“The ankle is better,” Elen said as she plumped the pillow under her foot on the stool, “but I’ve been waking in the mornings with such nausea.”
Elen did look a little more peaked than usual. Deidre frowned. One of her mother’s young priestesses had that symptom and a babe followed several months later. Surely, Elen couldn’t be with child! “How long has this been happening, my lady?”
Elen’s delicate eyebrows came together as she thought. “It started shortly after my collapse at dinner that night.”
After the poison incident. Had Angus stayed with his wife that night? She couldn’t very well ask. “Do you have any other symptoms?”
Elen looked puzzled. “I don’t think so. Just that I feel tired much of the time.”
Deidre tried to cover her concern. If Elen were with child from a rare visit by her husband, she’d be in even more danger when Formorian—or maybe Angus himself—found out.
Much as she dreaded confronting Gilead’s coldness again, he needed to know. She would have to seek him out.
◊♦◊
Surprisingly, he was in a friendly mood when she found him in the stables after the midday meal.
“Well, Sassenach, are ye come for yer ride?”
Deidre looked around. “Will Formorian be joining us?”
“Nae. My father and Turius are working out battle plans; she’ll be with them.”
That was good news. She certainly didn’t want to voice her suspicions in front of Formorian, of all people. She’d led Winger to the paddock when Gilead touched her shoulder. She tried to ignore the warmth that spread down her arm.
“Since ye have caught on to riding more quickly than I thought, would ye like to ride outside the walls?”
When she nodded eagerly, he cupped his hands to give her a leg up and she could have sworn the brush against her thigh was intentional, although he dropped his hands immediately and his face was impassive.
Once they were out the gate, Gilead turned to her. “Which way would ye like to go today?”
Why was he being so polite? Well, whatever the reason, she wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to further study the road to the stones. “That way,” she pointed.
As they rode along, it seemed to her that Gilead was tense. His targe, the rounded leather shield favored by the Scotti, hung from his pommel, and he had a dirk at his belt as well as his boot. Leather straps crisscrossed his chest supporting the baldric on his back, from which two swords protruded. His glance kept sweeping the sides of the road, even though there was only gorse and lichen-covered boulders that weren’t very high.
“Are you expecting trouble?” Deidre asked.
He gave her a sideways look, but only shrugged noncommittedly. “Best to be prepared, riding without an escort.”
“Could we gallop?” If she were going to get anywhere close to the hill from where she could see the circle, they would have to go faster that a slow trot.
“Ye seemed to take to the gallop right well yesterday for a beginner.”
Did he suspect she knew how to ride? She smiled demurely and petted the big horse’s neck. “Winger has a smooth gait, easy for anyone to ride, I’d think.”
“Aye. Well, hold him to a slow canter, not that harebrained run Formorian took ye on yesterday. A horse running flat out is hard to control.”
Deidre nodded and nudged Winger lightly. He responded so quickly she almost found herself behind the saddle. Mayhap Gilead had a point.
They stopped to rest the horses in a small, shaded grove of spindly scrub oaks. Gilead had ridden round the small copse before he’d let either of them dismount.
“Are you expecting someone to pounce out at us?” Deidre asked teasingly and was disconcerted when he didn’t smile.
“We’ve come a fair ways from the keep,” he answered. “We’ll give the horses a wee break and then head back.”
They weren’t even halfway to the stones! Deidre was about to protest, but thought better of it. Something was on Gilead’s mind and she doubted he could be persuaded to keep on going. She might as well address the other issue.
“There is something I want to talk to you about, Gilead.” He looked suddenly wary. “Not about us,” she added hastily. She thought she caught just the subtlest hint of relief on his face, but his bearing was still stiff.
“It’s about your mother.”
“What about her?”
“I think…I think she may be with child.”
Gilead stared at her in total bewilderment. “What?”
She held up a hand. “Hear me out. Your mother has been having bouts of nausea in the morning and her appetite is gone. She looks pale and drawn.”
Gilead pressed his lips into a thin line. “Just who do ye think the father is?”
It was Deidre’s turn to stare. “Your father, of course. Her husband.” Gilead was certainly having a strange reaction. Surely, at his age, he wouldn’t resent a brother or sister? He was already the heir. “The night that Lady Elen was poisoned…your father showed real concern. I thought maybe he…that they…well, you know.”
He almost smiled as he looked down at her. “My father has had his own bedchamber since I was a bairn. As far as I know, once I was born, he’s never visited my mother’s chambers for—ah, companionship.”
“But Lady Elen could have died. Emotions were running high. Maybe he decided that it was his duty to stay with her and one thing led to another—”
Gilead laughed. “With Formorian in the castle? Hardly.”
“But—”
He took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. “I appreciate yer concern. I even think ye are being honest, but it dinna happen. I stayed with my mother all night.” He released her hands as quickly as he had taken them and walked over to the horses. “We need to be getting back.”
Confused, Deidre rode beside him in silence. He didn’t believe her. But if Elen weren’t pregnant, then something else was causing her problems. Poison that worked more slowly perhaps?
And what had he meant, anyway, that he “even thought she was being honest”?
◊♦◊
Niall leaned back in his chair at the Litha feast and studied the Great Hall. Servants cleared the trestle tables of empty platters that had held mutton and boar and hart. Other maids brought in steaming puddings and sweetmeats. He watched as the wench named Sheila carried a bowl of fruit toward the high table. His hard mouth twitched as she wedged herself between Formorian and Angus, her ample bosom brushing against the laird’s shoulder. Mentally, he made a note of her interest and Angus’s returning grin. Mayhap he could use the wench later.
Niall almost smiled. Maybe he would truly use the wench later. Catch her in the hall, press her against the wall and heave up her skirts. A few hard, rutting thrusts that would spill his seed deep inside her was all he needed to dispel the ache of his cock. An arm to her throat would cut off any scream she’d attempt to make. And mayhap he’d press harder, cut off her air a little. He liked to see fear in a woman’s eyes. He inhaled sharply as he felt his groin tighten further.
He narrowed his eyes as the wench moved toward Elen and turned the tray slightly. He could see a highly polished apple inviting itself to be picked. Bel’s fires! He’d told his accomplice not to use that trick again! They might have been caught with the pear incident if it hadn’t been for Deidre’s blundering assumption that something had been wrong with the wine. He allowed himself to grin at that. Doubt had been cast on Angus, and Niall hadn’t even had to lift a finger to bring it about.
Ah, his wee Deidre. She hovered over Elen, whispering in her ear. He saw Elen’s hand hesitate as she reached for the apple and then she declined. The lass was smart, he had to admit. Mayhap, if she learned to obey him, he could use her in his more grandiose plans, once he had destroyed Angus.
Aye, she would learn to obey. He probably should thank Angus, he thought ironically, for making him swear to wait to bed her. The wait had only increased his obsession to possess her.
Beautiful, with just enough flesh to make those curves round and soft. Spunky, not afraid of Angus or intimidated by Formorian. He sincerely hoped Deidre was a virgin. Taking her fast and hard the first time, splitting her wide while she was still dry. Having her cry and beg him to stop would go a long way toward salvaging his pride, wounded from her rebuffs.
Niall declined the fruit as it came around and poured another cup of wine from the flask on the table. Ah, yes. It would be good to hear her screams. All he had to do was wait a little while longer. Lugnasad wasn’t that far away.
◊♦◊
Dusk was settling as everyone converged in the bailey after the meal. A light mist hovered in the air, blending lavender and pink hues of light with the deepening blues of twilight, casting an eerie sense of surrealism over the atmosphere.
“Where is everyone going?” Deidre asked Elen as she watched nearly the entire staff of servants lining up and accepting torches from some of the soldiers.
“The blessing of the fields,” Formorian answered for Elen as she and Angus joined them. “The people will walk around the fields, praying to the Goddess to encourage the crops to grow.”
Elen pulled her woolen arisaid tightly about her shoulders and shivered slightly. “We have Christian priests, now. Mayhap these pagan ways should be forgotten.”
Formorian shrugged. “The Old Ways are important to the people. Litha celebrates the life that is in the Great Mother, implanted at Beltane.” She glanced sideways at Angus and a small smile twitched on her lips. “It’s said this is the night the god is at his peak.”
“He rules the world until midnight, when he is slain by the upstart Oak King,” Angus replied with a hint of amusement. “Best for the Holly King to make his moves before then.”
“Aye,” Formorian agreed, “the more strokes he can make, the better.”
Deidre didn’t think either of them was talking about the pagan ritual any longer. But so much the better. If they were going to carry on, that would be two fewer people she had to watch for when she rode out tonight.
The gloaming darkened into almost night. Deidre had to procure a horse fairly soon if she was going to reach the stones by midnight. The veil between the worlds was thinnest then. She might get a glimpse of where the Stone lay hidden.
She had been trying to avoid Niall all night by hovering and fussing over Elen. Angus insisted that his wife remain present while the ritual bonfires were lit and young men leaped over them in a show of physical prowess. Symbolically, the bravery merged with the peak-of-the-god, height-of-the-growing-season, and the longest day. But, as Formorion added wryly, most of the young bucks wanted to impress wenches who might be willing to couple with them later.
Deidre would have laughed if she hadn’t been so anxious to retire for the evening and go steal a horse. Finally, Elen begged to take her leave. Angus absently nodded, no doubt already planning his own rendezvous. Deidre lost no time in helping Elen to her room and settling her for the night.
She hurried back to her own room and slipped into the trews and shirt that Formorian had lent her. She wished she had a black cloak, but the Angus plaid with its dark blue shades would have to do. She tucked the satchel with The Book and her small bag of coin beneath it. If she had a Sighting, she would not be returning.
Poking her nose out the door to make sure the corridor was clear, she carefully made her way to the back stairs. She would have to pass through the kitchen, but she hoped Meara was celebrating with the rest of the servants.
She wasn’t. She was scolding some hapless scullery lad about not bringing in enough firewood and then Deidre heard her box his ears. The sound of her voice faded, as she led the boy outside, no doubt holding on to his sore ears, Deidre thought. She dashed through the kitchen quickly before the woman could return.
Although the bonfires burned low, festivities were still going on in the bailey and Deidre kept hidden in the darkness of the back wall of the Hall as she made her way to the stables. She heard footsteps approach and stepped quickly back into shadow, but it was only a somewhat drunken soldier with his arm around a kitchen wench. Deidre probably could have danced a jig and they wouldn’t have noticed.
Deidre hesitated when she came to the corner of the Hall. She would have to leave security behind and cross open space now. Luckily, the moon had not yet risen and the dim light from the fires would make her nearly invisible. She covered her head and pulled the cloak closer and stepped out.
Inside the stables, the warm smell of sweet hay and horse greeted her. The stable lads had joined the revelry and she quickly made her way to Winger’s stall. He snuffed her hand for the apple she always brought.
“There you go, boy,” she said as she struggled with the heavy saddle. “We’re going on an adventure.” The horse crunched contentedly as though he understood.
Deidre led him to the door and peered out. The gates were still open for Niall’s men, who were camped outside the walls. A horseman leaving wouldn’t be that unusual. She checked that her tight braid was still tucked into the back of her shirt and tied the bandana around her head. Too bad she couldn’t wear a leather helmet, but that would attract attention. Why would any soldier returning to a safe camp wear one?
She mounted and forced herself to walk the gelding sedately toward the gate. She glanced around the bailey. Neither Angus nor Gilead was to be seen. She had no doubt that Angus was bedding Formorian somewhere, but she wondered what had happened to Gilead. He had not really been near her all night, but whenever she looked up she’d find him watching her. Probably trying to analyze why she was treating Niall so well.
If the circle gave her any clue where the Stone might be, it would be the last of Niall that she would have to see. Still, she felt more than a twinge of regret that she couldn’t explain herself to Gilead or say good-bye. He had rescued her, after all. For one brief moment, he had been the knight in shining armor that she’d always wanted. She felt tears sting her eyes.
Deidre took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, sitting tall in the saddle as she rode through the gates. She would not look back. Resolutely, she put the horse into a canter as soon as they passed the bend and lost the castle from view.
◊♦◊
The stones loomed tall and dark and otherworldly, silhouetted against the pale wash of the full moon, now high in the sky. A low fog had formed in the valley, its tentacles swirling upward, licking at the stones, sweeping around the horse’s hooves.
Deidre dismounted, dropping the reins, but leaving Winger unhobbled. She approached the circle and hesitated. The air felt different, heavy and warm like a blanket. She thought she heard a faintly haunting melody, soft and low like the strumming of a harp that she couldn’t quite catch. It enveloped her, its elusive chords not real, yet permeating her mind somehow. Deidre shivered, though the night was mild. She half expected to see Merlin himself emerge from the mists.
She glanced up. The moon was directly overhead. It must be near midnight. Taking a deep breath, Deidre stepped inside the circle. Instantly, she could feel a magnetic pull toward the center where the Cromlech, or altar stone, stood. The soft sound of the music was more audible now, vibrating from the stones themselves.
Deidre swallowed hard and knelt beside the altar, trying to remember what her mother had taught her about summoning Power. So many years at Childebert’s Christian court had faded her memory. She closed her eyes and concentrated. “I now draw the quarters to me: Cernunnos, king of Forest; Lieu, king of Wind; Belinos, king of Fire; Llyr, king of Water. Gather unto me from the North and East and South and West. Let the Forces open a portal between the worlds at rest.” Deidre raised her face, letting the moon’s beams wash over her face. “I call on you, Isis, Mother of us all, let me see where the Stone lies hidden.”
The elusive music heightened in pitch and rhythm, drawing Deidre to her feet. Lifting her hands toward the moon, she began to sway.
She felt dizzy as the stones seemed to tilt in front of her and fade away. T
here was a slight rustle, as if a wind had suddenly sprung up through trees that were not present. A crackling sound like flames from dry timber doused by a stream of rushing water, carrying away all other sound. The air pulsed with energy.
A shimmering haze began to stir, forming itself into a young woman with long, red-gold hair, dressed in a gossamer gown of white. It floated about her translucent shape as she hovered in the air. She smiled at Deidre.
Deidre struggled to stay calm. Her Sight had conjured up…something. This was not the time to lose her nerve. The apparition seemed benevolent enough.
“I seek the Philosopher’s Stone,” she whispered.
The spirit smiled and nodded. “Gar-al,” she said, and then inclined her head gracefully. Even as Deidre watched, the image began to fade into nothingness.
The stones came back into focus and Deidre shook her head as though to clear it. Whoever, or whatever, the phantom was, she had sounded real enough. But what was a “gar-al,” and what did it have to do with the Stone?
She shivered, despite the humid night air and stepped out of the circle. Thank goodness Winger was still there, contently grazing beside another horse.
Deidre’s blood chilled and goose bumps rose. Another horse? So she had been followed, after all. Taking a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm, she turned slowly, knowing whom she would see.
Chapter Ten
TIME FOR TRUTH
“Would ye mind telling me what the bloody hell ye are doing out here?”
In the pale moonlight, Gilead’s eyes glittered like black sapphires. Deidre could feel the heat of his anger even though he was several paces away. He stood, legs splayed, arms folded across his broad chest, unwavering.
She gulped. How much had he seen or heard? Suddenly, she felt like a fool, sneaking away to talk to thin air at midnight. What possible excuse could she give him? “I…had heard—that is…some people say stone circles have magic in them, especially on festival days.” Deidre tried a nonchalant shrug that only caused her arm to shake as her shoulder jerked. “I—ah, I thought I would see for myself.”
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