The Knight and the Seer (3 page)

“My fault.” Andrew rocked the lifeless body in his arms. “If I hadn’t been so quick to leave. But how could I stay, knowing what you were about to do? How?”

There was a long moment of silence, followed by a deep sigh.

“Ye must help me help him, lass. Will ye do that?”

Again the whisper, louder this time, and Gwenellen looked over, seeing the look of shock and grief in Andrew’s eyes. Why was he grieving, when his father was still here? Could he not hear what she heard so clearly?

“Don’t ye see, lass? I can no longer speak to him. But I can speak with ye. And ye can be the bridge between my world and his.”

When the realization came, Gwenellen was so startled, she could do nothing more than stare in stunned surprise. Andrew was grieving because his father was no longer here. The old man truly had slipped away to that other world. As her own father had, before she was born. And yet this man, like her father, could communicate with her. Unlike others, she felt no barrier between herself and that other world. His words were as clear, as plain, as the one who held him in his arms.

Her grandmother’s words came to her. Everything in life happens for a reason. Even when things are seen as problems, they are merely lessons which must be learned.

This, then, was one of her true gifts. Hadn’t her grandmother said as much? But because it had seemed so natural to talk to her father, she’d dismissed her grandmother’s words. Now, after all these years of uncertainty, it was being brought back to her more clearly than ever.

“I’ll…do what I can, sir.”

Andrew didn’t hear her as he lifted his father’s lifeless body in his arms and carried it through the rubble to a distant corner of the garden, where he began digging a grave.

Setting aside her bucket, Gwenellen imitated Andrew Ross by digging through the rubble, in search of others who might need her gift.

A short time later she heard Andrew cry out and looked over to see him unrolling a parchment that had been affixed to the center of a table by the blade of a knife. After reading it he gave a snarl of anger and crushed the parchment in his clenched fist.

Gwenellen hurried over to stand beside him. “What is it? What have you found?”

He seemed almost dazed, as though only vaguely aware of her presence beside him. “It’s as I’d suspected. Fergus Logan. There has been enmity between his clan and ours from the time of our ancestors. And now he’s taken his vengeance by not only boasting of killing my father, but of taking his wife as hostage.” His black mood darkened with every word. “This time his vile deeds will not go unpunished.”

“What will you do?”

He turned away without another word.

In silence he returned to the rubble with a renewed sense of urgency.

The setting sun cast the land in deep purple shadows. Gwenellen sat on a log, and watched as Andrew smoothed the dirt over the last grave and knelt to whisper a prayer. Around them were a score of fresh mounds, each of them marking the grave of one of the beloved members of his household.

Each of them had spoken to her. An introduction. A request to carry words to family and friends left behind. Occasionally an apology for some hurt they’d failed to heal before leaving this world.

So many voices calling out to her. Filling her mind. Touching her heart. At first it had seemed a babble of voices, until she’d begun to sort them out, giving each a bit of her time before moving on to the next. She’d listened to all, and had given her word to do what she could to ease the pain of those who were grieving. But the one that had touched her the deepest had been Andrew’s father, who expressed a fear that anger and bitterness would cloud his son’s judgment.

Andrew knelt a moment longer in prayer before getting to his feet. When he turned, he seemed surprised to see her.

“Why are you still here, woman?”

“I thought…” The fierceness of the man frightened her. Still, she couldn’t put aside the wishes expressed so eloquently by his dead father. “I thought I would stay until all were buried.”

“You’ve been here all this time?” Andrew had been so locked in his own grief and anger he’d barely noticed her throughout the day. Now he realized that she, like him, must be beyond exhaustion.

He looked down at her, noting the dirt that stained her fine gown and lovely face. Then he caught sight of the blisters on her hands and his frown deepened as he caught them, holding them up for his inspection. “Little fool. What have you done?”

Embarrassed, she tried to snatch her hands away, but he held them fast and looked into her eyes. “When did you last eat?”

She shrugged, aware of a strange tingling along her arms. Was it because of his touch? Or was it merely the result of the blisters? “I had some berries while still in my homeland.” Had it been hours? Days? Time was so different here in the land of mortals.

“Come with me.” He helped her up and led her to where his horse was tethered.

“Where are we going?”

He lifted her into the saddle and pulled himself up behind her before catching the reins. “There’s a tavern in the village. I’ll see that you’re fed and given shelter until you can be returned to your home.”

She trembled at the feel of his arms around her. There was a strange warmth where his hand, holding the reins, rested at her hip. “And you, sir?”

His breath stung her cheek. “There’ll be no rest for me until the one who did this cruel deed answers to my sword.”

The passion in his tone sent shivers along her spine, but Gwenellen remained silent about the words spoken by his father. It would be best if she waited awhile, and pondered the proper way to tell him of this strange new gift she’d discovered within herself. In truth, she feared his reaction. He seemed a simple, straightforward man of the sword. What if he refused to accept the fact that she had actually spoken with the dead?

They rode through Highland forests, across deep chasms filled with tumbling water, and along narrow winding trails until they reached the village far below. As they approached, the candlelight flickering in windows was a welcoming sight. Outside the tavern, horses blew and stomped in the night air that had cooled considerably.

Andrew slid from the back of his mount and tied the reins before lifting Gwenellen from the saddle. Again she felt the strength in him as he lifted her without effort and led the way inside. As soon as they stepped through the doorway, the chorus of voices in the public room fell silent.

“Andrew. Welcome home.” The tavern owner hurried over to greet him. Seeing Andrew’s charred tunic and blistered hands, he looked alarmed. “What has happened to you?”

“I returned home to find the fortress burned, and all who dwelled within it dead, Duncan.”

At his words, the men were on their feet, gathering around him with a low buzz of speculation.

“Did no one see a roving band of warriors, Duncan?”

The old man shook his head sadly. “I fear not. I confess that I saw smoke in the distance, and suspected it might be the fires of invaders, who’ve been spotted in the hills. But your father had an army of warriors at the keep. I’d have thought them adequate for any threat.”

“As did I.” Andrew nodded. “Alas, I was mistaken, for all have perished.”

“Did no one survive?”

“One.” Andrew removed the rolled parchment from his tunic. “This was left behind.”

Aloud the tavern owner identified the seal. “It is from Fergus Logan, of the north.” In somber tones he read, “We have the mistress of Ross Abbey. You will kneel in submission, or forfeit her life.”

That created an even greater buzz of speculation among the tavern guests.

Duncan’s voice rose above the din. “Your father’s wife is now in the hands of his most hated enemy. How soon will you ride to his stronghold?”

“As quickly as I can raise an army. I’ll need a villager to ride to Edinburgh with a missive to my warriors.”

The tavern owner signaled to a youth, who stepped forward. Andrew scrawled a message on parchment, rolled it and handed it to the youth, along with a coin. “You’re to go directly to Holyroodhouse and ask for Drymen MacLean.”

“Aye.” The lad pocketed the coin and hurried out the door.

Andrew gave a weary sigh. “The lady and I require a meal to refresh ourselves, Duncan.” He glanced down at the soot staining his hands and tunic. “We’ll also need rooms for the night, and water to bathe.”

The innkeeper shouted for a serving wench. Minutes later a pink-cheeked lass hurried over. “Blythe will show you to your sleeping chambers, and will see that you have water for bathing.” He nodded toward a small, private room off to one side. “You’ll find your meal awaiting you there whenever you’re ready.”

Andrew pressed some gold coins into the man’s hand. “Also, if you could provide us with some clean garments, the lady and I would be grateful.”

The tavern owner studied the gold and chuckled. “For this much you could have the clothes off our backs.”

Andrew managed a weak smile. “That won’t be necessary, Duncan. Just so they’re clean and warm, until our own garments can be washed.”

“Blythe will see to it.” The older man turned to the wench. “After you show the gentleman and lady to their chambers, find my wife in the kitchen and tell her what they require.”

The servant gave a quick nod of her head before leading the way up the stairs.

On the second floor she paused to open a door and stepped aside, saying, “I hope this room suits the lady.”

Andrew looked around, noting the clean bed linens, and a cozy fire burning on the hearth. He arched a brow at Gwenellen, who nodded her approval.

“This is fine. You’ll see to some warm water and clean clothes for the lady?”

“Aye, sir.” She stepped out and led the way to a room across the hall. “Will this suit you?”

In his weariness he barely glanced at it. “It will be fine. Thank you.”

When his door closed, Gwenellen stepped inside her room and moved slowly around, standing on tiptoe to peek out the high narrow window at a small garden below. Then she moved to the fire, pausing to extend her hands to the heat. Minutes later a knock on the door announced the arrival of several servants bearing a small round tub and buckets of warm water, as well as an armload of clothing.

When they were gone, Gwenellen removed her soiled clothes and sank gratefully into the warm water. As she soaked away the grime she thought about all that had transpired this day.

Was she meant to stay in this place and offer to help Andrew Ross? Or should she slip into the darkened garden below and attempt a few spells that might return her to the safety of the Mystical Kingdom? Of course, she’d had little luck with spells in the past. The next one might take her to a den of thieves. Or possibly to some distant star. There was no telling where she might land.

At the moment, the wisest choice would seem to be to do nothing. If she remained here, she had an opportunity to use her gifts for good. Gifts that seemed to do her no good at all in her kingdom.

“Oh, Father.” She stood, dripping water, and wrapped herself in linen before stepping from the tub. “Is this where I’m meant to be?”

Just then there was a hiss and snap on the hearth, and Gwenellen looked over to see a puff of smoke rising from the fire. As she watched, the smoke took on the form of her father.

“Welcome to my world, my daughter.” His voice was like the sigh of the wind.

“I’ve seen little of it, but what I’ve seen isn’t so different from our kingdom.”

“There are good people here. And some, as you’ve witnessed by the destruction at Ross Abbey, who are not so good. Though it is not the paradise you left behind, there is great beauty here. It was always my wish that my children would travel comfortably between their world and mine.”

“Then I’m happy to be here, Father, and learn more of your world.” She started toward him, eager to embrace the man she’d learned to love, not only through his visits, but from the tales told her by her mother.

When she reached out her arms, he backed away. “My greatest regret is that I have never been able to hold you, my child.”

His image faded, leaving nothing but a wisp of smoke, drifting toward the ceiling. And the lingering scent of her father that filled her with an odd sense of peace. For now, at least, she would do as her father wished and remain in this strange new land. And pray that it would prove to be less forbidding than her first glimpse had shown it to be.

Chapter Three

D
ressed in a borrowed gown of bleached wool, and wearing a threadbare shawl around her shoulders, Gwenellen made her way down the stairs toward the small dining room. Inside she found Andrew Ross standing alone, staring into the flames of the fire. In his hand was a tankard of ale. When he turned toward her, she could see the pain of grief in his eyes. She found herself wondering what it would be like to find all those she loved dead upon her return. It was too horrible to contemplate, and she wished with all her heart that she could ease his suffering.

He quickly pulled himself together and struggled to be civil. “Will you have some ale to warm you, my lady?”

“Aye. Thank you.” She waited while he filled a tankard and handed it to her.

When their fingers brushed, she absorbed the quick rush of heat and looked up with alarm. Had he felt it, too? She’d never felt anything like this in her kingdom. It must be something that could only be experienced in the mortal world.

He was already turning away, making it impossible to look into his eyes. She watched as he walked to the fireplace and stood in silence.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The words seemed so inadequate, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

When he remained silent she cleared her throat. “Were you gone from your home a long time?”

He lifted his head and seemed to struggle to pull himself back from a dark place within. “I left the Highlands for Edinburgh less than a fortnight ago.”

“What took you to Edinburgh?”

“I received a missive from the queen requesting my company at court.” He spoke almost to himself. “It’s as though my enemies were merely waiting for me to leave, in order to do their deeds.”