"Prince," she said aloud, having forgotten that important little tidbit. He was the royal son of a very powerful house--not to mention being a Faolchúnna--and he had a rich and powerful wife who wished nothing good for him. Yet she had handled him like any other client and that was just plain folly.
Realizing she was hungry, she opened her eyes and climbed out of the tub. The innkeeper had told her long ago her breakfast had been prepared and had no doubt been thrown out by now. Her stomach rumbled as she dried herself off, casting an unforgiving eye to the plain gray dress that hung on the wall across from her.
"I wanted pants and a shirt, not a short-sleeved dress!" she had scolded the innkeeper, but he had apologize profusely, telling her there had been nothing in her size at the dry goods store, only things for shorter and broader women.
Turning her nose up at the women's apparel, she had no choice but to don the loose-fitting garment, swishing the full skirt about her hips in disgust. The hem didn't even reach her ankles. She gathered up the clothing she'd been wearing and left the bathing chamber to carry them to the woman working in the kitchen, foisting them off on her with an order that they be washed and ironed as quickly as possibly.
"I can't wear this gods awful shit," Lauryl groused.
"Aye, Milady," the woman agreed. "Right away!"
"Is there any food left?" she asked.
"I am preparing the noon meal now, but if you would like …."
"Bread and cheese," Lauryl interrupted. "An apple or two. That should tide me over, but I need my coffee! Bring it up to my room if you would."
"Aye, Milady!"
Stomping back into the bathing chamber to retrieve her boots and gauntlets, her shoulder scabbard and dagger, she soundly cursed the vagaries of a god who had made her a female.
It never occurred to her that the room to which the innkeeper had assigned her would be occupied by the Faolchúnna. As soon as she opened the door and saw him sprawled sideways across the mattress--one leg crooked toward his chest, his head on one outstretched arm--she wanted to throw her head back and scream, but common sense told her the man was sleeping soundly and to disturb him would be to reawaken the argument she wasn't ready to engage in again any time soon.
Leaving the door open so she could hear the woman coming to bring her her food, she quietly put her boots, gauntlets and weapons on the small table by the fireplace and sat down in one of the two chairs by the window to wait. She noticed her saddlebags in the other chair and was relieved for there were things in it she might need. Ten minutes later she heard footsteps coming up the stairs and got up to intercept the woman out in the hallway, putting a finger to her lips to insure quiet. She took the tray the innkeeper had brought up with him and thanked him with a silent nod. Taking the tray into the room, she eased the door closed with her bare foot and took her meager meal over to the window.
Glade wasn't sleeping--the pain was so severe that he couldn't. His keen sense of smell caught a whiff of the apple and his hearing picked up the soft sound of her biting into it. He eased over to his back, drew his knees up and yawned.
"Did I wake you?" she asked softly.
"Nay," he replied and flung an arm over his eyes to block out what little light there was in the room coming in from the storm-lashed morning. "I can't sleep."
"The headache isn't any better?"
He wondered at her quiet tone and when he slipped gently into her mind to read her thoughts was surprised to find she was no longer angry at him. "It's the weather, I think."
Lauryl glanced at the window where the hail had turned to sleet and was plinking at the glass. "High pressure," she said and when he grunted his agreement, she walked to the bed. "Why don't you let me give you a few drops of the tenerse? There's no need to suffer needlessly."
Thunder shook the window panes almost as though warning him to decline her offer but Glade had reached a point in his suffering where he was tired of it. The nausea had returned full-force and every shriek of lightning, roll of thunder was fast becoming an excruciating agony. Not only sound was being magnified in his mind but smells and light as well. He was acutely miserable.
"All right," he agreed, sitting up and swinging his legs around so he could prop up against the headboard. "I'll lose my mind with much more of this pain."
Lauryl got up and reached for her saddlebags, opening the pouch to extract the bottle of tenerse. She went to the washbasin beside the door, poured a cup of water from the pitcher there then uncorked the drug and poured in a small measure, swirling the cup to mix the concoction. She carried to the bed and handed it to him.
Glade grimaced but he made no comment this time. He drained the cup, shuddered then held it out for her to take.
And it was then his gaze fell upon her right arm.
He shot out a hand and grabbed her wrist, brought it toward him so he could see the tattoo drawn there. "What is this?" he growled, looking up at her with an accusatory glower.
She tried to snatch her hand back but his grip was like iron as he returned his attention to the quarter moon with the three stars that rode the lower curve.
It is the corrán, the symbol of who I am," she stated proudly. "It is the symbol of what I am. I am…"
"I know what it is!" he hissed.
"Then why the hell did you ask?" she returned the hiss and jerked free of his hold.
"You're a Hell Hag," he accused and felt the drug hit him like a tone of brick. His vision suddenly wavered, the walls expanding then contracting like a living, breathing creature. He put a hand to his temple for a shrill buzzing sound had invaded his head.
Lauryl straightened to her full five foot nine inch height. "I am a Daughter of the Night! I am a seventh degree adept in the Order of the Celestial Descendency and the firstborn of..."
He flicked out his hand, dismissing the boast. "You could have told me." Already his vision was getting fuzzy around the edges and all he wanted to do was slide down in the bed and close his eyes. He leaned forward and pulled the pillow from under the coverlet and punched it behind him.
"What difference does it make?" she queried. "I am what I am."
"It doesn't matter," he said and realized he'd slurred the words.
"Then shut up about it," she ordered.
"Bossy woman," he grumbled and wriggled down until his head was on the cool pillow. The drug had latched on with a vengeance, enveloping him in a soft, cottony promise of relief. He turned to his side, one hand thrust under the pillow, the other draped over his waist.
"Arrogant man," she threw back at him. She glared at him as his eyelids fluttered closed. "And don't you be dreaming about me, either!"
He smiled and the smile stayed on his lips though his breath became soft and slow and deep.
She stood there watching him as he slept, creeping closer to the bed until she could reach down and stroke a lock of dark hair away from his forehead. He looked so young, so vulnerable and she mentally cursed the woman who had done this man so much harm.
"I have to find the teagascóir," she said--referring to the Ancient One known as the instructor--as she ran her fingers down his cheek then over to touch his smiling lips.
Under the influence of the tenerse, he would sleep for several hours. She would take that time to find the one called Sagira and seek her counsel.
"There was a soft knock upon the door and Lauryl hurried over to it, wanting nothing to disturb the Faolchúnna. She jerked open the portal to find a teenage boy standing there with a crockery pitcher clutched tightly in his grip.
"Your pardon, Milady," he said, bowing his head to her. "The butcher sent over more Sustenance for His Lordship."
Lauryl looked the boy up and down then grinned. He was as tall as her and had roughly the same build. Chances were good he'd have clothing that would fit her. She took the pitcher from him then asked him how he'd like to make a few extra sentis.
Clad in pants and shirt and her leather jerkin, Lauryl swung her shoulder scabbard on, made sure her dagg
er was strapped securely to her thigh and left the inn to plod her way through the muddy street to the stable. It was still raining but not as hard and the sky to the west was beginning to clear. When she pulled open the stable door, she saw a middle-aged man examining her horse.
"Did you ride in on this handsome one, wench?" the man asked, barely looking her way.
"He is. If it's the rent on the stall and his hay, I have it here," she said, reaching into the pocket of her jerkin for the purse she carried.
"You the one riding with the Faolchúnna?" the stableman inquired as he patted the stallion's neck.
"He's riding with me," she stated and when the man finally turned around to give her his full scrutiny, she saw his eyes widen as he took in her apparel.
"No need to pay me now," he said. "Unless you're planning on leaving."
"I've business to attend," she said, "but I'll be coming back."
"Bad day for doing business," the stableman remarked then shrugged. "But it ain't none of mine." He shrugged again. "Pay when you leave."
"The wooly belongs to the Faolchúnna," she told him.
"Wooly?" the man inquired. "What wooly?"
Lauryl frowned and came toward him, going to the stall where the sheep had hidden from the storm. She was relieved to find Keyrragh snuggled up in the hay. "That wooly," she said, pointing. "It's his pet so guard it with your life."
The stableman put a dirty hand to his head and scratched. "Now I've heard everything, I reckon," he said. "A wolf with a wooly for a pet. Don't that beat all?"
Since she'd already gleaned the location of the Ancient One's cottage from the innkeeper's son, she saddled her mount and rode out. She made a stop at the dry goods store then took the trail that led north of Nonika.
The rain stopped but the trail was slippery beneath the horse's hooves so it was slow going. Noon had come and gone before she found the isolated home of the teagascóir. The place looked deserted but she knew that was not the case. The Ancient One would be waiting, watching her approach, already knowing a visitor was on her way. As soon as she dismounted and began to tie her mount to tan upright on the shallow porch, the door to the structure opened and a wizened old woman came hobbling out.
"Greetings, daughter of Torreya," the crone said.
Lauryl bowed respectfully to the old woman. "Greetings to you, teagascóir Sagira."
The Ancient One pulled her shawl tightly around her drooping chest. "What have you brought me to seek entrance to my humble home?"
Lauryl turned to her saddlebag and untied the string, threw the flap back and reached inside for that which she had purchased as the dry good store. She brought the burlap-wrapped gift to the porch and extended it with head lowered. "For you."
Sagira Kaikias took the offering and unwrapped it. She nodded appreciatively at the bag of tobacco and the gleaming new briar burl pipe. "You may enter, daughter of Torreya." She turned and hobbled back inside her dwelling.
The cottage was dark but overly warm as the flames in the fireplace leapt and popped, lending a wavering light to cast about the sparse furnishings. A single bed with a small round table and oil lamp was in the corner flanking the fireplace. A thickly padded rocking chair, a table with two chairs, and a miniscule kitchen area completed the dwelling. The smell of urine was strong in the room and Lauryl suspected the old woman's chamber pot had been pushed beneath the bed upon her arrival.
"You have come to learn what you can about the wolf," Sagira said. She indicated the table. "Sit and let us discuss him."
Lauryl waited until the old woman was seated before pulling out her chair and sitting down. She sat primly as her mother had taught her out of respect for the wise woman. She would not speak unless bidden to do so.
"He has taken your blood?"
"Aye, teagascóir," Lauryl replied.
"Not good," Sagira commented. "But not wholly bad, either." She reached for a deck of cards that sat on the black tablecloth that covered the small round table. With arthritic fingers, she began to shovel the deck. "The gods could have provided you with a worse life-mate."
Lauryl's lips tightened and when the old woman arched a brow to grant her permission to speak, she had to carefully modulate her tone. "I was not seeking a mate, teagascóir," she stated. "I did not want one. I was content to be my own person."
Sagira nodded sagely as she placed the cards in the center of the table and tapped them, indicating Lauryl was to cut the deck.
Lauryl cut the deck then sat forward as the Ancient One took up the deck and began her spread of the cards, placing each face down.
"But you have acquired one and you are not entirely unhappy about it," Sagira said then paused in placing the cards to look up at Lauryl. "Are you?"
Lauryl shrugged. "He is a handsome man and a Prince of the Royal House of Aeolian."
"A catch if he were free," Sagira commented as she laid three cards in the middle of the table, two above those and a sixth card beneath the first three. She put the other cards aside without studying those showing and threaded her hands together, braced them under her sagging chin. "There is no divorce among his tribe. You are aware of this?"
"I am but he needs to be rid of her," Lauryl answered.
"And how would this happen?" Sagira queried.
"The woman needs to leave this world," Lauryl declared.
"Aye, but he is forbidden to take her life or barter for her death, to be involved in any way with her demise. Should he do so, he would pay a very steep price." She nodded, knowing Lauryl had a question.
"What kind of price, teagascóir?"
"He would revert to his animal nature and remain that way for as long as he lives," Sagira replied. "A very formidable punishment for those who take a mate's life."
"Yet she is free to torture him at will," Lauryl snapped.
The Ancient One did not scold her visitor for her lack of protocol. Instead, she looked down at the cards. "This is the past," she said and turned the card face up.
Lauryl wasn't surprised at the images on the card. Upon it was a young man whose arms were being pulled in opposite directions by two women.
"A man choosing between two women," Sagira said. "But the decision is not his to make." She reached for the second card which lay to the left of the first and turned it over. "This is the present."
The Grim Reaper appeared on the face of the card.
"Death?" Lauryl gasped.
"Sometimes," the Ancient One replied, "but I think not in this instance. Here, it represents a bringing low of she who is in query." She glanced up at Lauryl. "It is a card of humility, daughter of Torreya and humility is not one of your strong attributes. It signifies it is time one thing ended so another may begin."
Lauryl put her hand to her mouth and began chewing on the cuticle of her thumb.
"The next card represents the future if nothing is done to change it," Sagira stated and turned up the third card from its place to the left of the second.
The Seven of Wands was turned up.
"Ah," the old woman said. "A man under siege who is fighting off his enemies. The stakes are high--in this case his very life--and he is vulnerable, tired of fighting. His troubles have been going on for some time." She looked to Lauryl.
"I was told he and the woman have been married for seven years," she said softly.
"And she has pierced his soul many times over those years with her barbed arrows and will continue to do so," Sagira said on a long sigh. She reached for the fourth card that sat beneath the first card played. "This is what is working against you, daughter of Torreya."
When turned over, the Seven of Swords was revealed.
"The thief is making off with five of the swords," the old woman told her. "Five of the seven years he has stolen what--by man's law and god's decree--rightly belongs to the Faolchúnna." She locked gazes with Lauryl. "You want to charge into the situation and rid your mate of the things that stand against him but should you do so, it will give the thief and his whore the up
per hand. You must be patient, cautious."
Her crippled fingers went to the two cards on the top of the first three and settled on the one on the right. "These next cards tell what is working to aid you in your quest and who it is that will help you achieve your heart's desire." She turned the card over the fifth card to reveal the ten of cups and the sixth that showed the hierophant.
Sagira sat back. "The hierophant will lead you to your true destiny," she said. She lowered her head. "I fear I am the personification of this card."
"You will help me get back to where I was?" Lauryl said eagerly. "Help me rid myself of this curse the wolf has placed over me?"
The old woman lifted her head and looked at the younger woman. A sad smile pulled at the corners of the wrinkled mouth. "You call it a curse but is that truly what it is?"
"I am my own woman!" Lauryl stated. "I have always been my own woman! I could where I pleased, when I pleased, do what I pleased and with whom I pleased. Now, I am at the mercy of the Faolchúnna!"
"I repeat--is that such a bad thing?" Sagira inquired.
"Hell, yes, it is!" Lauryl snapped and shot up from the table to pace about the small room. "I can't stand the touch of another man on me and all I want is his hand upon me! That isn't right. That isn't natural!"
"You fear everything you have worked for--this freedom you say you enjoy--will be forever lost? That you will no longer have a say in your own destiny?"
"Aye!" Lauryl stated.
Sagira leaned forward to tap the fifth card. "This cards tells me what you truly want in life, daughter of Torreya--that which has forever eluded you but is within your grasp at this very moment. Your deepest dreams, hopes and aspirations ride on this card." She held Lauryl's gaze. "Do you know what this card means?"
Lauryl shook her head. "No, teagascóir. I never learned the meanings."
The Ancient One's mouth pursed. "It is part of your heritage. You should learn!" She gathered the cards together into a single deck. "The ten of cups is the card of permanence, of joy and friendship, of love. It signifies you will at last have a family to which you will belong--a family which will love you and welcome you and upon whom you can always rely and always trust. Even the servants will smile warmly upon you and show respect to you. No mean feat is that. Such a life can be yours if you but stay the course."
WindBorn Page 8