Again and again the sword swiped at them, pushing them backwards. They bumped against the side table, causing the weapons to rattle. Alayne turned to find a dagger and picked it up. With all her might, she threw it at the sorceress, but Torella waved her hand and the dagger halted in the air.
Another flick of her hand and the dagger turned around and flew straight at Alayne’s head. Ducking, the knife just missed Alayne and lodged into the rug on the wall.
The sorceress’ lips twitched with amusement.
An ax on the table rose by itself and aimed for Alayne. She squealed and ducked her head while it swiped through the air. The ax swung forward and Alayne grabbed the handle before it cleaved her head in two.
She struggled against the power it wielded, the sharp ax only inches from her face.
“Callum!”
He jerked around while still fighting the attacking sword. “As my Celtic blood flows, turn these weapons into a rose.”
The ax in Alayne’s hand crumbled into thousands of rose petals along with the sword Callum fought against.
Relieved, Alayne threw herself into his arms.
“How romantic,” the sorceress sneered.
Callum stepped forward and lifted his palms outward. Mumbling beneath his breath, a purple light swirled in his hands. The light shot toward the sorceress.
She held out her hand and absorbed the power with only a step backwards. “You cannot fight me with your pitiful Celtic magic.”
Suddenly her gown swirled around her in a flurry of material. It snaked out and wrapped its tendons around Callum’s throat, squeezing the very air from his lungs.
“Stop it!” Alayne screamed.
The sorceress laughed, the eerie sound vibrating off the walls.
Alayne searched for a weapon, but they had all turned into rose petals.
Frantic, she looked around for anything. Words from Adela came back to her. You will find light where there is darkness. Turning toward the light behind her, she found a candle sconce on the wall. Unhooking the candle, she protected the flame with her hand and ran back to the sorceress.
It was not until Alayne could see the sorceress’ red eyes that Torella’s attention turned to her.
“A weak fire, that is all you have to fight me with?” the sorceress taunted. “I cannot be killed by fire.”
“Nae, but it will sting like Hades.” Alayne went to throw the candle, but her arms stiffened. She could not move a muscle in her body.
The sorceress walked toward her and snatched the candle from her hand. “Let us see how bonny your hair looks while it is burning.
Alayne’s hopeless gaze went to Callum, his face turning a shade of blue. She was defeated. She could not move a muscle; her body was frozen like a Highland winter lake. She could not help Callum or herself. Yet, if she was to die, she wanted him to be the last person she looked upon.
“Callum, I … I love you.”
“Alayne…” he croaked and clawed at the tightening material. Raising his hoarse voice, he chanted…
I summon my ancestors
Take thy vengeance
Burn this sorceress
Make her feel repentance
The flame on the candle leapt from the tallow onto the sorceress’ gown. The enchanted fabric erupted into flames and quickly covered all of her body. Her screams pierced the air.
The material released its hold on Callum’s throat and he dropped to the floor, gasping for air.
Turning around, the sorceress lifted her arms and vanished, only the smell of burned cloth remained in the air.
Warmth flowed through Alayne’s body. She could move!
Lifting her skirts, she ran to Callum and kneeled down. She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank God you are alive. I was so worried about you.”
“And I, you.” Slowly, he pushed to his feet and offered her a hand up. “We must leave this place, that curse will not affect the sorceress for long. You will need to come back to Gleich castle. That is the only place I can protect you.”
She stepped away from him. “Nae.”
“Nae?”
“I must stay with my sister. I will not leave her again.”
“Then bring her with us. I would not feel right leaving either one of you here unprotected.”
“If the only reason you want me to return with you is some sense of chivalry then I would rather take my chances here,” Alayne replied. “I am not blind anymore and will not be a burden. Not ever again.”
“Argh!” Callum threw his hands up. “Chivalry, burden? Where do you get these ideas?” He moved closer and held both her hands. “How are we to be married if you live on the other side of Scotland?”
“Are you proposing a betrothal?” she asked breathlessly.
“Aye, if you will do me the honor.”
Her spirit sang with delight. He had forgiven her. Perhaps now, she could forgive herself. Looking into his blue eyes, she was astonished at the love she felt for this man.
“Aye, I will.”
A smile brightened his face and he tugged on her arm. “Come, let us gather your sister and your things. I never did like this airless castle.”
Alayne looked around the hall her family used to gather. What used to be comforting and warm was now cold and uninviting. The fond memories existed only in her heart, no longer within the walls of Mawrth castle.
“Without my parents, this place is no longer my home.”
He turned to her. Taking her hand to his lips, he placed a soft kiss on her palm.
“We will make a home of our own, my love.”
A home, a family.
With a lump in her throat, she smiled at him.
“As long as you accept this heart of a warlock. You will never be alone again,” his voice was deep and husky, his eyes shining with affection.
Reaching up on her toes, she kissed him lightly.
“I accept with honor.”
The End
[Back to Table of Contents]
Read on for a preview of Lyn Armstrong’s LADY OF THE MOUNTAIN, Book Four in the Celtic Series
Coming October 2008 to Resplendence Publishing
www.ResplendencePublishing.com
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter One
In the middle of an empty chamber, an enchanted golden staff stood upright, regal and tall. A rainbow of lights shot from its tip, illuminating the white room in a glow of streaked colors.
Drucilla’s gaze remained fixed on the staff of Merlin. She lowered herself to the cold marble floor and sat, her ankles tucked neatly beneath the new magical gown of creamy silk. With a loving caress, the smooth material settled around her legs, its warm energy giving her comfort, as if she was not alone in this place of illusion.
But she was alone. Alone in a hidden palace within Mount Suilven, supported only by the power of the wizard’s ancient staff. Without it, Drucilla would have no shelter or provisions. She would be trapped in the dark mountain until the day she died.
Drucilla sighed with longing. A lonely silence filled the chamber.
She looked up at the array of lights shooting toward the open roof of the chamber. High above her head, the black inner cavern of the mountain reminded her of the darkness beyond the palace walls.
She wondered what it would be like outside the mountain. To talk to people, walk through a market—she gently touched her lips—or to kiss a man.
Being the daughter of the devil’s mistress, her experience with males was limited. Well, perhaps limited would not be the right word. She had never met a man before. Growing up in purgatory was not the ideal environment to seek companionship.
When the day came that Mother brought her to earth’s surface, she thought at last she would have ordinary people to talk to, but she was mistaken. Mount Suilven held her imprisoned. Even if escape were possible, she would die the moment she reached the world of the living, unlike her mother—the devil’s mistress could come and go as she pleased.
> She wondered what it would be like to have a family. Knowing who her father was or to have a surname…
“This is foolish,” she said with agitation, her voice echoing in the chamber. Pushing to her feet, she stood. “I must not waste my time on watching Merlin’s staff. It only makes me want something I could never have.”
Turning around, she jolted to find a silver unicorn watching her.
“Silus, you scared me.”
She ran her hand down his velvety nose. The tall unicorn swished his black tail back and forth. His black-tipped ears twitched and his pearl horn glistened with millions of stars.
“How is it you can steal behind me without making a sound?”
Silus snorted and shook his head.
“I am glad you are here, my friend.” Drucilla grabbed the mane and lifted herself onto the unicorn. “Take me to our special place. I am in need of the healing waters of Suilven’s springs.”
She was about to ride through the empty halls of the palace when the white walls darkened with a smoky hue, covering the sunny luster.
The unicorn’s head jerked up along with her own.
“Mother is home,” she said, her heart leaping with excitement.
Sinking her heels in Silas’ flanks; they raced along the halls to the wide marble stairway. The unicorn pounced into the air and flew over the stairs, its hooves floating above the gray steps. Drucilla tightened her grasp on the mane, jolting forward when Silas skidded along the smooth floor of the entrance hall.
Righting his balance, he turned and cantered toward the outside solar. Like her, Silas could sense her mother’s dark presence.
A cloying scent of old jasmine became stronger as they neared.
Drucilla found her mother standing in the solar, a false sun shone brightly through the glass roof, bathing her youthful appearance in splendid light.
The snug red gown she made her mother clung to her slender back and small waist. The magical velvet material fell to the floor, a long train splayed behind, giving her a regal appeal.
Drucilla rarely used her powers, but she did love to enchant her gowns with life. The one her mother wore was a perfect fit for her dominant temperament. Its deep color accented her smooth raven hair.
Drucilla felt not for the first time, a pang of jealously. She wished her own brittle and thick hair were as silky and straight—to be as beautiful as her mother.
Swinging her leg over, she dropped down from her unicorn and lowered into a curtsey. “Mother, ‘tis a pleasure to see you.”
“I told you not to call me that. My name is Torella.”
“I know, I know. I cannot help it. Even though you look as young as me, I still see you as my mother.”
“Well, try to remember, darling.” She gave Drucilla a half smile. “I have a gift for you.”
Drucilla’s lips parted in surprise.
“I know you have been restless of late, so I thought this may bring you happiness.” Torella placed her arm around her and turned her toward the corner of the room.
Waving her hand in an arc, her mother commanded, “Reveal.”
Upon a bed with lacy black curtains, a man of fifty winters appeared to be sleeping, his arms crossed over his chest.
Drucilla walked around the bed, studying his every feature. Wavy blond hair and slight winkles gave him a peaceful, kind face. His clothes were of blue and green plaid.
This was the first man she had ever seen. Although much older than herself, he was pleasant to look upon. Who was this puzzling man and why did her mother bring him here?
“Who … who is he?” she asked.
Her mother glided around the other side of the bed and leaned over to kiss him on the lips.
He remained undisturbed.
“This is Laird Phillip Roberts.” Her mother glanced up, her green eyes shining. “Your father.”
“Scotland is a godforsaken land,” Braen Madoc grumbled and pulled up his black cloak to cover his ears from the biting snow.
He had faced many obstacles in his life. Being the only male ancestor of the legendary Merlin brought with it certain expectations. Expectations he could not live up to. His abilities as a magician were limited without Merlin’s legendary staff. He had been searching for it all his life. Without it, his family fortunes were seized and success eluded his kin. Ill luck invaded every move he made the day Merlin’s staff was stolen from his father’s estate in Wales.
Just when he thought he had hunted it down in an old thatched cottage of a Welsh court jester, he was too late. After threatening the clumsy man of turning him into a warthog, the jester confessed that a sorceress had stole the staff many moons ago. A powerful lady of dark beauty. With one touch of her hand, sent him into a trance where he was willing to give her anything she desired, including Merlin’s staff.
Just before he was about to throttle the thief, he mentioned there was someone who could help him find the staff.
The oracle.
An old woman who was said to live in the remote highlands.
With little choice, he rode north until the grassy path turned to ice and his horse spent most of the day thigh-high in snow. How the highlanders stand this cold miserable weather that changed within a swipe of a sword, was beyond him.
Braen pushed his horse to cross an ice-laden stream. Snowflakes landed upon his eyelids, blurring his vision.
“Not far now,” he said and patted the horse’s warm neck. “The old oracle is said to be among these scraggly hills.”
The placid stream rose to the stallion’s stomach. His leather boots filled with freezing water, his feet felt like they were stabbed with a thousand tiny daggers.
“Knowing the curse of the Madoc’s, she is probably frozen to death.”
Once reaching the embankment, he stopped his mount and scanned the hills for any sign of life.
“I must get Merlin’s staff. Once I have it, my family’s ill fortune will break and I will restore what was stolen.”
The bay steed beneath him shifted restlessly.
A curl of smoke floated up beyond the trees.
“I pray that be from the chimney of the oracle,” he said and urged his steed forward.
The sight of a timber hut welcomed him, its dark wood contrasting against the milky snow.
Lowering his chilled limbs from his horse, he tied him to the railing and stomped the snow from his boots before knocking on the door.
The door swiftly opened. An old lady greeted him with a streak of blue tainting her gray hair. Her lips pursed as she studied him, her keen brown eyes narrowing to slits.
“Master Braen, you are taller than I expected,” she croaked.
“You knew I was coming?”
“Aye. Come in and warm yourself by the fire.”
The wooden floor creaked beneath his weight, and he sat in a rickety chair. He glanced around the untidy hut filled with a hanging turkey, herbs and pots.
The crackle of burning wood in the small fireplace swung his attention back to the oracle as she hunched over a cauldron, stirring the contents with a big wooden spoon.
“You seek the staff of Merlin,” she said without looking at him.
“Aye.”
She shook her head and muttered something he could not discern.
The sound of the spoon scraping the cauldron’s edge was the only noise in the undersized hut.
Patience was a virtue he never did possess. Tapping his foot, he broke the silence. “Do you know where I can find it?”
Turning her head, bloodshot eyes peered at him. “I may.”
He arched his eyebrows, waiting for more.
Straightening, she lifted the spoon of black liquid and poured it into a bowl. Hobbling over to him, she handed him the bowl with steam rising steadily.
He smelled a hint of nutmeg and looked up at the oracle. “What is it?”
“Does it matter? You need to drink it.”
Without a thought, he tilted the bowl to his lips and drank the spicy liquid.
>
The craggy features of the oracle blurred while the clutter surrounding him swayed. His eyelids weighted heavily. His arms and legs became languid despite his heart racing with alarm.
Poison!
Using the last of his strength, he went to stand, then fell to the floor with a thump.
His chilled skin trembled as if he had a mountain of snow weighing him down. The pounding of his heart echoed in his ears. He took comfort in its steady rhythm. As long as he could hear that beat, he was still alive.
He tried to open his eyes, but they were seared shut.
A croaking voice whispered into his ear, “What do you see, Master Braen?”
See?
See?
His eyes were shut. What type of foolish…?
Suddenly, images of a bonny lass appeared in his mind. Sitting on the floor, she appeared like a noble statue. Her rich, black hair and delicate features were incredibly stunning. Her emerald eyes sparkled with life and gentleness, yet also with a sense of loneliness.
The cleft in her upper lip framed her pretty mouth—a rosy mouth soft for the sampling.
A bright light emanated beyond her form.
Merlin’s staff!
The gold metal glowed with power. Why did she have the staff? It was his to own. His birthright.
Anger welled in his throat. He wanted to clench his fist, yet his body remained paralyzed.
“Tell me what you see,” the oracle repeated.
“I see a lady, she has Merlin’s staff.”
“Aye, tell me more.”
Like a bodiless spirit, he flew through the enormous keep. Empty white chambers and wide halls dominated the strange abode. How could any live in such a colorless and void place?
Suddenly he was outside and everything turned dark. Where was he?
“Inside a mountain,” the oracle answered, peering into his mind.
“What mountain?” he asked.
The oracle lingered on silence again.
“What mountain?”
A loud clap of two hands boomed near his head and warmth flowed within his body. Although still weak, his muscles came back to life and he raised himself from the floor.
Heart of a Warlock [Celtic Series Book 3] Page 12