The dream shifted. She stood in a large room surrounded
by numerous people, very medieval people. No, something wrong with that
analogy. It was as if they were actually from an era long before medieval .
They were draped in heavy furs over leather type leggings and drank from horns
and wooden tankards. The men here looked barbaric . The women too wore
leggings, others opted for heavy wool-looking gowns. Everyone’s mode of
dress, peculiar. Aunsgar nodded to her, though he seemed different.
Very different. His gaze narrowed, watching her intently. He said
something to Urkani, the commander taking interest in her, his eyes soft,
caressing. Just as quickly, he hardened his countenance. Chatter ceased when
everyone noticed her presence, an uncomfortable silence following her as she
trailed a young man, knowing his name to be Owen. Broc turned, scowling
at them both. Shocking! Even in her dream, he was displeased by her
presence. His clothing too was strange, yet familiar. Shirtless,
snug legging, leather yet not, and hand sewn boots just over his knees.
Dark blue body art covered his torso, crescent moon again on his cheek.
Reignsfeugh sauntered closer to the laird, swirly tattoos encompassing his
massive shoulders. Garreck paled, nervously eyeing the laird. Too
young to feel the shift in atmosphere, even though she grappled his
paint-stained tunic, Owen pulled free, bounding towards Broc like an eager
puppy. Settling his burden down, the eager-to-please lad removed the
oilskin.
Broc stiffened.
Surrounding occupants
shuffled. Titters and whispers hummed like summer insects.
Following his lead, the clan glared. One woman, dressed in gowns of
velvet and fur, saddled closer to Broc, lacing her arm around his, splaying her
other hand possessively on his bare chest. Jealousy and resentment coursed
through Emily. He lowered his head, placing his ear next to the woman’s
whisper. He laughed and squeezed her to him.
“Take it from mi’ sight,” he commanded
in a vicious whisper, nostrils flaring with fury.
Emily saw herself transferring
belongings into a solitary solar. Aunsgar called from the door, softly
knocking. He was unable to coax entrance. A fortnight of
self-imposed solitude, she emerged. She was brought up short by the
presence of Urkani. He’d been standing guard. In past times, they
had forever quarreled.
“Say but a word and I will end his
miserable life, and that of his whore.”
She smiled her gratitude.
“With but a word, I can end all their miserable lives.” She leaned
closer, dropping her voice. “Making it as if they never existed.”
She snapped her finger for emphasis. Punishing cruel villagers would be
delightful, but pointless. Ignorance followed strong leadership, Broc
being very powerful, very dominating. Again, Emily saw herself grieving
over winter-dying roses, her breath billowing in front of her.
“Are you a goddess?” Little
Maira asked, trotting back when Emily squealed, whirled, and found herself
looking down at a small girl.
“No, I’m just as you,” her borrowed voice answered. She offered a gentle smile to her skittish visitor.
“You frightened me.”
“My kerna says you can do great
magic, like the goddess Danu and like Penarin and you might turn my sister,
Na’Dryn, into a tree nymph to make her go away.”
“Unfortunately, use of my magic is
forbidden until our Elders grant me otherwise, and it’s Pen-dar-in,” Emily
corrected. “Turning your sister into a tree nymph would be too kind.”
“If you use your magic, will you be
yelled at? My kerna yells. She yells at me to be like my
sister.” Maira wrinkled her nose, her cherub lips squinching. “I do
not want to be like my sister. She and our chief squeal in the byre like
the animals . . . “
Maira was too naïve to observe heartache
engulfing Emily over the child’s innocent revelations.
“ . . . if I had
by numerous people, very medieval people. No, something wrong with that
analogy. It was as if they were actually from an era long before medieval .
They were draped in heavy furs over leather type leggings and drank from horns
and wooden tankards. The men here looked barbaric . The women too wore
leggings, others opted for heavy wool-looking gowns. Everyone’s mode of
dress, peculiar. Aunsgar nodded to her, though he seemed different.
Very different. His gaze narrowed, watching her intently. He said
something to Urkani, the commander taking interest in her, his eyes soft,
caressing. Just as quickly, he hardened his countenance. Chatter ceased when
everyone noticed her presence, an uncomfortable silence following her as she
trailed a young man, knowing his name to be Owen. Broc turned, scowling
at them both. Shocking! Even in her dream, he was displeased by her
presence. His clothing too was strange, yet familiar. Shirtless,
snug legging, leather yet not, and hand sewn boots just over his knees.
Dark blue body art covered his torso, crescent moon again on his cheek.
Reignsfeugh sauntered closer to the laird, swirly tattoos encompassing his
massive shoulders. Garreck paled, nervously eyeing the laird. Too
young to feel the shift in atmosphere, even though she grappled his
paint-stained tunic, Owen pulled free, bounding towards Broc like an eager
puppy. Settling his burden down, the eager-to-please lad removed the
oilskin.
Broc stiffened.
Surrounding occupants
shuffled. Titters and whispers hummed like summer insects.
Following his lead, the clan glared. One woman, dressed in gowns of
velvet and fur, saddled closer to Broc, lacing her arm around his, splaying her
other hand possessively on his bare chest. Jealousy and resentment coursed
through Emily. He lowered his head, placing his ear next to the woman’s
whisper. He laughed and squeezed her to him.
“Take it from mi’ sight,” he commanded
in a vicious whisper, nostrils flaring with fury.
Emily saw herself transferring
belongings into a solitary solar. Aunsgar called from the door, softly
knocking. He was unable to coax entrance. A fortnight of
self-imposed solitude, she emerged. She was brought up short by the
presence of Urkani. He’d been standing guard. In past times, they
had forever quarreled.
“Say but a word and I will end his
miserable life, and that of his whore.”
She smiled her gratitude.
“With but a word, I can end all their miserable lives.” She leaned
closer, dropping her voice. “Making it as if they never existed.”
She snapped her finger for emphasis. Punishing cruel villagers would be
delightful, but pointless. Ignorance followed strong leadership, Broc
being very powerful, very dominating. Again, Emily saw herself grieving
over winter-dying roses, her breath billowing in front of her.
“Are you a goddess?” Little
Maira asked, trotting back when Emily squealed, whirled, and found herself
looking down at a small girl.
“No, I’m just as you,” her borrowed voice answered. She offered a gentle smile to her skittish visitor.
“You frightened me.”
“My kerna says you can do great
magic, like the goddess Danu and like Penarin and you might turn my sister,
Na’Dryn, into a tree nymph to make her go away.”
“Unfortunately, use of my magic is
forbidden until our Elders grant me otherwise, and it’s Pen-dar-in,” Emily
corrected. “Turning your sister into a tree nymph would be too kind.”
“If you use your magic, will you be
yelled at? My kerna yells. She yells at me to be like my
sister.” Maira wrinkled her nose, her cherub lips squinching. “I do
not want to be like my sister. She and our chief squeal in the byre like
the animals . . . “
Maira was too naïve to observe heartache
engulfing Emily over the child’s innocent revelations.
“ . . . if I had
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