Oak & Mistletoe

by McCauley, J. Z. N.

  “Sorry, I was trying to get us down that hill without waking you,” Bowen motioned behind them. Catherine looked over his shoulder to see its steepness and shuddered to think how she might have woken up if he had dropped her.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, feeling completely natural wrapped up in his arms.

  “Back to town,” he answered.

  “Do you think Conall will come after us?”

  “No, he got what he wanted for now. He’s not done though . . .”

  “Oh . . . I can walk now,” she slipped out of his arms “thank you, Bowen.”

  Bowen winced at the movement of his sore shoulder, then nodded.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked, checking her wounds once more. He had no time to search out herbs he knew could help, but decided it would keep as long as they got to civilization soon to clean it properly.

  Bowen seemed fidgety rather than his normal, steady self. He knew Catherine would soon talk to him about what happened. Would she be more focused on his past? Would she accuse him as Conall did? He tried not to think about it as they walked, and just admired the green surrounding them. His eyes watched the ground where he stepped. The rich colors helped him find peace briefly. His love of the Emerald Isle was often on his mind. He’d roamed this same patch of land hundreds of times before. He knew a great deal of Irish land. While cursed he was bound to it, but even without the curse he was connected to it. His people believed in such a thing, and even though he was taught it as truth, he knew it was truth for himself. He brought his hand to his chest over his heart and breathing deeply, smiled as he walked.

  Catherine wasn’t looking at Bowen for the moment, and didn’t see him smiling. If she had she would have wondered why, as she always wondered what was on his mind. But she wasn’t thinking of anything really. She felt as if she had been beaten up. She laughed under her breath. She had been beaten up. It wasn’t funny, but it still made her chuckle. While she wondered if that was sane, Bowen nudged her shoulder. She caught his eye when she chuckled.

  “Are you okay, Catherine?” he asked with a serious face.

  Catherine ventured to guess that meant she mustn’t look very well, “I don’t know really.”

  “It’s not too far away. We can rest when we get there. Now that you’re awake I need you to stay awake. Carrying you will slow us down.”

  “That’s fine, I’m not tired . . .”

  Bowen shrugged, and absentmindedly combed a hand through his thick hair. He flinched through the pain in his sore shoulder.

  Everything now flooded Catherine’s mind at once, and her eyes locked on Bowen as she raised an eyebrow. “How did Conall know you loved me if you hadn’t spoken to him since before I existed?”

  “You’re simply not an average woman, Catherine.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Bowen laughed.

  Catherine felt insulted. “What’s so funny? My sister died, I’ve been attacked several times, and I’m being hunted down. I don’t find anything about this romantic,” she said haughtily.

  Bowen’s smile remained, “I suppose you’re right. You’re wonderful, and that makes you exceptional,” he took a breath after stealing a glance of Catherine’s flushed face. “The curse we were all under for centuries could be broken by you because you are the woman I love. The priest’s daughter, I told you before, her name was Arlana. She told me she thought she loved me, and was upset that I didn’t have feelings for her in return. Since she knew of my involvement in Conall’s tragedy, she gave me the punishment of being the cursed one to watch over them in the caves.” Bowen sighed. “Arlana was bitter. She felt I was incapable of love since she was considered to be very fair and of high station, she couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to be with her. So she made the rules of the curse be that the one who could break it would be a woman who was my heart’s desire. She never thought I would fall in love. You were the one who broke the curse, because I’m in love with you. That is why I asked you repeatedly to leave Ireland.” Bowen frowned.

  Catherine paused thoughtfully, “How did Conall know I was the one though?”

  “He thought it was Kathleen. His men found her near the area where you had been with me before when you obviously stepped past a marker stone which was the borderline before I saw you at the creek. Then when he saw both of you, he wasn’t sure. He hoped he wasn’t killing you so quickly, but he wanted to watch me suffer immediately. So he took a chance, and succeeded in killing your sister.”

  “But we both could have been just random people. He couldn’t have known for sure.”

  “That didn’t matter to him. If he was wrong, it was just another innocent stranger. At first this was probably more his thinking. However, when he saw my reaction to seeing you there in his grasp . . . He knew you weren’t random women,” Bowen explained.

  An image of Conall and his wife pleading with the priesthood vividly flashed in Catherine’s mind as she thought about their recent narrow escape from him. “Why was there such strong belief in the ritual of the oak and mistletoe?” she asked.

  “The great oak brings life and power. And the mistletoe has great healing properties. The two together make wonderful things happen,” he stated.

  Only a small smile came over Catherine’s face in response. After having heard so much about this great oak tree, a part of her kept imagining Kathleen lying at the foot of it. She shook it off and stared ahead.

  Bowen reached for Catherine’s hand, and as she felt the tug at her fingers they wrapped around each other, palm to palm. She felt truly safe for the first time since she had lost Kathleen.

  “But it can’t heal the mind,” Bowen said sadly. “I’ve never seen love like that, the way Conall loved his wife. I had never known it myself, until now . . .” Bowen looked into Catherine’s eyes.

  “Conall had a wonderful smile once,” Bowen continued. “A real one, where happiness caused his whole face to light up. But then he lost her, and everything else. Against his will, he’s empty of all things good. So you see, I can’t hate him. Because it’s not really Conall who we see now. It’s the madness and evil that have complete control of him. But he’s there, somewhere buried deep within. Because he’s still hurting, and I bring it out of him in the worst way.”

  “I don’t think you did anything wrong,” Catherine remarked.

  “Yes, well, you saw he blames me still, after all this time. Time, which you think brings clarity . . . instead, as history shows, it often brings more lies and gossip. But sometimes the truth is there, and so I hoped he would see the truth of what happened. But each time I checked on him, the madness grew. And he saw nothing but that.”

  Catherine grew silent, digesting everything. After that they stopped for a few moments so Catherine could relieve herself. She was nervous about being alone and away from Bowen, but couldn’t see any way around it. So she hurried through it and returned to his side quicker than Bowen had expected her to. They walked on in silence. The two of them were back in town before she spoke again. But it wasn’t about the curse or anything related to them. The village centre was still bustling, and she looked around, remembering the dread she had felt here before. She was now amused to think of the old woman as part of Conall’s many followers. Realizing her rather bruised appearance could attract unwanted attention and spark questions, she covered herself as best she could. She licked her hand to calm some of the mess that, no doubt, was her hair right now.

  “No one is looking at you, it’s okay,” Bowen said.

  “Thanks,” Catherine grunted, as she noticed her dried blood on his clothes before turning away. She could see the car in the distance, and fantasized about sitting down. Catherine remembered they hadn’t had a chance to get a place to stay yet, so her change of clothes was there too.

  “How long was I gone?” she leaned sideways as she whispered to Bowen.

  “It was only yesterday morning that we were last here.”

  “It seemed so muc
h longer . . .” she blinked.

  “Traumatic things often do,” he said.

  Pleased to see the car unharmed, with her things still inside as she had left them, she was eager for a place to clean up.

  An old lady appeared in front of Catherine suddenly, and she stepped back against the driver’s side of the car. Gasping loudly, her fear quickly vanished as she recognized the old woman.

  “You!” she said pointing.

  “How’s the body? You looking for help?” the old woman said casually.

  Bowen searched the old woman’s face.

  “Yes, we are,” he answered.

  The old woman no longer looked disheveled or menacing. In fact, she looked quite the opposite. She wore a blue blouse with small fake pearl buttons up the front, tucked into an old fashioned long black skirt that ended right below the knee. She wore cream colored stockings, and comfortable-looking shoes that were very obviously designed for seniors. With her white hair pulled back from her old but still elegant face, the old woman took her eerie gaze off of Catherine to look at Bowen when he responded. She lifted her bony chin as her eyes lifted to take in his tall and manly stature.

  The old woman spoke to him. Catherine’s eyes snapped from her to Bowen, she was speaking the ancient language. Was the old woman one of Conall’s followers after all? One who had bothered to learn some English to trick her? But something wasn’t right in her words. It wasn’t quite the same. Bowen responded in his old Celtic language. The blue blouse shifted as she brought both her hands to her mouth, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

  “It’s you!”

  “What?” Catherine said raising an eyebrow. Bowen walked over and put his arm around Catherine.

  “Do you have a first aid kit? We can’t go anywhere looking this way. This needs to stay discreet,” he told the old woman.

  She eyed Bowen’s hand on Catherine’s waist, “The curse is broken then . . .”

  Bowen waited.

  “Come with me then, and you may find the answers you seek,” she said decidedly, then looked at Catherine. “You can call me Mary.”

  Catherine was not sure about this, but she trusted Bowen, “I’m Catherine.”

  Bowen didn’t say anything. When Mary walked around the car, Catherine leaned into Bowen and whispered “Why didn’t you tell her your name?”

  “I already introduced myself,” he whispered back before letting go of her.

  “Wh—” Catherine stopped. She was surprised she didn’t catch his name, even in the old language.

  The old woman led them up a lane scattered with rocks to her small home a little out of the small town. They entered the darkly lit cottage, blinking as their eyes adjusted. Right away, Bowen was thrown a pale blue men’s T-shirt that came from a laundry basket nearby. “Let’s give it a wash,” Mary said, gesturing for his bloodied shirt. Careful of his sore shoulder he pulled the worn black fabric over his head and handed it over.

  Catherine was wondering who the borrowed shirt belonged to when she suddenly felt overheated as her eyes scanned Bowen’s lean muscular torso. She was thankful he couldn’t see the deep rose color bloom on her skin in the dim lit living room. The distraction was brief as Bowen covered back up with the clean shirt, though it stretched and clung too small on him in some areas. She managed to casually look away, breathing out slowly.

  Next, Catherine was given an old worn towel to dab her wounds dry for a shower, and shown the bathroom she could use to clean up. After thanking Mary, she shut the door and stripped off her bloodstained dirty clothes. Eagerly entering a hot shower, she reveled in the warmth, every so often flinching from the resulting sting to her wounds. Stepping out of the steaming shower she dabbed and dried herself as best she could before searching in the store bag she brought from the car, containing her only change of clothes. After slipping on a pair of jeans, she was thankful she had chosen to purchase a loose fitting button up shirt to avoid brushing against the exposed wounds. Catherine was also happy this shirt was black. She worried for her future shopping choices if she were faced with these situations on a regular basis. Putting it out of her mind as she found Bowen, she first let him work on her head wound.

  “Ouch!” Catherine winced.

  “I’m sorry,” Bowen breathed by her ear as he continued gently cleaning the wound caked with some newly dried blood. His breath was warm, and made goosebumps rise on her neck and arms.

  “It’s okay,” she mumbled, still wincing.

  “Sit down, it’ll be easier for me,” he said. His voice was gentle but serious and focused. Catherine assumed it was his doctor voice, and imagined him helping other patients. She thought of what the patients in his time must have looked like, and wondered what ailed them. Thinking better of it, she decided she didn’t want to know. Catherine enjoyed Bowen’s attention, especially on her body. His touch was soothing. Not just because of his healing well-practiced motions, but mainly because it was Bowen’s touch.

  She was sitting on a stool, and when his hand pressed on her shoulder or waist to turn her, Catherine realized she felt natural when he touched her now. She thought it was strange that she had so casually allowed this man to touch her. Like when he would reach for her, usually to help her in some way. But then she had done the same with him. Especially during times of crisis. She realized with him it was different than it would be with anyone else. It had always been natural.

  Bowen worked his way through the wound on her head, her neck, and the slightly deeper gash on her back. He was relieved to find the bruising and soreness were the worst part. Confident that her wounds were already healing well, he sighed happily. When he was finished he squeezed her hand before cleaning up the area and leaving so she could get dressed. Catherine unwrapped her arms from around herself and sat up from leaning over her knees, swinging her shirt around her bare shoulders to button up. She found him in the front room with Mary and a young man with blonde hair dressed in gardening clothes who had just come in from the kitchen.

  “This is my grandson, Kenneth. He’s visiting me on his holiday. Kenneth say hello,” Mary said patting him on the shoulder with a smile at Catherine.

  Kenneth was an average sized man. His skin, though smudged on his cheeks and forearms with dirt, held a noticeable and natural tan, and his hair was platinum blonde. He looked at her with innocent baby blue eyes. Catherine smiled.

  “Yes, Gran. Hello,” he politely obeyed, taking off his gardening gloves to shake Catherine and Bowen’s hands.

  “They broke the curse,” Mary said bluntly.

  Catherine’s face went from surprise to concern. Her insides cringed. She didn’t trust easily, and she had no idea who this Mary was, or Kenneth for that matter. Bowen seemed unshaken by Mary’s announcement.

  “You’ve seen the ruins then?” Kenneth asked, looking up.

  “Ruins?” Bowen said.

  “Aye, the druid ruins. They’re up that way, very close. You should go see it,” Kenneth pointed up and to the left side of the house.

  “Kenneth, I was just going to show them. They needed to clean up first.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Gran.” Then he said “long trip, hmm?”

  “You could say that,” Catherine replied.

  Kenneth looked at Bowen. “We’re not quite the same size, are we?” he said, amused by seeing his shirt overstretched across Bowen’s broad shoulders.

  “Aye aye, I gave it to him while his is in the wash.” Mary chimed in. “I’ll buy you a new one for your birthday, hm?”

  Kenneth shrugged. “Thank you, Gran.”

  “Now that my grandson has stolen my surprise, I’ll show the ruins to you if you’re ready?” Mary said.

  “Thank you,” Bowen nodded.

  Mary took them outside, and led them down a separate rural road. This road was very narrow and looked overgrown. It was more like a walking path that hadn’t been maintained.

  “An Garrán Oaken,” Mary said with a thicker Irish accent.

  “What does that
mean?” Catherine asked.

  “Gaelic for ‘The Oaken Grove’,” Mary answered. “It’s this way.”

  Bowen walked slowly behind, and Catherine kept in step with him. He whispered that he didn’t want to be rude and overrun Mary. Occasionally Mary would turn and yell out “I’m the old woman here remember!” with a chuckle. They smiled to themselves, but didn’t reply. “You can’t hurt my feelings you know! The only person’s time you are wasting is yours!”

  Bowen and Catherine continued to follow as they were. They went up a bit, and then down and over, and around a bend they finally came upon the ruins. Kenneth was right, it was very close to the house. The three stood looking on at the wide field littered with the remnants of ancient history. The ruins were mostly giant stone. Catherine’s hazel eyes lit up. She was amazed. The stones didn’t resemble any pattern like the famous Stonehenge, but they were unique just the same. She walked through, eager to examine everything, but reverently. Mary stopped and eyed Bowen as he calmly took in the site of his old home. Catherine noticed that the ruins reminded her of a maze. As she zigzagged through the fallen ancient stone, she saw some protruding from the ground along with the ones on top. She grew more excited. After a moment of being caught up in her own world, Catherine looked for Bowen to express her excitement. He was still standing in the same spot as when they arrived. He placed his hand on one of the stones near him, his face solemn.

  “Bowen?” Catherine walked back over.

  “This is where we lived. Everything had changed when I woke up in a different place,” he mumbled. Then louder he said

  “I didn’t think I would ever see the remnants of it. I was sure the earth had swallowed it completely by now.”

  “Feeling at home?” Mary asked from her distant perch on a short stone, perfect for her small size to sit upon.

  “It feels different now,” he said softly to Catherine, “too different,” he answered louder for Mary’s benefit.