Sorceress (32 page)

She’d ridden to this little house with a deep sadness, and when she’d crossed the creek, the scene she encountered overwhelmed her. The trampled prints of a horse’s hooves along the creek bank and the bloodstains upon a rock hinted at the chaos that had transpired here. But knowing that Gleda had lost her life in those rocky shallows made the violent images that much worse. She’d nearly thrown up.

Somehow, she felt responsible.

If not for her, Gleda would not have been out late at night, nor would Liam have been out searching for her.

Guilt had torn through her soul as she’d crossed the rushing water of the gurgling stream, urging Alabaster onward.

And now, searching through the empty house, she felt Gleda’s presence so vividly. She imagined Gleda happily spinning wool from the fleece of her goats, or churning butter or making cheese, or tending to her bee skeps and collecting honey. A lump grew hard in Bryanna’s throat when she considered old Liam, stoking the fire or whittling.

“Peace be with them,” she whispered, not knowing if she was talking to Morrigu or the Christian God.

She knelt near the cold ashes of the hearth and drew a quick rune upon the grate, a rune for peace. She whispered a prayer for Gleda and Liam’s souls, wherever they were now.

“May you have eternal rest,” she said as she stood.

She could tarry no longer. ’Twas only a matter of time, she knew, before the soldiers from the castle would arrive. If no relative came forward to claim the property, it would be taken over by the baron. The animals would be cared for, either by livestock thieves, concerned neighbors, or Mabon’s men. The pigs, goats, and chickens, and aye, even the cat, for its mousing abilities, were far too valuable to be abandoned.

While the cat watched and the rooster stretched his neck to crow, she fitted the two pieces of the map together once more and committed the etchings to memory. Afterward, she wrapped the pieces together over the dagger and turned to Gleda’s larder.

What was she searching for? She wasn’t sure. Tools, certainly, if she was going to be digging up a grave as Gleda had instructed.

Some things were obvious: the shovel and ax, Liam’s weapons, a few candles, feed for the animals, a sewing pouch, beeswax, and some of the salted meat and fish. The worn leather bags hanging near the front door. As rapidly as possible, she filled the bags, then loaded them up onto Gleda’s horse, Harry, whom she’d use as a pack animal.

Then, without a look back at the scene of so much tragedy, she headed off, whispering, “Morrigu, help me.”

Bryanna traveled along the river until it came to a rutted path leading away from the main road. Holding on to the reins with one hand and the lead with the other, she twisted to look back periodically and assure herself that Harry, with his uneven gait, was not strained.

She also checked to see if she was being followed.

There is no one there. No one is following you. Who would trail after a woman without an ounce of good sense?
her conscience nagged at her.

“Shush!” she said out loud. Behind her, Harry flung up his head in fright, his reins nearly pulling her arm from its socket. “Oh . . . sorry,” she apologized to the horse. “Come along, boy.”

With a disgruntled snort, the gelding calmed and resumed his trot.

Heading north, Bryanna passed few travelers along the way as the sun moved across the sky and morning bled into afternoon. She stopped once at a creek, allowing the horses to drink while she ate a piece of salted fish that she’d taken from Gleda’s home. No one would blink an eye at the supplies she’d taken from Gleda’s larder. The horse, however, as well as the weapons and tools, would no doubt be looked upon as stolen property.

So now you’re no better than Gavyn,
her mind taunted her. Though it was far from the truth. She hadn’t killed anyone.

“Stop it,” she muttered, angry at her nagging conscience. She leaned over the creek to wash her face and hands. Sitting back, she saw her reflection in the eddies.

“Do not be downhearted.”
Isa’s voice was clear as a clarion’s call echoing through her mind.
“Continue onward, to the spot where Kambria rests. You will find two items that will aid in your quest.”

“I want nothing more to do with this bloody quest,” she said aloud.

At that moment she glimpsed Isa’s face in the swirling waters. Skin gray and distorted, eyes full of woe.

And just as suddenly the face disintegrated, foaming over the stones with the gentle current.

“But the child . . . ,”
Isa’s voice protested.

“Oh, gods and gadflies, what child, Isa? Who is this child you keep speaking of?”

And then she saw him. A smiling toddler with bright eyes and plump cheeks and curling red-blond hair that caught in the wind. He giggled, revealing tiny teeth.

Bryanna gasped and he was gone, his image washing downstream with the tumbling water.

She scrambled away from the creek. ’Twas a trick of the light, a prank within her fertile mind. She saw no real boy child, no innocent babe!

“Nay?”
Isa’s voice mocked.

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” She swallowed back the fear that rose as her mind raced to consider what it all could mean. Was that boy’s future dependent upon her? Surely not. Oh, dear God.

Unwilling to believe what she’d seen in the water, Bryanna climbed astride Alabaster and patted the mare’s neck, as much to touch something warm and living as to calm the horse. Then, with a determination that belied the shaky feeling inside, she gathered up the reins again and rode steadily toward a cleft in the hills, the point she’d seen upon the map.

She traveled the entire day, passing a few farms and several fields of stubble. Around nightfall, she reached a spot where the trail cut between the two hills. The sun was rapidly dipping toward the horizon, the moon rising in a purple twilight sky. Spying a rocky outcrop at the edge of the forest, she rode onward to a spot where the ground was loamy again, moss mingling with weeds and grass.

If Gleda remembered correctly, ’twas here that her mother had been laid to rest. There were no wooden crosses to show the burial plots, no tombs, no pile of stones.

Just the body of a dead woman below the crust of dirt and grass. “Oh, Morrigu, help me,” Bryanna whispered as night descended and she heard the whir of bats’ wings and the soft hoot of an owl.

The isolation of the desolate woods pressed in around her, and the thought of digging up sixteen-year-old bones made her skin crawl. She cursed her quest, the mysterious mission that had her poised to dig up a woman’s bones under cover of darkness. A lonely quest. She thought of Gavyn and the apparition of the night before. Where had he gone? Had he even been with her?

She found enough sticks in the surrounding woods to build a small fire, but as the flames crackled and snapped, she felt no warmth. Her thoughts turned to the nights she’d spent in the forest with Gavyn, staring at the coals, watching meat roast upon a spit. How she’d wanted to trust the man who moaned in pain by night and made her laugh by day.

“Snake dung,” she muttered, breaking a few more twigs and tossing them into the fire.

Feeling more alone than she’d ever felt in her life, she gazed up at the stars and drew in several calming breaths. As serenity surrounded her she began to chant, her voice soft and low but full of passion. She spoke to the night and its creatures, to the dark wind and midnight hour, to the deep forest and damp earth, the words tumbling off her lips easily.

Her chant gave way to the sounds of the forest as she waited for the moon to rise. She felt the movement of the wide luminescent disk as it swam above the trees, offering a silvery ethereal light. Under the glow she found one large flat stone that peeked out of the grass—a stone she’d seen on the map. Using the stars as guidance, she walked ten paces north. Then, murmuring a prayer under her breath, she drove Liam’s shovel into the soft wet earth.

“Isa,” she said aloud as she dug, tossing shovelfuls of earth to one side, “I hope to Morrigu that you have not misled me.”

She half expected the dead woman to respond in this chilly night.

But of course Isa’s voice was still.

Instead she heard a deep male voice reverberate through the surrounding hills. “For the love of God, Bryanna! What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Startled, Bryanna jerked the shovel closer.

She was alone in this desolate clearing.

She glanced sharply in the direction from whence the voice had come.

Or her imagination?

Never in her life had she missed someone more.

And yet, what were the chances?

Most likely it was the voice of a robber or . . . but he knew her name.

She swung her shovel over her shoulder as if she intended to use it as a weapon and stared through the mottled moonlight. “Show yourself!” Her heart was in her throat, her nerves stretched, her breath fogging in the cold night air.

He emerged from the umbra, a dark figure upon his black horse, like a soldier returning home.

Gleda’s warning raced across her mind:
Be wary of the dark warrior.

“Gavyn?” Her shovel was still poised, as if she intended to whack the rider from his steed.

“Christ Jesus, Bryanna,” he said, “what have you got against old Rhi, here? You look as if you’re ready to bash his head.”

“The horse? Nay, I would never hurt Rhi!” Relief washed over her and tears threatened her eyes again, but she willed them back. What was wrong with her? She’d never,
never
been one of those teary-eyed women.

“Oh, so it’s me you’re planning to knock senseless.” He rode closer to the fire and her eyes glided gratefully over his figure upon the black horse with its white stockings.

Gavyn.

Her silly heart squeezed at the sight of him. Thank God! She didn’t care about Gleda’s warnings or even Isa’s. She dropped her shovel and threw herself at him as he dismounted. Never in her life had she been so glad to see a person. His arms surrounded her and it was all she could do not to break down and sob against his chest. She’d been so alone on this quest . . . and now, if only for a few moments, she was with someone she trusted.

“Miss me?” He chuckled.

“Never!” she lied, laughing as he kissed the crook of her neck. Then, holding her face in his callused hands, he kissed her lips. He tasted of the night, of cool wind and wood smoke and moonlight. Her blood heated instantly as a wave of memories seared through her, memories of the night before and the lovemaking that had taken them deep into the night. Hot. Thick with wanting. His body pressed so intimately to hers. . . .

“Wait!” She pushed back, feeling an immediate chill of separation. “Just wait.” Shoving her hair from her face, she took a step backward and drew in a long, calming breath. She tried not to notice that she was trembling inside. Relief? Desire? Probably a mixture of both. “You . . . you left me,” she accused.

“
You
left me.” He shook his head and walked to the fire. “Don’t try and turn this around. I was sleeping in the forest, remember? Recovering? And you snuck away in the middle of the night, without a word.” He squatted, warming his hands beside her small fire.

She couldn’t deny it, though she desperately wanted to explain.

“You know, had it not been for the wolf, I think you would have taken my horse as well.”

“Nay! And where . . . where is that wild animal? The wolf?”

“Bane?”

“Bane? As in wolfsbane?” The herb was used by farmers to kill animals. She’d heard of covering a piece of meat with the deadly herb, hoping that marauding wolves would eat the poisoned meat and die before they attacked the farmer’s livestock.

“She needed a name. I couldn’t just call her Wolf.”

“For the love of God, why not? I can’t believe you actually named her.” A blast of icy wind keened over the hill. The gust tugged at her hair, pressed her mantle tight to her body and caused the fire to bend and shiver, flames flickering madly. “You named the wild beast as you would a pet. Isn’t that just a little bit daft?”

“Not half as crazy as talking to people who aren’t there, Bryanna.”

Grudgingly, she thought he’d made a good point. Didn’t she doubt herself and what she’d heard? Well, the proof would be found out tonight, would it not? If there was indeed the body of a woman buried in these hills, in an unmarked grave, found only because of a map torn into pieces, then she could quiet her own doubts.

Still considering the wolf, she pulled her mantle tighter around her and cast a quick glance to the surrounding area, just out of the fire’s light. She searched the undergrowth for a familiar pair of gold eyes.

“She’ll show up.” Gavyn stood up and closed the distance between them.

“You’ve seen her?”

Gavyn laughed with amused affection. “That lazy cur knows that I’ve always got an easy meal for her.”

“She could attack the horses.”

“Not alone. Nay.” Offering up one of his irreverent and much too sexy grins, he looked around her camp, his gaze landing on the dozing Harry, who was tethered to the same branch as Alabaster. “So you do have another horse. One not as fine as Rhi, but good enough for a pack animal. I guess you had to settle for someone else’s when you couldn’t steal mine.”

“I didn’t steal . . .” She let that thought drift away. “Listen, Gavyn, I would
not
have taken your horse and ridden away that night in the forest. I would never have left you stranded.” Blood surged through her veins as he held her gaze. His eyes were healing well, the red almost completely gone, and the bruises on his face were faded to dull shadows.

“But last night,” she whispered, afraid that he might deny it. “You were with me and . . . then you left.”