Dreamweaver

by Judie Chirichello

  On the other hand, she respected his sense of honor and duty. He was definitely stronger than most—more handsome too. Intimidating glares and savage behavior aside, there was something irresistibly compelling about him. Despite his devilish temperament, Seerah actually found him charming in his own rugged, overbearing way. And she found that the way he affected her physically was most intriguing, indeed. Why, he could elicit such anger from her one minute and serenity the next. She never felt defenseless in his presence, though, only slightly confused by her own conflicting emotions. It was as if the battle of wills they fought had more to do with their mutual inadequacies, rather than their strong natures and opposing beliefs.

  Not that she could blame him for his skeptical nature. She still had her own doubts about her grandmother's prophecy. In fact, until she'd made Colin speak of their mission, she hadn't been certain that her powers truly worked. Making Uncle Marcus’ shillelagh attack Tristan had proved rather impressive, yet she still wasn't quite sure of how she'd managed that feat. And the one thing that continued to annoy her beyond measure was the fact that Tristan refused to believe even that which he'd seen with his own eyes.

  “Tristan?” Seerah whispered.

  “Aye."

  “Please, tell me, what happened back in the forest?” Tilting her head, she studied the rigid line of his jaw.

  “Nothing."

  “Do you always get distressed by nothing?"

  Tristan's neck muscles twitched. “I never allow meself to become distressed."

  “Call it what you will.” Seerah slowly raised her right hand. “But something back there disturbed you. Why, you saw a storm that was na’ there. And an imaginary man. That alone would be enough to disturb anyone.” Reaching up, she caressed the tense lines of his throat with her fingertips.

  Tristan flinched, swiftly staying her hand. “You are the only thing that disturbs me."

  “Me?” Appalled by what she considered a rather obvious insult, Seerah tried to yank her hand free from his. “I did na’ imagine a storm or—."

  “I did na’ imagine anything!” Tristan released her hand. “There was a storm, it simply blew by before you noticed. As for the man; the sun playing tricks on me sight, nothing more."

  “You saw something all right.” Seerah nodded. “'Twas was likely a brownie or a forest goblin."

  “I do na’ believe in fairies, goblins or—"

  “Witches, I know, but—"

  “But nothing, Seerah. I do na’ believe!"

  Tristan's horse nickered and snorted loudly as if reacting to his master's displeasure.

  “Is something amiss?” Colin called from within the mist.

  “Nay, keep moving,” Tristan replied, then to Seerah he muttered, “And, you keep quiet."

  “Only if you tell me why you agreed to take me to your laird."

  Tristan didn't reply.

  “Tristan, I asked you a question and I refuse to be quiet until you answer it. I will continue to chatter on and on until you say something because I know how much you enjoy the sound of me voice. Though I know ‘tis your nature to be stubborn, I do na’ understand why you are being so overly stubborn about this matter. I simply wish to know why—"

  “Shush!” Tristan covered her mouth with his hand. “Because of the charm, and me laird. I am his vassal. He sent me to find it and bring it back to him."

  Seerah tugged his hand from her mouth. “Why bring me?” She insisted.

  “Your questions are of no concern to me. But, if you promise to cease you incessant chattering and try to get some rest, I will answer you.

  “If your answer suits me, then perhaps I will ... cease me chattering."

  “You will, I say."

  “I might, if—"

  Tristan covered her mouth again. This time he looked directly into her eyes. “If you insist on arguing with me, I will put a gag across your mouth for the rest of our journey together, understood?"

  Seerah held his warning gaze for a moment before deciding that his counsel was no idle threat. With a sigh of defeat, she slowly nodded her compliance.

  “Would you have given me the pendant?” Tristan asked.

  Seerah shook her head no.

  Tristan finally removed his hand. “And, I'm no common thief. If the stone truly be your mother's, ‘tis rightfully yours. Me laird wishes to have the pendant and you wish to meet me laird. Though inconvenient, ‘twas the best solution."

  “Inconvenient? But ... you said I was delight—"

  Tristan clapped his hand over her mouth again. “Delightful? And beautiful?” he said. “Aye, that you are. A bewitching beauty, indeed. ‘Tis too bad we did na’ meet under other circumstances for it would be interesting, to say the least, to sample you favors.” He smirked.

  Seerah arched her brow at him, then sunk her teeth into his hand.

  Tristan's muttered curse sounded like a feral growl as he tore his hand from her mouth and examined it.

  Seerah saw no sign of blood or broken skin, only a distinct impression of dainty, pinkish teeth marks lining the flesh between his thumb and index finger. She smiled with satisfaction. “An arrogant man you are, indeed. Why, I'd sooner offer me favors to a wild, pox-ridden ... boar! In fact, you would have to be at death's door, with the saints ready to carry your wicked spirit off, before I'd ever consider touching me lips to yours—even if only to breathe life back into your black soul!"

  “Indeed?” Tristan's lips twitched.

  “Indeed!” Seerah replied.

  Before Seerah could object, Tristan pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. Her eyes went wide and she inhaled sharply as hot energy shot through her body. With her arms trapped beneath the crushing force of his embrace, her efforts to struggle proved futile. Then, his punishing kiss turned less brutal and her desire to protest waned completely. His tongue grazed the tender flesh of her lower lip and the air in her lungs seemed to escape in a rush. Her skin grew warm and tingly, then her mind went numb. She closed her eyes and melted slowly against Tristan in willing surrender.

  A strange sensation stirred deep in her belly. It reminded her of the way a flower bursts from its bud beneath the sun's skillful rays. When Tristan teased her lips open, she could feel her heart hammering in her chest, and her blood coursing through her veins. A strange pressure seemed to be building up inside of her and she thought she might die. Then his tongue glided through her mouth and she knew she would die—of pure pleasure. She felt reckless, like a soaring bird ascending in a spiral, out-of-control flight into oblivion. Suddenly, bright light exploded in her mind. The blinding glow swiftly diminished to a blue, translucent sphere edged in golden light.

  The vision reminded Seerah of blue skies and sunshine and she felt at one with the universe. White billowy mist cascaded forward, like a waterfall, from inside the orb. Then distinct images began to develop inside of it. When she saw the wee bairn in his mother's arms, somehow Seerah knew it to be Tristan. As he grew before her eyes, she saw that he'd been a happy, carefree child, full of life and love. But something had changed him? What—

  The orb grew cloudy and gray. Then the comforting images were replaced with dark, violent impressions of death and destruction; she saw a beautiful young lass lying slain in the woods with Tristan cradling her limp body. There were other images of gruesome battles and Seerah soon realized that she was experiencing Tristan's past as if it were her own. First she felt his pity and sorrow. Then came his guilt and an intense sense of hopelessness. But other, colder emotions also lurked in the depths his soul.

  The feelings of betrayal, anger and vengeance seemed to form a frigid barrier around his heart, and the evil intent therein made her gasp with terror. She clung to Tristan desperately and he responded by ravishing her mouth completely.

  When he cupped her breast, Seerah moaned with pleasure. She prayed that he'd unearth the secrets of her woman's desire and stir her passion; she longed to experience the mysteries of what she often heard other women giggle about, in low
whispered conversations. Aye, the pleasures of the flesh, indeed. However, she also feared the emptiness he might discover. She'd been kissed by a lad or two in her day, but never before had such physical yearning plagued her. She had, in fact, thought herself immune—until now.

  The confusing onslaught of conflicting emotions made her head swim. And as she reveled in the fervor of Tristan's demanding passion, her visions intensified.

  Seerah saw herself standing alone, a dark, ominous figure approaching her. Tristan appeared then. She reached out to him, but he dismissed her with a hostile glance as if she were responsible for his misery—nay, betrayal! He believes I will betray him? Seerah trembled. She tried desperately to block the intrusive pictures assaulting her mind, but the onslaught continued.

  Gareth appeared in her vision, next. When he took hold of her hands, his warmth and kindness washed over her. Aye, she trusted him implicitly and she knew he would do all that he could to aid her. As the picture faded, however, she also knew, deep down in her soul, that all would be lost without Tristan.

  Finally, the remaining gray shadows developed slowly into the cold stone of a castle. She saw faint, ghostly figures transform into armed warriors. A blonde man, dressed in black, stood before another man who was chained to a keep wall. The prisoner's hands and feet were shackled. A thick metal collar encircled his neck. The man appeared to have been brutally battered, but Seerah recognized him immediately—Tristan!

  Seerah whimpered as Tristan's kiss grew deeper, his hands eagerly caressing her body. Seerah felt powerful, yet vulnerable at the same time, like she alone possessed what he desperately needed to survive. Overwhelmed by the urgency of his need, she yielded beneath his expert lips.

  The visions blurred as her head began spinning out of control. She felt as if she were caught in a whirlpool somewhere between the realm of fantasy and reality, and just as she was certain she would become lost in the current, Tristan broke the kiss.

  White light flashed in her mind again. Energy surged through her body and she gasped. The paralyzing images vanished as mysteriously as they had appeared. Staring up at Tristan, she sighed deeply.

  “You do na’ seem to be complaining about me black soul now.” His breathing sounded heavy and ragged as he looked directly into her questioning gaze. Then he boldly caressed her breast one last time, before slowly withdrawing his hand.

  Seerah blinked with confusion, then gulped the air, unable to form a reply.

  “I see you have been rendered speechless. ‘Tis good to know something can accomplish that feat."

  He's mocking me! Even after what we just shared ... Why, he—

  Seerah was about to reply with an angry barb when the essence of her vision suddenly became clear. He needs me—to rescue him from his misery and pain. But how am I to save a man who dose na’ wish to be saved? She frowned momentarily, then glanced up at Tristan. I will find a way to save him. Aye, ‘tis up to me to save him from himself. Sighing with contentment she smiled wistfully.

  Tristan furrowed his brows at her in a cynical, doubting manner as though he were silently questioning her faculties.

  Seerah simply continued smiling. When she then lowered her head and leaned against his chest, the sound of his rapid heartbeat made her wonder if he'd experienced the same intense emotions as she had. She could feel Tristan watching her, and sense his bewilderment at her lack of response. A long silent moment passed before he finally spurred his mount forward again, and Seerah knew then, that their kiss had indeed affect him as much as it had her.

  * * * *

  At the edge of the moor, the thick fog thinned to a fine haze. After observing the hind end of Gareth's horse rounding the side of the colossal, north oak, Tristan glanced back over his shoulder. When he saw Zeth and Greum emerge safely from the mist, he nodded to himself.

  With the threat of the moors behind him, he felt free to examine his peculiar behavior. He had thought to simply quiet Seerah, and rid her of her insolence. Unfortunately, he had quickly lost control of the situation. Despite her apparent innocence, she had yielded to him completely. His own lack of discipline, though maddening, seemed easy enough to explain; he was a virile man who'd spent many long nights without the company of a willing lass. Seerah's sudden complacency, however, bothered him beyond reason. “I just enjoyed your charms, yet I did na’ speak of love,” he announced.

  “I know,” Seerah said.

  “And, this does na’ give you cause to worry?"

  “Nay.” Cocking her head, Seerah's eyes seemed to fill with hope as she glanced up at him. “Do you believe in fate, Tristan?"

  “Nay."

  Seerah giggled.

  “You find this amusing?” Tristan scowled.

  Seerah cleared her throat. “I do.” She nodded. “You do na’ believe in witches either."

  Tristan's body tensed. He was about to reply when Gareth abruptly halted his mount and held his fist high in the air, indicating trouble ahead.

  Tristan, and the others immediately halted.

  “Why are we sto—” Seerah began, but Tristan clasped his hand over her mouth.

  “Shush. Do na’ move or make a sound.” He whispered in her ear, the caution in his tone leaving no room for debate.

  Releasing her mouth, Tristan rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. He glanced cautiously about, then gestured with his head, issuing a silent command to his men.

  Colin and Gareth slowly urged their mounts forward.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  Seerah watched, impressed by the way the two men maneuvered their horses through the dense under-brush without making a sound. But as Colin and Gareth disappeared into a thicket, she shivered. It seemed like an eternity had passed before Colin emerge from the trees. It wasn't until Seerah finally saw Gareth that she sighed with relief. Feeling Tristan's body tense, she gazed curiously up at him. The dark look he flashed her could only be described as open hostility. And when he turned away to watch Gareth approach, Seerah felt certain that she was somehow responsible for Tristan's ire.

  “We came upon an entire colony of tinkers and peasants,” Gareth whispered. “I'm certain they did na’ see us. They also offer no threat, but ‘tis doubtful they will take our intrusion lightly."

  “How far out of our way will we have to travel to avoid their camp?” Tristan asked.

  “"Tis more a village than a camp and we would have to avoid the glen completely to escape their notice."

  “We can na’ afford to lose so much time, now."

  Seerah spoke next, “Zeth and I could ride ahead, alone, and—"

  Tristan abruptly clasped his hand over her mouth, again.

  Gareth cocked his brow at Tristan as if questioning his brusque manner. “She offers a sound idea,” he began. “They'll be less likely to fear a lone warrior, and a young maiden. Zeth has the least threatening appearance of us all, and Seerah—"

  “Nay,” Tristan said, his voice an angry whisper. “She'll ride with no one but me.” Before he released Seerah's mouth, he muttered in her ear, “Keep you voice low. Sound travels on the breeze. Understand?"

  When Seerah nodded her understanding, Tristan removed his hand from her mouth. “Gareth be right,” she said. “Your presence will likely only serve to frighten those poor people to death. Let me go with Zeth, and I will..."

  “Nay.” Tristan objected. His tone, though hushed, seemed to match his bitter, silencing glare. “You are me very own responsibility. I alone will accompany you. Gareth, stay here with the others until you hear me signal.” Without another word Tristan urged his mount forward.

  A young peasant woman spotted Tristan and Seerah first. With a startled gasp, she stumbled forward, snatching two children into her arms. The youngest, a cherub-faced lass of no more than two summers, let out a disgruntled cry, alerting the others to the intrusion.

  Men scrambled for their weapons while women quickly gathered the remaining children together. As Seerah and Tristan approached, the people
watched in a stunned silence, their expressions conveying astonishment rather than fear. “Good day,” Seerah called, offering a friendly smile to the group in general. “We mean to cause you no harm. We wish only to pass through your ballybeg, peacefully."

  Four diminutive-looking men stood blocking the path, holding their slingshots and spears trained on Tristan. The shortest of the group, a man with stumpy legs and curly auburn hair stepped forward. “Be you wed to this Scot warrior, lass? Or be you his captive?” he asked, pointedly.

  “Neither.” Seerah smiled, fully understanding the reason for the grumpy little man's open hostility—Tristan's dark scowl. “He is a Highland warrior and he is me protector. He and his men wish you no harm,” Seerah replied.

  “Men? How many, Highlander?” The grumpy man narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Tristan.

  “Four others,” Tristan said. “They're waiting nearby. We offer no threat, unless provoked."

  Trying his best to look threatening, Grumpy growled low in his throat and jabbed his spear in the air.

  When Tristan grunted in reply, Seerah shot him a reproachful look, then smiled amiably at the gruff little man. “Please, do na’ take offense at his surly tone. I fear ‘tis his nature. What he meant to say, is that we request permission to pass through your territory. The others wait in the woods out of respect. We feared our presence would alarm you unduly."

  An old man, who had remained seated when Tristan and Seerah first appeared, rose slowly and approached Grumpy. The elder's regal demeanor and the solemn way his people seemed to regard him suggested that he was highly respected. Yet, even compared to the rest of the people, Seerah could only described him as a wee bit of a man. He wore a long, woolen robe and his straight, red hair was cut in a blunt manner that reminded her of a toadstool. As he whispered in Grumpy's ear, some of the women wandered closer. Mumbling to each other, they seemed to regard Seerah curiously. The small army of men also appeared to be more curious than afraid, but they kept their weapons trained on Tristan.