Dreamweaver

by Judie Chirichello

  “Nay, Seerah.” Brigit sighed. “He's simply telling you he agrees with us."

  Cosmo screeched, then leapt to the floor and scurried over to Brigit. “See? Even Cosmo knows how badly Tristan needs you."

  Seerah sighed and shook her head dismally. “Aye, that he does, but not for the reasons you obviously believe. He once saved my life and I owe him dearly. But not ... what you speak of. He simply needs his heart to be healed. He needs to forgive himself and release the anger and pain."

  Brigit arched her brow at Seerah. “And tell me, lass, just how does one go about healing a heart, if not with love."

  “I...” Seerah frowned. “I do na’ know exactly, but ... Even if I wanted to ... to get close to him, which I certainly do na', Tristan has already accused me of being a cunning woman with wily ways. ‘Tis obvious that I do na’ know the first thing about charming men."

  Brigit smiled knowingly. “Ah, indeed. But, I do. I also know Tristan better than anyone else. I'll tell you everything you need to know.” Taking Gareth by the arm Brigit ushered him to the door. “Go on with you. Keep an eye on Tristan. I have work to do."

  Looking thoroughly forlorn Gareth batted his eyes at Brigit. “But, I had so hoped to learn your secrets."

  “Och! Off with your puppy-eyes and brown nose. You'll get no secrets from me with such a pitiful look.” Brigit shoved him outside and shut the door. Turning to Seerah, she leaned back against the door.

  Seerah had no idea of what Brigit had in mind, but the mere mention of kissing Tristan had set Seerah's stomach to fluttering. Unfortunately, the memory of his mocking glare and accusations stilled the fluttering and set her head to aching. Even if he had feelings for her, he wasn't willing to admit it to himself, let alone to her. “I do na’ like the way you be looking at me, Brigit. ‘Tis a waste of time. I can na'."

  “Do you have so little faith in yourself, Seerah?"

  “Aye. I have little faith, and even less desire in the matter of seducing Tristan. Why the way he treated me after he kissed me ... ‘Tis obvious I did na’ please him.” Seerah sighed dismally. “Though I've not come up with it yet, there must be another way to heal his heart."

  “Poor, dear. I see, now. You've a great deal to learn about men, and about love.” A mischievous glint lit Brigit's eyes and she smiled crookedly. “And, I've much to tell."

  Seerah's eyes grew wide and she swallowed hard. “I ... I do na’ think I wish to hear what you have to say."

  “Then do na’ think, just listen.” Brigit advanced. She shoved Seerah into the nearest chair, then launched into the most fascinating lecture about men and women that Seerah had ever heard.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tristan had just finished securing his saddle, when Seerah and Brigit exited the cabin. He watched silently as they hugged each other good-bye.

  “I want you to have this.” Brigit handed Seerah a small object. “'Tis a harvest knot made of flax grass and straw.” Lowering her voice to whisper, she winked and said, “Keep it near to your heart, for ‘tis a love token as well."

  Having heard every word, Tristan narrowed his eyes at the two women. Love token, indeed. What conniving sort of female mischief be they about?

  “Thank you.” Seerah attached the small ornament to the chain holding her amulet. “But, I have nothing to give you."

  Just then, Cosmo poked his head out from the leather pouch Seerah wore about her waist. He began chattering and nudging Seerah with his nose. “What be you about, now?” When Seerah pulled open the drawstring, he ducked down, then quickly reappeared holding a tiny ring between his teeth. “What's this? Oh, you wish Brigit to have it. Aye."

  Seerah took the ring. She studied it for a moment, then held it out to Brigit. “'Tis one of his treasures. I know na’ how he came to have it, but ‘tis obvious he wants you to take it. If you look closely, you can see doves etched in the band. Grandmother always told me that white birds be a sign of good magic."

  “'Tis lovely, indeed.” Brigit took the ring and slipped it on her pinkie. “I will cherish it always.” She stroked Cosmo's head affectionately, before Seerah pulled the drawstring closed.

  It was clear to Tristan that they were up to no good, but he had a plan of his own. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a long, dark cloak. “Here, you will wear this for the rest of the journey.” He abruptly flung the garment at Seerah. “And, keep you hair bound. I do na’ want you drawing attention to yourself, especially when we pass through Killarney."

  The cumbersome cloak landed full against Seerah and she stumbled back beneath its weight. “Aye,” she drawled, grappling with the heavy, woolen material. “'Tis likely five armed Highland warriors passing through a small Irish ballybeg will draw no attention,” she muttered.

  Brigit pinched Seerah's arm.

  “Ow!” Seerah turned with a start. She glared at Brigit, then sighed with defeat and shrugged in reply to Brigit's scolding gaze.

  Tristan silently observed their peculiar behavior. They are definitely up to something, but what? He also took notice of the way Zeth, Colin and Greum seemed to busy themselves, so conveniently, by rechecking their mounts’ saddle-straps and buckles.

  Gareth simply smiled, as if he were in on the scheme. “We will wear cloaks as well, Seerah, but not until we are nearer. As you can well see, they be cumbersome and we—"

  “There be no need to explain, Gareth.” Tristan interrupted. “Put the cloak on.” He scowled at Seerah.

  “Aye. As you wish. ‘Twill serve well to keep me warm and dry. Thank you, Tristan.” Seerah batted her eyes demurely, then began to pull the long robe-like cloak over her head.

  Tristan cocked his brow suspiciously, then gazed at Brigit. “What mischief be you about, Brigit?"

  “Mischief? Me?” Brigit stared wide-eyed back at him, looking as guilty a conniving woman caught in the act of deception.

  “Insufferable, damnable ... whoreson!” Seerah grumbled as she struggled to free her head from the burdensome mantle.

  The warriors glanced at each other with raised eyebrows and Brigit covered her mouth with her hand to keep from giggling. Tristan simply moved to stand before Seerah. With one yank on the cloth, her head emerged. “Oh!” she cried with a start, then blinked up at Tristan, bewildered and slightly stunned.

  Tristan glowered at her. “What ever Brigit told you, forget it. I'll have no more dissension. You will do as I command, without question, or I will take your charm and leave you in the woods for Nevil, God help him.” Tristan glowered.

  Allowing her long black lashes to hood her eyes, Seerah bowed her head slightly in a submissive gesture. “Aye."

  “You have no desire to question my authority then?"

  Seerah kept her eyes lowered. “'Tis na’ me place to question you. You have generously offered to protect me and I have been naught but disagreeable and ungrateful. ‘Tis what Brigit told me. Do you still wish for me to disregard all that she said?"

  When Tristan looked to Brigit, she offered a smug grin and a confirming nod. “'Tis so,” she replied soberly. “I have also behaved poorly, and I apologize for this. We each owe you a great deal and only want what's best for you."

  Tristan didn't know what to think. It wasn't Brigit's nature to apologize. But on the rare occasions in the past, when she had, she'd always been sincere. And she'd never been prone to lying. Looking down at Seerah, he stared at her hard, silently questioning her ability to be contrite. Then, turning on his heel, he walked over and stood beside his mount. “Come here!"

  Seerah lifted the hem of the mantle and advanced as swiftly as she could, until she stood obediently before him. Without pomp or ceremony, Tristan effortlessly lifted her up and deposited her in the saddle. “What else did Brigit tell you?"

  “W-well ... I ... she...” Seerah stammered. “Brigit said, I should simply try me best to ... please you."

  Tristan grunted, then swiftly mounted behind her. “Do na’ forget this. ‘Tis grand advice."

/>   * * * *

  Nevil was first to exit the cave. His temper was as dark as the receding storm clouds. Helig led the horses, and Ansel followed directly. “'Twas good luck that we came upon this cave just when the storm broke,” said Ansel.

  “Good luck?” Nevil growled. “If I didn't have such cursed luck I'd have no luck at all.” He glared at Ansel. “And, if I was inclined to believe in such drivel, I might actually start believing that you are a jinx. Why, it's well past dawn. Tristan is most likely already well on his way. The whoreson. I'm always one step behind him!"

  “We could always return to Lochinver and simply report our findings,” Ansel suggested.

  “Return empty handed? And report what? That I think I know where Tristan is. That I believe he has the stone and possibly the girl? You are indeed a simpleton. But I do have a plan. I'm tired of chasing after Tristan. I know where the honorable fool is headed. He's returning his prize to his laird. He must have a ship at his disposal somewhere south of Killarney. Probably in Coraigh. So, we will simply head south now, and gain a ship first. I'll recruit more men as well. We'll be ready and waiting for him this time."

  “Aye, sir.” Ansel nodded.

  * * * *

  Seerah leaned against Tristan's chest. Though they seldom saw eye to eye, they had been traveling together for so long that such closeness seemed second nature. She enjoyed the smell of him and the feel of him. If only he would open his mind to the possibility...

  “What do you believe in, Tristan?” She asked.

  A moment passed in silence before he said, “Me laird, me men and me abilities as a warrior."

  “'Tis all?"

  “'Tis enough."

  Seerah sighed dismally. “You've had much pain in life. ‘Tis sad, indeed."

  Tristan grunted. “Everyone experiences pain. ‘Tis part of life."

  Seerah shook head. “Not the kind of pain you know. ‘Tis na’ pain of a physical nature. ‘Tis more soulful, like that of a tortured spirit."

  “You know nothing about the pains I have or have na’ endured. Physical or otherwise."

  Seerah gazed up at him. She enjoyed sitting sideways, across his lap, rather than astride, for the position allowed her to observe him when she wished to. “Oh, but I do. I know all about your pain. I felt it, back in the forest—when I laid my hands upon you. Remember? You thought I was crying, because you hurt me? Only ... I was crying because ... well, I experienced the pain deep in your soul—for all you have lost. Your heart has been hardened by the pain of loss and despair, and it needs to be healed, Tristan.” Seerah nodded, then cuddled against his chest again. “'Tis one more reason why the gods have brought us together. You are a protector, and I need protection, in the same way that I am a healer, and you need to be healed.."

  Seerah felt the muscles in Tristan's body tense, and she braced herself for his wrath. Instead, he took a long deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “Brigit had no right to tell you of me past,” he said, finally. “And, whatever you be thinking in that witchy little brain, forget it. I am na’ a man easily besotted. If you are looking for someone to work your love potions on, you have the wrong man.” He pulled the string with the “love knot” from beneath the neckline of her dress.

  “L-love potions?” Seerah stammered. “I would never...” Looking up, directly into his accusing gaze, she offered a wan smile and took the knot from his fingers. “This? This..."

  “Love knot,” he said.

  She laughed, nervously. “'Tis merely a keepsake. ‘Tis meant to ... represent ... the love—between friends. Aye, ‘tis a reminder of me fondness for Brigit, and of her fondness for me. Nothing more.” Casually tucking it away, she averted her gaze to his chest and continued. “And, aye, Brigit told me of your past. But what she told me only helped me to understand what I already knew. Though I have come to believe that love can be a healing force, for some, you misunderstood. Love can na’ be force-fed to someone like medicine. Aye, your spirit is strong, but your soul has been deeply wounded by hate. Your heart is also heavy with guilt and sorrow. Love may be a great healing force, but ... in this case, I believe forgiveness is the cure. And, just so you know, I've little trust in the power of love meself. Why, I'm just beginning to have faith in the powers of mysticism and magic."

  “'Twould seem natural for you to have faith in such powers. You being a witch and all,” Tristan scoffed.

  Seerah's shoulders slumped. “Why do you refuse to believe in me powers, Tristan?"

  Tristan gently nudged her chin with his index finger until she was looking at him. Unspoken challenge sparkled in his eyes and a smug grin curved his lips. “If you truly be a witch, why do you na’ simply hop on you broom and fly to me laird?"

  Seerah pursed her lips to keep from laughing in his face, but the effort proved futile. Her shoulders shook and her lips twitched. Finally, a soft snort escaped her efforts. “Oh, Tristan.” She giggled. “You've been listening to too many fables. Witches do na’ fly by broom-stick."

  Tristan cocked his brow at her. “But, they do fly?"

  She nodded. “Some do."

  “But, you do na’”

  “I ... I—as of yet, no. But—"

  “I see.” Tristan chuckled. “You must na’ be as powerful as you claim to be, then."

  “Oh, but I am.” Seerah sat a bit straighter, as if to emphasize her words. “According to me Gran, and the prophecy, that is. I'm just ... well, I'm still learning to ... properly channel me energy."

  “You are only half a witch then?"

  Seerah rolled her eyes at him. “There be no such thing. Either one is a witch, or no."

  “Oh? Then you must not be a good witch."

  She smiled and wagged her head with dismay, her shoulders shaking as she chuckled softly, again.

  “What do you find so amusing, now?” Tristan demanded.

  “I am a good witch. Opposed to being evil, that is. I'm just not very skilled,” she explained.

  “And, this pleases you?"

  “Nay. But, there seems to be little I can do about it.” Seerah shrugged.

  “I disagree."

  Seerah twisted, leaning her back against his chest as if to dismiss him. He was obviously baiting her, hoping to draw her into an argument. Brigit had made Seerah vow to try her best to be agreeable, but he wasn't making it easy. If you've nothing agreeable to say—say nothing a'tall, Seerah repeated Brigit's words over and over in her mind.

  “You've nothing else to say on the matter?"

  “I am but trying to be agreeable."

  His chest shook with laughter. “But, you do na’ agree?"

  Seerah remained silent.

  His chest shook again. Then he merely grunted.

  They rode in silence for what seemed like an eternity to Seerah. Just when she thought she could no longer stand the silence, he spoke.

  “What if I order to you disagree with me?"

  “'Twould be just like you,” she muttered before she thought better of it. “I mean—"

  “I know exactly what you mean, and this game tires me. Speak your mind—God help me."

  Seerah turned and glared at him. “Such an arrogant man you are. Och! What I wished to say is ... you seem to think that I should have more control over me powers. In fact, you come off as some sort of expert on the matter. What I'd like to know is ... what exactly would you be knowing about me powers? Faith! You do na’ even believe in me existence."

  Tristan smiled, then; his arrogant, yet teasing smile transformed his face for a brief moment, from his usually hard and unyielding countenance to one of sheer joy. When he tried to conceal his pleasure, a soft, mischievous light seemed to sparkle in his eyes.

  Seerah gazed into their amber depths and sighed to herself. Now there's a pair of smiling eyes if ever I saw one. If only—

  Tristan spoke then, breaking into her thoughts, “But it does na’ matter whether or na’ I believe in your existence. ‘Tis like I tell my men. If they wish to be accompli
shed warriors they must train hard, demand excellence and never accept defeat. They must believe they are capable."

  The hard edge had returned to his voice, making his eyes seem hard and cold again. Feeling suddenly defeated, Seerah huffed and leaned back, training her eyes on the horizon. “'Tis most likely then, that I would na’ make a very skilled warrior either."

  “'Tis all in your thinking. If you wish to be an accomplished witch, you should do whatever it takes to be the best you can be. What would make you a good—an accomplished—witch, Seerah?"

  Seerah huffed. “If I knew that, I would na’ have a problem."

  “Let me put it another way. Do you believe in yourself and your so-called powers?"

  “Well ... sometimes."

  “See? You lack confidence and conviction. Many young warriors suffer the same affliction."

  “But I am na’ a warrior. Besides, you do na’ even believe—"

  “My beliefs do na’ matter. ‘Tis only what you believe that truly matters, Seerah. Apparently you believe yourself to be unfit."

  “Not unfit, exactly. I've had some good, strong visions lately. And, though I have difficulty commanding me powers, I did make Colin speak with my mind. I saved Zeth as well. I also made Uncle Marcus's shillelagh fly across the inn at you. And then, there was that little mishap with Brigit's frying pan.” Slowly, gazing at Tristan, she winced.

  Tristan bent his head low and cocked his brow at her skeptically. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips and his eyes seemed to challenge her. “Do you really believe you did all that?"

  He was so close, Seerah could feel his warm breath brush against her lips. She became lost in the depths of his steely gaze as she remembered the kiss they had shared. “Aye, Tristan. I surely do.” She breathed expectantly, allowing herself to be drawn to him.

  “Then, mayhap...” Tristan murmured, his voice sounding thick and gravely, like his throat was parched from thirst. “Mayhap, you truly are a witch."