Dreamweaver

by Judie Chirichello

  Brigit remained stationary, blocking his way. She stood a full arm's length shorter than Tristan, and soft, auburn curls framed her round face. The clusters of freckles on her cheeks and nose crinkled as she frowned at Seerah. “You speak. So, you are feeling better, then?"

  “Aye.” Seerah nodded, then looked to Tristan. “Do put me down. Why, the way you be holding me one might think that you actually enjoy me company."

  “Quite a saucy wench you've got there,” Brigit said, smiling.

  “I agree,” Tristan grumbled. “Unfortunately she is na’ very fond the nickname."

  “On the contrary, Tristan,” Seerah disagreed. “'Tis na’ so much the name itself I've taken offense to in the past, but rather the manner in which you and your men have used it. I believe she meant it as a compliment. Now, if you would let me down."

  “Aye, Tristan, put the lass down. ‘Tis obvious she's tired of your sweet nature,” Brigit jeered.

  When Tristan finally lowered Seerah to the ground, she curtsied before Brigit. “Me name is Seerah, Seerah MacFarlane. And please, you must believe me. Tristan has no feelings for me. Other than rancor, mayhap. You see, he's agreed to escort me on me quest. But he actually finds me to be quite bothersome. The only reason he was carrying me, was because I fell from his horse. I believe I had the wind knocked out of me. But I'm fine now. Truly."

  Brigit chuckled. “Indeed, it appears as though you have plenty of wind in your lungs now. I'm Brigit. Brigit Kincaid, and I'm pleased to know you. But are you sure he did not shove you?” She cocked her brow at Tristan. “Did you cast the lass from Igneous's back, Tristan?"

  “Brigit,” Tristan muttered.

  “Brigit ... K-Kincaid?” Seerah sputtered. Tristan had never so much as hinted about being married. Seerah instantly remembered the kiss she and Tristan shared back in the moors. She felt her face grow hot with guilt and anger. It was suddenly obvious to her that Tristan wasn't the honorable man she believed him to be. And she could only wonder why he would do such a thing when he had such a beautiful wife waiting at home for him. Men! When she though about how she had reacted to his kiss, her stomach went topsy-turvy and her head swam.

  Brigit rushed forward, taking Seerah's hands in her own. “Why, you've gone as pale as a dove's belly. And your hands feel like ice. He did toss you to the ground, didn't he?"

  “Nay. Please, you must forgive me poor manners. I'm just ... weary. ‘Tis a pleasure to meet you. And, nay—though Tristan may fancy the notion of ridding himself of me, quite often.” She glared Tristan, then turned back to Brigit. “He has sworn to protect me until we reach his laird. You see, I'm..."

  “Weary, she is. As am I,” Tristan said. “We came here to rest, and to gain supplies. We've no time to waste with such nonsense. Will you allow us to do this or do we leave now?"

  “You have grown quite testy, Tristan. Have you not been eating enough grain?” Brigit batted her eyelashes at him.

  “Grain? Do you suffer a delicate constitution, Tristan?” Seerah asked.

  “Aye,” Brigit replied. “That he does. Why, if he does not eat properly he's bound up for weeks at a time. It makes him quite irritable, don't you know."

  “Truly? Well, that does explain a lot. He's consumed little more than cheese and bread during our journey here. But I know a wonderful remedy.” Seerah clapped her hands together. “We'll need some common toad flax. And blackthorn—just a wee bit should do nicely."

  “You know your herbs well.” Brigit nodded her approval.

  “Me grandmother is a healer. She taught me all I know. Be you a healer as well?” Seerah asked.

  “Enough!” Dragging his hair through his hair, Tristan sighed raggedly.

  “Oh, go on with you surly self,” Brigit commanded. “I'll see to her needs. And do not bother arguing with me. ‘Twill do you no good for I'm just as stubborn as you, if not more so.” Brigit took Seerah by the arm, whisking her away from Tristan.

  “You'll not be getting your way, Brigit!” Tristan bellowed.

  “'Tis clear to all but you, that I already have,” Brigit replied. “Go inside and partake of some ale. ‘Twill ease you sour disposition. Mayhap, your irregularity as well,” Brigit quipped, issuing a jaunty wave in Tristan's direction as she ushered Seerah around the side of the cottage.

  Tristan's muttered expletive was followed by the telltale sound of harsh, earth-crunching footsteps.

  * * * *

  Brigit couldn't help feeling pleased with herself. She seldom got the chance to put Tristan in his proper place anymore. Despite his large build and menacing disposition, he'd always be her little brother, a fact she never let him forget for long. And she couldn't help but like Seerah. The lass didn't fall all over Tristan like most. Nor did she act coy and timid. She actually seemed to bring out the worst in Tristan, giving him what-for in the process.

  Aye, a telling sign, indeed. Brigit smiled. Next, stopping by the stone well on the side of the cottage, she hauled a wooden bucket up from the hole. After filling a dipper with water, she offered it to Seerah. “So, tell me, Seerah MacFarlane, how did you come to be with me beloved Tristan?"

  “I ... thank you.” Accepting the dipper, Seerah raised it to her lips and began to drink.

  “Come, now. Do not be shy. Tell me, did he kidnap you and ravish you against your will? Or did he simply beguile you with his devil's charm?"

  “N-neither.” Sputtering and coughing, Seerah handed the ladle back to Brigit. “I swear to you, our company is merely ... an arrangement of sorts. I've no designs for Tristan."

  Brigit knew better. She'd already witnessed the sparks flying between Seerah and Tristan. All she had to figure out now was why they both seemed so opposed to the match. Where sparks fly, fire is sure to follow. She fixed Seerah with a look. “No designs for him at all? Are you certain of this?"

  “Aye!” Seerah nodded her head with such vigor her whole body shook.

  “Hmmm.” Brigit replaced the dipper in the bucket, silently questioning the fierce denial. Another telling sign, perhaps. Pulling a rag from her pocket, she draped it on a nearby rowan tree. Next, with a small pebble she traced the sign of the cross on the side-wall of the well.

  “You pay rounds at your well?” Seerah asked.

  “Aye. To appease the fairies. Be you familiar with the practice?” Brigit placed the pebble back in her pocket.

  “Aye, very. ‘Tis an ancient Druid practice. Be you of the Druid faith?"

  “Nay, a God-fearing Christian I am, but like any Irish lass worth her salt, I know well the ways of the little people.” Brigit paused, and studied Seerah. “Except for the light spattering of freckles across the bridge of your nose, you do not have the look of the Irish."

  “I'm part Welsh, and Scottish as well. Me father be a Highland knight. Me mother is part Irish, Welsh and..."

  “Where does your Welsh blood hail from?"

  “Me great-grandfather, I believe."

  Brigit rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “'Tis quite a mix."

  “Aye. ‘Tis to be expected with all the warring throughout the lands. Uncle Marcus once called me a mongrel. He is na’ truly a blood relation, but his wife was a dear friend of me grandmother's. Anyway, Uncle Marcus said it was likely I'd never find a husband due to me Shee blood.” She shrugged indifferently.

  “Sh-Shee blood?” Brigit stammered, fear and amazement overwhelming her ability to think.

  “Aye.” Seerah nodded. “But, please, fear me na', Brigit. Me magic, such as it is, is white. If you know anything about the Shee, you know that to be true."

  “Aye,” Brigit whispered. “Well, I'll be. Does Tristan know this?"

  “Aye. But, he does na’ believe. He has no tolerance for such things."

  “I know. ‘Tis due to his commanding nature. He trusts nothing he can not control."

  “Aye. And he does na’ believes in me powers. Why, he says I'm nothing more than a troublesome inconvenience."

  “I see. He has he offended you unduly.” Brigit
nodded with understanding.

  “Oh, no. Though he is quite overbearing and rude at times, ‘tis mostly bluster. I believe ‘tis simply his nature."

  “I know that well,” Brigit began. “But ... ‘tis obvious you fear him not. And, you say you mind not his harsh ways. Do his looks displease you?"

  “H-his l-looks?” Seerah stammered.

  “You find him to be unsightly, then?” Brigit asked, finding such a thought beyond belief.

  “Unsightly? Nay. On the contrary, he's very handsome indeed,” Seerah blushed. “But, uh, I do na’ pay that much mind to how his looks appear. Please understand, I have no wish to come between you and Tristan."

  Brigit stared at Seerah for a long moment, trying for the life of her to figure out what Seerah was talking about. “Come between us?"

  “'Tis na’ that I could. Although I was led to believe you were merely Tristan's mis—” Seerah grimaced. “Gareth explained to me that me presence would likely cause trouble."

  “Aye. ‘Tis so. There always be trouble of one kind or another when Tristan's about. And he often brings unexpected company.” Brigit chuckled.

  “Och! He brings ... company often? And, you do na’ mind?"

  Brigit frowned with confusion over Seerah's affronted reaction. “Sometimes I mind, but mostly I like it. I see so few people and I always end up enjoying meself because I get to embarrass Tristan. Besides, what would you have me do? Toss them into the night? I could not do it. Just look at you. We're already becoming fast friends."

  “But I am na’ ... that kind of company. Even if I was ... I—I do na’ understand. You are so beautiful. And ‘tis obvious Tristan respects you for he barely resisted your commands.” Seerah sighed. “His greeting was greatly lacking, I'll grant you that. ‘Twas likely because of me presence, though. He does seem to keep his feelings private. But, is he na’ attentive to your ... your wifely needs?"

  “Me wifely ne—” Understanding dawned on Brigit, leaving her momentarily stunned. She broke into a fit of laughter. “Nay. He's not attentive to me ... me needs at tall,” she managed to reply.

  “If he's so neglectful and uncaring, I fear I do na’ understand your mirth."

  “Neglectful he is, indeed. But have no worries, Seerah. You'll understand soon enough. Now, tell me how you came to be with Tristan.” Hooking her arm in Seerah's, Brigit escorted an utterly confused-looking Seerah through the woods back toward the cottage—and Tristan.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  “We should na’ have come here!” Tristan grumbled, pacing back and forth across the cobbled floor in Brigit's cottage.

  Gareth watched and wondered about who was more responsible for Tristan's rancor—Seerah or Brigit? Passing the bread iron over the flames in the hearth, he said, “'Tis good to see you still fear something."

  “Someone, you mean,” Greum interjected.

  Colin and Zeth remained silent, using their tankards to hide their grins.

  “I do na’ fear Brigit!” Tristan scoffed. “The miserable wench threatened to withhold supplies and send us on our way. Though I fancy the notion, I can na’ simply storm me sister's home and take what I wish."

  “Aye, ‘tis likely you would receive a hearty lashing if you tried,” Colin snorted.

  Tristan stopped pacing and gazed about the room. “I do na’ see any of you standing up to her."

  “I like her stew too much to anger her,” Greum offered.

  Colin grinned and rubbed his jaw. “I learned me lesson that time I partook of too much ale and tried to shower her with me affections.

  “Do na’ look to me,” Zeth began. “I've no complaints. Besides, I'm but a whelp compared to the lot of you. She could have me for her sup if she wished."

  Gareth knew there was more to Tristan's ire than Brigit's threat to withhold supplies.

  “What is it you fear most, Tristan?” Gareth asked, purposely goading Tristan's temper. “Her wrath, or her matchmaking? You obviously do na’ care for Seerah, except in seeing her safely to our laird. Brigit will see this. She's a bright woman, and she knows you well. Once she gets to know Seerah, she'll easily see how mismatched you truly be."

  “You try me patience Gareth,” Tristan replied.

  Standing, Gareth lay the bread iron against the hob. “Do I?"

  “Indeed, you do."

  Aye, Gareth knew the reason, indeed, but he'd never before seen Tristan act so driven by emotion. He seemed to be losing his carefully guarded control, and Gareth thought that, perhaps, it was the best thing that could happen. “And why is that I try your patience, do you suppose?"

  “Och! You believe in angels, fairy nonsense and gallantry. You trust what you feel. Have I taught you nothing?” Tristan bellowed.

  “Ah, well, Seerah seems to appreciate me—"

  “Damnation! At times, Gareth, you be as much a whelp as Zeth. She plays you like the harp she now carries. A smile or a flutter of her lashes and you disregard your training in the name of chivalry.” Tristan stepped closer, crowding Gareth until they were practically eye to eye and nose to nose. “You pledged your fealty to our laird, yet you defile that pledge by challenging your chain of command."

  Gareth puffed out his chest. “I honor me pledge by protecting those who cannot protect themselves."

  “By this you mean Seerah?” Tristan shouted, looking amazed. Balling his hands into fists he turned and walked away, obviously trying to put some distance between himself and Gareth.

  “She's as defenseless as a fierce storm. Innocent she may well be, but all women are cunning with wily ways. And if you give her your heart, she'll turn it as cold and black as—"

  “Your own?” Gareth asked.

  Tristan glanced over his shoulder, the look in his eyes suggesting pure animosity. “You go to far."

  “Do I?” Gareth relaxed his stance and leaned back against the hearth. “You forsake what's in your heart and hide behind words like honor and duty, Tristan. All the while you be driven by hate and revenge. Tell me, what awaits you when the final battle be done? Us?” He motioned to the warriors. “Mayhap a willing wench to warm your bed? Is that enough? Aye, you command well enough. There's none I'd rather have at me side in war. But the enemy you fight now, be in your soul. The only reason I try your patience so suddenly, is because you envy me ability and willingness to care."

  Pushing away from the hearth, Gareth walked over to stand before Tristan. “You denounce Seerah and her beliefs because you scorn anything you can na’ control. And, though you claim to have no feelings for her, ‘tis apparent that you despise the way she responds to me. Though I admire your position and sense of duty, Tristan, if you refuse to treat her with the respect she deserves, you best be prepared to be challenged again,” Gareth pledged.

  “So, a rivalry for Seerah's affections be the cause of your discourse,” Brigit called, from the open doorway.

  Tristan turned at the sound of her voice. “How long have you been there?"

  “Long enough."

  “Where's Seerah?"

  “I think you fret unduly over someone you described as ... defenseless as a fierce storm, Tristan.” Brigit walked across the room toward Gareth.

  “Where is she?"

  “She's coming. On our way back from the privy, she saw some herbs she wished to gather."

  “She's alone?"

  “Egosh and Meegan be with her.” As Brigit neared Gareth, she winked, then whispered, “He'll come around. Trust me.” She gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as she passed by.

  “Egosh and Meegan? Aye.” Tristan nodded.

  “I'm so pleased you approve,” Brigit scoffed.

  Tristan tensed, like he was fighting an urge to strangle her. Gareth hid his knowing smile and turned his attention to Brigit. As she bent to stir the fire, he wondered if she'd choose to lighten or further darken Tristan's foul mood. When Brigit cast Tristan a baleful glance, Gareth knew he need not wonder any longer.

  “She does not fear the
savage hounds?” Zeth asked.

  “Nay,” Brigit said. “And they took to her as if she were one of their own kind. It appears as though she bids well with all types of surly beasts."

  “I've had quite enough of you bitter-sweetness, Brigit.” Tristan grumbled. “More than I care to take, indeed. Zeth, Colin gather the supplies. I'll fetch Seerah. We've dallied here long enough.” He turned to leave and almost plowed into Seerah.

  * * * *

  Seerah stood just beyond the threshold, blocking his path. “I fear we'll not be leaving here this night,” she said.

  “And, why might that be?” Tristan scowled down at her.

  “A fierce storm approaches. Notice the sky. ‘Tis teeming with wickedness. ‘Tis certain I am that ill-fate will befall us if we leave the shelter of Brigit's cottage."

  “'Tis nonsense and I'll not hear any more of it. I give the orders, not you, or anyone else. We are leaving.” Tristan took a menacing step forward. The two wolfhounds by Seerah's sides hunkered down and growled at him.

  “Heel, Egosh, Meegan,” Tristan ordered, holding his hand out to Egosh. The male wolfhound snapped and growled ferociously. “What's wrong with them, Brigit? They treat me as an enemy.” Tristan took another step forward and the dogs barked with alarm.

  “It appears as though they agree with Seerah. If you are set on leaving here this night, ‘twill be on your own,” Brigit called.

  “Go on, Egosh, Meegan. He'll not take me by force. Will you, Tristan?” Seerah asked.

  “I've pledged to protect you with me life. I'll do as I see fit!” He replied.

  Both dogs circled Seerah and barked, snapping furiously at Tristan.

  “Please, calm yourself Tristan. They sense your anger be directed at me. They know not of your irritable bowel,” Seerah whispered.

  “I have no such affliction,” Tristan muttered. “Brigit thinks to humble me with such talk in front of me men. ‘Tis also her way of getting back at me for not visiting more often. Irritable bowel, indeed."

  Seerah wagged her index finger at him. “Well, you should not bring ... company by. Or kiss other lasses. ‘Tis disrespectful. And, you really should spend more time with her. Why, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Brigit is a beautiful, caring woman, Tristan. If you would just learn not to be so brisk. You should have greeted her kindly. Mayhap bring her a gift now and again. And, a little affection would go a long way."