by Nina Mason
“Is this supposed to be me?”
“Aye.” He plucked the Queen of Cups from her grasp and returned the card to his sporran. “And the fact that I drew it in answer to your request to enter Brocaliande tells me the gods look with favor upon your undertaking. Be assured, Cathbad would not have sent you otherwise.”
Chapter 20
Had there been a bridge across the narrow channel between nearby Fort George and Chanonry Point on the Black Isle, Leith’s trip to Fairy Glen would have been a mere hop, skip, and jump. But there wasn’t a bridge, nor was shifting or hiring a boat convenient, so he could only drive the circuitous thirty-mile horseshoe that took him across the Beauly Firth via the new cable-stayed bridge linking Inverness and Kessock.
Thus, a trip of just over five miles as the crow flies took close to forty-five minutes by automobile. He was now in a sleepy waterfront village called Rosemarkie, cruising down a High Street lined with huddled shops, businesses, and dwellings.
Only the merchants had changed since the last time he visited some hundred years past. Gone were the dressmaker, glover, draper, general store, tearoom, and haberdashery. The old ironmongery had become a deli, and what had been a shoe shop last time, was now a posh apothecary.
Thank goodness the old stone mill turned public house still hugged the curve of the road to the glen. If Sir Axel refused his request, he’d be in need of a dram or two to dull his devastation.
He’d rolled the window down to let out the smoke from his cigarette. If not for the asphalt, the low sputter of the Jaguar’s engine, and some of the modern signage, he might have believed himself still back in the days of horse and buggy.
Fairy Glen was just ahead on the left. When he’d first been banished, he used to ride up here on horseback from time to time to catch up with Sir Axel. Luckily, his old comrade’s sense of loyalty cut both ways.
As much as Leith hated deceiving someone he considered a friend, he could hardly be truthful. The Cup of Truth worked in the manner of a metaphysical polygraph. If the speaker believed the lie he told, the chalice would fail to pick up on the subterfuge.
Spying the entrance to the car park, Leith turned in just as a big green touring coach pulled out. Good. He’d planned to arrive near dusk apurpose—to avoid the tourists who now flocked to the picturesque glen during daylight hours.
He pulled the long-nosed Jag into a space near the trailhead, grabbed the gun out of the glove compartment, and climbed out. He felt a qualm of regret as he turned to lock the door. Would he ever come back for the car? The thought that he might not tightened his chest, and not just because of his fondness for the vintage roadster. If Queen Morgan had indeed learned he’d tricked her with regard to Belphoebe, thereby enabling the birth of the prophesied drone, there would be no appeasing her.
She would kill him, but not before he suffered greatly for his sins. He shuddered as the agonized screams of those who’d crossed her in the past rose from his memory. Her dungeon was designed to inflict unspeakable suffering.
Tucking the pistol under his belt, he inserted the key in the lock. As he turned it, doubt avalanched down on him, burying his courage. It also stole his breath. Setting his hands atop the car’s convertible top, he wrestled with his doubts.
If he turned back now, he could return to Glenarvon and let Gwyneth fare as well as she could.
She was braver than she realized and certainly able. If she succeeded, she’d return one day and all would be well.
Swallowing hard, he rubbed the back of his neck.
And if she failed, could he live with the choice he’d made? Could he live with the knowledge he’d abandoned her to some terrible fate? Just as he’d done to Clara, Faith, and Belphoebe.
His gut tightened against the idea as the future played out in his mind. If he turned back, he would remain as he was. Shut away from the world, alone and miserable, wallowing in guilt and regret. Aye, the money from the film rights would alleviate his financial worries, but his guilt would be magnified ten-fold. Money could buy many things, but a clear conscience wasn’t one of them.
If he turned back and abandoned yet another pregnant lass, he’d never forgive himself. It was as simple as that. And that settled the matter. He would go forward, even if doing so accomplished little more than ending his insufferable existence.
With a steeling breath, he followed the well-tended path into the trees, where a symphony of birdsong and rushing water greeted his ears. He’d forgotten what a peaceful, mystical spot this was. All around were ghostly mists, plush mosses, colorful wildflowers, verdant groves, and tumbling waterfalls.
No wonder so many tourists flocked here.
Back in the day, the children of the village would come here to decorate one of the pools with flowers gathered in the glen—a ceremony to ensure the faeries kept the water supply clean. They needn’t have bothered. Sir Axel was a vigilant guardian of his post. Rumor had it, the big knight extracted a toll from any human who dared trespass on his territory. Virgins, legend told, were made to pay with their maidenhoods.
Not that Leith put much store in such tales. Sir Axel wasn’t capable of rape. Well, capable perhaps, but certainly not inclined. Besides, it was hard to imagine any unencumbered lass in this day and age not giving herself freely to the gentle ginger-haired giant.
Leith could more easily believe the rumors surrounding Sir Axel’s assignment as a portal guardian. It was said his seed produced only lads and Morgan grew weary of eating his sons. It was also said she’d freed the big knight from the bonds of sexual fidelity when she’d given him his post, though not from the bonds of enslavement.
The path led him deeper into the glen before veering off into the trees. His destination was the smaller of the glen’s two largest waterfalls. The biggest was where the burn cascaded over a steep drop before rushing onward. The smaller tumbled into a secluded pool a fair distance from the trail. Behind the latter lay the portal into Avalon.
As he rounded the bend, Sir Axel’s horse came into view. A sturdy black destrier, Odin was veiled from human view. The riderless stallion wore a studded leather breast collar and rump breeching with a medieval-style saddle. From the saddle horn hung the worn leather pouch containing Sir Axel’s runes.
Seeing the knight nowhere about, Leith looked skyward. There, as expected, was Sir Axel, circling in the guise of his alter ego, the noble gyrfalcon favored by Vikings and kings.
With a resigned sigh, Leith settled himself on a moss-covered boulder and lit up. As he enjoyed his cigarette, blowing smoke rings to entertain himself, his thoughts darkened as they returned to the portal and what awaited him on the other side. Assuming, of course, Sir Axel saw fit to deliver his appeal. Even if he agreed, a positive outcome was far from assured. Most likely, Queen Morgan would throw his sorry arse in the dungeon to wait out the days until Samhain. If he was lucky, she wouldn’t starve and torture him in the meantime.
Hah. What a good joke.
When had luck ever smiled down on him?
Never, that’s when.
His jaw clenched as degrading scenes from his time in Avalon bloomed inside his brain. Being forced to line up naked with the other knights while the queen chose that evening’s bedfellows. More often than not, she chose more than one and commanded them to see to each other while she looked on. If the goings on in Beauty’s Punishment shocked his wee mouse, she’d shit herself at the twisted shizz that went down in Avalon on a daily basis.
A sound behind him jolted his heart and made him turn. There stood Sir Axel in human form, as naked as the day was long. His shoulder-length red-gold hair shone like a copper roof in the tree-filtered sunlight. He’d grown a beard, but otherwise looked the same. Tall, proud, powerful, and composed. His ice-blue eyes gave away his Nordic heritage. Surprise flickered behind them as they fell upon his unexpected visitor.
From out of nowhere, the Viking produced a long saffron tunic and pulled the garment on over his head, his intense blue
gaze fixed on Leith. “What brings you to Fairy Glen after so long an absence?”
Leith, doing his best to appear at ease despite his strained nerves, rose from his mossy perch. He started to draw the gun, but thought better of it. He didn’t want his wary comrade to get the wrong idea. “I’ve come to ask a favor.”
“Oh, aye? And what kind of favor might that be?”
“I need to get a message to the queen.”
Sir Axel’s eyes clouded with suspicion as he took a long, appraising look at his long-absent fellow. “If it’s forgiveness you’re after, you’ve wasted a trip. She didn’t just banish your person. She banished your name as well. Anyone fool enough to speak it after she sent you away was soon separated from his tongue.” The ginger knight licked his lips as if to demonstrate his faithfulness. “Or worse.”
Leith winced at the thought—and at what horrors might lay in store should his request be granted. He took a deep breath to steel himself against the strong temptation to flee. No, he would do this. For Gwyneth and their unborn bairn. Let Morgan do as she pleased with him. He deserved to pay for his sins, but his wee mouse and the babe were blameless.
“I’ve not come for benediction,” he told Sir Axel. “I’ve come to offer myself as the tithe.”
Skepticism narrowed Axel’s sharp eyes. “Out of the goodness of your heart, I suppose.”
“You could say that,” Leith said, calculating. “I’ve come to trade my life for the life of the lass I love.”
“How very noble of you.” Sarcasm laced Sir Axel’s words. “But are you quite sure the lady is worth the forfeiture?”
“I am.”
Leith was positive, in fact. He could hardly doubt it when she was somewhere in the Thitherworld right now risking her life for their love. He questioned his own worth, not hers.
“And what leads you to believe that, should her highness see fit to grant your request, she’ll keep her end of the bargain?”
Frankly, he didn’t trust Queen Morgan any farther than he could throw a fox by the tail. Still, what other choice did he have? None that he could see short of returning to Glenarvon to spend the rest of eternity wallowing in misery.
“Aye, well.” Mischief twinkled in Sir Axel’s blue eyes. “In that case, let’s just see what the runes have to say on the matter, shall we?”
Not waiting for Leith’s consent, the big Norseman did an about-face and took down the pouch from his saddle horn. As he turned back around and came forward, the stones inside clicked against one another.
Runes were an old Nordic system used for protection, magical purposes, and divination. When they were enslaved together in Avalon, Sir Axel daily meditated upon one of the glyphs and sometimes read the runes for his fellow knights.
“Draw one stone,” Sir Axel instructed, holding out the pouch, “but do not look to see which symbol is etched thereupon.”
With a nod, Leith stuck his hand into the bag, letting his fingers rummage. The stones were cold and smooth. When one seemed to offer itself to his grasp, he withdrew the rune from the bag, fighting the urge to look.
Sir Axel took the stone from him and studied it a moment before looking him in the eye. “You’ve drawn Thurisaz.”
As Sir Axel handed him the stone, Leith turned it over to have a look at the glyph. At first glance, it looked to be a crudely drawn letter “p” with an ascender and descender of equal length. On closer inspection, the symbol resembled a thorn protruding from a stem.
Leith looked up from the rune, curious about its message vis-à-vis his appeal. “What does it mean?”
The knight offered him a slight smile. “Thurisaz is the gateway facing both directions. It counsels choosing your path and taking action.”
Leith regarded him narrowly. He’d already chosen his course. Was the rune suggesting he choose a different path?
Sir Axel, obviously sensing his confusion, shrugged one brawny shoulder. “Perhaps you’d best meditate upon the meaning for a time and see what comes.”
Leith sighed, impatient. He was in no mood for reflection or delays. He wanted a simple yea or nay. At the same time, he needed Sir Axel’s full cooperation. Gwyneth’s life depended on it. Arguing, therefore, was out of the question. With a resigned sigh and a racing mind, Leith sat back down on the moss-scabbed boulder, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.
Once upon a time, he’d studied at an ashram in Tibet and still meditated now and then, so he knew the drill. He took a deep breath and tuned into his mind. Noisy, fruitless thoughts whirred away inside his brain like a Rube Goldberg machine gone haywire. To quiet them, he began to count his breaths.
Five counts in.
Five counts held.
Five counts out.
Nature’s symphony rose to his awareness. The roar of the falls, the chirping of birds, the rustle of wind in leaves and branches. The air was cool on his skin, the breeze soft in his hair. Odin pawed, snorted, and shook his bridle. Sir Axel loomed quietly nearby.
Leith continued his measured breathing, fighting to keep the rune’s glyph at the forefront of his thoughts. As his mind quieted, the single thorn grew into a climbing rose with many barbs. The vine grew into a bramble and put out buds. The buds bloomed in a profusion of deep red. The vine climbed a hill, upon which stood a castle. His, but not. In his years of isolation, he’d studied dream interpretation, so he knew what it meant. A home that was the dreamer’s in the dream but not in waking life generally symbolized the subconscious mind.
In the vision, he followed the vine to the castle and entered. There was a crowd of people inside enjoying themselves. Avoiding the party, he ran up the tower stairs, seeking something he couldn’t name. At the top, a very tall door stood ajar. Half expecting to find a dragon, he held his breath and looked inside.
There was only a woman within. Clothed in a dark-green cloak, she worked an old-fashioned spinning wheel.
She met his curious stare with a searing gaze. “What do you want?”
He’d come for answers, not more questions. “You tell me.”
She stopped spinning. “Tell you what?”
“Whatever I’ve come to hear.”
She regarded him with a long, measuring look for several moments before she spoke again. “I will tell you, but know the price will be high.”
Raking back his hair, he took a deep, bracing breath. “I will pay whatever the cost.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth then he was cast into darkness. Spiraling, suffocating, silent darkness. Too disoriented to stand and not knowing what else to do, he sat on the floor, crossed his legs, and waited. After a short while, a voice that might have been his own spoke these words: “What stops you from living fully?”
He delved deep within for the answer. A great and terrible emptiness welled up inside him. Within it swirled century’s worth of grief and regret and a sadness so profound he could hardly breathe. As tears tightened his throat, he swallowed to force their retreat.
“Let them come,” the voice urged. “The only way to conquer the pain is to walk through it.”
Heeding the advice, he let tears well and fall. As they rolled hot down his cheeks, he saw the meaning of the rune in a thunderbolt of clarity. He was the cursed princess asleep in her tower, trapped by thorns, paralyzed by regret, haunted by the ghosts of a past he could never change. The answer was to wake up and live, to tear a page from Gwyneth’s book and seize the day. The time had come to climb down from his tower, cut away the bramble, and bury the past. The life he’d been living was no life at all. Better to die then go on as he was.
He opened his eyes and, now resolved, fixed Sir Axel with a determined stare. “However Queen Morgan might choose to act, I’m committed to my course.”
Sir Axel’s mouth quirked into a half-smile in which Leith detected a trace of envy. He’d always thought of his comrade as Ferdinand the Bull, sitting out here in Fairy Glen enjoying his flowers without a care in the world. “Do
you ever get lonely out here on your own?”
“Of course I do.” He shrugged. “Who wouldn’t?”
Leith glanced toward the cottage abutting the glen, an inviting abode with white-washed stone walls and green shutters. The dwelling had been there for as long as he could remember and looked well-kept, though he’d never seen anyone about the place.
“Who lives over there?”
“No one. It’s a rental.”
Ah. That explained the absence of activity and boded well for his friend’s chances of meeting someone to ease his isolation. “Any prospects among the holiday set?”
“Nay,” Axel said glumly. “It’s only ever rented to couples on their honeymoons.”
Remembering the gun, Leith withdrew the weapon and offered it to Axel, handle first. “I brought you something.”
Taking the gun, the knight turned it over in his big, ruddy hands. “Is this a bribe?”
“No,” Leith said in all sincerity. “It’s a gift. And an apology for keeping away for so long.”
* * * *
“Tell me about your people.”
Gwyn rested her saddle-sore backside atop a plush pile of dry leaves and pine straw inside a cave. In the middle of the dirt floor, Bran turned a spit with the rabbits he’d killed over a fire he’d conjured by magic. The smell of the roasting meat made her mouth water something terrible, as did the sight of the gorgeous druid. She hadn’t thought it possible, but he looked all the more enticing with the amber glow of the flames dancing over his sculpted face and chest.
“What do you wish to know?” He fixed her with those bewitching blue eyes of his.
Gwyn bit her lip hard enough to cause pain. Raw lust throbbed so violently between her legs, she could barely think straight. Apparently, faery blood and pregnancy hormones were a combustible combination. She’d need a miracle to get through this night without giving in to her overpowering desire to make the beast with two backs with Mr. Walking Temptation in a Kilt.
“Everything.”