Highland Raven by Melanie Karsak Page B

veins? All my life I was told, and I knew from my father, that I was the kin of Kenneth MacAlpin, the great hero of Alba, the man who had quelled the Picts, united the clans, a High King of Scotland. I was a MacAlpin. But to what other family did I belong? Why did no one ever speak of it? Maybe, my mother and father both gone, no one knew anymore. The thought saddened me.
    Between playing songs, the men talked of their travels and gave us news of the outside world. Through them I learned that King Malcolm was busy fighting King Magnus of Norway from his shores and was at odds with Lord Thorfinn over the ownership of the northern-most provinces of Scotland. To the south, English King Cnut was fighting amongst his own people and lesser lords who had risen against him. Unsurprisingly, the affairs of men were the same as always.
    Bride poured ale for the men and laughed as they flirted teasingly with her.
    “You lads would be surprised,” she told them. “I am, after all, named Bride. Why do you think they gave the name of the loveliest maidens to me? When I was their age,” she said, motioning to Gwendelofar and me, “you would have lined up to woo me.”
    “I’ll still form a line!” Brant exclaimed.
    “Can you even see your cock over that belly?” Bride asked, causing everyone to burst out laughing, Bergen spitting his ale out his nose.
    The day wore on and by the time the second party of men arrived, everyone was quite drunk, myself included.
    “One of the last bands of Druids,” Aridmis said when Epona went to greet them.
    I raised an eyebrow at her. “One of?”
    “There are more…small, secret groups. Their order is all but done, but when they can, they still guide kings…and queens,” she said, casting a glance at me.
    I watched them dismount, my eyes resting on the youngest of them, a man maybe five years older than myself. He was tall, nicely built, and his brownish-red hair simmered in the light of the fire. Moments later I found myself on my feet, joining Epona to meet them. I felt almost like some force had snared me and pulled me—to him.
    “Ah, Cerridwen, this is Balor. He is an Arch Druid,” Epona introduced. Balor was a thin, bald-headed man who wore long gray robes. His eyes matched their stormy color.
    Balor looked closely at me. “My Lady,” he said with sincerity.
    I understood then that he knew who I was, who I really was, but I knew my secret would be safe with such a man. I had never been in the presence of an Arch Druid before. The enormity of his title struck me deeply. “An honor,” I said.
    Balor nodded kindly toward me.
    “These are Balor’s students. Calean, I know,” Epona said, introducing me to a young man with long, straight black hair. She turned to the young, handsome druid. “And Lord Banquo, isn’t it?” Epona asked.
    “I’ll leave the titles to my father. Here, I’m just a servant of the ancient ones,” Banquo said, motioning to the small tattoo of a stag’s head on his brow. Such designs were frowned upon by the priests of the White Christ, but the worshippers of the old ways would know the symbol. A man could only receive the mark of the stag after being initiated in the rites of Cernunnos, the Lord of the Forest. “Just Banquo, please,” he told Epona, but I couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were on me.
    I smiled at him as I eyed him over. His muscular arms were tattooed with the swirling Pictish designs of animals, trees, leaves, and birds. Banquo’s skin was tanned from hours in the sun. His brown hair, touched lightly with red, curled softly around his face. He was the most handsome man I had even seen…save, perhaps, the black-haired man in my visions.
    Banquo’s dark eyes met mine. He winked playfully at me.
    I looked away, surprised to feel my cheeks redden.
    “Cerridwen, perhaps Banquo would like some wine?” Epona suggested then left us, escorting Balor and Calean to the other side of the fire.
    “Please,” I said to Banquo,