by Lisa Jackson
She was also certain that Bane had been skulking in the forest and had attacked one of the soldiers. Had the wolf survived the ensuing fight? Morrigu, be with them both, she silently prayed.
They traveled miles upon the main road, then as the sun rose, veered onto a more deserted path. Only when Gavyn was satisfied that they weren’t being followed did he find a small village with an inn and stables. Once in their room, they sat on the bed and retrieved the doeskin Bryanna had found at Llansteffan.
They fitted the piece of doe hide with the others. Then Gavyn watched in wonder as Bryanna placed the topaz in the lowest point on the dagger’s hilt, a vacant hole. Upon touching the knife’s handle, the brilliant yellow gem melded and fused with the steel. All three jewels glowed while the blade shimmered with new vitality.
“Three stones. But one to go,” Bryanna said, her voice tinged with relief and exhaustion.
“First, sleep,” Gavyn said, pulling her into his arms on the bed.
“Aye.” Together they fell deep into sleep, far into the next day. When Bryanna roused in the afternoon, she kissed him awake and they made love, twice, then slept until the sun was low in the western sky.
“We need to return to Calon and marry, or marry and then return to Calon,” Gavyn said, “so that you and the child will be safe.” He was standing at the window, lacing his breeches, and she watched the fluid muscles of his scarred back as he worked. Oh, how she loved that back, loved running her fingers across it as he made love to her.
Just like their first night together when she’d touched the scars from the whipping he’d received at the hands of the stable master. Just like the first night they’d been together, when he’d first made love to her.
Still nestled in the bedclothes as the sun was setting and the room held the heat of the day, she watched him. A memory of that very first joining of their bodies at Tarth flashed through her mind. The heat. The desire. The wanting. And that woozy feeling, as if she could not lift her head. What had he said? Daughter of Kambria, you are mine. That was it. Then he’d added, Forever bound.
Never since that first night had he called her “daughter of Kambria.” Never had he sworn she belonged to him and him alone, nor had he uttered such possessive, irreversible words as “Forever bound.”
She sat up straighter on the bed and remembered the way her skin had crawled when he’d uttered the words, the sense of alarm that had sliced into her soul. And later, when he’d come to her again, he hadn’t made such dark decrees. His voice had never deepened into an animal growl. Her stomach churned and for a second she considered the idea that someone else had been inside her bedchamber at Tarth, someone of his build, but not his manner. The dark warrior she’d seen reflected in the mirror the next morning.
Bile rose in her throat. She wouldn’t think of it.
But as she gazed at his back, she remembered the man who had first taken her . . . the smooth skin, stretched taut over hard muscles. Without any scars.
Gavyn turned to face her and caught her staring at him. Misreading her vexation for desire, he returned to the bed and sat next to her, then slipped his hand under the covers to touch the rounding of her abdomen. As he did, a smile crept across his face. “I think it would be safer if we returned to your family’s castle, where you can worry about nothing but preparing for our child’s birth.” He kissed her forehead and massaged her belly, and she sighed as she lay back upon the pillows.
“ ’Tis not that simple,” she said as her darkest fears congealed. “I cannot abandon the quest. The dagger must be complete if the child is to be saved. And lately I’ve been wondering if our child is the one destined to be saved by the power of the dagger.”
He’d been rubbing her belly, but now his hand stopped. “Ours? You mean our babe is the child of the prophecy?”
“Aye.” She closed her eyes, miserable inside. If this were true, then her babe was not only in danger; it was probably not Gavyn’s. The Chosen One was to be sired by Darkness, and Gavyn was not possessed by evil. Unlike the nightmare lover who had come to Bryanna and taken her while she was dizzy with wine or sick with a potion.
Was it possible? Was the dream she’d had in her woozy mind real? Had a man with demon’s blood impregnated her? Oh, by the gods, she could not explain that to Gavyn, would not believe it herself, nor think that her child was not Gavyn’s.
“But our child is not yet born.” Gavyn was still going through the arguments of denial she’d suffered many a time, not wanting their child to be the future ruler named in the prophecy.
“I know, but . . . I think this may be true.” She tried to disguise her fear. Others had known that she would bear the child of the prophecy, the ruler of all Wales, an infant sired by Darkness. Gleda had warned her, though she did not mention the evil of her dark lover.
Why had Bryanna not been told?
Because they were afraid you would change the course of destiny. If you’d been watchful, you would never have mated with a dark lord, the very heart of evil.
And she could not regret it, even now. For she loved this child. Her child.
Trust the prophecy. Keep him safe. Raise him in love and light.
“When you first heard of your quest, of a child to save, you were not yet pregnant,” Gavyn said. “You and I, we had not even met.”
She nodded. “I have been telling myself the very same thing,” she said, placing her smaller hand over his. “Trust me, Gavyn, we must finish this journey wherever it takes us.”
His jaw worked in frustration. “It will take us far.” He withdrew his hands and retrieved the map. “I think we are headed to Holyhead, off Anglesey Isle. . . . See here, those breaks between the land? Not rivers, but sea inlets. Your grandfather was an apothecary from Holyhead, according to the merchant who knew him. And it is west.”
“But so far north. We will be traveling farther than all the distance from Holywell to Llansteffan,” she said, thinking of the long, arduous journey as well as her growing belly. They had agreed to travel slowly, and, to make certain that no one found them, they would do much of their traveling at night. Bryanna knew it would be harder for her as the baby grew. Dispirited, she said, “ ’Twill take us nearly until the baby’s birth, or maybe thereafter.”
“We could go to Calon. ’Tis closer. Then after the baby’s birth, once you are healed and the child is weaned, we can leave him with your sister and continue. Or bring him with us.”
“Or her,” she reminded him, and he grinned.
“Or her. Another little red-haired sorceress who will beguile me.”
“Remember that when she is crying at night and I am cranky from lack of sleep.”
He laughed. “So tell me again: how is it you found this last stone?”
She’d told him the story in bits and pieces as they’d ridden, but now she explained about the dagger thrumming in her fingers and the day turning to night as it indicated the rock that was to be removed.
“This power the dagger has, it would have been useful in Holywell,” he said. “We could have saved much time.”
“It didn’t work then,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”
“So why does it thrum in your hand now?”
“Because it’s become more powerful, I suppose.”
“Well, let’s just hope it helps us locate the next gemstone.” He glanced to the window. “We should leave. ’Twill soon be dark.”
Her stomach growled. “I think we need to eat first.”
“Aye.” His gray eyes twinkled. “The lass appears to be hungry.”
The gatehouse was silent.
Outside in the bailey the sounds of the keep filtered in with the warm summer breeze: wheels creaking, axes chopping wood, looms clacking, chickens clucking, and people talking. But inside, silence yawned. The men—those awaiting duty and the dirty soldiers who had returned from their mission— stood facing Deverill, defiance in the sets of their chins, defeat in their eyes.
“So!” the Baron of Agendor said
, barely able to keep his rage in check as he scowled at his men. “You have been gone for nearly six months and yet you come back here empty-handed, with no prisoner and no horse? Is this what you’re telling me?”
One man coughed.
Another looked away.
But Aaron, much thinner than when he left upon his mission, dared stare the baron straight in the eye. “’Twas a long journey, m’lord,” he said, and again the silence was deafening.
“A long journey?” Deverill repeated, lifting a hand in disbelief. “You were only in Wales—is that not correct? Can that be so long?”
“Aye.”
Deverill’s nostrils flared. He clasped his hand behind his back to keep from clenching his fists and driving them into a wall, the table, or one of his men’s faces. “Now the Crusades . . . they were long journeys—thousands of miles longer than your travels—and yet the men who went to fight with King Richard found their enemies. They located the Saracens. They did not come back with the Lionheart empty-handed and complaining of the length of the journey.”
“ ’Tis not the same.”
“You were assigned a mission. You failed. ’Tis that simple.” He had no time for this, no patience for more pathetic excuses.
Aaron glared at him. “Forgive me, m’lord,” he said without much contrition, “but I think we, and aye, you, may have been duped.”
“Duped?” Deverill repeated, and felt that same worrisome sensation he had earlier, when he’d first met with Hallyd.
“Aye,” Aaron asserted, though no others joined him. “I think all of us here at Agendor have been lied to, mayhap manipulated.”
“How?” Deverill waited in the warm room for the man to explain himself.
“Lord Hallyd and his men, m’lord,” the captain of the guard muttered.
Frustration crawling through him, Deverill nodded to the one-eared man. “Go on.”
“We had them, m’lord, at Llansteffan nearly three months past,” Aaron said angrily, extending his gloved hand. “We had them right there.” He closed his fist. “But they slipped through our fingers.”
Deverill couldn’t believe his ears. “What do you mean you had them and you lost them?”
The angry soldier scratched at his mangled ear. “We followed them as best we could, but we were slowed by injuries.” He glanced to one side. “Badden, he was attacked by a wolf just as we tried to capture the murderer and his woman, that red-haired witch. I think she called up the devil, she did, and this beast of monstrous size came out of nowhere, snarling and growling and snapping. Wounded one of the horses and took Badden down. Nearly ripped off his leg and then . . . well, he didn’t recover.” His face had flushed with color as he shook his head. “His leg near rotted off. ’Twas horrible. A physician at Llansteffan wanted to take the leg. ’Twas too gnarled. Should have been cut off, but Badden, he wouldn’t have it.”
“So this is why you were duped?”
“Nay, nay,” Aaron said angrily. “We were duped by the soldier from Chwarel who rode with us. Edwynn, his name is.”
“Nay, Edwynn is a mercenary,” one of the other soldiers said. “He’s after your reward, m’lord.”
“What of him?” Deverill asked.
“’Twas as if he didn’t want the two captured.”
“What?”
“I know it sounds odd, and he’s a good tracker. Helped us locate Gavyn and the woman at Llansteffan, but he held back on their capture. Allowed a merchant’s cart to block our way. And then in the forest, while Badden and I were fighting the bloody wolf, this Edwynn let Gavyn and the sorceress escape.”
“What?”
“I’m tellin’ ya true. He let them go. Oh, he took off after them, he did, but lost them. Later, after we put old Badden to rest, we searched for the trail again and within two weeks, we found it, though by that time they were far ahead of us. ” Aaron spat through the open door. “ ’Tis vexing.” He shoved his hair from his eyes and frowned. “’Twas as if Edwynn wanted to keep track of the traitors, aye. He followed them. But when it came to actually capturing them, ’twas almost as if he thwarted us. I don’t think he called up the wolf. Nay, I won’t lay that at his feet, but he damned well let them escape. And Badden’s blood is on his hands as surely as if he’d run him through himself.” He spat again, as if he couldn’t get a bad taste out of his mouth. “Hallyd’s men were just as bad, holding back. ’Tis true, m’lord, they let the bastard escape.”
Deverill’s patience had run thin. “Why would that be?” he asked, but felt a suspicion that had been with him ever since he’d spoken with the snake Hallyd, who had told him about a missing dagger. Deverill hadn’t trusted Hallyd in the first place, and there had been gaps in the story. At the time, as Deverill had sat drinking the man’s wine, trying not to stare at his odd eyes, he’d thought that something was amiss.
Now, months later, it seemed to have come back to haunt him.
He frowned at his men. If there was anything he hated worse than a traitor, it was someone who tried to double-cross him. Damn it all! He would have to do this himself.
“Get my horse, and I’ll need my sword,” he told a page. “Five of you”—he pointed to the men he wanted—“ride with me. And bring the spy.” Cael would turn for the right amount of silver and the promise that his life would be spared.
And so, the spy would fare better than the Lord of Chwarel.
Deverill would see to that himself.
As Bryanna’s belly grew, so did her fears. The summer months came and went with warm breezes, butterflies, flowers and dry grass. The shade of the forest became welcome respite from the heat of the day, and the streams that cut through the hillsides ran more slowly.
Sleep eluded her, and when she did finally fall into exhausted slumber, her dreams were peppered with images of a dark castle with mazelike corridors. She combed those twisted halls in search of a baby whose cries echoed in the vacant vault. No matter how many doors she opened, Bryanna couldn’t find the babe. Panic-stricken, she ran faster and faster, through the intricate labyrinth, opening doors and seeing only darkness until she came to the very last closed door at the end of the long hall. It took her forever to reach it, as her feet seemed to be stuck in quicksand and the door seemed to move farther away as she approached.
When at last she reached it, the door was locked. She grabbed for her key ring but found she had hundreds of keys to choose from. Which one would unlock the door? As she frantically fumbled with the keys, the baby wailed helplessly. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she cried. Finally, the lock sprang open. The door swung free and she stepped inside, only to fall into a black abyss, a chasm that she knew led straight to the underworld. By opening the door she had just let all the creatures of Samhain loose on the world.
“Oh, by the Fates,” she whispered, waking in the forest at dawn. Gavyn was snuggled close to her and the summer sun was streaking the sky in brilliant tones of pink and orange. She touched her swollen belly, felt the movement within, and drew in a long, shaky breath.
“’Twas only a dream,” she said, but pushed herself upright.
She walked into the forest to relieve her forever full bladder, then washed her face in the stream. As she did, the water that had been moving in a lazy current began to swirl, slowly at first, a tiny eddy in the stream, then faster and faster. It spun into a vortex, the center of a swirling funnel, and within the very center she saw an image of two giant rocks rising from the ground. Between them, on a seamless field of grass, she saw the beginning of a crack. Small at first, then larger, as if the very earth were rending. With a horrible, shuddering groan there appeared a dark abyss, not unlike the one in her dream . . . and then the vision ’twas gone. The water no longer eddied and swirled, but resumed its lazy path through the exposed roots.
“Isa?” she whispered, for it had been months since the dead woman had contacted her. Not since Llansteffan had she heard the nursemaid’s voice. “Isa, can you hear me?”
The woods remained s
ilent.
While Gavyn slept, she retrieved her herbs and amulets and the Sacred Dagger, still missing a gem. Closing her eyes, she concentrated and thought of all the spells she’d learned, all that Isa had taught her. She pinched off some dried marjoram and ivy leaves for protection and healing, then quietly she cast her spell for an easy birth, for the safety of her child, for wisdom and protection in the coming weeks.
Soon her child would be born.
What then?
Would her babe be safe, or would the baby be in jeopardy as she feared?
The words of the prophecy played through her head. . . . “A ruler of all men, all beasts, all beings . . .” The Chosen One would have the ability to harness magnificent, vast power. But, oh, how she wished this child inside her were not destined to be the greatest leader the land had ever known.
Just a baby. Please, just allow him to be mine alone, not a great savior to be shared with the world, defender of all that is right and good from the demons of the Otherworld.
“Please, Morrigu,” she murmured, her hands sinking into the moist earth along the bank of the stream. “Protect my child.”
Opening her eyes, she noticed yellow eyes peering back at her. Across the stream, lapping at the water’s edge, was the wolf. But the reflection flickering on the water’s surface did not mirror the creature.
Instead, Bryanna saw the image of a woman with pale skin and red hair so like her own. ’Twas the woman of her dreams, seen charging up the steep cliff on horseback, though now her face was calm and full of peace. Where the wolf had a ruffle of black fur around her neck, the woman was marked with a necklace of small red welts, not unlike the bruises Bryanna had suffered from her nightmare.
The marks from Hallyd’s rosary.
Bryanna gasped as the woman’s emerald-green eyes met hers in the wavering reflection.
Kambria.
The wolf was a guardian angel of sorts.