WyndStones

by Wyndstone (lit)

  “There should be sixteen loaves,” Mary said. “You forgot about Lorna’s brother.”

  Lorna winced then clenched her hands into the skirt of her gown. “There’ll be no need.”

  “You can’t leave him out,” Mary said. “Tradition is .…”

  “He won’t be here the day after tomorrow,” Lorna said quietly.

  “Why not?” Mary asked. “Where’s he going?”

  “He ain’t going nowhere,” Tandy stated. “The menfolk wouldn’t let him.”

  “Then why’d you say that, Lorna?” Mary wanted to know.

  Lorna looked out across the deepening shadows of the gathering dusk but did not answer. As the last rays of the sun dipped behind the mountain, she closed her eyes and lowered her head.

  “There will be another burial tomorrow, won’t there?” Missy questioned, looking at Lorna’s still profile and the way the older woman gripped the fabric between her fingers.

  “I don’t think there will be anything for them to find to bury,” Lorna replied after a moment or two. “Chrysty wanted a sacrifice and I gave him Daniel.”

  The women were quiet as that news settled on them like a cold, clammy sheet. For the longest time no one spoke. Missy had placed a shaking hand to her lips. Mary rocked gently, her hands curled over the arms of the rocker.

  “Aye, well, he’s a Tabor,” Tandy said at last. “Stands to reason his death would not be an easy one. Chrysty has reason to hate the Tabors.”

  “The sins of the fathers,” Mary reminded them and even Missy nodded in agreement.

  * * * *

  Heat lightning flashed across the midnight sky as Daniel Brent tossed and turned in his bed. It was stifling hot in the rectory and the sheets beneath him felt scratchy against his arms and legs. He rolled from one side of the bed to the other in an effort to find a bit of coolness but there was none to be had. At last—with a heartfelt sigh—he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the mattress. Plowing a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, he left the bed.

  Every window in the small house was open to the night air. Unfortunately not a whisper of a breeze was stirring. The curtains at the windows that had been bedecked with sturdy iron bars lay limp against the sill.

  After padding to the kitchen for a drink of water, Daniel carried the glass with him through the parlor and to the door, opening it to take a seat on the front porch. But he found no relief outside. The air was so still he thought he could hear the ripples of the waves on the lake across the way. Damp heat weighed him down as he sat in the swing and put the glass to his forehead. What little moisture was on the glass did little to help. The muggy oppressiveness that surrounded him was a misery unto itself.

  He thought about the twin funerals that would take place the next day although he would have no part in either. Had he been the spiritual leader of the clan he would preside at the services but the Arch-Elder had made it clear to him that he would not be needed—nor wanted—as an officiate.

  “A fifth wheel is what I am,” Daniel said. He took a drink of the tepid water and grimaced. It tasted of sulfur. Turning his head, he spat it out, his face twisted with disgust. He tossed the remaining water over the porch rail.

  Lightning forked across the top of the mountain, catching his eye.

  “All they wanted was Lorna,” he said as he watched another bolt stitch along the jagged peaks. “Not me. Never me.”

  “I want you, Daniel.”

  Daniel jumped at the soft feminine voice. He looked around to find the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen standing not six feet away. His heart did a funny little squeeze in his chest.

  “Who are you?” he asked. He knew every female on the Hill and this one did not belong there.

  “Who do you want me to be?” this vision asked.

  Willow thin with golden hair that was almost white in the occasional flash of lightning, her eyes were luminous as she stared at him. The pale blue gown that touched her from high neckline to her slender ankles enhanced the delicate features that peered back at him with the unmistakable aura of shyness.

  He shot up from the swing, wincing as the edge of it slammed against the back of his knees. “Where did you come from?”

  She shrugged daintily and took a step forward on bare feet. “I’ve always been here, Daniel,” she answered. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Daniel could feel the blood pounding in his ears, his heart beating against his ribcage. Sweat had gathered in his palms, along his upper lip and upon his brow. He felt a trickle of it running from his armpit down his side but his mouth was bone dry, making it difficult for him to swallow. When the lovely apparition glided toward him, he put up a staying hand.

  “No! Stay where you are!” he ordered. His voice took on a pleading quality. “Who are you?”

  “Don’t you know?” she asked. Her words were soft, seductive yet filled with just a trace of girlish quality. “You’ve often dreamed about me.”

  Panic shifted through Daniel for he had, indeed, seen this beautiful woman in many a lingering dream. Her hair had been that same shade of pale gold. Her eyes—though he could not see their color in the ambient light—would be a deep sapphire shade. He knew if he but tried, he could span her small waist with his hands—as he had on more dream-laced nights than he cared to admit. Her small breasts would fit completely into his palms.

  “Give me a name, Daniel,” she said, her red lips lush against the stark white of her straight little teeth.

  He shook his head violently, repeatedly pushing his palm outward in demand that she come no closer. “No, no, no, no, no!” he said. “You aren’t real. You’re not!”

  “I am as real as you want me to be, Daniel,” she said and took another step closer.

  There was no where for Daniel to go. He was pressed up against the swing and the swing was arched against the porch railing and could go no farther. He began to tremble for she was so close to him now he could smell the musk perfume that wafted from her slender body in sultry waves.

  She held out a slender arm. “Let me touch you, Daniel.”

  “Alel, help me!” he pleaded but his god seemed to be elsewhere at that moment.

  “You know you want me,” she said, so close now he could feel the heat of her trim body.

  “No!” he exploded, eyes wild. “I took a vow! I swore a vow of chastity!”

  Her little tongue came out to sweep across a full upper lip. The moisture left behind glistened as lightning flared above the cabin. Daniel’s knees threatened to buckle beneath him and his cock leapt—stiffening so quickly and so fully he groaned from the pressure pushing against his pajamas. He was trembling violently, his eyes tracking back and forth—looking for an escape route. The moment she pressed against him, he was lost.

  With a fierce groan, he snaked his arms around her and jerked her as close as their clothing would allow. His mouth covered hers. He thrust his tongue past her lush lips and rubbed against her—desperate to ease the burning pain in his shaft. Possessed by her beauty, her allure, he dragged her to the floor, sliding his body over hers, oblivious to the fact their clothes melted like spun sugar under a stream of warm water.

  Her arms draped around his neck and she crooked one leg over his hips to press a dainty heel just above the slit of his rump cheeks. She tilted her own hips up in invitation as he continued to grind his lower body on hers until his cock found the wet crease of her opening.

  It was as though a cavern opened up and swallowed his shaft. He could feel the pulling sensation as he was tugged inside her slick heat. Had he been able to describe the impression he would have sworn on a stack of bibles it was as though a hundred little lips were nibbling on his flesh, drawing him in, drawing him down, consuming him. Pumping wildly, he slammed his hands under her shapely ass and hefted her higher. When she lifted her other leg to corral him between her smooth thighs, he tore his mouth from hers and buried his head in her shoulder.

  “Aye, Daniel,” he vaguely heard her say. “
Release your seed into me for I have need of it.”

  A torrent seemed to be unleashed within him and his rutting became brutal, abandoned, totally without restraint. He was like a mad man as he pummeled her with his body. Ruthlessly, relentlessly he thrust as the pressure built within his cock. He burned. He yearned. He ached for the pleasure he knew was inching its way up to him. Her cunt was sweet, hot, and incredibly tight. She was milking him—those little nether lips pulsing around him.

  The moment he came, it was with feral, unbridled lust and he shot deep and long into her velvety sheath.

  “Alel!” he screamed out the name of the One who had abandoned him.

  “Nay, preacher man. Raphian,” she whispered in his ear and her little tongue swept out to flick across the sensitive whorls of his flesh.

  Pumping furiously into her still, the words were like ice water thrown on his cock. He could feel it automatically shrinking, withdrawing, pulling in on itself but the damage was already done. He had spilled his cum into her waiting body and—with horror widening his eyes—he pulled back, staring down at what had once been a beautiful woman. Instead, he saw a demon grinning maniacally back at him.

  “No!” he shrieked, scrambling backward like a crab. His naked body was paler than moonlight beside the black warty flesh of the creature that rose up to gaze down at him with gloating glee.

  It smiled at him to reveal row after row of needle-sharp teeth. Yellow eyes glowed feverishly beneath thick rimmed horny brows that sported twin curved horns. Flat nostrils in a pig-like snout flexed wetly in that pebbled face that was so hideous Daniel knew the sight of it would stay with him until the day he died.

  Whimpering, moving back as far as the porch rail would allow, he stared in horror as the creature unfurled thickly-webbed wings. It sat perched on massive haunches supporting thick legs with long feet that ended in curved talons.

  “Welcome to hell, preacher man,” the beast said in a low, guttural growl then sprang from the porch, flexing its wings once before it took to the night sky.

  Babbling to himself, shaking so hard his teeth clattered together, Daniel huddled on the porch—wide-eyed and damned—and thought of the pistol he kept locked in his nightstand drawer.

  He was contemplating that pistol, putting it to his temple when he heard the flapping of giant wings. He looked out past the porch railing and saw the creature winging its way toward the rectory. Its eyes were no longer yellow but a deep, dark scarlet red and its pebbly lips were drawn back over those sharply pointed teeth.

  Daniel opened his mouth and screamed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cail was so weak he had to leave the driving of the buggy to Sam Reid who volunteered to take the new Elder and his wife around to meet with the people of the Hill. Sitting in the back of the buggy with Lorna, Cail was lost in thought as the horse’s clopped slowly over the red clay.

  Sam had just asked, “Where could he have gotten off to? There weren’t a trace of him, Elder Cail.”

  “I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Lorna said. She turned to look at her husband. “After all, where could he go?”

  Cail could feel her eyes on him but he did not glance her way. He was cold though the day was sweltering. He was numb though his body ached in a dozen places. A brutal headache stabbed between his temples and now and again he reached up to rub his forehead.

  “How many more families, Sam?” Lorna inquired.

  “Well, there’s Dallas Deal and then Fergus MacLeod,” Sam said. He twisted around to give Cail a puzzled look. “We going on up to see Lady Belle, Elder?”

  Cail nodded. His throat hurt something fierce and he was afraid he was coming down with something else. All he wanted was to stretch out on his bed atop a cool sheet with a cold washrag covering his eyes but he had to fulfill the obligations that were expected of him. Tomorrow would be another hard day and he prayed he would feel better by then.

  “It’s beautiful country up here,” Lorna said, taking in the tall oaks and stately pines as the little track ran deeper into the forest and higher up the mountain. “So peaceful.” Her gaze fell on the wyndstones that ran along the left side of the track and she smiled.

  “It sure is the best place to live,” Sam pronounced.

  It was late afternoon by the time Sam drew the buggy to a stop before the small cabin of the matriarch of the clan, Lady Belle McGregor. The silvery-gray wood of the building had never seen whitewash and the tin roof was so thick with orange rust not a hint of the tin’s original color remained. A large fieldstone chimney dominated one side of the little two-room structure and a waist-high round well house stood just beyond the low porch railing.

  “How long has she been a widow?” Lorna asked. She was fascinated with the broom marks that crisscrossed the sand in front of the cabin. They seemed too perfect for an old lady to have made—or a young one for that matter.

  “Lady Belle ain’t never been married,” Sam said. “She was the youngest sister of Elder Cail’s great-granddaddy, weren’t she, milord?”

  “Aye,” Cail said softly. “She was.”

  “Why’d she never marry?” Lorna queried.

  Cail shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her.”

  “You’ve been awful quiet, husband,” Lorna said. “Are you still feeling poorly?” She reached out to touch him and he flinched, moving away. He swiveled his head toward her and in his eyes there was a slight flicker of unease.

  Lorna arched a brow but said nothing, lowering her hand to her lap as Sam climbed down from the buggy and went to the front of it to tie the horses to the hitching post. He swept off his hat, armed away the sweat then tossed the stained Stetson onto the driver’s seat. He held out a hand to Lorna to help her down.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” Lorna said. She graced the young man with a smile before retrieving the basket with the last loaf of bread from the floorboard.

  “You need help, Elder Cail?” Sam asked.

  Cail shook his head and swung down from the buggy. He, too, removed the black hat he had been wearing and laid it precisely on the seat he’d vacated. Threading a hand through his dark curls, he straightened his tie, brushed the dust from the front of his black frock coat then moved toward the porch.

  “She’ll have the best lemonade you’ll ever taste ready for us,” Sam whispered to Lorna. “And it’ll be so cold it’ll make your teeth ache.”

  “Is that a fact?” Lorna asked.

  “Back when there used to be cookin’ competitions, I heard she won all the blue ribbons.” He held his hand out to her as she neared the porch.

  Lorna frowned. “How long ago was that?”

  “I don’t rightly recollect,” Sam said. “It was long ‘fore my time. Yours, too, weren’t it, Elder?”

  Cail didn’t reply. He was standing at the door, hand raised to knock but stepped back as a shadowy figure was framed behind the rusted screen.

  “You know I don’t hold with knocking, Cail McGregor. Come on in and bring my company. I ain’t a’getting’ no younger a’waitin’ on y’all.”

  The voice that spoke was ancient but firm and it brooked no resistance. There was quiet command in the tone.

  Sam helped Lorna onto the porch then hung back as Cail opened the door and ushered his wife ahead of him into the murky confines of the little cabin.

  “Come on in and sit yourself down, Lorna McGregor. You be welcome in this house.”

  The old woman who stood in the center of the room was short with hair the color of freshly-fallen snow. She wore it unbound and it hung to her hips in a wispy cloud. Dressed in a long black gown that covered her from chin to toe to wrist, her skin was parchment smooth with only a bare tint more color than her hair. A face that had seen over one hundred summers bore that many wrinkles but the lively green eyes that looked back at Lorna were filled with youth. There was lavender permeating the air and Lorna imagined the scent hovered about Lady Belle like a finely woven silk cape.

  “It is the essence of the Daughters of the Multit
ude,” Lady Belle said though her lips did not move and the words simply floated gently through Lorna’s mind.

  “Lorna, this is my kinswoman, Lady Belle McGregor,” Cail said needlessly. He stood off to one side like a shy little boy and not the important man the Hill considered him now.

  Lorna stepped forward and would normally have extended her hand to her hostess but she felt a deep kinship to the lady and instead wrapped her arms around her.

  “It is an honor to meet you, Lady,” she said, bending so she could put her cheek to the older woman’s.

  “I’ve waited long and long for you,” Lady Belle replied. She put a wrinkled, liver-spotted hand to Lorna’s cheek. “And you are all I could have hoped for.”

  Looking into the clear green eyes of the older woman, Lorna saw a flash of fire and for just a moment, everything in the room disappeared, and she felt as though she was standing in the blackness of space among the twinkling stars. That sensation was gone as quickly as it struck. She took a deep breath as Lady Belle moved back, lowering her hand from Lorna’s face.

  “You done right well for yourself, Cail,” the old woman said. “She is as pretty as a speckled puppy.”

  “She’s a good woman,” Cail replied, shifting from one foot to the other.

  “And she’s just what the Hill has been needing,” Lady Belle said with a grin that revealed teeth that were surprisingly good for a woman of her advanced years. “Now, sit whilst I pour us up a glass of lemonade.”

  “May I help?” Lorna asked.

  “Land a’goshen, no, girl!” Lady Belle said, waving away the offer. “You be my guests. Sit, now, and take a load off. Samuel, put that lanky frame of yourn down on the chair and rest it a spell.”

  “Aye, Lady Belle,” Sam said with a wink.

  “Cail, you come help with the tray.”

  It hit Lorna when Cail snapped to the order quickly that he was nervous around the old woman, perhaps somewhat afraid of her. His unease showed in the stiffness of his posture, the way he refused to meet Lady Belle’s eyes when she looked at him. He kept his head down as helped her put glasses on a tray and sliced a fresh lemon to hook on the side of each glass.