Dreamweaver

by Judie Chirichello

  When he finally realized that he'd merely had a bad dream, he sat on the edge of his bed. He couldn't help thinking about how real the dream had seemed. The images had elicited such intense feelings and vivid sensations. When he reached up to touch the back of his head, where he'd been struck during his dream, he felt the raised scar on his skull.

  Gazing out at the full moon he rubbed the scar. Dreams ... or memories? Could such horrifying images be part of me past? He climbed back into bed and pulled the covers to his chest. He closed his eyes, welcoming the realm of slumber once more. But try as he might, he couldn't ignore the questions racing though his mind. Did I fight such a battle? When? What became of ... all who knew me—me kinsmen; did I have a family? A wife?

  His eyes sprang open at the thought. He stared at the moonbeam filtering into his chamber. Did I have bairns? He found it strange that he'd never considered the prospect before.

  He'd often fought to curb the frustration of not remembering his past by assuming that it had been so tragic or violent that he was better off not remembering. Tonight, however, he could no longer accept such reasoning. He longed to know what—or whom—had been left behind with his memories.

  When the ghost figure materialized before him, he wasn't afraid. Like so many times in the past, soft purple light glowed about the apparition, which appeared in the form of a woman. Her red hair cascaded in spiral ringlets about her face and body. Her freckled alabaster skin seemed to beckon his touch as she floated mysteriously before him. The tears pooling in her green eyes made him reach out. He yearned to comfort her, yet knew that he could not. His heart ached for her, and for his helplessness.

  She uttered not a sound, yet he experienced her innermost thoughts as if she was communicating with him on a spiritual level beyond the realm of mere mortals. As he experienced her sorrow and concern, he noticed the bundle—an infant swaddled in blood-stained cloth. She cradled it lovingly in her arms, then bared the child to reveal it was a boy. Laying him against her chest, she motioned to a blemish on the child's head, behind his left ear. The pale, acorn-sized mark appeared to be shaped like a sun casting rays of light.

  Next, within the vision, she conjured another vision of a fair maiden with dark flowing hair. The lass beheld a similar, though slightly smaller crescent moon-shaped scar near her right eye. The spirit also revealed that the girl child had been gifted at birth with magic powers, and, that she beheld vital knowledge that was necessary to end the suffering of her people.

  As the spirit-image began to fade, he heard a strangely familiar sound; the soft, whisper of a mortal voice, repeating the same strange word over and over. The laird muttered it aloud, “Ke-n-dahl. Ken-dahl. Kendahl?” The name rolled from his tongue with familiar ease, yet a heartfelt feeling of despair invaded his being.

  As bits and pieces of memories flashed in his mind, he experienced a profound sense of loss concerning all that he'd been deprived of over that past years.

  Then, came a sense of pure joy, for he knew the possibilities the future held. Keeping his eyes trained on the moon, he sighed with contentment. “Dear God, keep me family safe,” he whispered.

  * * * *

  Ireland

  Ansel halted his mount. “The trail ends here, Sir Nevil.” He dismounted and walked over to the wall-like cloud of mist which seemed hang in the air, concealing the glen. “I see no tracks to the South, East or West. They simply vanish into the mist."

  “That's impossible. There's been no rain. They must have brushed away the markings or back-tracked.” Nevil urged his mount forward.

  “The earth remains undisturbed,” Ansel said. “And if they turned back, the tracks would double-back to the North."

  “I know that you imbecile!” Nevil cried. “But they were here. They didn't simply disappear. You're missing something. I'm certain we've gained on them and I'll not allow your ignorance to frustrate our efforts, again. Light a torch and carefully search the glen!"

  “A torch will be of no help,” Ansel said. When he extended his arm into the murky vapor, it completely disappeared from sight. “See? The mist here is thick as bog fur and laden with mystical power. Aye, he who enters the fairy-mist uninvited will become lost and wander the domain between the living and the dead for ever-more."

  “Enough of your superstitious nonsense! Oaf, bring forth the torch!” Nevil commanded.

  Knowing better than to argue with Nevil, Ansel withdrew his hand and nodded at Helig, issuing a silent command for him obey.

  Helig dismounted. As he approached Ansel, a warm, salt-laden gale whipped up. The horses pranced and nickered, shying away. Ansel pulled hard on their reins to gain control, but his horse flared its nostrils, scraping at the ground as if in protest. “'Tis the wind of warning. I beg you to heed its counsel, Sir Nevil,” Ansel implored, his own fear intensifying.

  “A simple breeze from a nearby loch may frighten you and your dumb beast, but it will take more than the forces of nature to deter me. Give me the torch.” Nevil dismounted and took the torch from Helig. “Stay close. I'll not spend a moment's time searching for either of you.” He advanced.

  The instant the torch breached the mist, it appeared to extinguish. “Blast!” Nevil cursed, withdrawing his out-stretched hand. He remained silent for a long moment, staring at the still-burning torch as the flames danced with vigor, burning higher and brighter than before. “Thick mist, indeed,” he grumbled. “A sign of treacherous swampland, nothing more!"

  Nevil handed the torch back to Helig and mounted his horse. “Unfortunately, Tristan is more clever than I thought. He obviously left those tracks, in the hopes that we would rush into the swamp after him. We'll ride all night if we must. Due west around the swamp, then South towards Killarney. He's within my grasp, I can feel it."

  * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tristan shifted Seerah's sleeping form in his lap, trying to better distribute her dead weight.

  Seerah snuggled closer, her fingers trailing a path upward, from his waist to his chest. The feather-like touch tickled the hairs on his chest causing goose bumps to rise on his flesh. Next, her lips brushed the base of his throat and she sighed, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Tristan's body stirred with desire. He cursed his oath to protect her virtue, yet again, and issued a jarring nudge to her rump with his knee.

  “Och!” Seerah's hands instinctively encircled Tristan's neck. “What—” She glanced anxiously about.

  “Nothing's amiss. You simply sleep like a sack of stones."

  Seerah yawned. “I...” She faltered and blinked at him like she was trying to make sense of what he'd just said

  Even travel-worn and half asleep, she looked utterly enchanting to Tristan. With her hands encircling his neck, her body hugged his in a provocative embrace that scattered his thoughts. He imagined taking her bottom lip between his teeth, then nibbling and sucking it until she moaned with pleasure while his hands ... “Blast!” he muttered, forcing the erotic picture from his mind. “Me horse suffers unduly beneath the burden of your added weight.” He groaned and shifted her in his lap.

  “Oooh!". Looking fully awake and outraged, Seerah withdrew her hands from his neck and set them in her lap. Her back stiffened as she sat slightly forward. “'Tis likely he suffers because his master is a ruthless brute. And, there's no need to manhandle me so. If you truly consider me such a burden, why na’ allow me to ride with Gareth or one of the other men?"

  “A burden you are, indeed. But you also be me responsibility. And a brute I may well be, but merciless I am na'. I would never condemn me worst enemy, let alone one of me own men, with the duty of guarding such a troublesome lass."

  “Troublesome? You be the one who—"

  “Ahem!” Gareth cut Seerah off in mid sentence as he and Colin halted their mounts in Tristan's path. “We near Killarney."

  “Does that mean we'll be stopping soon?” Seerah asked. “It feels as though we've been riding forever.” She glared at Tristan.

&nbs
p; Zeth and Greum reined their horses along side of Colin's.

  “Aye, we'll be stopping,” Gareth replied. “But only long enough to rest the horses and gain supplies. ‘Tis our goal to reach Blarney, County Coraigh in a sennight or less."

  Seerah's shoulder's drooped with obvious despair. “We'll be traveling on horseback, for seven straight days?"

  “Aye. Nights as well—and then some.” Gareth replied. “From Coraigh, we will travel South, to the coast, where we'll set sail. Then we'll travel North through St. George's Channel to the Irish sea until we reach the Mull of Kintyre. ‘Twill likely take a fortnight or more. ‘Tis our goal to reach the keep before the next full moon. From Kintyre we'll travel by horse again, day and night, until we reach Gairloch."

  Seerah groaned.

  Tristan chuckled. “You could, of course, use your magic to cast a spell and transport us there if you prefer."

  “I would if I could. ‘Twould be preferable to being stuck on horseback for so many days, then being confined to a ship with an inconsiderate churl like you."

  “You wound me deeply, maiden fair.” Tristan held his fist to his chest and bowed his head with feigned humility.

  “And you give me more credit than is due. ‘Tis likely the sword of Nuada is incapable of wounding your black heart."

  “Ahem!” Gareth cleared his throat again. “I hate to interrupt your cordial banter.” He fixed Tristan with a look. “But, we near the cottage as well."

  “Aye?” Tristan replied.

  “Where we will be stopping to gain supplies before going on to Killarney,” Gareth hedged.

  “And?” Tristan replied.

  “Our hostess does na’ usually take kindly to surprises.” With a discreet nod of his head, and a meaningful glance, Gareth motioned to Seerah.

  “Aye, Brigit does na’ favor company. Especially Tristan's ... women,” Colin interjected.

  Tristan sighed. “Seerah is na’ me woman, by any means. And ‘tis no social call. We will gain our supplies, then be on our way. There's no need for the two to meet."

  “Who's Brigit?” Seerah asked.

  Zeth spoke up first, “Tristan's—"

  “She is a woman, whose cottage we will stop at to gain supplies,” Tristan said.

  “And, you fool yourself if you believe to keep Seerah from her,” Gareth scoffed.

  “Why must he keep me from her?” Seerah asked.

  Tristan shot Gareth a warning glare.

  Gareth chuckled. “I'll simply say that ... your presence could prove to be troublesome for him."

  “Oh, I see.” Seerah gazed up at Tristan. “You believe she will misread the true nature of our ... acquaintance. Well, have no fear. If she be an intelligent woman, she'll soon see the truth—"

  Seerah paused and frowned as if reconsidering her words. “Then again, if she were intelligent she would na’ have a care to keep your company. But, do na’ fash yourself, Tristan. I will gladly ease her concerns,” Seerah lifted her chin in the air, turning her back to Tristan with an arrogant toss of her head.

  “You will do what you be told."

  “Mayhap.” Seerah shrugged.

  “You will I say!"

  “Or what?” Turning, Seerah glared at him.

  “Or I will put you across me lap and paddle your saucy backside,” Tristan replied.

  As Seerah breathed deeply, trying to quell her growing annoyance, a cold wind kicked up.

  “I beg you, do na’ anger the lass any further, Tristan,” Zeth bid, his eyes darting about the forest. “Why, just look at the way she causes the air to stir."

  Colin, Greum and Gareth glanced about as their horses shuffled and fought the bit.

  “Believe you or na’ Tristan, I could na’ care less,” Gareth began. “But for all our sake, ‘twould be a less trying journey if you would na’ go out of you way to provoke the lass. Tell her you will na’ lay hands on her."

  Tristan gazed over his shoulder at Gareth. “I provoke no one. I gave me word to protect her and I will do so, as I see fit. That includes giving her a well deserved thrashing, if necessary, to curb her insolent nature.” Reining his horse about, Tristan confronted Gareth. “Until we reach Gairloch, she's me responsibility, as are you. Do na’ question me motives again or we will draw swords.” Tristan laid his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “As you wish.” Gareth also rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “Please, Gareth, do na’ trouble yourself,” Seerah said. “I can take care of meself. Though I appreciate your concern, your duty is to him. ‘Tis na’ to me."

  “Listen to the lass, Gareth,” Colin interjected. “I fear you let you manhood rule your actions."

  “Aye,” Greum agreed. “'Tis na’ like you and Tristan to quarrel. Rethink your motives, Gareth. We've a duty to our laird."

  Tristan nodded. “Well, Gareth?"

  “'Tis shamed I am, to be reminded of me own duty.” He released his sword. “I am also shamed by the way you treat Seerah. But, I will do me best to keep from questioning your actions ... until we reach Gairloch."

  Tristan held Gareth's warning gaze.

  “To Brigit's then?” Greum asked.

  “Aye, to Brigit's,” Colin and Zeth cheered.

  Glancing over his shoulder at Tristan and Seerah, Gareth nudged his horse's sides with his heels. Colin, Greum and Zeth followed directly.

  “You must na’ fault Gareth for his chivalrous nature. An honorable young man, he is indeed. ‘Tis obvious he only seeks to comfort me,” Seerah said.

  “Honorable aye, but he is unwise in the ways of women. Especially young women like you."

  “Like me? But, I've done naught..."

  “You'll do him no favors by gaining his sympathies. As you just witnessed, his foolish protest fell on deaf ears. Vying for his affections and playing us against each other only serves your own vanity, Seerah. Clear thinking, reason, sound judgment and loyalty be what he needs to survive. He does na’ need enticing maidens who toy with his ... manliness."

  Seerah gasped. “Toy with his ... Why, I've done no such thing. I simply..."

  “You bat your eyes and smile tenderly at him each time he shows you a kindness."

  “'Tis gratitude for the respect he shows me. Unlike you, he obviously cares about how I feel."

  “'Tis the thought of burying himself between your creamy white thighs that motivates his valiant behavior."

  “You disgusting, vile...” she slapped him across the face.

  Tristan didn't even flinch. Seizing her wrist, he held her arm high as he pulled her roughly against his chest. “I vowed to protect your honor, but I'll ravish you meself before I'll fight me own men to defend me actions."

  “Release me now!” Seerah demanded.

  “Or what?"

  As Seerah's blue-green eyes bore into Tristan's, they seemed to glow. Her hand balled into a fist and her body started to tremble. When she flexed her fingers, a cracking sound rent the atmosphere and lightning split the sky.

  Tristan flinched. When his frighten horse reared up, he instinctively released Seerah's wrist. He grappled to gain control of the horse's reins and secure Seerah's position at the same time. It wasn't until he heard Seerah's muffled cry, and the soft thud of her body landing on the hard ground, that he knew he'd failed.

  * * * *

  Tristan entered the clearing near Brigit's cottage, carrying Seerah's limp form in his arms.

  Gareth rushed forward. “What's happened, now?"

  “'Twas an accident. A bolt of lightning startled Igneous. When he reared up, she fell. Take her pouch from me afore I drop it,” Tristan ordered.

  Gareth advanced and took the pouch containing Cosmo. “I saw no lightning."

  “You question me honesty now?"

  “Hand her down to me. I'll take her inside,” Gareth said.

  Tristan ignored Gareth and slid down from Igneous's back with Seerah in his arms. “'Twas me own carelessness that caused her to fall. I am responsib..."


  “Aye, you are responsible for her safety. And at this rate she'll be dead afore we reach Killarney."

  “Leave off, Gareth,” Tristan warned.

  “What be the two of you about? And, why do you carry the lass? Is she ailing?” Brigit called out, from the open cottage doorway.

  Tristan stepped around Gareth and walked toward her. “'Tis na’ your concern, Brigit. I'll see to her. Step aside."

  “I'll not be treated like one of your warriors, Tristan Kincaid. Especially not in me own home. You'll be telling me what I want to know or you can be on you merry way.” Placing her hands on her hips, Brigit nodded at Gareth. “Go on inside with the others, Gareth. Tristan and I have a few things to settle. There be mutton stew and laver bread by the fire."

  Gareth didn't wait to gain Tristan's approval. He stepped from the shadows and walked toward her. “'Tis good to see you, Brigit.” He mussed her auburn curls with his hand, then bent to brush a kiss on her freckled cheek. “A sight for sore eyes, you are, indeed.” He winked and entered the cottage without looking back.

  Brigit cocked her brow at Tristan. “'Tis apparent, all does not go favorably. What is—"

  Seerah moaned and stirred in Tristan's arms. When her eyes fluttered open she blinked up at Tristan. “What? Why? Where's Cosmo?” she asked, grasping for her pouch.

  “Gareth took your pouch,” Tristan informed, his eyes remaining focused on Brigit.

  * * * *

  Following his dark gaze, Seerah glanced down. When she spied the object of Tristan's discontent, she swallowed hard. The lovely young woman's green eyes expressed a look of pure contempt. Seerah could only assume that it was being directed at her, and she understood why—Brigit was obviously one of Tristan's mistresses.

  “Set me down, Tristan. ‘Tis unseemly to be carrying me about so. One might get the wrong impression."

  Tristan ignored her and took a step forward. “Step aside, Brigit."