by Trisha Telep
As if he could feel her eyes on him, Devlin paused and glanced up. Branna quickly hid behind the shutter, not comfortable with him knowing she watched. Her feelings were too raw and uncertain. He’d said they’d have just one night, but Branna had to convince him they could have more.
She gathered her clothes and within the wardrobe found the washbasin and a clean linen towel. She cleansed herself, patting lightly between her legs at the unfamiliar sore feeling. Branna dressed quickly and managed to find her way through the keep to the bailey below. As she passed through the kitchen, she grabbed some bread – she was starving! She didn’t want to enter the great hall without Devlin, unsure if he wanted her presence known.
Arriving at the upper bailey, Branna’s heart sank. The knights still practised archery and fencing, and there was a group of children playing horseshoes, but Devlin had disappeared. He probably had to meet with his steward and bailiff, or attend to other important duties. Her desires were minor compared to his responsibilities.
She turned around, intent on returning to Devlin’s chamber. Then she saw him. He stood across the bailey near the hall. He held the reins of Ailbay and Molly.
Branna slowly walked towards him and he moved to her.
Devlin handed her Molly’s reins. “I thought to take a ride about the lough before we search for your chalice. Would you join me, Branna?”
Branna’s heart leaped. “Aye, my lord.”
“My given name is Devlin. I wish for you to use it.”
Devlin took her by the waist and lifted her on to the edge of the saddle. Branna raised her skirt, swung her left leg over the horn and sat astride. Devlin mounted Ailbay and she followed him through the outer ward to the gatehouse. Once they’d cleared the portcullis, Devlin spurred his horse to a gallop and Branna followed close behind. They raced over the high rolling hills, a tapestry of subtle shades of green: darker under the blackberry bushes, lighter as sunlight dappled through the sycamore trees.
Branna loved this land and its wild ruggedness tugged at her heart. She would hate to leave this beautiful place and return to the dour confines of her uncle’s house.
Devlin stopped on a high bluff overlooking the calm, blue waters. “Lough Ceo is oftentimes in fog. We are in luck this day as the view is clear.”
He dismounted and approached Molly, reaching for her. Branna leaned forwards, but as she slid into his outstretched arms, her skirt caught on the pommel of the saddle. Branna’s feet never touched the ground and she fell against Devlin, grabbing him around the neck.
Devlin stumbled back, but gained purchase before they both tumbled to the ground.
“I am ever so sorry, my lord.” She couldn’t keep the amusement from her voice.
“I am not.” He held her tightly and sealed his lips over hers, taking possession of her mouth. The first hungry swipe of his tongue took her breath away. She dug her hands into his hair, pulling his head closer.
Growling soft and low in his throat, he dragged his mouth away. His tongue rimmed her bruised lips. “Maybe ’tis best we find the chalice.”
He reached up and unhooked her arms from around his neck. There was unmistakable regret in his tone. Yet, she felt he held something important from her, something that lurked in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. Perhaps after they found the chalice she could speak to him of a future.
“Aye, ’tis best.”
* * *
Devlin approached the tomb where Branna had scraped the earth the night before, her shovel on the ground where she’d dropped it. He hopped from Ailbay’s back and walked the central tomb, studying the boulders. He knew the dogs and their fears. They wouldn’t have buried the chalice under the dolmen itself. It was a sacred place. They would have buried it outside the tomb, beneath the lowest end of the capstone, pointing downwards.
“I believe you were digging in the wrong place. You should find your chalice buried at the end point of this rock.”
He grabbed the shovel and began digging, making great headway in a short span of time. He easily removed and tossed away rock after rock. Within only a few minutes, he’d made a large, wide hole. Now on his knees, Devlin dug with his hands, capturing dirt in his cupped palms and throwing it aside.
The sunlight gleamed off a shiny object. Devlin’s heart thumped in his chest. He carefully removed more dirt, exposing the sides of a metal cup. Branna hovered beside him, her sky-blue eyes briefly meeting his.
Devlin hesitated. “Would you like the honour of removing it from its grave?”
“Nay, my lord.” She laughed, a silvery rush of pleasure. “As you’ve stated, ’tis on your property.”
Devlin smiled at her, then reached in and lifted the chalice out of the hole, brushing away the last vestige of dirt and dust. He held it high, admiring the graceful curves of the hammered gold cup. Engraved panels of filigree decorated the lower portion. Emerald stones gleamed around the edge of the upper band and lower girdle.
As he lowered it for Branna to hold, he felt a foreboding, a darkness descend upon his soul. He became cold, even as the sun warmed him. Evil thoughts consumed his mind. Why should he give it to her? Its magic had destroyed his family. He had to get rid of it.
Branna dropped her raised hands as Devlin’s face became distant and cold. His eyes were fixed on her but they looked very far away. He scared her.
“Devlin, what is wrong?”
He said nothing, but stared through her as if she didn’t exist.
Branna touched his arm. “Give me the chalice.”
His eyes grew luminous, glowing like red orbs in his now ashen face. She’d seen those eyes before . . . on the dogs.
He gripped her wrist, exerting hurtful pressure until she let go.
“Nay. You shall never touch this cup. Tonight I become Lord of the Underworld, ruler of all that is evil. The chalice is dangerous to us and will be destroyed.”
Branna gasped, horrified at his words. “Devlin, something is wrong. The chalice is hurting you.”
He forcefully shoved her away and Branna stumbled backwards.
She ran back at him. “Drop it. I beg of you to release it.”
Devlin withdrew a short dagger from his belt and wielded it at her threateningly. “Leave me and never return.”
Branna gasped and stopped, tears tumbling down her cheeks. “You can’t mean that.”
He took a menacing step towards her. “Would you challenge me and lose your life?”
Pain ripped through Branna’s heart, almost doubling her over. This couldn’t be happening.
She’d lost her chalice. She’d lost Devlin.
With little choice, Branna gathered Molly’s reins. Branna’s tears made it difficult for her to mount her horse, but somehow she managed to crawl upon its back. After a last look at Devlin’s stone cold face, Branna dug her heels into Molly’s flank.
With an aching heart and empty arms, she rode as if the Hounds of Hell had given chase, away from Castle Hollylough and the love of her life.
Branna dropped Molly’s reins and lay across her neck. Molly slowed her pace, sensing Branna’s distress, but Branna didn’t care. She buried her face into Molly’s silky mane and cried, huge heart-wrenching sobs. Devlin didn’t want her.
She was barely aware when Molly stopped in front of her uncle’s two-storey house. However, she noticed a flurry of activity seemed to have gripped the household, as all manner of people scurried about.
Wiping her face, Branna slid off Molly. She had to go on with her life and would have to force herself not to yearn for what she could never have. She woodenly stabled Molly and entered through the back door of her uncle’s house, hoping to get to her room without detection.
“Branna!”
She cringed and stopped, but didn’t turn around. Aunt Meeda.
“Where have you been all day? We are expecting a guest for supper. More than a guest and a normal supper, I’d say. We have found someone to take you in marriage, so ’tis a celebration with . . .”
&nb
sp; The roaring in Branna’s ears cut through the remainder of her aunt’s words.
“Branna . . . Branna, are you listening? You are to be married tomorrow.”
Her aunt grabbed her arm and spun her around. Her gasp and hardened eyes were enough to snap Branna’s remaining threads of hope of ever seeing Devlin again. “You are filthy! Go wash at once. I’ll not see this marriage contract destroyed by your unseemly hoyden ways. You will act a lady until you leave this house as a married woman. Do you understand?”
Branna knew her aunt expected a positive response and so nodded her assent. Her aunt released her arm and Branna fled to her room. She closed the door behind her and crossed to her washbasin.
Branna picked up her small mirror. She was a mess. Her eyes were red and puffy and tears had stained her cheeks. Her hair hadn’t been brushed and her gown was dusty and torn.
She took a deep breath. If this was to be her life and her wedding celebration, then she would wear the colour her mother had worn on the night she was to be married, the night she’d died. It was the only way Branna knew to bring her mother close. She donned her yellow gown, made from patterned silk. It had long gathered sleeves trimmed with fur cuffs and a wide fur collar. She wrapped her best cloak about her shoulders and fastened it with her favourite silver brooch, a gift from Grandmama.
Branna left her room quietly and went in search of her grandmama, regularly found in the spinning room. She knocked lightly on the door and entered the room. Her grandmama sat at the side of the great spinning wheel, teasing the yarn into beautiful cloth. Branna stood without speaking, watching her grandmama’s fingers work their magic.
“Something on your mind, child?”
Branna took a deep breath. “Aunt Meeda has informed me of my marriage on the morrow.”
“I have also heard this. Are you not pleased?”
“I . . . ah . . . I cannot say as I have not met him.”
“This matters to you?”
“Aye. You have told me many times my mother loved the man she was to marry. I hoped to someday have the same.”
Her grandmama looked at her with sharp eyes. Branna couldn’t keep a flush from creeping up to her face.
“You have met someone who interests you.” It was a statement and not a question.
“Aye, but it can not be.” Branna changed the subject quickly. “Tell me more of the magic chalice. Can it make someone evil if that is in your heart?”
Grandmama resumed weaving. “Nay. It does not have such power.”
“It must. As Lord MacKenna held the chalice, I viewed a great evil take over his soul.”
Grandmama grabbed her arm. “You have seen the chalice?”
“Aye.” Branna cast her eyes to the floor. “But I lost it to Lord MacKenna, the man who helped me find it.”
“This man is your heart’s desire?”
Branna whispered, “Aye.”
“My child, the chalice has not the power to change what’s in one’s heart, but it can pass on lingering energy from the one who held it last. This might sway someone who has both good and evil in his heart.”
Branna raised her head and stared at her grandmama. “The dogs, they touched it last.” Hope flare within Branna. “You believe their evil was transferred and ’twas not truly him?”
“’Tis possible. Do you wish to know?”
“Aye.”
“Then you must trust your heart as did your mother.”
“Thank you.” Branna hugged and kissed her grandmama.
She ran from the spinning room and out to the stable. She pulled Molly from her stall and set her to saddle and bridle. A dirk lying across a table caught her attention. The dogs.
Branna grabbed it before mounting. If she had to kill them to save Devlin, so be it.
She knew without doubt that Devlin would never harm her.
Six
Devlin stood within the old stone circle, just outside the portal tomb. The full moon illuminated the three cloaked and hooded men by his side.
He shifted on his feet, transferring the chalice to his other hand. Devlin was anxious to begin his new duties, to rule the Underworld. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. It was nothing he could lay a finger upon, but a hollow feeling persisted in his gut, similar to when his father had died.
Could his feelings of disquiet be due to his ill treatment of Branna? Devlin grew more uncomfortable. She hadn’t deserved his anger. Yet, he’d felt compelled to hurt her. He still could not understand why. Branna had only brought him comfort, lightness and ultimately . . . ecstasy. He could still smell and taste her skin after making love to her.
No woman had made him feel as whole or complete as Branna. Why was she not by his side? He knew the answer. His destiny lay in the Underworld and hers was in the light. His life was set and to bring Branna into it would cost her her life. He had to do this alone.
Devlin shook his head, dispelling his unease. Nothing would interfere with this transition. Devlin’s grip on the chalice hardened. It was now his duty to be sure this magic never reached mortal hands again. It was his heart’s desire, wasn’t it?
The thumping of hooves reached his ears. He turned and saw a woman on horseback. He knew who it was by her silhouette.
Branna.
The cloaked men around him transformed into sleek, powerful, white hounds. His uncle and the dogs moved as one to take up offensive positions.
Devlin raised his hand, stilling them. “I shall handle this.”
He stepped a short distance from the circle, headed for Branna. “Halt. You must leave at once.”
“Not until I get what I want.” She slid from the horse and walked towards him.
“You have no more business here. Return to your family and forget this.”
She didn’t stop. “Nay.”
Devlin drew his sword and held it stiffly before him. She stumbled when the moonlight struck it, glinting off its broad edge, but continued walking until she reached its sharp tip.
Devlin search her face, agonizing over his next words, barely moving for fear he’d nick her throat. “Please . . . don’t come closer. I’ve no wish to harm you.”
I wish to take you in my arms, but it would be your death.
She swallowed and whispered, “Nay.”
A chuckle almost escaped. He remembered their first meet had gone this way. “You must give up the chalice. It is lost to you.”
“’Tis not the chalice I seek.”
“What then?” Devlin words were ragged, not sure he could bear her closeness.
“’Tis you.”
“Nay, I’m lost.” The words slipped out painfully from between his tightly clenched teeth. “My uncle told me of your mother’s betrayal. She pushed my father into the jaws of the dogs. You must understand, she had to die.”
“Nay! Your uncle has lied to you. My mother took your father’s hand, prepared to fight beside him. But your father pushed her back to protect her. I was there. I saw it. My mother loved your father, as I love you.”
Confusion and anger ripped through Devlin. “You saw them fight together?”
“Aye.”
Devlin knew she did not lie.
Branna eased forwards until the tip of his sword pressed the base of her throat. “You are not evil. The evil you feel is from the dogs, as they last touched the chalice before it was buried. I believe you want to be released from this burden. I believe you want me.”
Devlin’s knees buckled as she leaned into the point. The sword pricked her skin, drawing a bead of blood. She closed her eyes. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you.”
The sight of crimson against her smooth white skin, skin he’d kissed and stroked, made him ill.
Aghast, he sank to his knees, sick and shaken. His sword dropped, the blade falling to the ground beside him. “Nay, I cannot harm you. I love you.”
The dogs growled menacingly behind him. He felt their presence closing in.
Devlin set his jaw. The ide
a seeded in him earlier had now taken root in his soul. He’d gain his heart’s desire – revenge against his uncle. He would not allow this evil to continue; it would stop with him. Even if it meant losing himself to the Underworld . . . and losing Branna.
Devlin stood, thrust the chalice into Branna’s hands and retrieved his sword. “Go. The chalice is yours. This is my fight.”
Branna shook her head. She pulled a small dirk from the folds of her skirt and grabbed his hand. “Nay. I will fight by your side. Together, we will defeat this evil.”
The dogs moved and encircled them, three to their two. Branna stood back to back with Devlin, each of them keeping the dogs within sight.
When Branna came close to the tomb, she threw the chalice within, praying its sacredness would protect it.
While she was distracted, the dogs attacked. Devlin whirled, pushing her against the tall rock. Branna stifled a scream as two hounds simultaneously launched at him. With a wide swipe of his sword, he scraped the first dog in the chest, splaying open a wound.
The blade continued its deadly path cleanly connecting with the neck of the other dog, beheading it. Both dogs fell to the earth. The headless dog was instantly sucked underground. The first dog lay panting hard, gravely injured. Its breaths slowed and stopped, then it was pulled below.
The third dog growled low in his throat. Branna gasped and moved out from behind Devlin. By its eyes, she recognized him as the lead dog, the one who’d panted in her face when she was a child. He snarled and bent low, jumping not at Devlin, but at her.
“Branna, no!”
Devlin brought his sword around, the blade awkwardly twisted away from its target. As she saw the dog flying towards her, Devlin threw his body in front of her and the dog’s jaws clamped down mere inches from her face. Devlin and the hound fell, snarling and grappling, a tangle of limbs. The dog gained the top, standing on Devlin’s chest, his hand and wrist in its jaws.
Branna gripped the dirk hard and threw herself at its back, stabbing it in the neck. It yelped and fell off Devlin, rolling on the ground, injured but not dead. Devlin quickly gained his feet and stabbed it in the chest. It too went still and disappeared under the earth.