or the lid may fall and break them off,” I threatened.
“Or would you rather I look into your trunk?” I continued. “I see you riding away from a hovel where two children and a man slept softly, unknowingly, inside while you abandoned them. Your own children, your family, left behind…what kind of woman are you ?” I said, my voice full of venom. I pulled my hand from her grasp.
Druanne paled.
“How does it feel to have someone draw from the well of your mind? Perhaps, all these years, when you have stolen from other people without them inviting, you have been trespassing on a sacred ground. See how it feels, Margaret? Is it kindness? Is it right? No. It is harm. Despite all your pompous piousness, you are no better than the priests of the White Christ.”
Druanne slid to the floor.
It was Scotia who had given me the images, given me Druanne’s secrets.
“How do you know those things?” she whispered.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said and rose. “You are my sister. Treat me with the same respect that you ask for yourself, and we shall get along just fine,” I said. Extending my good hand, I helped the tall woman to her feet.
Druanne looked shaken. “I apologize,” she said, her voice quivering.
I squeezed her hand tightly, a bit too tightly. “Never again.”
She shook her head. “No, never again.”
I let her go. “Thank you for the mend,” I said, looking at my bandaged hand.
“No, thank you,” she replied absently as I turned and left her house.
I stepped outside then leaned against Druanne’s door. I closed my eyes. My head thundered with the sound of raven’s wings, and rage made my hands shake. My anger came too quick, too ready. I took a deep breath and quieted the raven inside me.
Chapter 11
A party of five men rode into the coven . Their rough and brawny appearance made it seem as though we were being invaded by Vikings. But they were the bards of the north, handsome men more built for warfare than music. Each man carried an instrument strapped to his back; some carried a battle axe or a sword as well.
Epona rushed to greet them while Uald helped with their horses.
“Cerridwen?” Epona called.
I crossed the yard to join her.
“This is Bergen,” Epona said, introducing me to a fair-haired giant with a harp strapped across his back, “He is the chief bard amongst this group.” Bergen’s long locks were braided at the temples. He also wore braids in his beard. He had swirling tattoos around his forehead and down his arms.
“My Lord,” I said with a curtsey.
“My my, a Lady amongst your flock, Epona?” he said with a smile.
She smiled in reply but said nothing.
Gwendelofar joined us. “He-hello,” she stammered meekly.
Bergen smiled at her. “Good morrow to you, Mistress. Men, where are your manners? Come meet Epona’s new sisters,” he called to the others, introducing us to Brant, Ivar, Frey, and Sigurd in turn.
The bards bowed to us.
“Ladies, we shall have music tonight!” Brant, a dark-haired bard with a beard that stretched to his belly said as he strummed his lute. “Praise be to the gods!”
The bard introduced as Sigurd, a tall man with fiery red hair and deep blue eyes, laughed. “If you’re not passed out by nightfall!” He then smiled toward Uald and leaned in toward Gwendelofar and me, “I’d recite you fine ladies a romantic ballad, but Uald finds them dull,” he said teasingly.
“Love poetry is dull,” Uald replied, just barely hiding her smile, then headed off to the barn with the horses. “Sing about battle,” she called with a laugh.
“Are you sure she isn’t a raven goddess?” Frey, who had a drum strapped on his back, asked Epona.
It was my turn to laugh.
“Perhaps these ladies are more romantically-minded?” Ivar, a slim man whose bald head was covered in tattoos, said to Gwendelofar and me.
Gwendelofar smiled kindly at Ivar then turned to Sigurd. “I would like to hear,”’ she said but blushed and looked
“Or would you rather I look into your trunk?” I continued. “I see you riding away from a hovel where two children and a man slept softly, unknowingly, inside while you abandoned them. Your own children, your family, left behind…what kind of woman are you ?” I said, my voice full of venom. I pulled my hand from her grasp.
Druanne paled.
“How does it feel to have someone draw from the well of your mind? Perhaps, all these years, when you have stolen from other people without them inviting, you have been trespassing on a sacred ground. See how it feels, Margaret? Is it kindness? Is it right? No. It is harm. Despite all your pompous piousness, you are no better than the priests of the White Christ.”
Druanne slid to the floor.
It was Scotia who had given me the images, given me Druanne’s secrets.
“How do you know those things?” she whispered.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said and rose. “You are my sister. Treat me with the same respect that you ask for yourself, and we shall get along just fine,” I said. Extending my good hand, I helped the tall woman to her feet.
Druanne looked shaken. “I apologize,” she said, her voice quivering.
I squeezed her hand tightly, a bit too tightly. “Never again.”
She shook her head. “No, never again.”
I let her go. “Thank you for the mend,” I said, looking at my bandaged hand.
“No, thank you,” she replied absently as I turned and left her house.
I stepped outside then leaned against Druanne’s door. I closed my eyes. My head thundered with the sound of raven’s wings, and rage made my hands shake. My anger came too quick, too ready. I took a deep breath and quieted the raven inside me.
Chapter 11
A party of five men rode into the coven . Their rough and brawny appearance made it seem as though we were being invaded by Vikings. But they were the bards of the north, handsome men more built for warfare than music. Each man carried an instrument strapped to his back; some carried a battle axe or a sword as well.
Epona rushed to greet them while Uald helped with their horses.
“Cerridwen?” Epona called.
I crossed the yard to join her.
“This is Bergen,” Epona said, introducing me to a fair-haired giant with a harp strapped across his back, “He is the chief bard amongst this group.” Bergen’s long locks were braided at the temples. He also wore braids in his beard. He had swirling tattoos around his forehead and down his arms.
“My Lord,” I said with a curtsey.
“My my, a Lady amongst your flock, Epona?” he said with a smile.
She smiled in reply but said nothing.
Gwendelofar joined us. “He-hello,” she stammered meekly.
Bergen smiled at her. “Good morrow to you, Mistress. Men, where are your manners? Come meet Epona’s new sisters,” he called to the others, introducing us to Brant, Ivar, Frey, and Sigurd in turn.
The bards bowed to us.
“Ladies, we shall have music tonight!” Brant, a dark-haired bard with a beard that stretched to his belly said as he strummed his lute. “Praise be to the gods!”
The bard introduced as Sigurd, a tall man with fiery red hair and deep blue eyes, laughed. “If you’re not passed out by nightfall!” He then smiled toward Uald and leaned in toward Gwendelofar and me, “I’d recite you fine ladies a romantic ballad, but Uald finds them dull,” he said teasingly.
“Love poetry is dull,” Uald replied, just barely hiding her smile, then headed off to the barn with the horses. “Sing about battle,” she called with a laugh.
“Are you sure she isn’t a raven goddess?” Frey, who had a drum strapped on his back, asked Epona.
It was my turn to laugh.
“Perhaps these ladies are more romantically-minded?” Ivar, a slim man whose bald head was covered in tattoos, said to Gwendelofar and me.
Gwendelofar smiled kindly at Ivar then turned to Sigurd. “I would like to hear,”’ she said but blushed and looked
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