Morag stood beneath her mauve velvet draperies, staring out the window of her royal chambers at the lush green grass, the distant dense forest, the morning sun peeking through the scattered clouds across the summer sky.
She missed the Morholt. He’d been gone for three years now, amassing his powerful army. Building an unstoppable fleet ofdrakkarwarships. Transforming Dubh Linn into a formidable Viking stronghold. Launching lucrative slave expeditions to batter and weaken King Marke of Cornwall. Preparing for the invasion which would bring her the Cornish crown.
She touched the amethysts at the base of her throat. Imagined his full lips and skilled tongue ravishing her neck. Her breasts. Her entire body. A deep ache throbbed in her loins.
As tantalizing thoughts of the Morholt washed over her, Lord Liam rode the dappled gray mare out onto the courtyard greens below her window. Morag scoffed, jolted out of her sensual reverie.
She eyed the Master of Horse, her lip raised disdainfully. In the four years since Issylte’s death, King Donnchadh’s only interest was that damned horse. He cared for nothing else. He refused to leave his bedroom, neglected his royal duties, and rejected nearly all visitors. As if the palfrey alone kept his daughter alive in his withered, empty heart. Morag stormed away in disgust. A trail of simpering servants followed her to the throne room to await her invited guest.
The disgruntled queen took her seat upon the gilded throne, tufted in rich deep green velvet, flanked by royal banners displaying the great white hawk of Castle Connaught. Six royal guards in finest livery stood attentively at her sides, their swords gleaming in the sunlight which shone from the massive ogival windows behind her along the eastern wall. When the herald’s trumpet announced his arrival, Morag straightened her regal spine, smoothed the voluminous folds of her sapphire gown, and assessed the appearance of the expected visitor who waited at the entrance door.
He was as tall as the Morholt, and though he lacked the massive warrior bulk of her beloved Black Knight, his shoulders were broad and his step nimble as he entered the room and knelt before her. A luxurious mane of thick black hair covered his bowed head, his elegant hands revealing long, slender fingers that exuded skill and strength. At her command, he rose to his feet, rippling the room with an aura of power. His lean, narrow face was balanced by an aquiline nose and full lips, filled with promise. Morag inhaled sharply at the sight of his startling eyes, golden and glowing like a luminous dragon of legend. A wicked thrill shivered deliciously up her spine.
“Lord Voldurk. I welcome you to Castle Connaught.” She lifted her chin to expose her swanlike neck, straightening her back so the velvet gathered bodice of her sapphire gown could fully accentuate her feminine curves.
“I am at your service, Your Majesty.” Golden eyes gleamed in the gilded light.
“I am told that you are an Archdruid who studied with Lord Merlin, the Royal Advisor to King Arthur Pendragon.”
“Yes, my queen. InBretagne, in northwestern France. Deep in the enchanted Forest of Brocéliande.”
Morag dazzled him with the brilliance of her most regal smile. “You have the reputation of being a great healer. Awizard of tremendous power.” She glanced up at him from lowered lashes, raising her eyes seductively. “I am in need of a Royal Advisor to treat my husband, King Donnchadh, whose health has declined dramatically since the death of his daughter four years ago. The king is withdrawn, melancholy, and unresponsive. I need a medical advisor to undertake his care, to expel the evil humors which plague and sicken him.” She smoothed the soft velvet folds of her deep blue gown, then gazed at the darkly handsome wizard with golden, mesmerizing eyes. “Lord Voldurk, I should like to offer you that position. What say you?”
The wizard’s white teeth sparkled against his bronzed skin. “I am deeply honored, Your Majesty. I gratefully accept the position as Royal Advisor to the Queen.”
Morag grinned with wicked glee. “Excellent. You shall have your own chambers, my lord. Anything you need is at your disposal. Herbs, elixirs, ointments. Potions,poisons.” As her eyes locked with his, Morag saw the glow of comprehension gleam in his serpentine eyes.
“Thank you, my queen. You are most generous.” He bowed majestically, his black robes rustling upon the polished, wooden floor.
Morag motioned for two servants to approach. “These attendants will usher you to your quarters. They will see to your needs, help you to settle in and make yourself comfortable. Inform them of any request. I shall send for you in an hour. You’ll accompany me to my husband’s royal chambers. There, I shall introduce you to the king, and you will have the opportunity to examine him and advise me of your plan of treatment. You are dismissed, Lord Voldurk.” She nodded to the servants, who led the dark wizard from the throne room. Ripples of power shimmered in the air.
Morag shivered with delight. Perhaps she had found an enchanting bedwarmer until the Morholt returned. A golden dragon to breathe fire into her icy veins. A wizard whose magic touch would fill her hollow ache.
And enable her to wear the sole crown of Ireland.
Chapter 15
Deirdre
Maiwenn promised Issylte they would inquire in the village of any recent news of the castle after the disturbing vision of her father covered with leeches, the ominous man in black, and the wicked queen standing beside the bed-ridden king. The yellow eyes of a snake haunted Issylte’s dreams as much as the chilling numbness of her stepmother’s icy hands. She was desperate to hear news of her father as they headed into town.
They chatted with several merchants as they bartered for provisions. They heard rumors that the king had been quite ill since his daughter’s death. That the worried queen had sent for a powerful healer, who had administered potent remedies and numerous bloodlettings, all to no avail. Some even said—although never too loudly, for one dared not speak against the queen—that the healer, Lord Voldurk, was more of a dark wizard than a physician and was likely the queen’s lover as well as her spiritual advisor.
As they entered the blacksmith shop, Issylte noticed that Branoc was occupied, showing a new plow to a farmer, but that Deirdre was greeting customers from behind the counter. Maiwenn kissed her grandson’s wife on each cheek in greeting—la biseof her nativeBretagne.
“Good morning, Dee! How are you today, dear?” Maiwenn said cheerfully.
“I’m fine, thank you,Mamie. Branoc’s busy at the moment, but he’ll be over shortly to say hello. We’ve had quite a fewcustomers this morning, and with the warmer weather, lots of new orders, especially for weapons and armor. It seems like every week, there’s dozens of knights comin’ in, needin’ their horses shod, or some chain mail for their squires, or a fancy shield. Branoc is even takin’ on an engraver, to do the gold and silver inlays on the shields for the wealthier knights. Business is good, and we are indeed grateful. At least we’ll be able to pay the new taxes that the queen is imposin’. Most folks are havin’ a real hard time of it, I hear.”
Branoc, wiping his hands on his apron, came over to greet Maiwenn and Issylte, kissing them both on each cheek with a friendly grin. “It’s good to see you, Mamie and Églantine! I’m sorry I don’t have much time for a visit now, but I’ll come by the cottage soon and have a look at your fence. I noticed there’s a section that’s rusted and will need replacin’.”
When another customer needed his attention, Branoc excused himself, kissed the two women once again, and returned to work. Maiwenn and Issylte kissed Deirdre goodbye, promising to stop in again next Saturday, and left the blacksmith shop to return home to their stone cottage in the woods.
That evening, Issylte was in the kitchen preparing a mushroomomelettewith fresh spinach for their supper, when she saw Maiwenn quietly and surreptitiously leave the cottage. Intrigued, Issylte glanced out the front window to see hertatiespeaking urgently with four small men. Taking in their dark, weathered skin, their otherworldly faces, the homespun clothing in the dark green and brown colors of the forest, Issylte realized that these were theLittle Folk,who hadleft the trail oféglantinesto help her find the way to Maiwenn’s cottage.
The woodland creatures were listening intently, nodding in comprehension, as if Maiwenn were conveying a message of utmost importance. They quickly disappeared, and Issylte watched as Maiwenn brushed off her apron and straightenedher dress, perhaps to regain her composure before entering the cottage.
Issylte rushed back to the kitchen to resume chopping the mushrooms. After Maiwenn had come in, closed and latched the front door, Issylte asked, “Where did you go,Tatie?”
