The Spellbinder: Highland Eyes Page 10
"Are you hungry?” she asked, her voice a bit husky.
"Aye, lass, but the stew can wait.” Tristan lifted her into his arms and carried her into the smaller second room, more than ready to satisfy another hunger.
Meryl shook her head, clearing her mind of the lovely daydream. Keep dreaming, girl, she told herself, but it's never going to happen. She could imagine all she liked, but it wouldn't change anything. Tristan didn't care for her anymore than he cared for Rose. He had a duty to the villagers and once that was done, he'd be on his way to do good deeds somewhere else. She sighed softly and was startled to find him behind her. How had he managed to enter the hut without her hearing him? Because she was too busy daydreaming to pay attention to her surroundings. She mentally kicked herself while her face turned a lovely shade of pink, announcing her embarrassment. She felt like an idiot.
"You shouldn't stand by the fire so long. The heat's flushed your skin.” Tristan took the wooden spoon from her hand and tasted the stew. “Mmm, that's good. Hunting gives a man an appetite."
"Catch any game?” she asked innocently.
"Not today, but we will.” He said no more and set his sword and pack in a corner out of the way. He sat at the table and dug into the meal she placed before him. When he'd finished the stew, he used a slice of bread to mop up the rest of the gravy, then drank his ale. Dinks had long since vacated his spot by the hearth, leaving room for Tristan to set out his pallet where he promptly fell asleep.
Meryl quietly went about cleaning up and putting everything away. She stopped a moment and studied the sleeping form. It was going to be a long night. She released a soft sigh and went to her own bed, sure she wouldn't get much sleep.
* * * *
She follows the silent procession, making its way to the crest of the mountain. This place is forbidden to all men; this place is sacred. Meryl follows them, not able to resist a power that calls to her. The twelve women are dressed in white robes. Two of the women walk on either side of a third, helping her along when her steps falter. Where are you going? No one hears Meryl's question. The only sounds are footsteps on the path and loose stones scattering underfoot. The wind dances with the torch flames, casting eerie shadows. Clouds skid across the moon hiding its expanse and light. The night is quiet and chilled.
The procession stops just before it reaches the mountain crest. The stone circle is partially sheltered from the wind, its power calls to her. Meryl steps back quickly, afraid of what lies in wait here. The robed figures go about their duties, each one knowing what she must do. Meryl watches, mystified. What are you doing here? She asks again but no one hears her. She turns quickly. One of the women passes through her, a bundle of wood in her arms. Meryl gasps. They don't answer her because she isn't here. How can this be? She can only watch while the women prepare for the rites.
The three women walking side by side enter the stone circle and step into its center. Two help the third to the ground. Meryl is astonished. The third is with child and about to give birth. She groans with pain. Another woman takes a sword and draws a circle about the three. At the mountain crest, a fire is started. The fourth woman carefully feeds the flame. The sacred fire will be needed shortly.
The leader adds a little salt to some water then sprinkles it about the perimeter of the drawn circle. Meryl can smell the burning incense and the leader walks about the circle. Meryl can't hear the words but she knows instinctively that the leader is performing a cleansing ritual. The pregnant woman groans again. Her time is very close. The leader steps within the drawn circle and makes a wine offering to their goddess from a large chalice. She sips the wine then passes the cup around to the others. Each one sips the liquid, including the pregnant woman.
The woman cries out and one of the healers places a hand on her brow to ease the pain. They speak to her quietly, encouraging her. They chant softly, waiting. During the child's birth, the clouds disappear and the light of the full moon shines on the newborn. Meryl is drawn by a force she doesn't understand. She moves closer. The child is carefully handed over to the leader after the cord is tied and cut. The healer tends to the mother and the leader continues the rites. The child is presented to the moon then passed over the sacred flame. Meryl hears the last of the leader's words.
"Born this Lammas night, bless this child, the promised Legend."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Meryl sighed in frustration as she sat alone watching the younger children play. Their giggles made her smile briefly; they took advantage of the evening's freedom from chores, oblivious of the adults’ conversation going on at the far end of the village. Too many strange dreams filled her nights lately. One in particular kept coming back, warning her of danger in and around the village. Earlier this evening, she'd spoken with Tristan and the elders, telling them what she felt to be true. The doubt in their eyes sent chills skittering along her spine. They claimed she was the one they waited for, but they refused to believe her. The least they could do was consider the merits of what she told them.
She heard Tristan's voice rise above the others, trying to convince them of her plan. She knew there was no guarantee they would listen to her. Her ability to protect the warriors from the English soldiers was nowhere near enough to earn their complete trust. Her only hope was that Tristan and Maisri could convince the others of her concern for their welfare—and that meant major changes. To keep them safe, they would have to leave. The feelings that continually plagued her, warned tomorrow wasn't soon enough.
Meryl could understand their reluctance to leave. Not only did they not know her well, most of these people had never been anywhere else. This was their home, their safe haven, but the feeling of safety was gone, violated by unwelcome intruders. The English would return, hoping to catch warriors here, and they would be back very soon. Time was something these people didn't have to spare.
She sat one of the smaller children on her lap and began a game of peekaboo, much to the child's delight. Meryl tried to push the elders’ overheated conversation away from her mind; tried not to hear what they said, and concentrated on the child's laughter instead. She feared the waiting and expectation would drive her crazy. From the corner of her eye she watched several people approach, with Tristan in the lead. She continued the game with the child, pretending a calm, which didn't exist. Casually she looked up at the group of adults and tried to read Tristan's expression.
Her heartbeat quickened. The adults stood before her. Meryl searched Tristan's eyes for some sign of their decision, and thought he would have made a great politician or a good poker player; his eyes and features gave away nothing of his thoughts.
"Tell us once more, why we should leave here."
Meryl whispered something to the child and the youngster giggled. If only adults could hold on to the same kind of innocence children had at this age. No, perhaps not, she corrected her thoughts. Innocence and maturity seldom worked together within a person. She kissed the child's rosy cheek, set her on the ground, then sighed. The child ran off to join her playmates. “What do you wish to know?” How many more times, she wondered, would she have to explain her plan?
"Where is this place?” one of the villagers demanded impatiently.
"The valley is north of here. It's large and can accommodate all of you comfortably.” She closed her silver eyes, seeing the place in her mind. “It's a lush, rich place, protected from harsh weather. It lies snuggled between mountains and forest. There's a curtain of mist, hiding the entrance from intruders. To look at it, no one would suspect a village lies on the other side. The curtain gives the impression of emptiness beyond it. It discourages travelers and curiosity seekers.” Meryl opened her eyes and glanced at the people before her. Her gaze settled on Tristan. “It's as if someone decided to save this place especially for all of you. The area abounds with superstition, but we can use it to our advantage, to conceal our presence. Once settled, we will have most everything we need. What little we can't produce, can be traded, but I do believe we ca
n be self sufficient."
Tristan looked to the others. “I believe we should do this."
"If we are to do this,” Meryl added, “it must be done now. The English will return soon and they won't be here for tea."
Maisri, who had stared at her, but remained silent all this time, finally spoke up. “She speaks true. I have seen this myself. When the English return, it will be to destroy our homes and scatter us. They will leave us nothing."
"So,” Meryl concluded after nodding to Maisri, “we must beat them to the punch. But I must remind you of one important fact. Once you leave here, you may never return. To do so will mean certain death."
The men conferred quietly for a few moments then turned back to the silver-eyed woman. “We don't know you very well, and we're not ready to trust you out of hand, but we have no choice. We must trust you. There are the children to consider. Tristan is well known to us and supports your suggestions. We follow his lead."
Famhair sat beside Tristan and stared at Meryl. She had the strangest feeling there was more going on in that doggie brain of his than she gave him credit. Meryl's gaze dropped to Dinks, where he stretched lazily at her feet. She reached down and slid her hand across the length of his body in slow deliberate strokes. The green eyed, black cat watched the humans while they waited for a response from her. Dinks purred under his mistress's attention, easing the tension caused by the other humans.
She was the outsider, brought to this time and place to make a difference. Meryl didn't know if she could achieve that. For their sake, for the sake of the little ones, she would do everything she could. She looked to Tristan; for once, he was on her side. His smile warmed and encouraged her. In the depths of those emerald green eyes she saw something she'd like to make her own, something which could sustain her for a lifetime and beyond. What made her think ‘beyond’ was in her future? Keep on dreaming she told herself again and sighed.
When she cast the spell a few days past, to protect the warriors and keep the English out of the village, she felt something new and unexplained surge through her from the depths of her soul. It had stayed with her, warming her. She couldn't put a name to it but it felt good; it felt right. It was time to trust this new feeling and go where it led her.
Meryl took a deep breath and slowly released it. Yes, the time to begin was now. She stood slowly, drawing out the moment, then faced the men. “All right. Tomorrow night is the full moon. That will give us a full day to prepare and move out.” She sensed the questions their expressions spoke, heard their thoughts as if spoken aloud. They thought she was foolish to expect them to be packed and prepared for travel in one day. It was an extreme risk on her part to ask them to trust her. “I know what thoughts run through your heads. Tell me, Tristan, can't an army be prepared to move in that short a time?"
"They can.” His reply was brief. A twitch at the corners of his mouth belied his amusement.
"Before the day is out, make sure all water casks are filled, enough to last a few days. The journey I have in mind may take as much as a fortnight to complete. If the weather is with us and we can travel quickly, we can be there in less than ten days. There will be streams along the way. We should reach the first when we've covered at least three days’ travel. Everyone will be up before dawn to complete preparations, even the children. By nightfall tomorrow we must be miles away from here. This is what we must do..."
* * * *
By late afternoon the next day, carts were loaded with necessities. Each family had at least one or two people to help pull a heavily laden cart. A thick layer of straw covered the bed of one cart, with several wool blankets neatly stacked in one corner. The young children traveled comfortably in this one. They could curl up together and share their warmth during the first night's travel. Meryl was grateful there were only about a dozen families and several unattached warriors. There were about twenty little ones ranging from toddlers to six or seven years of age. The carts were lined up and Meryl suddenly thought of this as a medieval wagon train. Wagons Ho! She stifled a giggle at the expression no one would understand; they'd probably be quicker to take offense. They still grumbled over her plan but she shrugged and figured they'd get over it eventually. She wanted to put as much distance as possible between these people and the homes they'd had for many years. When the rest of the plan had been discussed, the villagers balked. Tristan convinced them of the wisdom of it.
The youngest children sat in their cart, watching the bustling activity around them. Rose waited beside them ready to keep them entertained. Older children stood with their parents, prepared to help in any way needed. Only the frantic pace of the adults showed any sign of their anxiety to be on the move. Brenna stood straight and proud by her grandmother, Maisri, and waited patiently for the new adventure to begin.
Tristan brought Meryl a highland pony. The sturdy mare would allow her to travel more freely among the group and beyond them if necessary. Meryl watched villagers begin pulling their loads. Older boys helped their fathers to keep the carts moving. With few strong males to haul the carts, Meryl had insisted families take only those things which couldn't easily be replaced. The rest they could replace when they reached their destination. She wanted to be sure everyone was safely away before the English returned. A sixth sense warned her they were on their way, but she had no way of knowing how close they were. She had done all she could here, and urged her pony to the front of the group.
Several men lingered behind with Graeme, waiting for their orders. They held several torches. Leaving some things behind would make their plan believable. Tristan covered the details once more before riding off to join Meryl.
Meryl didn't look forward to making this journey, but understood the necessity of it. She loved the idea of adventure, but she'd never before been responsible for children. She smiled in amusement, as one by one, small heads dipped below the sides of the cart and the children drifted off to sleep. Rose sat to one side in the straw and covered the toddlers with blankets while the night grew chilled. She drew her own cloak more snuggle about her and looked up. The two young women exchanged glances. Meryl saw and made note of Rose's silent challenge. Was it the journey, leaving behind all they knew, or did the challenge once again entail something far more personal?
Rose turned away first giving her full attention to her charges. She found no need to convince Meryl that their staring match didn't intimidate her. Meryl had come into their lives claiming to be the legend. Well, she wasn't actually making the claim, but the village elders believed she was the one for whom they had waited—and now she was forcing them to leave their homes forever? There was no proof the English would return. They only had her word it would happen. Meryl understood their fears and distrust, and had good reason to doubt the rightness of her own plan. She watched one of the children being taken onto Rose's lap and Rose folded the edge of her cloak over the child, speaking softly to it.
* * * *
Meryl waited patiently. Laoch's pace was slow and steady; the stallion's head drooped with weariness. The travelers had been on the move throughout the night with the full moon to light their way. It would be dawn soon and they would have to stop for the day. Laoch halted beside Meryl's pony and blew out a breath.
"When can we expect Graeme and his men to catch up?” Her silver eyes betrayed her worry and weariness.
"They'll return when the English have come and gone. Meryl, neither you nor the others can continue this pace. There's a glen about a mile or so ahead. We'll set up camp there and wait for Graeme to join us."
Meryl nodded. “I leave you to take charge. You know better what needs to be done.” Her sigh of relief had more to do with exhaustion than Tristan's taking charge. If the glen he spoke of could be secured, then they would rest for a day and set out the following dawn. She had no doubt Tristan's plan to distract the English would be successful. The Sassenachs would be very displeased to discover their quarry had vanished.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Edinburg wasn'
t much different from any English town. Small shops cluttered narrow streets and closed when daylight dwindled. Too many streets were soaked with the stench of refuse, tossed from chamber pots and kitchens. Rats scurried across alleys looking for tidbits of spoiled food, but vanished when anyone passed them by.
The streets in the poorest part of town were quiet except for loud drunken laughter escaping from the taverns. A dozen English soldiers laughed and drank. Their bawdy language embarrassed even the serving girls who were used to such conversation. The three girls went about refilling wine cups while trying to dodge grabbing hands and pinching fingers. They feared the Sassenachs and what they could do.
Several Scots sat at a table in one corner, speaking in low voices and occasionally glanced at the unwelcome patrons. Their unease with the English presence was obvious. They didn't dare try anything within the confines of the establishment. Once the English left was another matter.
The English captain sat at a table, his back against the wall. Matthew sat brooding; something didn't quite fit into place. His second in command knew better than to question a superior officer, even if they were friends.
Matthew sipped his ale and a scowl settled on his dark features. There was something he'd missed in the last few days—something important. Edinburg was definitely not to his liking, despite the fact it differed little from London. Scottish stubbornness was the key difference and set these people apart from the English. He thought Wallace's execution would have quieted the rebels, at least for a while, but the death of their leader had the opposite effect. Attacks were more frequent and bolder. There were more raids of clans against clans while Robert Bruce and the Comyns fought for the Scottish throne. As long as the Scots were unable to put their differences aside and unite under a common cause, then, Matthew believed, it shouldn't take long to place Scotland under English rule and all this warring for the Scots throne would be for nothing.