Dougall shook his head. “She be in mourning, and so, not the very best companion, I would think. You will have to make do with my company for a wee while."
“In mourning?"
“Aye. Her Garris is gone."
“I know that, I..."
“I mean he be dead, Mistress."
“Dead? Are you certain? When I left him he was a prisoner. Frightened, yes, but still alive."
“While you kept to your chamber, Connal followed him, again. There was no sign of his kin-brother."
Liandra frowned. “How could Connal follow him?"
Dougall shrugged. “For that you must ask him."
“I intend to. What of Fianna? Could I see her, perhaps? I'm a qualified counselor, I can give assistance in times of grief."
“Come, then."
Liandra followed Dougall down to the end of the passageway. He tapped lightly on a door, before carefully opening it.
“I will wait outside,” Dougall said, retreating to the corridor.
Stepping inside, Liandra reeled back from the melancholy within the apartment. “Fianna?"
All was quiet. She probed the darkened chamber to find her friend lying on her bed. Creeping forward, Liandra looked down at Fianna. The woman radiated pain and distress.
“Fianna.”
“Go away."
“I won't. What are you doing to yourself?"
Fianna rolled away, covering her head with a pillow. “My Garris is dead, so let me alone."
“How do you know he's dead?"
“Connal..."
“Connal can't possibly know that."
“He does. I did not even have a chance to say good-bye to my beloved.” Fianna dissolved into sobs and Liandra let her cry out her misery before sitting down beside her on the bed.
“Tell me what you mean about saying good-bye."
“He went off-world without a word to anyone. Only that wretched letter. What did I do wrong that would make him leave Caledonia without word? I thought Garris loved me."
“In the dream-state I could catch his love for you. It was very strong."
Fianna turned to her, propping herself up on an elbow. “It was? But..."
Liandra frowned. She caught the word “Jenna” echoing in Fianna's mind.
“No matter what anyone says, Garris loves you. Along with the sword, I used Garris’ devotion to you as my focal point."
“Truly?"
“I'm sure Garris had some driving purpose behind what he did. You can't blame yourself. He didn't tell Connal where he was going, either."
“I know."
“Will you come with me?” Liandra asked.
“Where?"
“I wish to help you. I can only do that in my chamber."
“I do not understand."
“Then let me show you. Please. And staying here alone without food or drink, is only hurting yourself and those who love you."
“Connal said the same thing. What would he know?” Fianna whispered.
“Well, for once he and I agree on something."
Smiling weakly, Fianna pushed herself up from the bed, and silently followed Liandra out into the corridor. Dougall escorted them and resumed his seat outside the chamber.
Gently Liandra took Fianna's arm and led her to the crystal bed.
“I want you to lie here. Sleep, Maera Fianna. You need to sleep."
“Cannot,” she said. “The dreams..."
“Will only be pleasant for you I promise. Now close your eyes."
Liandra sat beside Fianna on the bed, monitoring her as she slipped quickly into the healing state. It would be an easy thing now to probe Fianna's mind, to learn the answers to her many questions. Liandra recoiled from the monstrous thought. By the Seven Stars! To even contemplate doing such went against everything she held sacrosanct. Was she so desperate to escape that she would violate another creature as she had been violated in the dream-state? No, her freedom would not spring from such a despicable act! Better to remain a prisoner, forever, than to break the confidence Fianna had in her.
Liandra gently stroked Fianna's cheek, sending soothing, healing thoughts by combining images and words with her own special talent.
* * * *
Connal strode into Liandra's chamber and stopped dead in his tracks. What witchery was before his eyes? His anger evaporated as he saw the gentleness on Liandra's face. He listened to her soft, lilting song. Presumably Asarian, not that he could understand. What might she be singing? He would give much to know. Never before had Liandra looked so vulnerable, so gentle. There were more facets to the witch than he suspected. By Arran, she be such a mystery!
“What is it you be doing?”
At the sound of his voice, he saw her whole body go rigid. When she slowly turned to him he saw the mixture of anger and distress in her eyes, on her face. Connal tried to ignore it, knowing he was the cause. Realization brought more pain, more anguish to him. He swallowed down hard, frowning at her as she stood up, chin raised, ready to do battle once more.
“Fianna was on the verge of nervous exhaustion. I couldn't let my friend suffer, so I'm healing her."
“For that I thank you. Fianna would not be consoled, no matter what I, or anyone did. There is no danger from the bed? What about those creatures?"
“I'm only using a healing state. You've seen to it that I'm not able to use my bed for any in-depth dreaming."
“I thought perhaps you might have a trick or two up your sleeve."
“My gown doesn't have sleeves."
No, he thought. Your gown does not have much to it at all! “'Tis a figure of speech, My Lady Witch. Meaning, I suspected you might be hiding something from me, perhaps some powers I have not yet seen."
“No. You've rendered me powerless, by robbing me of everything."
Connal raised a quizzical brow. “Not quite.”
His innuendo made Liandra blush.
“How long will Fianna sleep?” Connal asked.
“When she needs to awaken she will. It may take hours, or days.” Liandra regarded him. “She told me you sought Garris again. How did you do that?"
“I followed the path Garris took."
“How?"
“As I already have told you, we of Caledonia have our own magic, which I will not reveal to you."
“And Garris?"
“Nothing, not even an image, as if he never existed. Now ask me no more. I am here to take you on a tour of my castle. I will not tolerate your hiding in this chamber any longer."
“I prefer to remain here. I don't want to see you ever again."
As she turned away, Connal strode up to her and took her lightly but firmly by the shoulders. He made her face him.
“Let us make peace, Mistress! Nothing will be gained in maintaining this discord."
Liandra swallowed her arguments. To escape Castle MacArran she would have to gain access to the estate and she couldn't do that keeping to her own apartments, as much as she desired it.
She sighed. “I suppose it's inevitable.”
“Come, then. Will it be all right to leave Fianna alone?"
“Yes, she only sleeps and dreams."
“What dreams have you given her?"
“Ones to renew. She will be able to say goodbye to Garris, as she wished. This she must do before she can begin her own healing process."
“My thanks for that, Counselor. Fianna's heart is too soft by far. I thought she would sicken with sorrow."
“She would have. I've stopped that. It will take time for her to heal. Do Caledonians die when they lose their life-mate?"
Connal frowned. “No one dies from a broken heart."
“Then your kind are very lucky, Connal MacArran."
“What do you mean?"
“There are some League species who, like Asarians, will wither and die if their soul-mate expires."
Connal's eyebrows arched skyward. “Truly?” He glanced at the crystal bed. “I have a question for you. Would it be true to say th
at people, your League members, might prefer to live out their lives in dreams, where no hurt can touch them? Is there danger of such?"
“Yes, that's why only those qualified and licensed may practice dream-weaving. If a client becomes too dependent on our services then that being is counseled in other ways, by other facilitators. For some, the dreams can be an irresistible lure."
“And what about you, Liandra? Can a counselor such as yourself become addicted to the dreams?"
She shook her head. “If I exhibited dependency on my dreams, I'd be de-registered. Only the best Weavers may act as Counselors.” She flushed as she saw his taunting brow creep upwards. “Don't misunderstand. I'm not being conceited. It's merely a statement of fact. I am what I am. I do what I do very well."
Connal grinned. “Aye, I can vouch for that. Are there creatures in the galaxy who might wish to corrupt your skill for their own stimulation?"
“In times past, Asarian Weavers were hunted throughout the star systems and enslaved for the perverted delights of their captors. Dream-weavers kept in captivity do not function well after a time. They eventually die. Every League member knows that, so we are free to roam the galaxy, without fear."
Connal frowned. “Then I shall have to ensure, Counselor, that the conditions of your residence here are not so harsh they will make you sick."
“There is no chance of that."
“Oh?"
“My incarceration may be primitive, but it's far from intolerable. You've adequately provided for my needs."
Connal grinned. “At last I have a compliment from you."
“Savor it well, barbarian. It's the first and last you'll get from me."
He threw back his head and laughed. “Come.” He held out his hand.
“I will walk with you as you wish, Connal, but do not touch me."
“Tsk! And I thought you had mellowed towards me."
“Never!” Liandra snapped.
“Never?” He smiled his disbelief. With a theatrical bow he waved her ahead of him.
Connal glanced at her as they walked down the corridor. By Arran! Liandra was full of surprises and contradictions. One moment gentle and kind, and the next, screaming and spitting like a wildcat. Her profession confused him, too. For the benefit of her clients she bedded frequently. Even he, a stranger, had been allowed such sweet intimacy that the memory of it had captivated his dreams ever since. Was his experience of her in their dream-sharing how it would be in reality? After experiencing a dream-coupling would a man or woman be ever satisfied, again, by a real life bedding?
He studied her sadly. She would never know what it was like to be loved by a real man without the need of dreams, drugs or a crystal bed. Dreams were just that—dreams. Real lovemaking, even with an inexperienced woman, was far better than any erotic dream.
Though if true, why was his sleep fraught with fantasies amid the memories of Liandra's sensual dream-touch? She was an alien witch, and as such must be forever out of his reach and beyond his desire. That being so, why was it so difficult to exorcise her from his mind? To keep his imagination at bay, he needed a distraction. But what?
Work. That was the answer. And in time what they had shared would fade. Love—women—memories, they were all transient things. Even his most intense relationships had faded with the passage of time. So it would be with the alien-witch.
* * * *
“I will concede this, Connal, you have a beautiful home. You must be proud of it,” Liandra said as she walked beside him.
“Aye. It has grown over the generations. Each chieftain puts his distinctive mark on the castle."
“And what do you intend?"
He shrugged. “I have yet to decide. Would you offer some suggestions?"
Liandra shook her head. “Your scheme will not work."
“Oh?” Connal asked, trying to maintain a facade of innocence. He flushed all the way to the roots of his hair as her dark brows arched delicately above her piercing sapphire eyes.
“You seek to give me some task, so that it distracts me from my predicament."
“Am I that transparent?” He grinned. “Work heals many hurts, Mistress. I shall have to think of some other ploy."
“Nothing you do will..."
“So certain of that, are you?"
“Yes."
Connal laughed.
For an hour Liandra allowed him to lead her on a grand tour of his home. He pointed out places of interest, explained the objects adorning the walls, not just the weaponry, but also other artifacts, both ancient and modern. As they walked in the castle, Connal's people greeted him warmly. There was an easy familiarity between them, which traversed the normal social hierarchy of such a primitive culture. Though such did not extend to her, Liandra realized, for as they regarded her they grew wary, even though Connal introduced her to every person they met. She committed every face and name to memory.
“I know this Castle is very different from what you are accustomed to,” Connal said. “Is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable? I can give you all save your freedom, Liandra. You are free to walk the castle and its grounds."
“Dougall is still outside my door."
“'Tis not a permanent arrangement. I do not want him wasting his time as your guard. I have had my pax-man there for your own protection."
“My protection?"
“Mark me well. No one will harm you. I feared you would do some harm to yourself or others.” Connal paused. “You did threaten to turn me into a worm, and to wither me on the spot."
Liandra bit back her smile. “I haven't the power to re-arrange molecules. Besides, Asarians are not a violent people. We are only passionate..."
“Yes?"
“Nothing. You wouldn't understand."
“Maybe I might surprise you."
“You've done that often enough."
Connal laughed. “Then the score is even, witch. I am curious to know what Asarians are passionate about."
“Their mates, to the exclusion of everything else."
“What about your Terran half? I know that species is given to violence and other unpleasantries."
“You refer only to their bad qualities. Though they have many faults, Terrans have much good in them. How is it you claim to know so much, given that you keep yourself in isolation?"
“I told you before, we closely analyze the ways of our enemy."
“How?"
“I will not reveal clan secrets to you."
Liandra frowned at him. “Will you truly allow me outside, unguarded? I've seen the gardens from my apartment. I'd like to walk there."
Smiling, he held out his arm. She flinched away.
“Habits die hard, Liandra, I am not taunting you. ’Tis the custom on Caledonia. When a man walks with a woman he offers her his arm, as a mark of respect."
“How can you say you respect me, when you've treated me so..."
“Liandra..."
She heard the weariness in his voice and quickly turned to study him with professional eyes. “You are near to exhaustion, Connal."
“Do not concern yourself with me.”
He ran a hand through his hair and she followed the path of his fingers. Today he wore his hair loose about his shoulders. She much preferred it to that severe braid of his. During the second dream-search when he had slept beside her, she had touched his hair. The emotions which that simple action had provoked! She closed her mind against the memory, in case it ignited a similar response in the real world.
“No, you aren't well.” As her hand rested on his forearm, she felt the muscles tighten beneath her fingers. “You're tired..."
“Do not cast your witch's eye upon me. I am all right."
“You haven't been sleeping,” Liandra said.
“Who is to blame for that?” he asked, looking down at her.
Liandra met his gaze. Surely he hadn't been losing sleep over her? Seven Stars, why? Did Connal MacArran have a guilty conscience where she was concer
ned? She could not believe it!
For a moment neither of them moved and then he sighed deeply. “I will show you the gardens. They are the best on Caledonia.” His voice contained a husky tremor. “Do me the courtesy of taking my arm."
“Only for the sake of courtesy."
“Aye, what else?”
Connal escorted her down a long flight of stairs. Together they crossed a gigantic hallway whose entire length on either side was decorated with bright tapestries and other Caledonian artifacts and weaponry. Though everything had been built on a grand scale, it wasn't frightening, or intimidating. Neither was it musty nor gloomy, unlike that Terran museum she had visited.
Liandra paused beside the gigantic, metal-studded wooden doors. Sunlight streamed down onto her body. She breathed in deeply, reeling from the hundreds of different scents and sights greeting her.
“Liandra, are you well?"
She nodded. “It's just a shock after so long inside."
“Can your kind truly die if left in isolation and darkness?"
“Yes. That's why some Asarians had already died in that—dream-place."
“Aye, it was enough to give me nightmares."
“Have you, since our return?"
“Aye."
No sleepless nights from a guilty conscience after all! The realization stabbed at her, bringing a twinge of sadness. And she had thought him capable of remorse as far as she was concerned. She almost laughed at her naiveté.
“Connal, if you'd allow it, I can help you to dispel..."
“No! I am quite capable of looking after myself. Let me show you the stables, they are the best on Caledonia."
Once more taking his arm, Liandra walked beside him across a wide courtyard and into another lofty building. Inside, empty stalls lined the length of each wall. Connal went to a wooden barrel and drew out a handful of white cubes, which he placed in a small bag he took from a hook on the wall.
“We let the horses run in the summer, ’tis only in winter we see them confined at night in the stables."
“Horses?” The image of a beast came to Liandra's mind.
“I will show you."
Walking side by side, they emerged from the stables to a field that stretched far into the distance. Creatures—horses—grazed the grass. Connal whistled and in the distance a black horse raised its head. Liandra heard it cry out and with head and tail held high, it streaked across the field, coming to a halt before Connal. He caressed its muzzle, blowing his breath into the horse's flared nostrils.
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