Knight of Pentacles (Knights of the Tarot Book 3)

by Nina Mason

  As always, the gods had known far better than he what he needed most. No more would he passively endure whatever life handed him. From now on, he would fight to change the things that did not make him happy.

  * * * *

  A shiver stole through Jenna as she turned the Mini Cooper into the carpark at Callanish. Stone circles had always fascinated her. They were the silent keepers of ancient wisdom and the secrets of long-lost civilizations. Unfortunately, her strict religious upbringing had prevented her from visiting any before now.

  She shut off the engine and gazed up at the monument with a sense of awe. From this vantage point, the skyward jutting megaliths of Callanish looked almost like giant robed priests who’d been turned to stone while performing a sacred ritual. They appeared to be gazing pensively across the landscape below as if waiting for someone long absent—not in a circle, as she’d expected, but in four straight lines radiating outward from a central point.

  Beside her, Axel asked, “Did you know that of the thousand-odd stone circles found all over Britain, Callanish is the only one shaped like a cross?”

  “Is it? How fascinating. And ironic, given the longstanding enmity between Christianity and Paganism.” She turned to him. “Do you know what they were used for?”

  He laughed. “I am old, but I am not quite that old. Though, in my day, we used Odin stones for worship and runic markers for various magical and protective purposes. Perhaps there was once something written on these stones, which has washed away over time.”

  Jenna returned her attention to the stones. The moon cast an ethereal silver light across their featureless faces. A pale mist covered the ground. She lowered the window, letting in cool, damp air that smelled of the sea and dewy grass.

  As hope expanded her heart, she searched the star-salted dark sky. They were almost there, almost safe. “I don’t see the owls anywhere.”

  “Nor do I. But that does not mean they are not here or that they will fail to appear before we cross over.”

  Biting her lip, Jenna started to remove the key from the ignition and then decided to leave it. Let somebody else take the car. She no longer had use for it. Pushing open the door, she stepped out.

  As Axel retrieved the weapons from behind his seat, she studied her Mini with a pang. She had scrimped and saved for months and months to buy that car—the last of her possessions to surrender. When she walked away, she’d have nothing left of her former life.

  Not that giving up her past wasn’t worth the future waiting for her a few steps ahead. She would live in the Thitherworld among druids and her wonderful new husband—a handsome, passionate, and magical man who strove both to protect her and to help her spread her wings. Soon, they’d be a family. And that was worth far more than anything material.

  After taking a deep breath, she started up the slope toward the stones. Night wind and moonlight softly caressed her face as she ascended the knoll. According to the clock in the car, midnight was only twenty minutes away.

  Axel caught up with her, draped his arm around her shoulders, and hugged her side against his. He had the gun in his belt and carried the bow and quiver in his other hand. “Are you nervous?”

  “A little.” She drew an uneasy breath as they passed between two of the petrified priests. Stopping on the other side of the stones, she looked around. “Where do you suppose your druid friend has hidden the nawglen?”

  His answer was drowned out by the cawing of crows. Jenna trembled, feeling as if someone had walked on her grave. The birds flew over, casting a shadow over the circle as they blocked out the moon. This wasn’t good. Crows might be associated with darkness, but they were not night-flying birds.

  Axel came up beside her and pressed the bow and arrows into her hands. “Take cover behind one of the stones.”

  With a pounding heart, she dashed to the nearest monolith, crouched down in its moonshadow, and waited for the flock to circle back. Taking them out wouldn’t be easy. There had to be a hundred crows in the flock and she only had a dozen arrows. Plus, as birds went, crows were much harder targets than owls.

  Axel took cover somewhere nearby where she couldn’t see him. Jenna set her first arrow, drew back her bowstring, and aimed toward the sky. Fear snaked through her as the calamitous black mass came over the circle once again. She released the arrow as a gunshot rang out from somewhere close. Two birds fell to the ground.

  Two out of a hundred. Her spirits faltered at the thought of the daunting task they now faced. Killing the lot could take all night, and they had mere minutes.

  Still, she must do what she could and hope for the best. Taking another deep breath, she reloaded her bow and let the arrow fly. Another crow dropped from the sky. Axel cracked off two more shots in quick succession. Two more black-feathered vampires fell to earth.

  The flock flew off and circled back. Jenna set another arrow and took aim. Underneath the decrescendoeing din of cawing, she heard Axel speaking softly. Not to her, but to himself. Keeping her eye on her shrinking targets, she strained to hear what he was saying.

  “Fee-faw” was the only phrase she could make out. He must be shifting, but into what?

  She didn’t have to wait long for her answer. From behind the stone two away, a great winged dragon arose like a phoenix from a pile of ashes. As the crows returned with their usual racket, he opened his long, tapered muzzle and blasted them with a breath of fire.

  The front runners ignited and plummeted toward the ground like shot-down fighter planes. Axel blasted the next batch, flambéing them, too. Jenna was so elated she wanted to cheer. When the last of the crows lay burning on the ground, the dragon turned back into her handsome knight.

  Seeing him naked in the moonlight reminded her of the first night she’d spied on him washing himself in the waterfall. Desire quivered through her, but there was no time to act on it. They only had minutes left to find the nawglen, cast the circle, and speak the incantation.

  Axel disappeared behind the stone. When he reappeared a few moments later, he was dressed and carrying a pouch. At first, she thought the bag contained his runes, but then she noticed this one was different than the one she’d taken from the cave.

  “Is that the nawglen?” She slung the quiver over her shoulder and hurried toward him.

  “Aye. It was right there, as if by magic.”

  “Perhaps magic was involved.”

  As she stepped up to him, he gathered her into his arms and pressed his lips against hers.

  When he released her, she asked, “What was that for?”

  He laughed. “Do I need a reason to kiss you?”

  “No.”

  Moving to the other end of the stones, he began to walk backward in a counter-clockwise circle, pouring the ash from the pouch as he went. At the four points of the cross, he paused to recite what she intuited to be a galdr—a Norse incantation.

  When the circle was complete, Axel stepped toward the center and motioned for her to join him. As she did, he took both her hands in his.

  Lifting his face to the moon, he called out in a booming voice, “Urdhr, Verdhandi, and Skuld. Weavers of the threads of fate and keepers of the world tree. We have arrived at the crossroads between the worlds. We make our entreaty in peace and in the name of truth and justice. We request your aid in crossing over the threshold in safety.”

  Almost at once, the ground beneath their feet began to rumble. Jenna looked down. The mist covering the ground had already swallowed their feet and was rapidly rising. It covered their legs, then their waists, then their shoulders. When it rose above their heads, she could see nothing but an opaque screen of swirling white fog.

  “Close your eyes,” Axel instructed, squeezing her hands.

  Within seconds of shutting her eyes, Jenna’s head began to spin. Faster and faster it spun in a dizzying whorl. It felt as if her body was breaking apart. The particles grew smaller and smaller until her whole being had been reduced to grains. An invisible force began to pull her down. The touc
h was light, the pressure gentle. She sank into a quiet peace as it drew her softly through a narrow passage. She was sand falling through an hourglass.

  She did not open her eyes until the spinning stopped and her body felt whole again. Axel, she was glad to see, was still there, holding tight to her hands. They looked at each other before each glanced around. They were standing in what looked to be an open Grecian temple surrounded on all sides by a dense grove of ancient trees. Thick vines coiled among their gnarled branches like serpents. A plush carpet of moss and ferns lay between their twisted roots. The air, alive with birdsong, smelled of damp, fertile earth. Jenna inhaled deeply. Underneath the melodious chirping, water rushed somewhere in the distance.

  “Something tells me we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

  Axel, tilting his head, gave her a funny look. “Kansas? Toto? Am I supposed to know what that means?”

  She smiled at him apologetically. “Sorry, it’s from a movie. I forgot you wouldn’t get the reference.”

  The inlaid mosaic at the temple’s center started to glow. As the light grew more brilliant, Jenna put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the glare. Through the cracks between her fingers, she could see a form taking shape.

  When the light faded, she lowered her hand. There, before them, sat a man in a green robe with a long white beard. He might have been Merlin from Arthurian legend. His robe was richly embroidered with Celtic knots and other esoteric symbols. In one hand, he held a tree branch with tiny bells dangling from its silver tines. Beneath the shadow cast by his heavy gray brows were deeply set eyes as black as onyx.

  Slowly, he turned his dark gaze on Axel. “Welcome back, my good knight. It pleases me to see you survived Samhain in one piece.” Turning to Jenna, the old druid said, “Due in no small part, I imagine, to this lady. Will you be so good as to introduce us?”

  Axel let go of her hands and bowed to the priest. “It would be my honor. Cathbad, may I present Jenna Cameron? With your help, I hope to make her Jenna Lochlann very soon.” Then, to Jenna, he said, “And Jenna, this is Cathbad, the leader of the druids of Brocaliande.”

  A smile broke across Cathbad’s wrinkled face. “You are welcome here, Miss Cameron, as is your knight.” The old druid turned toward the trees behind him. “You may now approach.”

  At first, Jenna thought he was addressing the trees, but then, several people emerged from between the huge trunks. There were two couples—a tall dark-haired man with a petite young woman on his arm, and a blond man holding hands with a willowy brunette. All four were uncommonly attractive. Behind them came two others—a handsome black-haired man in a kilt and boots who looked like a Celtic warrior and a pretty little girl with long brown hair and golden eyes.

  “Who are they?” she whispered to Axel.

  “The dark-haired man with the woman is Sir Leith,” he whispered back. “The blond man is Lord Lyon, whom I thought dead until recently, and the black-haired druid is Bran Febal.”

  “And the others?”

  He smirked. “Lord Lyon’s wife and daughter would be my guess.”

  Cathbad raised a silencing hand. “Sir Axel and Miss Cameron, allow me to introduce your fellow captains in the rebellion.” Gesturing toward the first couple—the tall man and diminutive woman—he said, “This is Lord and Lady MacQuill of Glenarvon in Nairn.”

  As the first couple greeted them, the second pair stepped into the circle with the little girl. Gesturing toward them, the old druid said, “And this is Lord and Lady Lyon of Barrogill in Easterhead, and their daughter, Lady Llewellyn, who is already being trained in the martial arts and feats, so that she will be ready to take part when the time is at hand.”

  Cathbad then turned to the black-haired man, who he proceeded to introduce. Bran came into the temple, carrying a small stack of cards. He handed one to each of the other two knights before coming over to them.

  Bran held one of the cards out to Axel, who accepted the offering with a bow. Jenna peeked around him at the card, which bore the image of a knight on a black charger remarkably similar to Odin. Wearing a full suit of armor, he held a round shield emblazoned with a five-point star. “Knight of Pentacles” was written across a banner beneath the image.

  “What does it mean?” she whispered to Axel.

  Before he could answer, Bran held out his arms in a manner inclusive of everyone assembled. A hush fell over the group just before the druid said, in a booming, Irish-accented voice, “For centuries, we have guarded a great secret—a part of the prophecy known to none outside of Brocaliande. The prediction states that the rebellion will commence shortly after three of the four tarot knights are joined in brotherhood. That forecast has now come to pass. For Lord Lyon, the fiery Leo, is the Knight of Wands; Sir Leith, the sentimental Scorpio, is the Knight of Cups; and Sir Axel, the serene and steadfast Taurus, is the Knight of Pentacles. Now, we need only wait for the Knight of Swords to join our fraternity, which will come to pass as soon as the foretold sign appears in the Hitherworld heavens. Upon his arrival, he will be given the White Glaive of Light, the Cup of Truth, the crimson shield of the great hero Cuchulainn, and the invincible spear of the god Lugh, all of which have been held in trust for him. Our campaign to free the drones and put a good and just monarch on the throne of Avalon must not fail.”

  Epilogue

  Four weeks later…

  Jenna paused as she stepped from between two trees into the sunlight and smoothed the front of her gown. Gwyn and Vanessa, her bridesmaids and new best friends, had done her hair and makeup and, in her frothy white wedding gown, she felt like a princess about to marry her faerytale prince. She was so deliriously happy, it was all she could do not to bounce on her toes.

  The meadow was alive with sweet birdsong and the joyful sounds of a harp and flute performing an ancient Celtic tune. At the far end of the clearing stood Cathbad behind a slab-stone altar outfitted with the things he’d need to perform the ceremony.

  In front of the altar were her attendants, facing their husbands across the aisle. In a few short weeks, all of them had become good friends. Even Callum and Leith, who didn’t seem to like each other much when Jenna and Axel first arrived in the druid forest, had resolved their differences.

  Around the perimeter of the circle, the other druids stood in ceremonial white robes with their hands clasped. Off to one side, a flutist named Finnegan and the faery called Belphoebe played their instruments.

  In between the bride and the altar, was Lady Llewellyn—Wella, for short—dressed in a tea-length pink frock, scattering petals along a white runner. Ahead of her was a decorated goat cart in which the MacQuill’s new baby daughter slept. Bran walked behind the children, carrying the ceremonial sword the bride was to present to the groom as a wedding present.

  The ceremony Jenna and Axel had planned was a unique amalgamation of modern and ancient traditions—a true “wedding” of the beliefs and traditions of bride and groom. Before she presented Axel with the new sword, he would give her the one he wore, which their first-born son would in turn present to his bride one day. It was a Viking tradition Jenna found incredibly romantic. Less endearing was the idea of being baptized in the blood of the poor goat they planned to sacrifice to the gods before the exchange of vows.

  Jenna looked around for her groom—the only person of importance missing from the scene. Just as she began to fret about what might be keeping him, he stepped through the trees into view. Her breath caught as she met his dazzling blue gaze across the distance.

  Axel looked even more magnificent than usual. Gone were the usual trews and saffron tunic. In their place, he wore an old-style gathered kilt and belted frockcoat that showed off his physique to advantage. His hair, pulled back in a ponytail, shone like gold threads in the sunlight. The hairstyle and wardrobe changes, however, were not what made the biggest difference in his appearance.

  He no longer had a beard.

  His face was clean-shaven and even more handsome than before—something s
he hadn’t thought possible. Neither had she thought it possible to love him more than she had when they first arrived in Brocaliande, but her fondness and admiration for him seemed to deepen and strengthen with each passing day.

  With a lump in her throat, she gathered up her skirts and started down the long aisle, concentrating on her measured stride. Step, together. Step, together. She would only have one wedding and wanted to get it right.

  Axel’s gaze never left her. His eyes were as blue as a Norwegian sky in summer. She was breathless by the time she reached his side. Her blood surged, warming her face, as he took her hands and kissed her cheek.

  “You shaved.”

  His smile revealed his adorable dimples for the first time. “I promised you I would—and this seemed an ideal day for honoring promises.”

  “I like you without it.” She ran her fingers over his smooth, angular jawline.

  He laughed and set his forehead against hers. “I hope you like me with it, too—because I plan to grow it back.”

  She kissed his mouth, which felt wonderfully soft without the prickly whiskers. “Not until after the honeymoon, I hope.”

  Cathbad cleared his throat, splitting them apart. “Shall we begin?”

  The sacrificing of the goat was the first step. Though she knew what would happen, Jenna couldn’t bear to watch, so she shut his eyes as Cathbad said the prayer, slit the animal’s throat, and drained its blood into the bowl on the altar.

  By pre-arrangement, Axel squeezed her arm when it was safe to open her eyes. As she did so, she found the druid priest standing before them with the bowl of blood and a small bundle of pine needles. He dipped the tips in the blood and drew the symbol for Thor’s hammer in the air. “Thor, with thy Hammer, hallow this wedlock.”

  The movement, as intended, splattered the goat’s blood over everyone standing near the altar.