Eochaidh - Legend of the Horsemen (Book One) (9 page)

Meaghan woke in darkness and shook her head, trying to
remember where she was. She reached out her hand.
Grass? Why am I laying on grass?
Then she heard the gurgle of water
near, and she remembered.
The
Old Woods.

Pushing herself up, she crawled to the edge of the pond,
cupped her hand and drank deeply of the cold water.
 
It tasted sweet and it not only quenched her
thirst, but as it traveled through her it also seemed to rejuvenate her body.
 
She drank for a few more moments and then
splashed water on her face and her neck.
 
Taking her handkerchief from her waistband, she patted her skin while
she looked around at her surroundings.

The full moon was bright and high in the sky, and grey,
nearly transparent, clouds encircled it like layers of frothy lace. The light
of the moon was reflected in the pond as a long bar of yellow-white light. As
her eyes adjusted, she could see movement in the water. She leaned closer for a
better look and jumped when something splashed in the water next to her.
 
Soft, high-pitched laughter thrummed around
the pond at her reaction.
 

She looked down in the water, near the splash, and saw a
water sprite dressed in a gown of light green seaweed lounging on a lily pad.
The sprite laughed at her again, and this time Meaghan joined in.

The sprite turned sideways and, using her wings for power,
propelled the lily pad toward the middle of the pond, leaving a tiny wake in
her path.
 
Meaghan followed her progress
and saw that all of the lily pads were also in the center.
 
Suddenly a hush fell on the pond. Even the
frogs stop croaking.
 
Meaghan held her
breath, unsure of what was going to happen next.
 

The long sweeping branches of the willow trees started to
sparkle, lit by thousands of fireflies, and the entire pond was
illuminated.
 
The sprites on the lily
pads jumped into the air and performed like tiny acrobats, each trailing a
gossamer length of reed that scattered gold dust in its wake. They soared and
dove,
drawing intricate patterns in the darkened sky above
the pond that lasted for only a moment until the dust slowly fell to the
surface of the water. Suddenly there was a noise from outside the
clearing.
 
The fireflies went dark, the
sprites disappeared, and a giant owl silently flew from a tree above Meaghan
across the pond into the darkness of the trees.

Standing, Meaghan crept back to the log and waited.
 
She heard the noise again, this time a little
closer and a little clearer. Stepping around the log, she ran across the
clearing to the break in the brush and pushed through it, listening again for
the familiar sound.

“Meggie,” her father’s voice called. “Meggie, where are
you?”

“Here Father!” she called, scrambling up the path in the
direction of his voice. “I’m down here.”

A few moments later, after the joyful sounds of a reunited
father and daughter echoed in the woods, large, bulky shadows stole from their
hiding spots around the clearing and met under the glow of the full moon.

“Is she safe then?
Rufus,
is she
safe?” one shadow whispered.

“Aye, Andrew, there’s a clear path between the woods and the
estate,” Rufus replied. “No harm will befall her this night.”

“You took a risk, Tristan, coming to her aid like that,”
still another said.

“What was I to do, Sir Garrett?” answered the one called
Tristan. “Let the brutes capture her and carry her away? Not while I’m alive.”

“Still, if they had caught you or if she was not what she
seemed to be, you could be dead,” Garrett replied.

“If I die in the noble service of protecting a lady, all the
better for it,” Tristan answered hotly.

“Aye, and if she’s prettier than any lass you’ve seen in a
long time, there’s no harm to that either,” Rufus added with a snort.

“I hardly noticed how pretty she was,” Tristan lied.

There was an eruption of snorts and whinnies, and a few
thick hooves pawed at the soft ground of the clearing.

“Besides,” Tristan continued, “it’s not like I’m going to
see her again.
 
After what happened this
day her father would be daft to allow her to roam freely.”

“I have to say, I’ll miss seeing the lass’s shenanigans,”
Rufus admitted. “She has a fair hand with a trap.”

“But why were they after her?” Andrew asked. “She’s the
earl’s own daughter.”

“I’ve been studying the stars and the interplanetary
movements. It seems we may have yet another opportunity to break the curse,”
Duncan replied, his voice soft and precise. “I would venture to say they are
concerned about her connection with us.”

“Us?” Andrew asked. “But we haven’t even met her before
today. We only watched her.”

“She’s of the Herdin line,” Tristan said. “That’s why they
want to kill her or at least kill her to get to her father.”

“But that means…” Andrew stammered.

“Aye, it means Morganna,” Rufus said solemnly. “And it means
we’re in for more trouble.”

Her arms wrapped tightly around her father’s waist, Meaghan
rested her head against his back as they galloped back toward the estate.
 
The light from the full moon was enough to
illuminate the path before them, but it also made them a target for any of
Murphy’s men who still might be out searching.
 
The thought of those men made her shiver and she tightened her hold on
her father.

He looked over his shoulder and slowed his pace slightly.
“How are you doing, Meggie?” he asked. “All you alright?”

She nodded and smiled up at him. “I can’t wait to be home,” she
replied. “Do you think Jepson made it home safely?”

“Yes, I’m sure Fitzhugh saw him safely home and tended to
his injuries,” he said.

“Fitz?” she exclaimed in disbelief, sitting back slightly.
“You sent Fitz out to rescue Jepson?
 
Father, he’s only a butler.”

A light puff of laughter escaped his lips and he shook his
head wryly. “It’s amazing how people you think you know rise to the occasion
when needed,” he said. “I can promise you, Meggie, Jepson was in the best care
possible. And I assure you, he is safe.”

Resting her head against his back, she nodded thoughtfully.
“If you had only seen what Murphy was doing to him when I walked in,” she said,
anger hardening her words. “Tied up, his skin raw from the whip, his body
bruised and cut. I have never felt so much rage.
 
I never knew I could feel the things I felt.
I believe…I truly believe I could have killed Murphy. I wonder what kind of
person that makes me?”

Lord John rode silently, furious that his daughter had been
exposed to such violence and just as furious with himself for not being there
for her.
 
He took a deep shuddering
breath and finally spoke, “It’s not the things we feel that reflect the kind of
person we are, but what we do when we feel them. You could have easily ended
his life, but you didn’t.
 
That’s the
kind of person you are
—
fair,
courageous and honest. A person I am proud to have as my daughter.”

She hugged him and he felt her tears soaking the back of his
shirt. “Almost home, darling,” he said softly. “And then we’ll both have your
mother to deal with.
 
That’s the true
test of courage.”

He felt and heard her muffled laughter and nodded
contentedly.
She can still laugh; things
will be fine.

One of the younger stable hands met them in the courtyard
and took hold of Galahad’s lead. “I can brush him down, my lord,” he said.
“Galahad likes me.”

The giant stallion brushed his head affectionately against
the boy’s chest, nearly knocking him down.

“I can see he likes you,” Lord John said. “Thank you, he
deserves a good brushing down and an extra scoop of grain for his efforts
today.”

“Mrs. Gallagher gave me some carrots from the garden for him
too,” the boy replied eagerly.

“Galahad, you’re going to get some spoiling tonight,” Lord
John said, helping Meaghan down from the saddle. “Don’t get too used to it.”

After patting the horse on its withers, he stepped back and
watched the boy lead the giant horse away, like a puppy.

“Don’t be sad,” Meaghan teased. “Galahad still likes you the
best.”

Placing his arm around her shoulders, he guided her toward
the front steps. “As long as you still like me best, I’m fine,” he replied,
placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“I do, Father,” she replied, leaning against him. “Thank you
for rescuing me from the forest.”

He snorted softly. “Except for a ride home, you rescued
yourself quite well,” he said.

“Actually, no, Father,” she began. “There was…”

The front door burst open before she could finish her
sentence, soft light pooling out over the steps and she was almost immediately
wrapped in her mother’s arms.

“Meggie,” Lady Evaleen cried. “Oh, Meggie, we’ve been so
worried.”

She let her mother lead her toward the house, but paused at
the door where Fitz stood guard. “Jepson?” she asked.

Fitz nodded and even allowed himself a bit of a smile.
“Resting comfortably, miss,” he said. “Mrs. Gallagher bound up his ribs, rubbed
him with her liniment and doused him with some of her herbal tonic.
 
He’s being looked after like an orphaned
kitten.”

Meaghan finally allowed herself to relax and smile. “And
he’s hating every moment of it, I’d bet,” she said.

With an appreciative gleam in his eye, Fitz nodded once
again. “Just so, my lady, just so.”

“Fitz,” Lady Evaleen said. “If you wouldn’t mind…”

“A copper tub has already been brought up to Miss Meaghan’s
room and it is in the process of being filled with hot water,” he said. “Mrs.
Gallagher is preparing some tea and a few of Miss Meaghan’s favorite foods and
Mrs. Gallagher will meet you upstairs with the medical supplies in case you
might need something.”

“Do you read minds, Fitz?” Lady Evaleen asked.

“I wouldn’t presume to do so, my lady,” he said stonily.
“Merely trying to anticipate your needs.”

“An excellent job, as always, thank you for all you do,” she
replied with a smile, and wrapping her arm more firmly around Meaghan’s
shoulders, guided her exhausted daughter toward the stairs.

“No, my lady,” Fitz whispered. “The honor is entirely mine.”

Brigid’s Well Inn was once again closed to the general
public and the candles were burning low.
 
The few horses tethered to posts were muddied and worn, longing to have
their saddles removed and led to the stalls for a night’s rest.

The main pub room was dark and a low fire blazed in the
giant hearth.
 
Once again, the cloaked
guardians of the oath huddled together, faces hidden, voices altered.
 
Instead of their usual leader, a woman stood
before them.
 

“You have all failed me,” she said, her voice calm but with
the underlying chill of iron. “You have all proven yourselves to be incompetent
imbeciles, not worthy to recite the oath. You have shamed your forefathers and
you have threatened your descendants’ welfare.”

She stopped speaking and, except for the crack of a log in
the fire, the room was completely silent.
 

Slowly pacing in front of the fire, her long skirt rustling
over the stone floor, she let the silence build to an uncomfortable
crescendo.
 
Finally, she swept forward,
her face still hidden, but her determination obvious. “It is more fortunate for
most of you that you can still be of use to me,” she said, her voice a
contemptuous whisper. “Only one of you will pay the price for today’s
folly.
 
The rest of you will be called
upon to carry on. In the next few days, one of you will be called upon to lead
this group as Mr. Murphy will be required to perform other duties outside the
village. Whoever is called, the rest of you will accept and follow. Do you
understand?”

In quick succession, the group nodded hurriedly.

“Good,” she said. “Now leave this place.
 
You will be notified in the usual way of our
next meeting.”

In a few moments the pub was empty except for the woman and
a lone figure sitting in a small booth in the corner.
 
Pulling her hood back to reveal her face, she
walked slowly across the room to the booth.
 
“A child, Murphy,” her laughter trilled across the room, echoing on the
bare rafters and large stone fireplace. “Not only a child, but a girl.
 
A girl not only got the best of you in a
fight, she was able to completely escape and save her injured manservant. Do
you have anything to say for yourself?”

She slid into the booth across from him and smiled.
 
His face was bloodied and bruised, his hands
tied together with rough rope and his mouth was bound with a thick gag.
 
“Cat got your tongue, Mr. Murphy?” she asked,
lifting an eyebrow. “Shall I apologize for losing my temper?
 
I really have no patience with incompetence.”

She sighed softly and slowly removed the ivory kid gloves
she had been wearing and placed them carefully on the table before her. “But, I
suppose everyone is entitled to one little mistake,” she asked. “Aren’t they,
Mr. Murphy?”

He nodded slowly, still leaning as far back in the booth as
possible.

“One must have a chance to redeem oneself, isn’t that true?”

He nodded again, his eyes still fearful.

She smiled. “A chance to be useful,” she continued. “A
chance to help the cause.”

He nodded once more; this time there was a shred of optimism
in his eyes.

“Very well, Mr. Murphy,” she said, picking up her gloves and
sliding out of the booth. “I shall give you that chance.
 
Follow me.”

He stumbled up, nearly tripping
on his own feet.

“Do be careful, Murphy,” she said
impatiently. “I need you alive.”

Following her through the narrow
halls of the pub, trying to see in the dim light, he paused when she pushed
open the back door.

The moonlight shone over the rear
yard, casting tall eerie shadows from the woods behind the inn.
 
When she turned to face him, the moon caught
her face.
 
Her eyes looked like hollow
pools of black, her face skeletal and her hands like blood-encased claws. He
stopped.

“Are you still afraid?” she
taunted.

Shaking his head, he looked
again.
 
It was only Lady Strathmore, he
chided himself, breathing more easily and, although she was as cruel a person
as he’d ever met, she certainly wasn’t a demon in the night. And, she was giving
him a second chance.

He stepped out into the cold
spring night and followed her across the muddy yard to the edge of the
forest.
 
He could hear an owl in the
distance crying out in the loneliness of the night.
 
He could feel evil in the wind and a cold
shiver ran down his spine.

Pushing open a wooden gate, Lady
Strathmore walked to the edge of the forest, waited under the branches of an
old yew tree and tapped her foot impatiently.
 
The power of the Herdin family was stronger this time than it had ever been
in past centuries.
 
There was something
extra here this time.
 
Something she had
not counted on and she needed answers.

She watched Murphy plodding
toward her and smiled slowly.
Yes, he
would be very useful.

Catching up with her, he paused
beneath the tree, a puzzled look on his face.

Shaking her head with
exasperation, she leaned up and untied the knot that held his gag.

“
Ain’t
we going somewhere?” he croaked, his mouth still dry and sore.

“Yes, we are going back to my
home,” she replied.

He looked around. “
Ain’t
you got a carriage?” he asked.

“My other home,” she said.

She closed her eyes and pictured the yew; now massive and
old, hundreds of years in the past, young and tender.
 
Then she whispered the words of the
spell.
 

Wind whipped around them, creating a vortex that swirled
through time.
 
The seasons melded
together, the stars, moon and sky rushed across the sky and the old tree became
young and supple before her eyes.
 
Finally the wind slowed, day and night became more apparent in their
transitions and she could feel the difference in the changes of weather as they
hurried past.
 
Then, all was silent.

“What…what did you do?” Murphy cried, falling to his knees
on the grassy green knoll in front of the small yew.

“I brought you to my home,” she replied simply.

Looking around, Murphy felt his stomach clench.
 
The woods and land around him were foreign to
his eyes.
 
Where the inn had been only
moments ago was a thick forest.
 
The moon
was only a sliver
—
not
the full one he had just left
—
and
thick clouds skirted across the sky.

“Where am I?” he demanded, his
voice filled with panic. “What happened to the inn? What kind of black magic
have you performed?”

Shrugging, she turned and walked
away from him toward the road.
 
He scrambled
after her, but froze when he saw the enormous carriage and well-armed guards
waiting for her. Dropping to his knees, he began to sob uncontrollably, “Who
are you?
 
What are you going to do with
me?”

Rolling her eyes in disgust, she
slipped on her kid gloves and stepped toward the hysterical man. Grabbing hold
of his hair, she yanked his head back to force him to look at her. “All
excellent questions that perhaps you should have asked before you agreed to
come with me,” she spat. “But since you came of your own free will, you have no
say in the matter any longer.”

When she released his head, he
clasped his hands together and begged. “Please send me back,” he pleaded. “I
won’t be able to live in a strange world.”

Lady
Strathmore’s mouth widened into a lovely smile.
“But my dear Murphy,”
she replied. “Who said anything about you living?”