Desruc sighed, tempering the impatience threatening to overwhelm him. “Please, do go on."
Hedly smiled wider, displaying his sparse, rotten teeth. “Unsullied treasures ripe for the taking, they are, indeed. Even some of the old crones were quite favorable. Especially compared to that scrawny, harpy shrew you're so fond of. You could easily have your way with any—"
“I want her. And the old woman. Not your worthless opinion!"
Lightning flashed over-head, and thunder rumbled through the sky.
“Aye, S-sir.” Hedly swallowed hard. “And we got the girl, I sw-swear. Only—"
“Come now, Hedly. There's no need to fear me as long as you did your best.” Desruc's eyes locked with the steward's.
“And that I did. I ... I swear,” Hedly said. “Why, you said you were after gaining an old, blind, harpy with long, white hair. But ... well ... the closest we found among all the ships was a scrawny, toothless, hen of a lass. Ugly as sin she was, too, but not nearly old enough nor blind. Said she was a healer, and she was carrying a large bundle of herbs, so she was put her aboard the Odious with the injured men. The rest of the women are on the privateer's ship, Nefarious, bound for England. I'm certain the ol’ crone wasn't among them."
In a blurring flash of movement Desruc grabbed Hedly by the throat. “I told you the old witch was tricky! She was here, I say. You failed me by letting her escape. But that won't happen again. Will it?” Desruc's manicured fingers tightened and his punishing grip grew unrelenting.
Hedly's eyes bulged and a strangled, gurgling sound rose in his throat. He managed to reply with a meager nod of his head.
“I'm so glad we agree.” Desruc eased the pressure on the old man's windpipe.
Hedly's shoulders slumped, his eyes drooping with relief.
“I still have to punish you, though,” Desruc said.
The moment understanding and panic registered on Hedly's face, Desruc tightened his grip. Using both hands, he held fast. Hedly choked and squirmed until his body went limp.
Desruc released his hold on the steward's neck, allowing his lifeless body to fall to the deck in a heap. “Somebody, take care of this ... this mess. Now!” Desruc casually brushed his hands together, then pivoted on his heel and strode toward the ship's stern.
Inside the cargo hold, he lit a lantern and hung it on a wooden peg on the back wall. He stood there for a long moment, scrutinizing the gray mass on the floor in the shadows.
The bright red, flowing tresses he remembered so clearly resembled a grimy, tangled mop. The ivory skin he still longed to caress appeared sallow and puckered. This once vital and stunning enchantress whom he still yearned to possess had been reduced to a vulnerable, waterlogged heap—but she was his now and that was all that mattered.
* * * *
Sensing her captor's presence, Galynne slowly lifted her head. She wanted to know—no, she needed to see—the vile creature who was responsible for her agony and the deaths of so many innocent people.
She forced her swollen eyelids open, but even the dim lantern-light felt harsh against her eyes. Her mind reeled and her eyelashes fluttered against the intrusive glow as she struggled to see the dark, hooded entity standing before her. She blinked hard and tried to focus, but all she could discern was a weaving, indistinct shadow. Summoning her waning energy, she closed her eyes and concentrated on her captor's essence instead.
Dark swirling shadows encompassed his spiritual form, suggesting a cold, threatening presence. The energy flowing between them was charged with such unsettling power that she knew he was learned in the ways of the Shee, and the Fili as well. She experienced a sudden rush of anxiety, and frantically searched her memory for a clue to his identity.
“My esteemed prize, welcome,” he said.
Galynne peered at his cloaked figure, trying her best to scrutinize it. Unfortunately, the lantern light cast furtive shadows about his body, and his hood hung low, sheltering his face.
“What's this? Have you already forgotten me, my sweet, Galynne? Me, the man you once accused of rape?"
Galynne gasped. “D-Desruc? I—No! It can na’ be."
“Ah, so you do remember. I'm touched, indeed.” Turning towards the light, Desruc smirked. A wicked, vengeful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, revealing a look of depraved satisfaction.
“H-how? W-what? W-why?” Galynne stammered.
As Desruc slowly advanced, shafts of hazy lantern-light encompassed his form, making him look like some forbidding, mystical being. He stopped a few feet away from Galynne and chuckled, but the wicked sound held only bitterness.
“Why?” he said. “I pledged my undying love to you, yet you spurned me for another and accused me of rape. The what will soon become apparent. As for the how—I've lived for this moment ever since our last encounter. For five long years I fought and scraped like a rodent to survive, and all because I fell prey to your whorish ways. I almost perished, thanks to you.” He leaned against a support beam. “However, Devil's son that I am, I prevailed, and now I'm back to seek my revenge. I owe you dearly, Galynne."
“Owe me? I did nothing wrong! I brought you back from the dead. Then I cared for you until you were fully recovered. You mistook me simple kindness for more. When you tried to force yourself on me—"
“Silence!” Desruc advanced until he stood towering over Galynne. “A brave girl you must be indeed, to speak such lies to my face. Yes, I was a randy young man. Perhaps I was a bit too eager to sample your beguiling wares, but you ... you insidious bitch!” He leaned in closer. “You teased me with your charms and tempted me with your wiles. Then, when I tried to gain what you had so willingly offered, this is what I received."
Pulling back his black hood, Desruc revealed the disfiguring scars he'd acquired five years earlier. His wet, shoulder-length blonde hair hung in stringy clumps, and his dark, sinister-looking eyes gleamed like shiny, black stones. “You will pay dearly for all that I have suffered at your hand."
Desruc stood so close, Galynne felt his hot stale breath against her face. She grimaced, her body trembling in response to her revulsion and fear, but she refused to cower. “I did nothing,” she said. “The fire was an accident, a result of me anger and fear. Why, me powers were still unpredictable. When you assailed me I warned you, but you did na’ heed. After Kendahl rescued us both from the fire, it was obvious to all what you had been about, but I still did all I could to ease your pain."
Leaning back on his heels, Desruc frowned. “Of course you did. Your generosity knows no bounds. And your mother, that witch, Izebeth ... I suppose she cursed my masculinity and banished me to Normandy out of kindness as well?"
“Aye. Kendahl wanted you dead after what you did."
“What I did? You played me for a fool!” Balling his hands into fists, Desruc broke into a tirade and began pacing back and forth. “You wove your spell quite well, purposely enticing me with your beauty. Then you used me to get what you really wanted. Kendahl. Ah yes, a Highland knight whose future promised lands and titles. He was also a fool, though. He put his lustful feelings for you above loyalty to me. He's already paid for his mistake, just as dearly as you will."
Desruc stopped pacing. “Ah, yes, you. When I tried to win your attention you scorned me. Then, later, you simply pitied me. It's obvious you still do.” He loomed over her, his face twisted into a ghoulish grin, his eyes sparkling with malice. “Well, as you can see, I'm in control now. I'm no longer a besotted fool and I don't want your damned pity!"
Galynne flinched from the intensity of Desruc's contempt. Aye, it was obvious that he held her responsible for all of his misfortunes. And many people had suffered and died this night, because he had been seeking revenge against her. Though she knew better, Galynne couldn't help wondering if perhaps she was somehow to blame. Bowing her head in despair, she sighed as a wave of pure hopelessness washed over her.
“Giving up already?” Desruc laughed. “My, this was easy. Too easy. I had thought you'd at least
try to put up a fight. Too bad. It would have been interesting."
When Galynne looked up again, the triumphant twinkle dancing in Desruc's eyes sparked an ember of determination in her soul. “What, exactly, is it that you expect to gain from me this time?” she asked.
“All that's due me, of course. But for now, your child and your willing body writhing beneath me, should suffice."
“I'll never!” Raising her right arm, Galynne extended her index finger at Desruc and began to chant, “Fire and earth, wind and rain—"
“Threaten me not with your weak spells!” Desruc backhanded her across the face.
Galynne's head struck the bulwark with such force that shards of white pain exploded in her mind like splintered glass. She gasped and slumped forward. Then she shook her head against the mind-numbing pain—a feeble attempt she realized a moment too late, when the throbbing sensation within her skull intensified. She blinked her eyes open and tried to focus on Desruc's blurred, weaving form. “I ... weak I may be, now, but soon I will—."
“You will do as I command!” Desruc prepared to strike her again. “Defy me, and your child will pay the price.” His raised hand trembled with apparent restraint.
“I have no children,” Galynne uttered the lie with more ease and conviction than she thought possible.
“You still take me for a fool? It's apparent you're breeding!"
“I was,” Galynne said. “Me clothes are soiled from the labor of birth, na’ war. I delivered the bairn shortly afore the attack."
Desruc swiftly dropped to one knee and pressed his hand against her abdomen. Too weak to fight back, Galynne shuddered and moaned as he brutally probed her hollow, aching body.
Desruc released her with a shove. He stood, glaring down at her. “Where is the child?"
Galynne stared back at him, her icy gaze unwavering. A lone tear trickled down her left cheek as she forced the second lie from her lips. “Our son was stillborn. We buried him at sea."
“You expect me to believe you!"
“I could na’ care less what you believe.” Galynne shrugged, dismissing him with a turn of her head.
“Oh, but you should care.” Desruc sauntered over to the ladder, then stopped. Standing with his back to her, he glanced over his shoulder. “And where, pray tell, is Izebeth?"
“Gone."
“So it appears. To where?"
“I know na’ where."
“No? We shall see. With Kendahl out of the way, I will soon learn how well you lie."
“Out of the way?” Tremors of fear laced Galynne's voice. Though she refused to believe Desruc's intent, a sickening blackness threatened to overwhelm her. Aye, she had witnessed the crippling blow Kendahl received moments before her capture, but his spirit had remained. She was certain she had felt his strength and love. Closing her eyes she tried to feel his presence once again, but failed.
“You can't feel his presence, because he's dead."
“Nay.” Galynne buried her face in her hands.
Desruc chuckled. “Oh, I assure you, he is. Unfortunately, the deed was not accomplished by my hand, nor according to my plans. However, I am content with the outcome. You see, Galynne, this was no chance encounter. Why, I personally orchestrated our tender little reunion. I've been planning it since the day you destroyed my life. Look at me when I am talking to you!"
Slowly raising her head, Galynne glared at him.
Desruc stood near the lantern, the glimmering light emphasizing his marred, pallid complexion and waxen lips.
Galynne grimaced.
“That's better,” Desruc said. “As you must know by now, I have acquired some unique powers of my own. Ah yes, during my exile in Normandy, I studied the ways of the Fili. I also found that black magic suits me quite well. Unfortunately, I suffered some minor disappointments this day. Then again, my powers strengthen with each evil deed I accomplish. Not everything turned out as I would have liked, but I am satisfied, for now.” He sighed, and gestured with a trivial wave of his hand.
“May your flesh rot,” Galynne said. “And may your soul be condemned to Hell!"
A wicked-looking grin played across Desruc's lips as he gestured to his face. “A waste of a good curse, I'm afraid. But know this, and know it well. If you have lied to me about the child, or about Izebeth, I will know soon enough. And I will punish you severely. For now however, be well. Know that I look forward to your speedy recovery. Only then, things between us can be as they should have been all along. You will submit to me and bear my sons."
Galynne shuddered involuntarily.
“Your anticipation pleases me."
“You are indeed a fool Desruc, for I'll never come to you willingly. When I regain me powers, I will destroy you with the blink of an eye. If you truly be wise, you would slay me now and have done with it."
“You dare to call me a fool?” Desruc said. “You'll never regain full control of your powers. I've already seen to that. And when I decide to kill you, your death will be slow and agonizing to make up for Kendahl's hasty demise."
With a curt nod, he snatched the lantern from its peg and swiftly scaled the ladder.
A brief moment passed before the portal hatch slammed closed, shutting out all traces of light. Trying to fight the chill in her bones, Galynne wrapped her arms about herself. She knew she needed to hang on to the dwindling light of hope in her heart. There had to be some way to stop him, but how?
Starring blindly after Desruc, Galynne wondered what else the fates held in store for her. She knew that she would never hold her infant son again, but at least he was safe. And no harm would come to Seerah as long as she remained under Izebeth's protection. They would both grieve and suffer needlessly over Galynne's presumed death, but that was unavoidable. It was also imperative that they believe her soul had passed on to the after-world. What of Kendahl? And, what of me powers? Could they truly be failing?
Panic assailed her then, for if this was so, she knew it would only be a matter of time before all of her secrets were revealed to Desruc.
“Kendahl.” Placing her right hand over her heart, Galynne curled into a ball on the floor and cradled her throbbing, lifeless womb. Knowing only death could quell her aching heart, she wept openly and prayed for the comforting hands of angels to spirit her soul away to a place beyond mortal life and pain.
But the hands of death did not embrace her soul, for her destiny had not yet been achieved; the time of reckoning would come to pass. She simply needed to rest, gain her strength, and wait until the time was right to strike back. ‘Tis up to you, now, Seerah. Galynne closed her eyes and relinquished her spirit to the invading darkness.
* * *
Chapter Three
The Cambrian Mountains
Wales
A.D. 984
A shrill cry pierced the air.
Like the foretelling death-cry of the fabled Banshee, Seerah knew that the grisly, bone-chilling shriek was certainly a prelude.
The Norse galley ships and war vessels seemed to materialize from thin air, drifting through the heavy mist like phantom shadows in the night. The fast-approaching enemy crafts glided across the Irish Sea as swiftly as demon spirits emerging from the bowels of the underworld—an ambush!
Sheer terror claimed Seerah's soul as she watched the smaller Celtic skiffs and rafts flounder in St. George's Channel. Severely out-numbered, with their crowded decks hampering their sailing capabilities, they soon found themselves surrounded by the Norse fleet.
But Seerah's body refused to obey her mind's persistent urge to flee. When she opened her mouth to cry out, no sound came forth. She could only watch, praying for mercy as the dark vision continued developing in her mind's eye.
Holding their swords high, the Norsemen swooped through the murky darkness like swarming insects, and swiftly boarded the Celtic crafts. Young mothers clutched their frightened children to their breasts as old women fell to their knees and wept softly, praying in vain for salvation.
Young
lasses huddled desperately against one another, their innocent eyes wide with terror as the dreaded Fin-gael attacked with a vengeance. A wild look of savage blood lust seemed to sparkle in the raiders’ eyes as they slit throats, dismembered bodies, and impaled anyone who stood in their way. The defenseless women and children could only watch in shocked horror while their husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons were savagely cut down before their eyes.
Their grief-stricken cries assaulted Seerah's brain with piercing clarity. Tears stung her eyes, and fear clogged her throat, but she could only whimper, helplessly. She saw herself then—only she was wee lass of barely five, hunkering in the shadows. A Norse raider suddenly swooped down in front of her. He was about to run her through with his sword when a young Scot warrior appeared; he seemed to materialize from thin air, like some mythical god.
Though he didn't seem quite old enough to be considered a full-grown man, he stood tall and proud on the ship's gun-wall, holding a glimmering broadsword high in the air with his right hand. The shield in his left hand resembled a star-covered wheel. He looked fearless, confident—no, knightly, like some legendary champion come to life. His golden hair glistened and his amber eyes seemed to issue a silent promise—hope.
However, Seerah also sensed something dangerous about this magical being. A destructive, unforgiving energy seemed to dominate his spirit. A cold, evil essence, like an oppressive shadow haunting his soul—vengeance!
A blast of cold air swept over Seerah, and she shivered.
Aye, she sensed grave danger. She also felt herself being drawn to him; like a bee to the down on a thistle, some mysterious, compelling force seemed to control her will. Fighting the urge to go to him, she concentrated solely on his image, blocking out the sights and sounds of suffering taking place all around her. When held his hand out to her, a queer feeling of relief washed over her. Somehow she knew, deep in her soul, that he would keep her safe from harm.
When she reached out to place her hand in his, she realized that he no longer resembled a mere lad, but a grown man and an imposing warrior. She also no longer appeared to be a wee lass, but a grown woman. The warrior pulled her to her feet and drew her into his protective embrace, comforting her with his strength and confidence. He looked deep into her eyes and she became lost in his brooding gaze; his obvious pain and sorrow made her heart ache with grief and she realized that he needed her as much, if not more, than she needed him.
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