Laudine smiled down upon her Little Wolf, stroking his soft chestnut hair, as Ulla retrieved the sprig of mistletoe from the bodice of her gown. Accepting the berry-laden twig from her former protégée, Laudine remarked, “Mistletoe. Sacred plant of the Druids.”
Mouth agape, Lukaz exhaled in audible astonishment.
“Every Yuletide season, Druids search the Forest of Brocéliande for a mistletoe plant such as this,” Laudine exclaimed, placing the precious twig in Lukaz’ flattened palm. “Once they find it, they tell the Archdruid Odin, who leads the group to the oak tree for the sacred ritual calledla cérémonie du gui.” She beamed at his rapt, awestruck expression. “Odin spreads a white cloth on the ground, and a young, agile Druid climbs the tree and cuts the mistletoe with a special gold sickle. He climbs back down, and Odin gives a portion of the plant to each Druid, to distribute among all the families in our village. We hang the mistletoe over the entrance of our homes. In that way, the sacred plant, tree, and forest—blessings of the Goddess Dana herself—guide and protect us for a prosperous New Year.”
Lukaz reverently studied the shiny green leaves and white berries cradled in his hand.
“I thinkyoushould be the one to show Odin where you found the sacred plant. He will be very grateful. Perhaps he’ll even let you be part of the ceremony, since you were the one who found the mistletoe.” Laudine hugged her stunned grandson.
“I can lead the Archdruid Odin to the oak tree?” Lukaz’ incredulous voice was a breathless whisper. He glanced at Ulla, whose dark green eyes glistened like emeralds in the golden light of the afternoon sun. “But Lady Ulla found the mistletoe plant.Sheshould be the one to lead the Archdruid there, not me.”
Laudine smiled at the lovely, dark-haired priestess. “Well, I’m sure you canbothtake Odin to the mistletoe plant. After all, you were with Ulla when she found it. That makes you her partner, doesn’t it?”
As Lukaz launched himself into Laudine’s loving embrace, the sound of horses’ hooves, men’s voices, and shouting servants caused a commotion at the front of the castle.
Breathless with excitement, Maëlys came running into the kitchen nook, panting with exertion. “Madame, they’re just arrived from Aquitaine! Your two sons—and their knights fromle Château de Montmarinin Biarritz.” Cheeks flushed, ample bosom heaving, the plump servant delivered the thrilling news.
“Sir Gaultier and Sir Cardin have come home to Brocéliande!”
Chapter 10
Return to Brocéliande
Eight weeks in the saddle, stopping at night to set up tents, sleeping on the hard, unyielding ground. Sweltering heat in the summer sun, torrential rain and wind, treacherous slippery trails. By the Goddess, he’d be glad to sleep in a bed for the first time in two torturous months. As he and Gaultier approached the familiar forest surroundingle Château de Landuc, Cardin was inundated with a fond flood of childhood memories.
Hunting with his older brothers, Gaultier and Bastien. Practicing archery in the dense Breton woods. Felling his first stag. Developing equestrian skills with SirLancelot du Lac, the trio of brothers spending each summer as lads training with the illustrious First Knight of King Arthur Pendragon. With Lancelot now a close friend as well as former mentor, his brother Bastien brought Gunnar and Haldar—the two oldest of Cardin’s three nephews—tola Joyeuse Gardeevery summer solstice for the same purpose.
Guilt washed over him as he thought of his own son.
Lukaz.
Cardin had never even seen his boy, let alone trained him or taken him to Lancelot’s famous white castle in southern Bretagne.
He’s better off living with Bastien and Gabrielle inle Château de Beaufort. When he turns seven—this Winter Solstice—he’ll be old enough to begin the training to become a knight. Bastien can bring Lukaz along with Gunnar and Haldar next summer to Lancelot’s castle. The three cousins can all train together. Lukaz is far better off without me, a compulsive gambler who wagers his winnings and brawls in every tavern in town. A drunken sot who drowns his guilt in goblets of golden mead. No, I can never be a decent father. I’m no longer a decent man.
In the distance, the enormous barbican defense towers ofle Château de Landucrose like impenetrable pillars above the massive oak, birch, and fir trees of the Forest of Brocéliande. As their entourage approached, the watchtower guard—recognizing Gaultier and Cardin, two of the three sons of Lord Esclados le Ros and the Lady Laudine,châtelainsof the imposing fortress—lowered the drawbridge over the moat, allowing them entrance into the castle bailey.
Quentin, Master of Horse, greeted the arriving travelers, accompanied by his assistant Argant and half a dozen stable hands. As the riders dismounted and handed the reins to the capable grooms, Cardin spotted his father, whose vigorous stride, hearty grin, and firm handshake reflected both his physical strength and parental pride.
“Bienvenue, mes fils. Welcome home, my sons.” He clasped Gaultier’s broad shoulders in a warm, paternal embrace. When he turned to Cardin, tears brimmed in his dark, expressive eyes. “It’s been far too long. Your mother will be overjoyed to see you. And grateful that you heeded her call to come home.” Brawny arms gripped Cardin in a tight, affectionate bear hug.
Conflicting emotions assailed him.
Guilt. Grief. Shame. Joy.
And when he looked over his father’s broad shoulder and saw the adoring amber eyes of his beloved mother, Cardin’s knees nearly buckled from the blinding impact.
Wordlessly—as if too overwhelmed to speak—hismamanwrapped her loving arms around him, resting her head over his thunderously pounding heart.
And he—the broken son, floundering in a tumultuous sea of sorrow and shame—was a little boy once again in the comforting cradle of her maternal embrace. Shuddering and shaking, he succumbed. And melted in his mother’s loving arms.
She cushioned Cardin’s head upon her shoulder, resting a soft cheek against his bristled one as she tenderly stroked his long, thick hair. “I’m so very glad you’ve come home. I’ve missed you terribly,mon fils.Je t’aime. I love you, son. As big as the sky.”
As big as the sky. Maman always said that when we were young. Her love for her three sons was infinite. Endless. Eternal.
Cardin lifted his head and gazed down at her tender, tear-streaked face. Glorious auburn hair, interwoven with streaks of silver, was gilded by the golden sun. Regret and remorse throttled him in a choking, smothering vise.
Why did I stay away so long? I’ve missed her so much, yet always denied it. And now, I’ve finally come home. Just in time to say goodbye. By the Goddess, I’ve been a fool. Please, let me make it up to her. In whatever time we have left.
