it seemed crowded with the throng of people. His search darted from one, dumbfounded individual, to the next, until his desperate eyes finally found hers. The same blue eyes he fell in love with—more than a lifetime ago—now gazed back at him through the perplexity of their spectators.
Tam hovered at the doorway, unnoticed, watching, as Onóir released her hold on Eleanor. For a brief moment, a rush from her past youth flooded her aging body, as she recognised the face of her husband. A surge of renewed energy filled the house, as Reece and Onóir’s worlds united, against all the odds.
Onóir closed her eyes, shaking her head. ‘No, ’tis a dream. You cannot be here. ’Tis beyond belief!’
‘Open your eyes, Onóir,’ Reece begged, in the purity of his defined voice.
Shocked, Rosalyn threw her hand over her mouth, letting the Dirk slip from her grip. Onóir’s eyes flew open when it struck the floor. Frightened he would fade from sight, she reached out, holding his gaze.
Reece lifted his hand to hers, feeling their energy merge as their fingertips touched. It was more than she could bear. She felt the room, and everything in it, spin. Once again, Onóir Molyneaux found herself in the arms of her husband.
Her senses were first awakened to the aroma of the pork flory, Rosalyn had cooked earlier for their supper. The tapping sound of Rave’s excited paws, pacing the floorboards, told her the dog was impatient about something.
Onóir gradually opened her tired eyes, reluctant to step out from her dream, then felt the cool hand of another, holding hers.
‘Are you well, my love?’ the same voice from her dream asked.
Her eyes sprung to life, to see him smiling back at her. She looked up from her old chair suddenly aware of all the concerned faces staring down at her.
Reece touched her face, reassuring himself she was real and not an image conjured up in his mind. In his eyes he did not see the cruelty of time in her features, but that of the young woman he thought lost for more than four decades.
‘I thought I’d dreamt it,’ she whispered to him. ‘Tell me you are real, Reece.’
‘I feel the softness of your skin,’ he replied, forgetting the company surrounding them. ‘I still see the richness of youth in your blue eyes, as I had done, the moment I first saw you.’
‘I never felt your loss,’ she informed him. ‘I told myself you were still alive.’
Reece closed his eyes. ‘While I thought you…’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘Because I was told by another. I saw the blood-stained shawl.’
Onóir gathered her muddled thoughts, trying to understand his meaning.
‘Your mother’s green shawl?’
Her eyes widened as the old piece of clothing came to mind. She
had retrieved the item, treasuring it, after her mother’s death. Its lingering scent had made her feel close to her. ‘I had wondered what came of it,’ she said, then slowly shook her head. ‘But the blood was not mine.’
‘No?’
‘All this time you thought so?’
‘To my shame,’ he replied, lowering his head.
‘Who could do such a callous thing?’
‘Another, whose words are difficult to deny,’ Tam interrupted, stepping into their company.
Onóir’s eyes filled with tears from the pain and heartache that had been planted in their thoughts and memories. Lifting his hand, Reece wiped them away.
‘But… the blood?’ he enquired. ‘If it was not yours…’
‘The day you left, I watched you disappear from sight. But I could not help myself. In my reluctance to let you go, I followed the path a little. But you had gone. On my return, I came upon two foxes, fighting over a dead bird. When I intervened, it was clear they had inflicted each other with countless wounds. One ran into the woods, leaving the other dying.’
Reece slowly nodded, recalling the injured fox.
‘Of course!’ he said. ‘The blood on the shawl belonged to the dying fox. Naturally, you tended its wounds.’
‘Aye,’ she returned. ‘I removed the shawl, before burying the poor animal, and simply forgot about it. It was a couple of days before I noticed its absence, and when I went back to search for it, it was… gone!’
‘It matters no more,’ he said. ‘I am here now, and my intention is to never let you go.’
‘The one consolation I can give you, my love, is the fact I have never been alone,’ she said, looking up at Rosalyn and Eleanor. He slowly rose to meet them, formally. Standing a head above Rosalyn, he looked down at her anguished face.
‘This is Rosalyn—your daughter, Reece. She was the hope that kept me alive.’
He drew back his head in wonder. ‘I had no idea you were—’
‘Nor had I,’ Onóir assured him, ‘until the time presented itself.’
Reece was struck dumb by the enormity of his wife’s revelation. Tam smirked at Asai, amused by their colleague’s loss of words. Aware of his sharp tongue, they had seen Reece survive the taunts and crudeness of others, and yet it took an old woman to silence him.
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