Sudden tears streamed down her face. How on earth had she come to this in such a short span of time? What she wouldn’t give to be home, working in her gardens, keeping track of Angus. Going out on a simple date to the local pub with Nathan. And yet…and yet, if she was completely honest with herself—something she had carefully avoided until this very moment—she had to admit that she felt something for Bridei. It was something that went beyond admiring his physical beauty or being in awe of who he was as a man. There was an attraction between them that she felt down to her very bones every time he was near; something she had never felt before and so she couldn’t describe it even to herself. She was inexorably drawn to Bridei in a way she had never experienced before with another human being. Even after he had handed her over to his worst enemy—and she wanted so much to hate him for what he had done—somehow she couldn’t. Somehow, sheunderstoodhim. And he had come back for her…he’d come back, when he could have left her there and gone back to Tallorc, knowing she would never bother him again.
After she had washed and the water had cooled, she got out of the tub, dried herself off with the cloth left there for her, and put on the clean tunic someone had laid out on the bed. There was also food and wine on the table. She sat down and ate some of the food, but avoided the wine, just in case Bridei had decided to try toforcethe truth from her again. He wouldn’t have to. She was finally ready to tell it.
It seemed like hours before the door to the room finally opened and he was there. He stood still for a moment and her eyes took him in as if she was looking at him for the very first time. His chest was bare except for a simple linen vest that fell open over muscles honed by constant training. The strange and beautiful tattoos stood out against the tawny color of his skin. His hair was tied back again in a strip of leather, but a few pieces had escaped to frame his face. With a square jaw, full lips, and high cheekbones, he was the very image of wild masculine beauty. At last her eyes met his, and as they did, she felt the world tilt just a little. He shut the door.
“I’ll have the truth from you now.”
The truth was what she planned on telling, but she was terrified of what the consequences might be. If he even believed her, of course. She heaved a little sigh. “Do you promise not to kill me?”
He sat in a chair next to hers, pushing one hand through his hair and causing more strands to come free of their binding. “Gods, lass…what have you done that you think I would kill you for it?”
“You’ve already almost killed me twice”, she pointed out.
“And neither time could I go through with it. I thought you made me weak, but perhaps it isn’t so. Perhaps you’re…meant to be here, and that is why I can’t seem to let you die.”
His eyes searched hers, and Nessa felt a frisson of some vaguely familiar emotion that she couldn’t quite place sweep through her. Almost as if something deep within her recognized something deep within him. She took a breath and stared at her feet for a moment, unsure of how to begin. There was no easy way.
“Do you…do you believe people can move through time?”
Astonishingly, he nodded. “Of course, time is all around us, like the blanket of the sky.”
She was startled. What he said…it was just like what Angus had told her. “But I mean go through it, like from the future to the past.”
He gave her a strange look. “There are certain times and places where the folds draw nearer, and seers can divine the future, or speak with the spirits and ancestors. Is that what you mean lass?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s not what I mean.”
“Then whatdoyou mean?”
Nessa took another deep breath, and started again. “You gave a responsibility to a certain family…to keep the knowledge of your people safe through the ages.”
His eyes narrowed. “Aye, I did. It wasn’t so long ago. But how would you know of that?”
Bridei couldn’t fathom what the lass was trying to tell him. Had she come here from the spirit world? Is that how she knew about the scrolls he had given to Domnall? Had she been the one to urge Meara to see it done?
“You wish to speak with me, Meara?”
“Aye, Bridei, I do. The spirits have been talking to me, whispering of things to come; of preparations to be made.”
Bridei gestured to a chair near the fire, sturdy and piled with richly embroidered pillows stuffed with lamb’s wool. “Then sit, and tell me.”
He sat in another chair, opposite Meara, and leaned forward expectantly, elbows on his knees. The priestess rarely asked to speak with him alone, unless it was important.
“There will be a battle soon”, she began.
He nodded. “Aye.” There must be. He looked forward to it, even now. He had been laying the groundwork and carefully planning it for nearly two years.
“If our side should lose…”
“We will not lose.Iwill not lose!” His nostrils flared and he sat taller, certain of his victory. He had to be certain, because losing this battle would mean losing everything he had worked so hard to gain. It was unacceptable.
“Of course not”, Meara soothed. “But every good king has assurances in place, even when victory is written in stone. He must prepare for the worst, even in the face of triumph and prosperity. He must always protect that which he has fought so hard to defend. The spirits are adamant that you do this; your destiny depends on it.”
Bridei relaxed his posture a bit; he trusted the wise woman, and had always valued her advice. “What would you have me do? What have the spirits told you, woman?”
Meara sat back in her chair, confident that she had the King’s full attention. “Our people are ancient. We have made our home in these lands far longer than any others, both our peaceful allies and the enemies that would kill us and take what is ours. Many people have come, and many more will. Things will change…we will change, and as our youth find mates among foreign tribes and new ideas are traded for old, we will lose much of what makes us unique. Our language, our customs, the knowledge of the ages we have lived on this earth, it will slowly disappear.”
His brow furrowed; he knew she was right. He’d already seen it happening, in small ways. Already many of his people spoke Gaelic as well as Pictish. It pained him to imagine that their beautiful culture might one day be so changed that he wouldn’t even recognize it.
