Dreamweaver

by Judie Chirichello

  “Aye. I know what you mean, indeed.” Seerah chuckled.

  Brigit nodded. “Aye. If only you had come to know Tristan afore. A joy he was, indeed. So full of life and love; he was a comfort to my heart even in his mischief."

  “Aye.” Seerah smiled knowingly, then glanced at Gareth.

  “Speaking of mischief, where is Cos—” Seerah began, but Gareth cut her off.

  “I put your pouch in a safe place,” he assured her.

  “Do not worry, your things be safe. Relax and eat. I've carried on so long your food be getting cold, your glass be empty, and the hearth flames have nearly died out.” Brigit turned to Gareth. “Be a dear and—"

  “Stoke the fire?” Gareth said.

  “Aye.” Brigit nodded, and cast him a suspicious glance. “What're you up to, now?"

  “Me? Nothing a'tall. Twould be my pleasure to stoke your fire, milady,” Gareth offered his most charming smile and bowed graciously low, like a courtly gent.

  “Hah! Go on with your brown nose, Gareth. I do na’ know what you be looking to gain, but I'll not be falling for your guileless ways this night,” Brigit scoffed.

  “A brown-noser and guileless?” Gareth batted his eyes with feigned innocence. “Me?” He winked, then turned his attention to the dwindling fire.

  “Aye. A charmer you are, indeed.” Brigit drawled. “'Tis no wonder Tristan be so much testier than usual. Do you charm Seerah the same way?"

  Seerah shook her head vehemently and hurried to swallow the food in her mouth. “He does no such—"

  “I was na’ talking to you, Seerah. Calm yourself and enjoy your meal. Gareth can speak for himself. Right, Gareth?"

  When Gareth looked up from his task, Brigit fixed him with a hard, questioning look.

  Seerah swallowed her next spoonful of stew with a loud gulp. “Perhaps I—"

  “Hush, lass,” Brigit said, but she kept her gaze focused on Gareth. “You'll likely choke if you keep swallowing me mutton whole like that. And I've a poor hand at healing, so calm yourself, and let me speak with Gareth."

  Zeth and Greum glanced warily at each other, then made themselves comfortable on some straw mats on the floor near Colin.

  “Be you working your charms on Seerah, Gareth?” Brigit asked more pointedly, this time.

  “Nay.” Gareth laid the metal poker against the hearth. “'Tis Tristan who's besotted as a young whelp. He denies this, of course, which only serves to blacken his temper. I fear his judgment has been sorely affected because of it."

  “But, he believes you are a rival for Seerah's affections?"

  “Aye.” Gareth nodded.

  “Have you told him differently?"

  “Aye. But, I also told him I would protect her from him."

  “I see.” Brigit frowned.

  “See what?” Seerah cried. “Gareth, a rival for my affections? ‘Tis pure nonsense. He's been friendly to me, nothing more. Besides, Tristan holds no affectionate feelings for me, nor I for him,” she protested.

  “He kissed you Seerah,” Gareth said. “And do na’ bother denying it. He already confessed."

  “B-but, I ... I—” Seerah's protest died on her lips.

  Greum shifted against the floor, then lifted his head and gazed at Gareth. “He kissed her. He told you this?” Greum asked.

  “I guessed, but he admitted it.” Gareth shrugged.

  “How—” Greum frowned. “What led you to be suspicious?"

  “I had ... a feeling."

  “A feeling?” Brigit narrowed her brow in a skeptical manner. “What sort of feeling, Gareth?"

  Gareth hesitated, his eyes searching the room, as if he might find the answer somewhere within. When his gaze settled on Seerah he said, “I noticed that she had an odd look about her after they passed through the moors.” He shrugged, then turned his back to the room and poked at the blazing fire.

  “Exactly what kind of look might that be?” Brigit asked.

  Gareth jabbed harshly the peat embers. “The look of a young lass who'd just been thoroughly kissed!"

  Zeth sat up. “Aye, I noticed it as well. Come to think of it, Tristan looked odd too. Enchanted by love I'd say."

  “You know that look well, do you, now?” Greum snorted. “A regular book of knowledge you are, about fairy-gibberish, witchery, and now, love as well."

  “Hush. The both of you,” Brigit said. She studied Seerah for a moment. “Hmmm. I wonder,” Brigit said. “Tell the truth, now, Seerah. Be you casting some love spell on our Tristan?"

  “Nay! I swear it. At least ... I do na’ think so."

  “Spell? You know she's a witch?” Zeth asked.

  “Aye, she came right out and told me, don'cha know?” Brigit shrugged. “Now, Seerah, what do you mean, you do na’ think so. Either you be casting a spell on him or not. Which is it?"

  “I ... I'm not purposely casting a spell on him.” Seerah stammered. “But ... well, me powers do tend to be a bit contrary at times.” She grimaced.

  “Contrary?” Brigit asked. “Contrary, how?"

  “Well, they do na’ always behave in the manner I wish."

  “Tell me,” Brigit said, “exactly what happened when Tristan kissed you."

  “I—” Seerah swallowed. “I had a vision. I saw images from me own past. I also saw images from Tristan's past. I did na’ understand them until you enlightened me this evening, but they make much more sense, now. I believe that I saw images of the future. Though I need Tristan to accompany me on me quest, he needs me as well. ‘Tis the essence of me vision."

  “Aye, a vision, a quest, but ... tell me, Seerah, what did you feel when Tristan kissed you!” Brigit demanded.

  “What did I feel?” Seerah's eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. She couldn't possibly tell Tristan's own sister and his warriors how wondrous and magical kissing Tristan been. It was shameful the way her body had reacted to his touch. Her face grew warm at the memory.

  “Out with it lass,” Brigit ordered.

  Seerah swallowed hard. “Why, I felt ... warm. And ... sort of tingly. Dizzy and—"

  “A nice dizzy? Or the way you feel when you be about to retch?” Brigit asked.

  “Retch?” Seerah grimaced. She certainly hadn't felt ill when Tristan kissed her; she'd felt alive and desirable. But she wasn't about to admit that. “Uh ... no. It was a rather nice sort of dizziness, I suppose."

  “That's good.” Brigit nodded.

  Gareth threw his hands in the air, a look of utter dismay lighting his face. “What's so good about the fact that kissing Tristan did not make the lass wish to heave her innards?"

  “Men!” Brigit huffed. “It means that she's attracted to him. ‘Tis a good sign, indeed. The fact that Tristan has been insufferable ever since Seerah came to join you, that be a good sign as well."

  “Oh?” Gareth puzzled over Brigit's words for a moment. “Oh. Aye.” He nodded, slowly.

  “Nay!” Seerah jumped to her feet in protest. “I do na wish to be ... attracted to him. I have no desire...” she faltered as the empty trencher in her lap fell the floor.

  Brigit set her weaving aside and retrieved the wood tray. “Pshaw. You have plenty of desire. You simply do na’ know it, yet. ‘Tis obvious you be too busy butting heads with Tristan to know what you feel, or what to do about it. But I do.” She winked at Seerah. “Do na’ worry. Trust me."

  * * * *

  “S-Sir Nevil?” Ansel panted, breathlessly. “W-wake up, sir ... I've good news."

  Nevil opened one eye. “For what lame reason do you disturb my slumber?” he grumbled. “Have you found another goblin?” He closed his eye and rolled from his back to his side.

  “Nay, Sir. ‘Tis important. There be a cottage in a clearing, just south of here,” Ansel whispered.

  Nevil lifted his head and looked over his shoulder. “A cottage?” He scowled at Ansel. “That's your important news? If I wasn't so weary I'd slay you now, just to rid myself of your stupidity. Be gone!” Nevil lowered his head to the ground
and tugged his mantle tightly about his body.

  “But, Sir. I also saw five war-horses tethered outside."

  Nevil didn't move. “Tristan?"

  “Aye."

  Nevil threw off his mantle and awkwardly stumbled to his feet. “Why didn't you say that sooner? How far?"

  “Still a good distance from here. The moon has risen quite high since I first left. Do you wish to storm the cottage?"

  “You simple-minded buffoon!” Nevil raised his hand as if to strike. Then he stole an anxious look over his shoulder in Helig's direction. The giant sat a good distance away, near the dwindling fire, staring up at the sky. “Damn the oaf!” Nevil released a bitter sigh and lowered his arm. “Of course I wish to storm the cottage!"

  Narrowing his eyes, Nevil crowded close to Ansel until they stood practically nose to nose. “Unfortunately, we've not enough men to execute a surprise attack. No thanks to you!"

  The foul aroma of Nevil's hot, stale breath reminded Ansel of dead bodies rotting in the sun. He trembled, sweat dampening his forehead as he held his breath and fought the overwhelming urge to vomit.

  “Ready the horses, now!” Nevil turned on his heel and strode away.

  “Aye, Sir."

  Helig rose and lumbered towards Ansel. Helig's eyes seemed to shift with a look of distress. He pounded his chest several times with his fist, then pointed to the sky and opened his mouth as if to speak. His face contorted with effort, but the only sound he expressed was a wounded cry.

  Looking up at the sky Ansel frowned with concern.

  “Aye, Helig. I see."

  “What? What do you see that distresses that ox-of-a-man so?"

  Swallowing hard, Ansel turned to address Nevil. “'Twill displease you milord."

  “Since when has that promise earned your silence? Tell me."

  “'Tis the sky."

  Nevil looked up. “A few dark storm clouds. They're moving rapidly. The squall will pass swiftly. I don't see why this should cause such alarm."

  “Uh ... ‘tis no simple storm of nature, Sir. But rather...” Ansel faltered beneath Nevil's warning glare. “Notice how dense and angry the clouds be. The air is teeming with evil. Helig believes that wicked spirits be out and about seeking revenge."

  “Of course.” Nevil sighed. “Unfortunately, the way my luck is holding out, I'll likely be spared. What worse punishment could I possibly endure that would compare to being stuck with you and your superstitious chatter?"

  “A curse could befall you, Sir."

  “One already has!"

  * * * *

  As Tristan stormed through the forest, images of Seerah's concerned expression as she spoke of his supposed ailments kept flashing through his mind. As usual, Brigit's remarks had only served to make matters worse. Tristan knew she was likely having a good laugh at his expense.

  Not that Brigit was ever any help in such matters. She thoroughly enjoyed bossing him around like a young whelp, and embarrassing him. She always had. The foolish thought was maddening.

  The only thing more humiliating was knowing that Seerah believed he was inept as a man. What she thought of him shouldn't matter to him one way or another, but it did. As he stalked aimlessly through the thick brush, it became painfully clear that he was losing control of his emotions and his ability to make sound judgments. Worse yet, Gareth's earlier words cut closer to the truth than Tristan cared to admit.

  Aye, it angered him greatly the way Seerah and Gareth responded to one another. However, when Tristan recalled how beautiful Seerah had looked when she first appeared from the ring fort at the Dana village, the bluster went right out of him. He stopped walking, and sighed raggedly. “A daft witch, indeed. ‘Tis more likely she's an ingenious enchantress,” he grumbled.

  The steady crunching sound of dry leaves suddenly invaded his troublesome thoughts. Tristan instinctively crouched down near an oak stump, and he peered into the murky evening gloom. The mist seemed to roll in suddenly, blanketing the forest and making it nearly impossible for Tristan to see even the trees and shrubs directly in front of him. He remained still, waiting and listening.

  “Tristan will not elude me this time!” A man's voice echoed through the mist.

  “If the lass truly be a witch, she could very well be long from here,” a second man replied. “'Tis most likely that the amulet you seek is a sorcerer's talisman. I've heard tell that such charms can wield enough power to allow its bearer to change form. Why, she could be a rabbit or a deer and pass through the forest without our notice. Mayhap, she turned into a dove and flew away from the crumbling inn in Dingle. Aye, I know one thing for certain—if Tristan and his men had been there, it was magic that kept them hidden from us, Sir Nevil. The structure was so rotted and old, it was obvious none have dwelled there in years. And, you saw for yourself there was no place to hide. Helig thinks..."

  “Silence!” Nevil growled softly.

  Tristan scowled into the darkness. Sir Nevil, indeed! And Helig the ogre? A strange alliance most certainly. How could they know of the amulet? And what of the inn in Dingle? Tristan mused, but his questioning thoughts were swiftly interrupted.

  Nevil said, “You insufferable twit, Ansel. Did it ever occur to you that, maybe, your incessant blubbering is what allowed Tristan to make a clean get away? They were at the inn. I'm certain. The box Helig found was proof enough of that. Now, listen to me, and listen well. Helig is but an oaf. And the girl is ... not your concern. However, the amethyst charm is of great value and our Lord Viper wants it at all costs."

  “He also wants the girl,” Ansel contended.

  “As a bonus,” Nevil groused, impatiently. “He's a virile man, with hearty appetites."

  “But, ‘tis been rumored by many that he holds a beautiful red-haired lass captive in his tower to quench his ... appetites."

  “That he does,” Nevil said. “A wench of supreme beauty, indeed."

  “Have you actually seen her, then?” Ansel said.

  “I have. Only once, though, when Lord Viper first captured her and brought her to Lochinver keep. That was nearly two decades ago, but she still exists, I'm certain. Sometimes, late at night, her shrill cries pierce the tower walls. She's a rare beauty indeed, with her flowing red hair and green eyes. She's also a veritable shrew, however, so Lord Viper keeps her drugged, and under lock and key. He obviously seeks a younger, less demanding captive as a distraction. Do you not understand the pleasures of the female flesh, or do you simply find men more to your liking, Ansel?” Nevil jeered.

  “I like lasses just fine, Sir."

  “Have you ever raped one?” Nevil asked, his voice heavy and thick like a seductive purr.

  “Nay, Sir."

  “Then you don't know what you're missing. To overpower another living being, and take from it what you will. Why, that's the most exhilarating feelings a man can ever know. After we slay Tristan and his men, I may allow you to take a turn with the girl. After I have my fun with her, first, of course."

  “Aye, Sir,” Ansel replied.

  “Aye? Indeed,” Nevil said. “Why, you've no idea what a great gift I've just offered you, have you? I wager you've never even bedded a wench, willing or nay. Well, we'll have to remedy that—and soon.” The eerie sound of Nevil's laughter echoed through the forest, then faded like a ghostly whisper carried swiftly away on the wings of shadows.

  Tristan made to follow the sound, but the mist receded so rapidly he froze to keep from being seen. Ever so slowly, his hand sought the hilt of his sword as he scrutinized the surrounding area. It was as if the gods had exhaled a mighty breath, blowing the mist away like a puff of smoke. Tristan scanned the outcroppings of trees and bushes for any sign of Nevil's presence. He saw nothing. Heard nothing. Certain that Nevil had been near enough to strike, Tristan surveyed the immediate area, but he found no tracks in the dirt, not even a snapped twig or a swaying branch remained.

  The notion seemed impossible, for the voices had been as clear as if they'd been coming from inside his
own head.

  The sound of rustling leaves brought Tristan reeling swiftly to his left. He crouched in a defensive stance, one hand resting on the hilt of his broadsword as he drew a jeweled dagger from its sheath with the other. A moment passed in silence, then the same rustling noise sounded from the opposite direction. Tristan whirled around and drew his sword. He caught the slightest movement out of the corner of his eye and whirled around again. When his eyes settled on the small creature scampering toward him through the leaves, Tristan's face fell. “Cosmo?"

  The ferret's black eyes seemed to twinkle in the darkness. Then he appeared to wink and flash his shiny white teeth as if smiling.

  “Wretched animal,” Tristan whispered. “Do you na’ know how dangerous it is to sneak about in such a manner? I almost ran you through with my dagger. Seerah would never forgive me had I done that. ‘Tis also likely ‘twas you've who alerted Nevil to my presence.” He glanced furtively about, then scowled at Cosmo. “We best be off before you get me killed."

  Cosmo appeared to nod his head in agreement.

  “And, quit that. It makes me wary when you act as if you understand me."

  Cosmo appeared to wink again.

  Tristan shook his head in disbelief. “First I see whiskered little men in the forest and now I'm talking to animals? I've gone daft, indeed,” he muttered.

  When Cosmo turned and headed off, Tristan couldn't help noticing the way the dry forest leaves remained still and quiet as the ferret seemed to vanish like a ghost in the mist—only no mist remained. As Tristan treaded stealthily through the forest, he puzzled over the ferret's odd presence, as well as Nevil's mysterious lack thereof.

  * * *

  Chapter Nineteen

  “So, Seerah, what do you think causes your powers to be contrary?” Brigit asked, from her seat by the hearth.

  Seerah shrugged. “I know not for certain.” She gazed aimlessly about the room, where hand-coiled mats made from rye straw and plaited marram grass lay strewn about the clay floor. Straw baskets littered shelves and dry, woven rushes adorned the cottage walls. “Your weaving is impressive,” she said.