Pagan Fire (3 page)

“Tell me, Dylan mac Connall. What do you want more than anything from this lifetime?”

His face hardened. He found the full strength of his voice and answered, “Revenge.”

She tossed back her head and laughed, the sound a spell in itself. It stroked and taunted him. He felt desire begin to burn in his loins. Desire for the goddess and desire for the death of the man who had destroyed his life.

Morrigu’s eyes locked onto his. She touched his shoulders and forced him to his knees. “Remember this feeling,” she said. “The desire for revenge can rage as hot as the desire for a woman. But do not let one interfere with the other.”

He looked up at her, puzzled.

She laughed again. “For now, do not fret over what I say. You will have time enough to ponder the meaning of my words.” She leaned over him and dangled a full breast above his lips. He took it in his mouth like a ripe peach and suckled. Morrigu wrapped her fingers in his black hair and pulled his head tighter against her bosom. “Sweet Dylan,” she moaned, “you shall have all that you wish from me. Tonight, I will teach you the magic of love. Tomorrow, I will set you forth on your quest for vengeance.”

Chapter Two

The iron chapel bells clanged loudly, proclaiming time for Matins. Maere pushed herself up and out of the bed. Her bare feet landed on the cold stone floor without a sound. Yawning, she stretched and rubbed her eyes. It seemed as if she’d only just fallen back to sleep after that terrible dream. She shivered, feeling the eyes still upon her.

“Oh, Mama, I wish you were here,” Maere whispered as she sat back down on the cot. She hugged her arms around her, tears filling her eyes. Sweet Mary, but it’d been such a long time since she’d even thought of her mother. Too long, she realized. She searched her memory for anything she could hold onto – eyes that smiled, the curve of a cheekbone. Did her mother smell of the cooking fire or of sage and lavender and heather? Did she look like her, with dark copper hair and freckles across her nose?

Try as she might, she couldn’t recall much except the remnants of a warm smile and comforting hug. Maere rubbed her eyes again. Why did those cursed Vikings come to their land, wreaking death and destruction? And why did it have to be her family who was struck so brutally, leaving her orphaned and alone?

If only she could remember, perhaps she could begin to understand what happened that night when her mother and father were murdered. But even now, with nearly ten years passed, she only knew of their fate at the hands of the Northmen because Abbess Magrethe had told her it was so. She sighed and hung her head. Her mind was blank to what life was like before coming to St. Columba’s. Abbess said it was because of the shock of witnessing such an evil act. Maere had prayed many a night, until she was hoarse, asking the Virgin for intercession. Maere so wanted the memories to return. Still, her pleas went unanswered.

Maere thought she recalled an uncle, but wasn’t sure it was a true remembering, or the result of Abbess mentioning him from time to time over the years. Magrethe said Eugis was a kind man who had taken her in when Mama and Papa were killed. Being unmarried, he had thought it best that Maere receive her education at the convent. He had promised to return for her when she turned eighteen, that she might be married.

In her heart of hearts, Maere secretly hoped that in the span of the years she’d been here he’d forgotten about her and would let her be. Then she’d be free to take her vows and join the sisters as one of them. They were all dear to her and, in truth, the only family she had ever known. She sighed again. Or, at the very least, the only one she could remember.

“Sweet Jesus,” she prayed as she stood and pulled on the rough tan habit of the novitiate, “Please guide me that I may know what to do.” With a long tired breath, she fastened her black mantle over her shoulders with a simple silver clasp. Then she braided her long hair into a single plait.

A sharp rap sounded at the door and sent her thoughts scattering. “Maere? You’ll be late!”

“Yes, sister. I’m almost ready,” she called back. She arranged a short veil on her head. As she readied to leave the room, Maere paused at the door, the conversation with Magrethe the night before on her mind. Could it be that what the older woman said was true? Could it be that she’d actually invited the devil himself into her dreams? That he was seducing her with thoughts of the flesh? If it were the devil’s work, then surely there would be some sign. A flash of red eyes flickered in her mind’s eye, a startling reminder of her dreams. Fear washed over. Oh, but she was tired of being afraid all the time, afraid of the dark and fire and cows, of all things! The devil be damned, she thought, refusing to consider the possibility any further.

Her hand on the door, she realized there were other young women at St. Columba’s who were plagued so with thoughts of men and the flesh. For their penance, the priest had stripped them to the waist and beaten those ideas out of them with a leather whip. She shuddered as she imagined herself bared for the world to see, the sting of leather tearing into her soft flesh. She instinctively crossed her arms over her full breasts, held almost flat by the binding cloth the sisters insisted all the women wear.

Maere shook her head again. Why in heaven’s name did the abbess have to suggest such a notion? She knew Maere would fixate on it and worry over the sanctity of her precious soul.

No, she decided. She would not tell the priest. She would try to be more careful, to not be so afraid, to not cry out and talk of a man coming after her. She slipped on her suede sandals as the bell rang again and padded softly out of the room.

After Matins, Lauds, and Prime, the sisters gathered in the dining room at eight for a silent breakfast of hot cider and thick crusty bread. They sat elbow-to-elbow on hard benches at a table long enough to seat all twenty of them, ten on either side. The only sounds in the white-plastered room were wooden sticks beating against the clay cups as the sisters stirred their drinks. The thick sweet liquid stuck to the sides of the vessels, and chunks of apple had to be scooped out with bits of bread. It was good and filling, exactly what was needed for a cool day.

One of the novitiates shifted in her seat and the sunlight broke through the window and across the table. Maere turned her head, squinting horribly, as the rays hit her directly in the eyes.

The girl who had moved elbowed the one sitting to the right of her. They both giggled. “What are those terrible faces you’re making?” Seelie whispered.

Maere glanced quickly at her friend, then pulled her veil down to shade her face. “It’s the sun. You know it hurts my eyes.”

“I know you like to complain!” Seelie said, louder than she intended.

“That’s not true,” Maere said, even louder.

“Seelie. Maere.” The young women clamped their mouths shut and stood when Abbess Magrethe called out their names.

“You both know better than to speak during the morning meal. You are supposed to be reflecting on the scriptures you heard earlier today.” Magrethe stared at her charges. “For your punishment, the two of you will clean these dishes away by yourselves.” She looked around the room. “Any of you who were assigned to this duty can help in the yard. We’ll be clearing a new garden plot near the well.” With that, the abbess stood, dusted the crumbs from her apron, then turned and left the room.

As soon as everyone finished eating, they filed out of the dining area, one by one, and headed through the heavy timber doorway that led outside. There, they would see to their separate duties of planting the garden, feeding the livestock, or boiling the laundry over a large open fire. Maere hated that job the most. There was something about the size of the flames and incredible heat that stirred an uneasy emotion within her. Whenever it came her turn to wash clothes, she begged and pleaded with anyone who’d listen to be let out of the duty. After a while, the sister in charge of scheduling the weekly chores must’ve grown weary of the ruckus, because she quit making Maere take part in that job.

Maere glared at the girl. “Why’d you do that, Seelie?” She scooped up a willow basket half-full of bread and cradled it in her arms. “Why do you mock people all the time? It’s not Christian, you know.”

Seelie laughed. “I’m sorry, my friend.” She affectionately squeezed Maere’s arm. “Forgive me?”

“I suppose I’ll have to, since you asked.” She spun around and headed for the kitchen, calling behind her, “Of course, if you hadn’t asked, I wouldn’t’ve had to now, would I?” Maere dropped the basket on the well-worn wooden counter then paused for a moment. Her smile faded as she looked out the small window over the soapstone sink. Beyond the outer walls was a thick stand of trees. She felt the eyes again, watching, boring into her. She made a quick sign of the cross over the center of her chest.

“Maere, I was speaking to you.”

Startled, Maere spun around and almost dropped the heavy clay cup she had absently picked up. She juggled it back and forth before finally steadying it enough to put it down. “I’m sorry, Seelie. What was it you were saying?”

“I asked if you’ve seen the new monk who came to visit the convent yesterday.” Seelie held her arms out to her sides and twirled around. Her long blonde hair, unbound, fanned out around her from beneath her small veil. “He’s so young and handsome,” she sighed.

“Of course I haven’t noticed him. I have more important things to do with my time.” Maere placed the cups into the round washtub. She dragged an iron bucket of water over to the hearth and hoisted it onto the hook to boil. She wiped her brow then returned to the dining room for more dishes. Seelie was always on the prowl for good-looking men. Of course, she never admitted it to her confessor, so she’d yet to be beaten as penance for it. “Why do you ask?”

“Why do I ask? Is there something wrong with you, girl? Have you no eyes in that head of yours?” Seelie followed Maere back into the kitchen with several trenchers in her hands. “Can you honestly tell me you’ve never noticed a man or thought what it might be like to be with one?” She shook her finger as she put the plates down. “Don’t lie to me now, Maere cu Llwyr. I’ve known you for too long.”

Maere’s back stiffened. She fumbled and dropped one of the cups on the floor. With a loud clatter, it broke into a several large pieces. Her friend crouched down and picked up the shards. She put them in the garbage barrel and turned back to Maere. “I’d say that answers my question,” she said, dusting her hands on her apron.

“You have to swear not to tell,” Maere cried. “Promise me!” she all but shrieked. Seelie might be a friend but even
she
didn’t know the details of her dreams. If anyone other than Abbess Magrethe even remotely suspected she kept seeing a man in her sleep, why, who knew what might happen to her?

“Is there something wrong in there?” one of the sisters called through the kitchen window as she walked past. “Did I hear something break?”

“Everything is fine, Sister Emmanuel. Nothing to worry about,” Seelie answered. She looked at her companion and smiled. “I’ll strike a bargain with you, Maere. If you pretend that I’m in your cell tonight, praying, I won’t tell any of them your secret thoughts.”

“You want me to lie?” Maere asked, incredulous. Oh, she had been given to telling monstrous tales as a child. The abbess told her once she talked on and on about big cows who watched her wherever she went. About the Fays and other little people she’d seen dancing in the forest, and about a young boy who was her best friend. But, thanks to the good sister’s help, she’d long since outgrown that childish obsession with spilling forth whatever thought entered her head.

Seelie shrugged. “Either that, or I’ll have to have a talk with Father Ambrose when he comes to visit. I’m certain he’d be most interested in hearing about this affliction of yours.” She narrowed her eyes and smiled tightly. “Now, are we in agreement?”

Maere seethed. Her first thought was to shake the evil out of the girl. How could she call herself a friend and then threaten to betray her practically all in the same breath? It was so hard to control the temper she felt brewing a good deal of the time. It rested just below the surface of her skin and threatened to lash out when she least expected it. Always avert your bad thoughts to the Virgin Mary and ask her for forgiveness, Abbess Magrethe kept telling her. But she knew the other sisters whispered that her temperament came from being tainted as a child, raised wild by the Keltoi. She sighed. “Agreed.”

Seelie’s face lit up and she clapped her hands together. “I knew I could count on you!” She turned to leave. Maere touched her arm and she turned back. “Yes?”

“There’s one thing you must tell me before I’ll lie for you, Seelie. Where exactly will you be during the time we are supposed to be practicing our prayers?” Why’d she even bother to ask? She knew the answer before the girl spoke.

“With the young monk.” Seelie leaned forward and giggled. She whispered into Maere’s ear, “We’ve made arrangements to meet in the old hermit’s cave near the outer wall. And when I return, I promise I’ll tell you every last detail.”

Chapter Three

Dylan cast a final glance to the sky as Morrigu’s raven form disappeared from sight. With a sigh, he pushed open the door to the home he’d shared with Aethelred these past ten years. The rising orange-red sun glowed in the morning haze, outlining his body as he stood in the portal.

Aethelred glanced up from where she sat at an old worn table in the center of the plain room, squinted against the filtered sunlight, then returned to her work. The clatter of the wood mortar against the clay bowl as she ground plants and roots grated against the stillness of the morning, and Dylan’s nerves. It seemed so out of place with the experience he’d shared with the goddess, learning the ways of a man and a woman both the night before and, then, only moments ago.