Ulla had first come tole Château de Landucwhen she was twelve years old. Her parents, Viking descendants from Normandy, had sent their young daughter to study under the unparalleled tutelage of Laudine, the renowned Lady of the Sacred Spring andchâtelaineof the famed medieval castle. As the highest ranking Priestess of Dana—Goddess of the Earth and embodiment of Mother Nature—Laudine practiced the traditional arts of Celtic healing, using the curative properties of the sacred elements of water, forest, and stone. Here in the Castle of Landuc, nestled in the dense Forest of Brocéliande, Laudine taught young women to becomeguérisseueses celtiques, or capable Celtic healers.
And Ulla was undoubtedly the most gifted of them all.
While living inle Château de Landuc, studying herbal medicine in the Breton heart of the sacred forest, Ulla had been spared from the devastating illness that had claimed the lives of her entire family.
Laudine and her husband Esclados le Ros had subsequently sheltered Ulla in their castle, caring for her throughout adolescence, sharing the joy of her youthful exuberance, sublime singing voice, and extraordinary musical talent with the harp while watching her blossom into a beautiful young woman and exceptionally talented healer.
But tragically—for the second time in her young life—Ulla had returned home to Landuc.
To heal her grievously wounded heart.
“I’ve prepared us a pot of chamomile tea. Here, let me have those herbs while you join me in the alcove.” Laudine took the straw basket from Ulla and set it upon the kitchen counter. She returned to the small nook where the dark-haired priestess with deep green eyes and a haunting smile sat at the rectangular oak table, the grey wolf Vill—the Norwegian word for fierce—lying protectively on the castle floor at Ulla’s side.
Laudine poured and served two cups oftisane, placing the steaming teapot on the table between them as she settled into the walnut chair across from Ulla. She took a sip of the fragrant herbal tea, the slightly sweet flavor of honey lingering on her tongue as she hesitantly broached the delicate subject.
“My Yuletide wish is to have all three of my sons home for the holiday season.” Laudine eyed Ulla over the rim of her ceramic cup, noting the younger woman’s sorrowful smile and downturned gaze. “Bastien and his wife Gabrielle will be here, with their four children. And Lukaz, of course. He’s six years old now…such a delightful little boy. It breaks my heart that his father—my wayward son Cardin—has never even seen his own child. The son he’s scorned since birth.” Laudine glanced out the window at the ripe wild plums on the abundant trees along the edge of the forest behind the castle, reminiscing about the shattered son she so desperately longed to see.How he loved wild plum tarts as a little boy…She smiled at the nostalgic memory, then returned her attention to Ulla.“For the past six years, I’ve begged him to come home for the Yuletide season, but he adamantly refuses to return to Bretagne. Cardin wants no part of his painful past. And that, dear Ulla, is why I need your assistance.”
Ulla’s inquisitive eyes—virid as the verdant forest—searched Laudine’s face. Her dark brows lifted, forming the unspoken question.How can I help?
“I pray the Goddess will forgive me for the necessary lie, but I plan to feign a serious illness. With you as my healer, we’ll convince everyone that I don’t have much longer to live. I’ll insist that my three sons come home to grant their mother’s final request—to see them one last time before her impending demise.” Laudine grinned conspiratorially at Ulla’s astonished expression. “But you and I shall know the real reason for the ruse. To force Cardin home for the Yuletide holidays. And reunite father and son at long last.”
Ulla’s tragically beautiful face stretched into a glorious smile. Dark green eyes sparkling like rare emeralds, the gifted healer sipped her chamomile tea and nodded in silent, eager agreement.
Like the fragile wings of a lark, hope fluttered softly in Laudine’s loving heart.
Chapter 3
Basati
The salty brine of the ocean breeze and the squawk of seagulls roused Cardin de Landuc from a groggy, drunken sleep. He groaned as he tried to lift his throbbing head off the pillow. One of his eyes was swollen shut, so he could only peer at his surroundings from the corner of the other. He recognized the wooden table and two chairs against the stone wall. The empty bed near the exit door belonged to his older brother Gaultier. He was in his own bedroom inle Château de Montmarin.
Gaultier must have dragged him home from the tavern last night.
Again.
Like he’d done nearly every night since they’d come to Aquitaine six years ago.
A burning wound on his face reminded him of last night’s drunken fight. He’d been gambling on dice, as usual, and had won several rounds ofpasse-dixwhen his opponent—an ornery shipping merchant named Andoni Zilar—had accused him of cheating and swung his fist into Cardin’s jaw.
A few pirates and fishermen had joined in the fray, knocking down chairs and breaking glasses, when Zilar drew his jagged knife.
And—as an inebriated Cardin fought ineffectively to defend himself—carved a wicked gash in his left cheek.
Cardin couldn’t remember anything after that.I must have passed out on the table. Or been hit hard by one of Zilar’s thugs.
Cardin moaned as he rolled onto his back, his aching body battered and bruised. Dried blood adhered the pillow covering to the garish knife wound on his maimed face. His mouth was parched, and he desperately needed water.
And the chamber pot on the castle floor.
“Egun on,mon frère.It’s about time you woke up.” Gaultier spoke amélangeof the Basque dialect and their native French as he greeted his suffering, scarred brother. “I have a healer coming to treat your wounds. Here, drink this.” He poured a large mug of watered ale from a pitcher and handed it to Cardin, who gulped it down greedily.
“I need to piss.” A naked Cardin rose unsteadily to his feet and relieved himself in the chamber pot. When he’d finished, he scanned the room with his one good eye. “Where are my clothes?”
“They were covered in vomit, piss, and blood. I wanted to burn them, but the chambermaid insisted on washing them in the river. For now, you can wear these.” Gaultier indicated a clean tunic and breeches lying on the adjacent bed. “Afterthe healer treats you.”
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. At the entrance stood an older man with long grey hair and scraggly beard, holding a satchel of herbs. “Egun on. I’m Lasko, the healer you summoned.”
With a wave of his hand, Gaultier beckoned the man to enter. He indicated Cardin, sitting on the edge of the bed. “My brother was in a fight last night. At the Drunken Crow. A group of pirates attacked him, and one of them slashed his face. Can you stitch him up?”
