The Spellbinder: Highland Eyes

by Marissa St. James

  The villagers turned abruptly at the sound of horses’ hooves while two animal noses sniffed the air for hints of more danger. Tristan held his weapon, ready to do battle once again, now with the intruder. The sight of an English uniform infuriated him. Would they never be safe from the English? He glanced at Meryl as she struggled to her feet, still coughing.

  "Lady Meryl, are you all right?” Matthew dismounted quickly, only to be held at bay by a mad swordsman, a very large dog and a distrusting black cat.

  Meryl waved her arms to prevent another confrontation. “I'll be fine, Matthew,” she replied hoarsely, then coughed again. “Thank you for your concern."

  "You've betrayed us to the English?” Ian called out. The blacksmith pushed his way forward. “We trusted you with our lives and you brought the English to us. Graeme was right, you are a witch and should be burned.” He turned to the others, intending to rally them to his side, but turned sharply at the sound of children shouting happily. The little ones ran across the field from the storage hut where they had been held hostage. The three guards had run off, dropping the burning torches they'd held at the ready. Graeme had threatened to have the hut set afire if the adults interfered. Waiting parents grasped their children with open arms, cutting off childish squeals of delight. The villagers were relieved to have their children back. Ian lifted his own son and held him in a tight bear hug. The boy squirmed to be put down.

  "Meryl never betrayed us,” Rose answered the accusation, not realizing others had arrived at the same assumption. “Graeme was the traitor, but there is another here.” She glanced at Malcolm.

  "There are no more traitors,” Meryl rasped. “As to the good knight, we've had a long talk and settled on a truce. I cannot be what he wants, but we now have an ally outside this valley."

  "As you wish, my lady.” Matthew grinned and turned his attention to the man standing protectively next to Meryl. “You must be her handfasted husband. My congratulations to you, for capturing the heart of such a feisty woman. She would make any warrior proud. Were she not yours, I might consider courting her myself."

  Tristan stiffened at the last remark, but an elbow in his side encouraged him to ease his stance. A hint of distrust still shown in his cold green eyes, but, for Meryl's sake, he slowly accepted the hand offered in friendship.

  "It seems a few men were anxious to leave this peaceful place. What would you have me do with them?” Matthew turned his attention to Meryl.

  "Do with them as you will, Matthew. They are no longer welcome here. They will never be able to find their way back. I've seen to that.” Meryl felt she was once again in charge. She hesitated. “You are welcome to remain for the coming festivities, but I would prefer you send your men on their way. They make the others nervous."

  "I would be honored, Lady.” Matthew bowed over her hand.

  Tristan felt ill at ease with Meryl's invitation, but kept his features bland. He didn't like this new complication. He didn't need any more problems.

  Meryl was aware of Rose's approach, and without glancing at the girl made a request. “Rose, would you show the good captain to one of our best bedchambers, and see he has whatever he needs. Thank you.” Meryl's throat felt raw and still burned from the earlier smoke. If she didn't say another word for the next month, she'd be happy.

  She rasped out the words, giving her full attention to Matthew, but she couldn't miss the curious look he gave Rose. Rose was more like a thorn these days and would undoubtedly give the Englishman a hard time. The next day or two should prove interesting. She watched Rose stalk away from the little group, not caring if their guest followed or not.

  "Your invitation is greatly appreciated, my lady,” Matthew responded, “but I must return to my duties. If I may, I would like to return, when I can visit for a while and get to know you all better."

  "You are welcome here, Matthew—on the condition that you come alone. We prefer our whereabouts be kept quiet."

  Matthew made a courtly bow. “Until we meet again, my lady. I hope to find you in good voice, then. May you and your people find peace and safety here.” He turned and mounted his horse, nodded his head to Meryl then turned and rode from the valley.

  * * * *

  Meryl ignored Malcolm while he remained quiet throughout the conversation, waiting for someone to decide his fate. She wasn't sure how she felt about his presence. He had been spying on the little clan for Matthew. To be honest, in the long run it had been to the clan's advantage. After all, he'd saved Tristan from a sword through his back. “We will discuss this situation later, Malcolm, and decide what to do. In the meantime, see that Graeme's body is taken care of. Despite what he did, the least we can give him is a decent burial. After that, return to your duties."

  "As you wish, my lady."

  Meryl rubbed at her throat, wondering how long it would be before she could speak normally again. She watched Malcolm signal two men and the trio was about to remove the body, when Meryl took the broken blade from Graeme's hand. It was definitely Tristan's sword, with the moonstones and turquoise in the hilt. “So this is how you came to break it,” she rasped softly. “When I saw the broken blade, I was afraid you might be dead."

  Tristan's features registered alarm. “When did you see this broken?"

  Meryl glanced about at the curious faces surrounding her and Tristan. Several villagers grinned in anticipation of an interesting conversation. “We should discuss this later in private. You have a great deal of explaining to do, Tristan David McConnell."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Anticipation of mid summer rituals always made Meryl nervous. The Spellbinders had their little rituals, but Meryl never felt particularly comfortable around family on those days. Today, here in the year 1306, nothing was changed for her. Those same feelings of inadequacy followed her and threatened to ruin a glorious day. The villagers looked forward to Lammas and this would be their first celebration in their new homes. Delicious aromas of fresh bread, sweet treats and roasting pork and venison floated through the keep. She couldn't believe she was hungry again. She shook her head, smiled and decided the hunger must be due to the insecurity and excitement of the day, as well as nervousness of scheduled special events.

  Meryl climbed the narrow stone steps leading to the uppermost levels of the keep. She slid back the heavy bolt and pulled the door open. The sun shone down on this part of the wall walk, lending its warmth to the stone blocks. The air itself felt lightly chilled. Nearby mountains kept the valley comfortable on normally hot days. The seasons were milder in this valley, and the rains fell at appropriate times. If she didn't know better, she could almost believe that Dun Ceatharch was like the legendary Camelot. Some of the villagers even believed she could call down the weather as it was needed. She chuckled at that idea, and admitted there were times when she'd wished it was so. Who was to say it wasn't the case. After all, she still struggled with spell casting, and no one could say she wasn't responsible for the weather. In her current state, she felt capable of almost anything. No matter; this was her idea of paradise.

  The sun began playing peek-a-boo amid the clouds hovering above the mountains. Meryl frowned at the distant threat. “Better not rain on my parade,” she warned softly, as if the clouds could hear her and would obey. Both mountains and clouds were reflected in the loch behind the keep. The slightest ripple didn't dare disturb the smooth surface of the lake's tranquility.

  She had missed the valley during her time travel adventures. Graeme had tried to thwart her every effort to return. The facts pointed at his being involved, if not solely responsible. She blamed herself in part for his death. If she had realized sooner his feelings toward her, she might have been able to prevent the occurrence of misadventures since the little clan's arrival to the valley. She never took him seriously, and put down his proposal as a case of jealousy. Despite his interference she did manage to return and here she would stay. This time and place was her home. Her eyes narrowed with a suspicious thought—could someone hav
e manipulated him to do their bidding, using his greed as a catalyst? The idea didn't sit well with her. Meryl wanted to believe the trouble was over, that the newly formed clan could get on with their lives.

  After Graeme's death, Tristan had returned the pendant half to her. She touched the double chain of the complete pendant at her throat. She didn't let him see how it upset her when he'd returned it; she didn't say a word, didn't question his decision. Somehow, she had to change his mind. She slid her hands lightly over the cool stone of the crenellated wall and smiled with pleasure. This was one day she would long remember.

  Meryl turned her attention to the activity below. Several children chased one another about, laughing and shouting. It felt good to know there were no lasting effects of their being held as hostages a few days before. Matthew, whose second-in-command had convinced him to return after all, exited the great hall, and stood amid the flurry of busy villagers who were determined to have everything ready for the evening's festivities. At the sight of him, Meryl hurried down. He arrived back in the valley the previous evening, after having dealt with the escaping warriors a few days before. He would be leaving soon and she wanted to spend some time with him, to thank him for all he had done. If he hadn't appeared that day, searching for Scottish warriors, she might never have brought the villagers to this secluded valley.

  * * * *

  The summer grass created a cool thick carpet beneath her bare feet. Meryl twirled around, arms outstretched and laughed. Oh, how she wanted to dance. She couldn't wait to listen to the pipers later. Her twirls brought her into Matthew's arms, and she caught her breath, laughing.

  "Good morning, my lady.” For propriety's sake he put a little distance between them. “My lady is in high spirits this morning."

  "I am most certainly. It promises to be a marvelous day.” Tables set up earlier at one end of the field were heavily laden with the results of busy kitchen cooks and bakers. She stopped at one of the tables and helped herself to a tart. There would be no more sad thoughts today. What was done was done. Nothing could change the past, but she could see to the future. She made a silent promise to do her best for the people who gave her their wholehearted trust and loyalty. The promise was one she knew she shouldn't try to keep alone. She felt the pendant warm against her skin. She had some serious decisions to make before nightfall. She popped the last bite of tart into her mouth and turned to face Matthew.

  "Lady Meryl!"

  Meryl grinned when a group of children surrounded her and the Englishman. She didn't think she would ever get used to the title.

  "Look what we have!"

  "What have you got there, Brenna?” Meryl peeked into the woven basket the little girl carried. The container was filled with white daisies and purple heather. “You've been quite busy, I see.” Meryl brushed strands of chestnut hair away from Brenna's face.

  The child's blue eyes were bright with excitement. “We're going to make some flower crowns for tonight. Gram said we need them and I'm the best flower crown maker around here.” There was no mistaking the pride in her voice.

  "I'm sure you are, and it looks like you'll be busy for a while.” Meryl turned away a moment then gave each child a tart. “Here you go.” The delight in their young faces made Meryl smile. She watched them enjoy their treats as they walked away.

  "You haven't said what all the celebrating is for,” Matthew commented, as he too, watched the retreating children.

  "Didn't I? I'm sorry, it's Lammas. It's also the date when everyone insists I'll be getting my inheritance."

  "And what might that be?"

  "I have no idea, Matthew. All I know is that it's important to these people. I never knew my parents, have no idea who they were. So there's no reason to believe it would be very much. I just hope these good people won't be disappointed when it turns out to be nothing of consequence."

  Matthew took Meryl's hands in his, and rubbed his thumbs gently against them. “For you, nothing can be thought of as ‘no consequence'. You are a very important person here.” He gazed into her silver eyes for a moment. “If you would excuse me, my lady, I should speak with Malcolm for a few moments. I may not have the opportunity later."

  "By all means, Matthew. Don't let me keep you.” Meryl's face turned a lovely shade of pink when the Englishman kissed her hand.

  Matthew laughed softly at Meryl's reaction. “Until later, my lady.” He bowed to her, then glanced about as if looking for someone. He saw Tristan standing a distance away, watching them, an indiscernible look to his features. Matthew strode away in the opposite direction, a satisfied smile on his own face.

  * * * *

  Tristan stood at the far end of the tables watching Meryl with Matthew. They talked and laughed, and Matthew gently brushed stray strands of hair from Meryl's face. Tristan couldn't hear any of their conversation, but he didn't need to. It was obvious the Englishman was smitten with her. Tristan's own job of protecting Meryl was done and she'd wasted no time in turning to another. It was just as well he'd returned her pendant when he did. Matthew might be English, but it was obvious he was no longer the enemy. The man could give Meryl and the clan more than he could—if they accepted him as they seemed to have. Tristan thought it might be possible to join up with the Bruce. He'd be of more use there. It was quite obvious he was no longer needed here. The thought of leaving this peaceful valley left a hole in his being. Tristan set a stone wall around his heart and turned away. He'd wait until nightfall to leave, when the others would be too busy to notice his departure.

  Meryl thought of Tristan. She'd seen little of him after he'd rescued her from nearly being burned for witchcraft. She had no doubts about herself where he was concerned, and she had to figure out a way to make him understand. Time was growing short and he'd put distance between them after he gaver her the pendant half. There had to be a way to knock down the wall he'd erected, or at least put a few holes in it. If only she knew his thoughts, but they were as well hidden from her as his secrets had been. Ah, well, by tonight she would have her answers and her path would be made clear.

  "Once again your mind wanders, Lady."

  Meryl turned her gaze from the darkening clouds and looked at Maisri.

  "Yes,” the woman nodded knowingly, “You are as undecided about some things as he is."

  "What do I do, Maisri? So many things have changed, and there's so much responsibility. I don't know if I'm right for this job."

  "You've done well by us so far. Why question it now?"

  "So far?” Meryl stared at the older woman in surprise. “So far, Tristan has led you and helped you plan and prepare crops for the coming winter. I was off to unknown places and times. Tris should lead you, not me."

  "Ah.” Maisri nodded her gray head in understanding. “Feeling unsure of yourself, are you? Come with me girl, there are a few things must be explained to you before the evening celebrations.” Maisri placed her hand under Meryl's arm and led the younger woman away from the keep.

  * * * *

  "Where are we going, Maisri?” Meryl followed the older woman up along the steep path and out of sight of the keep. “Maisri, there's still much to be done before the festivities get started."

  The older woman continued along the way, not saying a word. Meryl sighed and followed. Whatever her friend had in mind must be important for them to leave the last of the preparations. When Maisri reached the top of the path, she stepped aside to allow Meryl to go ahead.

  Meryl's breath caught. “Why do you bring me here now?"

  Maisri stared at the stone circle before them. The path opened out into a wide flat area, nestled against the side of the mountain. The stones shone white in the bright sunlight, the circle nearly perfect in shape. Wildflowers grew in abundance along the outer edges.

  "I've been here before ... and yet I haven't.” Meryl glanced up. “Maisri, I don't understand."

  "Look deeply into the circle, Meryl. What do you see there?"

  Meryl stared into the inner circle,
mesmerized by the silence surrounding them. The bright morning sunlight dimmed. A passing cloud obscured the sun. Shards of bright colors shimmered and danced in the air like light reflecting on crystal. A figure emerged and turned to face her.

  The stranger was old. His white hair was thick, matted and cottony. Blue eyes shone in a face etched with deep lines. His aquiline nose did nothing to enhance his aged features. Thin lips twitched, perhaps at some amusing thought, but he refused to smile openly. A long beard reached to his chest, partially hiding his mouth.

  He stood tall, his stance belying his age. His arms lay folded across his chest, his hands hidden in the wide sleeves of his dark robe. He studied her, his expression stern.

  Meryl regarded him in silence. “Who are you?” She wanted to know and at the same time feared his answer. She sensed she knew him, at least thought she should. Meryl stepped closer to him and reached out. He stopped her.

  "I am not really here,” he told her. “I sleep in another place, awaiting the arrival of one who will wield my power; a woman who will retain the old ways."

  Meryl grew apprehensive. She sensed what he had to say would change her future. Would he tell her the real owner was about to return and she and her people would have to leave?

  "I know you from London.” She finally recognized him. He looked different from the old man who had been her teacher for a short time—different, and yet, somehow the same.

  Maisri stepped closer, her head bowed in respect for the aged image. “Greetings, Master Merlin."

  "You're Emrys.” Meryl spoke at the same time.

  He nodded in acknowledgement of the greetings. “Among other names,” he admitted.

  Meryl spun on her heel and stared at Maisri when realization hit her. “You know him?” She struck her palm against her forehead, sarcasm coloring her response. “Of course! How could I be so dumb?"

  "It's time some of your questions were answered.” The old man continued, reluctant to begin his tale, and looked at Meryl. “A long time ago, I made the grave mistake of betraying my lover and her power. I was torn between Christianity and the old ways. A certain woman convinced me it was long past time the old ways died. My lover, in her fury over my betrayal, tricked me into confinement and endless sleep. Nimue managed to gain almost all my power. She soon discovered the theft would keep her from using it. She cast her own spell, promising a girl with moonbeam eyes, would have the right to wield our combined power. Obviously, the spell was meant to be self fulfilling.” Merlin looked pointedly at Meryl, making her laugh.