“Thank you,” Brigit said, noting how easily Seerah had been distracted from the question at hand. “There be little else to do here most of the time."
“What manner of decoration be they?” Seerah stood and moved to study one of the larger, star-shaped weavings.
“That one be called the witch's eye. The others be simple crosses, but they all be considered charms,” Brigit explained.
“Witch's eye?” Seerah asked, turning to gaze at Brigit.
“Aye. Me brother would say I'm touched by superstitions, but I believe in their power.” Brigit moved to the front door. “See the horseshoe nailed above the door?” She pointed up at the framework. “It brings good fortune if you nail it up like so. Otherwise the luck will run out the ends."
Next, Brigit moved to the hearth and removed a small charm from a peg in the wall. “A flint pebble suspended by a string through a natural hole in the stone, like this one, is called a witch stone. Like the witch eye, ‘tis the symbol of an ever watchful eye. You claim to be a witch, yet you've never seen such things?"
Seerah inclined her head thoughtfully and shrugged. “I suppose there be many different types of sorcery and witchery. I was taught to say vows to the ancestral spirit of the sacred hilltop, and to pay rounds at the well for purification, healing and fertility. We celebrate the festival of Lughnasadh, May Eve, and Samhain. We pray to Dagdha, the good, to Lug, the god of light god, and to Manannan the Irish Sea god. We also honor the trees. ‘Tis believed that they have magical qualities. They also signify knowledge."
Seerah moved about the room, touching and admiring the different decorations. “The rowan, or fairy thorn, the holly, elderberry and white-thorn especially,” she continued. “White blossoms signify spring's approach and the end of killing frost. Red berries be a token signifying the fulfillment of harvest and the promise of renewed life."
Turning she gazed into the fire. “Until I came to be with me aunt, I lived with Gran amidst a clan of Celtic tinkers and traders, most of whom practice the Druid ways. Some carried charms, but we lived mostly out of doors and had nowhere to display such finery. At the inn, in Dingle, Aunt Lilybet often hung dried twigs of rowan about, but none were as comely as these. At night, she always dropped a hot ember from the hearth into the foot-water before she smoored the fire. And she always removed the band from the spinning wheel—to make the house safe from mischievous fairies. Or so she said.” Seerah shrugged. “Some would say ‘tis no more than wives tales and folklore.” She sighed and glanced over her shoulder at Brigit.
“Not I,” Brigit said. “A God-fearing Christian I am, but I've a great deal of faith in fairy magic and the like.” She pulled at the string about her neck to reveal a small limestone. “Since birth, I've worn this witch stone about my neck to protect me from evil. Despite some minor misfortunes, I believe it has kept me safe."
Moving in closer, Seerah studied the charm. “Gran wore a similar cross, but she never called it a witch stone."
“Mayhap it's considered unflattering or vain for witches to refer to their keepsakes as such. Have you no charms of your own?"
“Only a pendant. ‘Tis my mother's.” Seerah pulled the amethyst charm from beneath her tunic.
Brigit's eyes widened. “'Tis lovely and impressive, indeed. Be it powerful?"
Seerah shrugged. “Only to one who can command it. It seems to work much better when Cosmo is near me.” Turning suddenly, she frowned at Gareth, who sat poking the fire. “Gareth, where is Cosmo?"
“Cosmo?” Brigit asked.
Gareth stood abruptly and walked over to Brigit. “Cosmo be Seerah's pet. He's in the pouch near Colin, but I fear his presence will na’ please you,” he warned. To Seerah he whispered, “She has an aversion to..."
Brigit screamed and jumped up into the seat of her chair. “A rat? You allowed a rat to enter me house? Get it out, Gareth. Get it out, now!” she demanded.
“Please calm yourself, Brigit. He's a ferret, not a rat,” Seerah explained. She slanted a chastising gaze at Gareth as she walked over and picked up the pouch.
“Rat, ferret?” Gareth shrugged. “They're all the same to Brigit.” He sighed, then went back to his spot by the hearth where he took up his task of poking the fire.
“He's very’ tame.” Seerah pulled Cosmo from the leather pouch.
Brigit grimaced and trembled visibly as she hugged herself. “He l-looks like a r-rat to me. And r-rats be evil. They cause f-famine and disease."
“Rats, aye. But ferrets be very clean and intelligent. Cosmo.” Seerah nudged him awake. “Show Brigit how very clever you be."
Cosmo yawned and stretched, then, sluggishly looked up at Brigit. After a moment, he twitched his nose and winked.
Brigit gasped. “W-will you look at that. H-he looks to be almost—almost human."
After a final stretch, Cosmo leapt gracefully to the ground and scurried over to where Colin lay sleeping. Carefully pulling Colin's pouch from his leather waistband, Cosmo unfastened the string and quickly devoured the contents of dried meat.
“The devil he is,” Brigit whispered.
“Nay, mischievous is all. Come Cosmo, you know how grumpy Colin gets when you steal his fodder."
Cosmo obediently scampered back to Seerah. “Tristan likes Cosmo not.” She picked him up. “But, as I said, Cosmo's presence seems to help me powers. Would you like to hold him?"
Brigit hesitantly reached out her hand to pet him. When Cosmo lowered his head submissively, Brigit flinched. “Oh!"
“Fear not, he likes you.” Seerah nodded.
“H-how do you know?"
“Well, he's not bared his teeth at you."
Brigit pulled her hand back. “He does that?"
“Actually, he's only done it once as I recall, and that was directed at Tristan."
“You don't say! Well then...” Brigit chuckled and stepped down from the chair. “He must be clever, indeed. Hand him to me, Seerah. If you do na’ think he'll mind."
Seerah smiled and laid Cosmo across Brigit's palms.
“He's so soft.” Cuddling him close, Brigit rubbed her cheek against his fur. “No wonder he's a comfort to you.” She reseated herself in her chair. “Now, about you powers. Is it possible that mayhap ... you lack ... concentration?"
“I doubt that. Sometimes I try so hard to concentrate that I fear my head will explode, yet my powers elude me. ‘Tis only been most recently that I have...” Seerah faltered.
“Aye?” Brigit prodded.
“I'm most certain I caused Colin to speak with my mind. And I know I made Uncle Marcus's shillelagh assault Tristan,” Seerah winced at the memory.
“Did you now?” Brigit laughed. “Do you have a mind of how you did that? I'd like to try it meself."
Seerah gazed at Colin's sleeping form. “When I caused Colin to speak, I was angered because he'd called me a saucy wench.” Placing her hands on her hips, she turned towards Brigit again. “As far as Uncle Marcus’ Shillelagh, I was quite annoyed with Tristan when he refused to believe me. And, just afore we came to be here, Tristan said some very hurtful things to me.” Seerah narrowed her brows at the memory.
“And, what did you do?” Brigit charged.
“I ... I slapped his face,” Seerah cringed.
“As you well should have.” Brigit gave a curt nod of approval, then glanced curiously from Gareth to Seerah. “What happened then? How did Tristan respond?"
“Well.” Seerah's brow was tightly knit as she tried to recalled the incident. Raising her right hand, she went on, “He grabbed my wrist so I could not hit him again. I was so furious.” She closed her eyes and curled her hand into a tight fist. “I wanted to strike him a mighty blow, but he was squeezing me ... me hand!” Seerah opened her eyes and flexed her fingers. “Why, the flash of lightening that frightened Igneous—it came from me. Through my fingers somehow, I think.” She wiggled her fingers curiously.
“I see. Maybe ‘tis not your powers that be contrary, but your feelings,” Brigit c
ommented. “Hmmm. You said you had a clear vision when Tristan kissed you."
“Aye. The clearest vision yet, but—"
“Do you not see? When your emotions be focused, so are you powers. Aye, anger definitely works."
“But I was not angry when Tristan kissed me,” Seerah argued.
“Not angry, but passionate. Aye, passion is the key.” Brigit declared with a curt nod.
“P-passion? Nay!” Seerah protested.
“Aye, passion.” Brigit nodded. “Apparently it allows you to focus. Though it sounds as if you be most passionate when you be angered, such negative energy must be draining."
“Indeed. ‘Tis how I've felt ever since I began this journey. At first, I did na’ understand why I felt compelled to trust Tristan. I know, now, ‘tis because of our past. I was only a wee lass when the Norsemen assaulted my people, but apparently our fates have been intertwined ever since. Though Gran told me that the gods chose him be my protector ... I can na’ help thinking that I'm meant to help him, as well, somehow. He tries my patience unduly. And, weary I am indeed, thanks to Tristan, but I know he needs me. Why, if not for Gareth...” Seerah glanced curiously at Gareth's back. “Gareth,” she whispered.
“What of Gareth?” Brigit frowned, but Seerah ignored her and went to stand behind him.
“Gareth?” Seerah summoned.
“Aye?” Gareth hesitantly looked up at Seerah.
“Come here, please.” She held out her hand.
“I'm busy,” Gareth poked at the fire again.
“What be you so anxious about all of a sudden, Gareth?” Brigit charged.
“All this talk of witchery makes me uneasy,” Gareth replied.
“Since when?” Brigit balked. “For as far back as I can remember, you were the only one who never called me ways superstitious. Why, you used to help me weave my crosses and eyes when the others were not around."
Gareth glared at Brigit. “You swore to keep that a secret. Why, the others will call me a lass if they ever find out,” he complained.
“But, they be sleeping now, and Seerah will na’ tell. Will you Seerah?” Brigit winked at Seerah.
Seerah smiled. “Of course not. If you come to me now, that is."
“I can na'.” Gareth refused.
“Why?” Brigit demanded.
“Ever since Seerah came to be with us, I've felt ... peculiar. I've had dreams. I've seen strange things. I know things I have no right to know. And, I argue with Tristan. Why, we almost drew swords."
“Because you care for Seerah?” Brigit prodded.
“Aye, but not in the way Tristan thinks. ‘Tis more a ... a kindred feeling, like the way I feel toward you, Brigit. Only the bond between Seerah and I seems ... stronger. I became aware of it when we met Ecne and his people.” Gareth glanced at Seerah. His solemn expression seemed strained, like he wished to say more on the matter but didn't know how to explain.
Seerah nodded. “Aye. I know what you mean. I care for you deeply as well. I worried for you unduly when you and Colin went to scout the glen where Ecne ... the glen!” She gasped. “Gareth, did Colin find the village or did you?"
“It matters not,” Gareth replied. “Ecne—"
“Who be this Ecne?” Brigit asked, but Seerah waved her off.
“Gareth, who be your people?” Seerah asked.
“I do na’ know.” He shrugged. “I was newly born when they were ambushed and killed by Norse raiders. Cordelia became my guardian that night. She told me that my true mother was a brave lass. Beyond that the two were complete strangers."
Seerah pulled the amulet from beneath her collar. “Come here.” She held her other hand out to Gareth. “Please?"
Gareth hesitated, then held his hand out and advanced. When their hands touched, Seerah gasped. Gareth flinched and tried to retreat, but Seerah pulled him close, huddling against his chest in an intimate embrace.
“Seerah, you mustn't—” Gareth tried to free himself, but Seerah held fast.
“But ... I feel...” Seerah whispered and looked up. She smiled, her eyes filling with tears. Then she sighed breathlessly and placed a chaste kiss against his jaw. “You belong to me, Gareth."
Gareth relaxed. A look of calm settled on his face and he returned her warm embrace.
“'Tis touching, indeed.” Tristan muttered from the open doorway.
“Tristan?” Seerah whirled around. “You've misunderstood. I ... we—"
“I care na’ about what you have to say,” Tristan growled.
“Tristan!” Brigit jumped to her feet and advanced, cradling Cosmo in the crook of her arm.
“Leave off, Brigit.” Tristan stood there, his body as straight and rigid as a broadsword. “I've never raised a hand to you, or felt the need to. But I swear, do not try me this night!"
Colin, Zeth and Greum came abruptly awake. Jumping to their feet, they drew their daggers, prepared to do battle.
“Sheath your weapons!” Tristan ordered.
The warriors obeyed his command without hesitation, then glanced from one to another looking thoroughly confused.
“Tristan, you must listen to reason,” Gareth began.
“I must? Do you yet wish to draw swords with me, Gareth?” Tristan glowered.
Gareth's hand twitched at his side.
Brigit rushed to his side. “Gareth, no! ‘Twill serve naught but his foul—"
“Silence yourself, Brigit. He can answer for himself. Or can you?” Tristan said, offering them each a scathing glare.
Gareth sighed deeply and crossed his arms over his chest. “She speaks the truth. Drawing swords this night will serve no purpose. Tristan, you forget your own rule, to never let emotions rule your actions."
Tristan's body tensed. The muscles in his chest and arm twitching visibly with apparent restraint.
Seerah advanced and without thinking laid her hands against his chest. “Please calm yourself, Tristan. I beg of you, let me explain."
Tristan seized Seerah's wrists and shook her with jarring force. “Do not try to beguile me with your enchanting wiles. I will na’ be having any more of it this night.” He glared down at her. “We are leaving. Now!"
“Stop, Tristan. You are hurting me,” Seerah grimaced, and struggled to free herself. “And, we can na’ leave. I told you—"
Tristan forced her arms down against her sides and bent his head until there was barely a hair's breadth between their noses. “And, who's going to stop me?"
“Please, do na’ anger me, Tristan,” Seerah squirmed. “Be sensible and release me now afore ... afore I do something we'll both regret."
“A threat? Do tell. What exactly will you do, witch?” Tristan taunted.
* * *
Chapter Twenty
Cosmo leapt suddenly from Brigit's hands to Seerah shoulders.
“Oh!” Brigit cried, startled.
As Seerah glared back at Tristan, her body began to tremble.
Brigit scooted behind her chair, and cast Gareth an apprehensive glance.
Gareth, Colin, Zeth and Greum also backed away.
“Why, I'll...” Seerah casually glanced from Cosmo to the hearth, before returning her gaze to Tristan. “I'll guide that heavy iron pan into your thick Scot head. That's what I'll do!” she declared.
Tristan chuckled, then smiled cynically. “Do you worst, but do so quickly for I plan—” Tristan faltered as pain exploded in his head.
He closed his eyes and tried to shake the strange metallic ringing sound from his ears. When he finally opened his eyes, he stared incredulously at the iron pot hovering in mid-air. He swayed, released Seerah, and stumbled backwards. Then everything went black.
* * * *
Tristan fell to the floor and the pan crashed to the ground next to him with a resounding clang.
“I did it!” Seerah clapped her hands together with delight.
“Aye. That you did, now.” Awe and approval laced Brigit's voice as the warriors slowly gathered in a circle about Tristan.
“Dear me!” Seerah quickly fell to her knees and laid her ear against his chest. “Thank the gods, he breathes. I had na’ thought...” She glanced up at Brigit and the men. “I simply wished to show him."
“Aye. And show him you did. But good.” Brigit chuckled. “See? I told you, your powers are not contrary. Your feelings mayhap.” She gazed at Tristan and sighed.
“Do you think he'll remember what happened?” Gareth asked.
Brigit shrugged. “Mayhap. Mayhap not. But, he'll certainly have a fine ache in his head and a large knot on his skull in the morn. ‘Twill rekindle his foul mood either way."
“Aye.” Seerah nodded dismally then glanced at Gareth. “What are we to do?"
“Do na’ look to me. You be the one who laid him out,” Gareth grinned
“I ... he ... but...” Seerah fell silent, her panic-filled gaze coming to rest on Brigit.
“Leave him where he lays,” Brigit said. “Mayhap ‘twill do his stubborn hide some good to sleep on the cold floor. You best get some sleep, too, Seerah. And try not to worry. I fear tha ‘tis the best you can do."
* * * *
As Tristan stirred, he grew painfully aware of the dull throbbing sensation plaguing his skull. With a muffled groan he rolled to one side and cradled his aching head in his hands. When he finally pried his eyes open it took him a moment to gain his faculties, and to realize that he was lying on the cold cobbled floor in Brigit's cabin. He frowned with confusion and sat up—too quickly, he realized a moment too late when his head began to swim. “Damn and blast!” He muttered, then tried to focus his eyes on the hearth.
He heard the wind howling outside, and a sound like pebbles hitting the cottage exterior.
Tristan grunted with displeasure at the irritating noise, then he tried to recall how he'd come to be lying about on the floor with no mat or bedding.
A cold gust of air suddenly rushed down through the chimney chute. Ashes spewed forth and Brigit's hanging pans clanged together. Tristan held his hands over his ears and turned to study the undisturbed, sleeping forms of his warriors. He couldn't believe his eyes; not one of the men so much as flinched at the racket. When he glanced in the direction of Brigit's cot he scowled and rubbed his pained skull. He suspected that she was somehow to blame for his sorry condition, not to mention the obvious drunken state of his men.
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