Dreamweaver

by Judie Chirichello

  “Eire be a great distance. Mayhap something as simple as foul weather has hampered their mission. The Irish sea be most unpredictable as you well know."

  “Aye, but I need them here before I make my decision. Whether or not I decide to take this ... Viper up on his offer, their presence is vital. Especially now that I know..."

  “You believe the dream, then?"

  “'Twas more than a simple dream, Alec. The vision was a clue from my past, as well as a foretelling of things to come, I'm certain. I fear, however, that the enchantress has visited me for the last time. If I cannot look further into the past, I know she will be lost to me forever, and my fate will be doomed."

  “You believe she lives as a human?” Alec frowned with uncertainty. “And, that she holds the key to your past?"

  “I do. And, if Tristan and Gareth have found the stone, they may well hold the key to my future. ‘Tis why I need them here. I'm most certain this Viper is part of the overall equation, somehow. ‘Tis as if he knows me from my past. If this be true, he has me at a grave disadvantage."

  “Indeed, but what can we do?"

  “Nothing as of yet. Except pray for Tristan and Gareth to return safely, and before time runs out."

  * * * *

  Blarney, County Cork, (Coraigh)

  Tristan slowed his mount to a halt. “We'll camp here for the night. We've traveled a great distance and the horses need rest."

  “As do I,” Seerah said.

  “While we tend the horses, you may see to your needs. But do not get lost again, for I've no desire to search for you this eve."

  “And I've no—” Seerah quelled her urge to argue with him. “You've no need for such concerns as I'm quite at home in the woods. Besides, you said I could fetch some herbs when we gained Blarney."

  “I said, if you behaved."

  Seerah gritted her teeth and smiled. “And, that I have. I could also use a moment or two of privacy."

  “Aye. But don't be dallying, and don't wander far.” Tristan pointed to an oak tree barely twenty paces away. “The other side of the oak, for your privacy, but no further,” he ordered.

  Seerah wanted to scream. She hated being treated like a wayward child, especially when it was apparent that Tristan took such pleasure in ordering her about. “Aye.” She nodded, then headed for the tree. She glanced back at Tristan, smiled, and waved for good measure, then ducked behind the tree.

  In spite of Tristan's warning she headed deeper into the brush in search of herbs.

  She heard a strange noise in the distance, like the sound of wind howling, and a fine mist had begun settling about the woods. The hairs on her nape prickled; she felt like she was being watched. She considered turning back, but only for a moment or two; she had already spied some interesting strains of mushrooms. She knew that if she just followed the stream a bit longer she would be able to collect a variety of herbs and rare plants that would last her well into the coming weeks. Staying close to the banks of the narrow stream, she continued on.

  Spotting a thatch of black medic, she knelt down near a steep slope. She was reaching for the herb when she heard a man's cry of alarm. “Have a care! Watch ... there—don't!” When Seerah looked up she pitched forward into the stream.

  The frigid water was deeper than she had expected and the current pulled her swiftly along. Seerah gasped at the air, fighting the weight of her sodden clothes, but she was soon exhausted. Just when she thought she would surely drown, something caught her by the arm. The next thing she knew, she was being tossed to the ground and something—no, someone was trying to force the breath out of her by thrusting against her middle.

  She coughed up some water, then began to struggle against her assailant. When he tried to remove her cloak she kicked one foot, catching him in the shoulder and sending him backward into a deep mud puddle. Stumbling beneath her wet clothes, Seerah scrambled awkwardly to her feet. She removed the sodden wool cloak and turned to flee.

  “Nay, lass. Do not fear me. Please, I ... I meant you no harm. I only wished to ... well ... why, I tried, but ... then you fell and ... I only meant to warn you about ... Blast! A sorry excuse of a champion I am indeed."

  Seerah chanced a look in his direction. Despite the fact that he was sitting in mire up to his elbows, he appeared to be a rather handsome, middle-aged man. His green tunic was obviously made of the finest quality fabric. A gold crest decorated his breast, suggesting that he was someone of high standing. From the way he sat there, looking so utterly dejected, Seerah knew that she need not fear him. She wrapped her arms about herself in an attempt to stop the shivering. “What are you about—aside from frightening lasses in the forest?” Seerah asked.

  “I only meant ... I tried to warn ... the steepness and all ... but I ... I.” The man shook his head in despair. “Be you all right ... lass?"

  “Seerah.” She slowly advanced.

  “Seerah, then.” He smiled.

  “Did you also pull me from the water, sir?"

  “Brian."

  “Aye, Milord."

  “Nay, lass—I mean, Seerah. Please, call me Brian. I ... you ... well ... be you all right?"

  “Aye, but what of you ... Brian? Your fine clothes have likely been ruined on my account, and ‘tis likely you'll catch your death from the chill."

  “No fear, I've suffered worse. I ... well..."

  “A kind man you are indeed, but your tongue does seem to be givin’ you a fine bit of trouble. Here.” Seerah pulled her aunt's pebble from the pocket in her cloak. She held it out to Brian. “'Tis a magic stone. ‘Tis been known to grant its bearer the gift of smooth talk. ‘Tis all I have to offer you for you kindness."

  Brian eyed the stone, then chuckled. “Be you a fairy, then?"

  “Some might say so."

  “What of you, kind lady? What say you?"

  “Fairy, witch, sorceress—'tis no matter to me. Unskilled as I am, me magic be white. ‘Tis all that really matters."

  Brian reached for the stone and captured Seerah's hand in his own. “Aye. I can see the bewitching goodness of your magic in your eyes. Please, come with me to my home. Allow me to dress you in fine clothes and to pamper you as such beauty deserves."

  Seerah looked deep into his eyes. When she closed her eyes momentarily, a vision of a crown appeared shimmering above his head.

  “See-rah!” Tristan's voice boomed in the distance.

  Seerah glanced anxiously over her shoulder. “I ... I thank you kindly, but I'm afraid me friends search for me as we speak. I must be getting back for they have no patience with me ... mischievous nature. Thank you again. And good health to you, M'lord.” She issued a brief curtsy then fled in the direction she'd come.

  * * * *

  Tristan silently counted to ten. “Seerah!” When no reply came, he headed for the oak.

  “Where are you off to, Tristan?” Gareth called.

  “To find Seerah, again!” He rounded the tree, but saw no sign of her. “Damnable woman.” He stomped off through the woods, following her trail and calling her name. When he came to a spot on the river-bank, the evidence seemed clear—someone had fallen in the river.

  “Seerah!"

  “Here. I'm here.” Seerah pushed through the bushes and stood shivering before him, dragging her wet cloak behind her.

  “You're soaking wet!"

  Seerah grimaced. “I slipped and fell in the stream."

  “Naturally,” Tristan drawled, scrutinizing her appearance.

  Her teeth clattered noisily from the cold. Her hair and clothes were dripping wet. And those big green eyes of hers; when she blinked innocently up at him like that, through the wet hair hanging in her face, Tristan’ rancor dissolved. He couldn't help thinking that she looked very much like drowned kitten. “Were you off chasing butterflies?"

  Seerah blinked as if confused. “Butterflies? Nay. I was gathering herbs. You see there was this rather nice patch of black medic down by the stream. Unfortunately, the slope was steeper than I thoug
ht."

  “Obviously."

  Reaching her trembling hand up, Seerah dragged the long wet strands of hair from her face and frowned at him.

  That's when Tristan noticed the mark on her forehead. He moved in closer. “You are hurt.” He examined the mark, brushing his fingers lightly against the bruised flesh. Her skin felt soft and smooth beneath his callused hands, and her entire body seemed to relax beneath his touch. “Does it hurt?"

  “Nay.” She sighed.

  Her denial sounded like a breathy whisper and her warm breath brushed his chest. “Be this your only injury?” Tristan asked, his voice sounding gruff to his own ears. Then, trying to disregard the tempting look in her eyes, he dropped his gaze. A definite mistake, he realized, noticing the enticing way her sodden dress clung to her body.

  “I...” Seerah faltered, inhaling sharply.

  Her chest rose in response, and Tristan openly admired the swell of her bosom, his heated gaze settling on the defined peaks of her breasts. It was more than obvious that she was chilled to the bone and he knew that if he didn't warm her up, soon, she'd likely fall ill. Getting her out of her wet clothes, as quickly as possible, was the only way. His breathing quickened and his body stirred at the thought. Feeling her shiver, he looked up. Her lips trembled as his fingers trailed slowly down her face, lightly caressing her cheek. Pushing back her hair, he cupped her face, then stroked her bottom lip with his thumb.

  Seerah gasped softly. Her lips quivered and she shivered again.

  “You are near to freezing,” he said, looking deep into her eyes.

  “I ... I do not f-feel so cold. Actually, I feel rather...” Seerah licked her lips. “Tingly."

  “Tingly is worse than cold. We must relieve you of these wet clothes afore you catch your death."

  Seerah gasped as Tristan hefted her into his arms then carried her to a nearby cave. Once inside, Tristan set Seerah back on her feet and quickly reached out to unlace her dress.

  Seerah grabbed his wrists, but her attempt to stop him was feeble at best. “You mustn't, Tristan. This is na’ proper. Besides, I've nothing else to wear,” she stuttered through chattering teeth.

  “You will wear me plaid.” His hands began moving deftly, beneath her frigid grasp.

  “B-but, what will you wear then? Stop! You mustn't!” Seerah slapped his hand, then grimaced. “Ouch!” She winced. “By the devil, that hurt!"

  “That's because your hands are practically numb.” He slid the gown from her shoulders. “I must, and I will."

  “The very least you could do is close your eyes!"

  Tristan's hands stilled. “Close my eyes?” he asked, realizing the thought had never occurred to him.

  “Please.” Her eyes grew wide and pleading.

  Tristan relented and immediately heard her sigh of relief.

  He made quick work of her sodden gown, hose and slippers, then stripped off his plaid.

  “Oh!” Seerah cried, sounding mildly alarmed, but Tristan simply smiled, keeping his eyes closed as he wrapped his plaid around her. When he finally opened his eyes Seerah was standing, with her eyes closed tight. Tristan chuckled. “You be a healer Seerah, You must have seen naked men before.

  “Aye! B-but that was d-different."

  “How?"

  “I ... I do not know, exactly. It j-just is."

  He frowned, then. “You're still shivering. Come. The heat from my body should help."

  “No! I ... I mean ... couldn't you s-simply build a fire?

  “Seerah. There be no tinder nor kindling in this cave. Be still. I'll na’ harm you.” He pulled Seerah close and began rubbing his hands vigorously over the plaid covering her back.

  “Mmmm. Th-thank y-you.” Seerah mumbled.

  “You are still shivering mightily."

  “The water was frightfully chilled.” Snuggling closer, she opened her eyes glanced up at him. “But you're so warm.” Her parted lips trembled slightly.

  Suddenly Tristan bent his head low and pressed his lips to hers. His intent was merely to warm her more thoroughly, but the feel of her eager lips and pliant body caused his desire to soar. He brushed her lips with his tongue, then nearly came undone when she did the same.

  Driven by pure instinct, he deepened the kiss.

  She complied, her arms willingly circling his neck.

  Slipping his hands beneath the plaid, he caressed Seerah's shoulders and back, her bare flesh seeming to warm beneath his touch. Then, moving slowly lower, he cupped her bottom and pulled her close until he could feel her body mold against him.

  Seerah moaned deep in her throat.

  Her passionate whimper could have easily driven a lesser man to distraction, but not Tristan. Dragging his mouth from hers he forced his eyes open. “Feeling better?” His voice sounded deep and raspy as he struggled to gain control.

  “Aye,” Seerah replied, but her eyes remained closed. “You feel good, too. So warm,” she sighed. Then her lips brushed his jaw, “The water was so cold, and me cloak so heavy—I almost drowned—but now, mmmm. So warm.” She nuzzled his neck.

  “You almost drowned!"

  Startled, Seerah gaped up at him. “The currant was swift and that horrid cloak was pulling me down."

  “You could have died!” Tristan shouted.

  Seerah smiled, then.

  Tristan couldn't believe that the daft woman was actually smiling at him like he'd just paid her a compliment. Next, she slowly stroked Tristan's face. “But I did na’ drown, Tristan. King Brian rescued me.” She pressed her lips to his throat, as her hand stroked his chest.

  All thought fled Tristan's mind as he momentarily lost himself in the feel of Seerah's gentle caress. “King Brian,” he mumbled. Then, as if suddenly waking from a dream, he shook his head in disbelief. “King Brian Boru?” Grabbing her wrist, Tristan stilled her hand.

  Seerah looked up. “Aye,” she replied. “Well, of course I did not know he was the king right off.” She tried to free her hand. “Actually, I did not realize he was trying to save me either. I thought he was assaulting me, so I kicked him. He fell in the mire and ruined his fine clothes, but he was not hurt. And he did rescue me."

  “What, no fairies came to your rescue?” Abruptly releasing her hand, Tristan allowed his eyes to travel the length of her semi-naked body.

  Seerah followed his gaze. “Och!” Quickly drawing the plaid close about her, she said, “Like you, he was a mere mortal being. But unlike you, he had a kind spirit and a gentle soul."

  She frowned. “Unfortunately, he also had difficulty speaking clearly. ‘Tis why I fell to begin with. He tried to warn me, but startled me instead. He stuttered so noticeably, even after he saved me, that I gave him Aunt Lilybet's magic pebble. ‘Tis believe by some that the stone gifts its owner with smooth speech, don'cha know?"

  Tristan shook his head and chuckled in spite of himself. “You are the clumsiest, most annoying, chatterbox-of-a-lass I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. And, perhaps insane. You believe a king of Ireland saved you. And you say you rewarded his valiant efforts by giving him a stone?"

  “A king did save me, Tristan. And, giving him the stone was the least I could do."

  “Nay. The least you could do is stay safe.” He swept her up into his arms.

  Seerah blinked up at him. “I'm safe now."

  “You are far from safe, Seerah.” He carried her to the back of the cave. “I know of only one way to warm you properly. Stripping the plaid from her body he laid it on the ground. Lowering himself to the ground he took hold of Seerah hand and pulled her along with him.

  Before Seerah could object he coaxed her to her back, covered her with the length of his body and began his passionate assault. Although taking her virtue went against his vow and everything he believed, her welfare was at stake. Wasn't it?

  * * * *

  Seerah moaned deep in her throat as Tristan kissed her deeply, his hands exploring every inch of her body. When his mouth left hers and sought out her breast, she gas
ped with pleasure. “W-we can na’ do this Tristan. We're not married. ‘Twould be a sin against God,” she said, but her hands coaxed him to continue.

  “Do you wish me to stop, Seerah? Just say the words and I will,” he replied, but his voiced sounded strange to Seerah—like a man who'd run a far distance. “Tell me, now. Do you wish me to stop?” he asked, as his hand gently stroked her inner thigh.

  “N-nay!” she cried. “But...” He pressed his finger to her lips, stifling her. “You'll be me wife, then. ‘Tis the only solution."

  “I ... ‘tis a bit like putting the cart before the horse, Tristan. In God's eyes, ‘twill still be a sin,” she muttered.

  “Not in the Highlands."

  “We're not in the Highlands."

  “Do you accept me as your husband, Seerah?"

  “I might, if..."

  “Just say aye."

  “Aye?"

  “And, I accept you as my wife. ‘Tis done.” He kissed her then and began his slow, passionate assault. He ravished her mouth with his own and her body with his hands. Seerah responded eagerly, copying his actions, caress for enticing caress. Moments later he kissed her in the most intimate fashion, at the core of her femininity. Seerah shouted Tristan's name out in ecstasy as the most thrilling sensation she'd ever experienced tore through her quivering body.

  He drove into her then, in one swift motion, silencing her pained moan with his kiss. When he broke the kiss, he lay very still above her, holding her close, but shielding her from his full weight. “Do na’ move. The pain will lessen, shortly,” he said, his voice breathless.

  And just when Seerah thought it was all over, he began moving his hips. She felt her spirit shoot up like a flaming arrow headed straight for the moon. Then her world suddenly exploded like a bursting star. When the stardust finally settled, she floated back down to earth, slowly, the way a snowflake glides down from the heavens.

  “Be you warm, now?” Tristan asked.

  “Aye, very. But..."

  “But, what?"

  “That does not make what we just did, right.” Seerah caressed his face, almost wishing it did.