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Prologue
I’ve been
defamed. The Bard of Avon dubbed me a villainess, an angry, evil murderess. I’m
forever painted as an ambitious, blood-hungry queen. They’d have you take me
for a mad woman. Slander. Small men tell lies. Poets tell half-truths. Maybe I
am a bit mad, but who wouldn’t be after all I have seen? Regardless, I don’t
want you to believe such deceits. I don’t want my name to go down in the
annuals of times with such epitaphs. My name. What is my name? Have you ever
heard it? Did your professor of English ever utter it? My name is quite the
mystery. My father gave me one, my aunt dubbed me with another, but in the end,
my wyrdness ruled all.
I was born in
the year 1010 of an Irish princess and an heir to the throne of Scotland. My
mother was the reward from a raid into Ireland and a false treaty thereafter. She’s
forgotten now, but I want you to know her name. I owe her that. They called her
Emer after the Irish legend of Cu Chulainn. She was tall, thin, and had blonde
hair that stretched to the floor. My mother died a short nine months after marrying
my father, whose name was Boite. My beginning brought her end. They believe she
lived sixteen years. Not a long life. And me, I came into the word killing.
My ill-fated
birth came at the end of another of my father’s campaigns. As the corpses were
paraded past the castle to the burial mound, I emerged squalling from the womb.
I was handed to my father who was covered in more blood than me; the sticky red
liquid on his chainmail stained the white of my swaddles.
“See here,
child,” my father whispered, lifting me to the open window casement. “These men
are of your blood. I set the mark of the old gods upon you,” he said, tracing
ancient runes upon my brow, my natal blood mixing with the blood of the dead
men. “Avenge your kinsman. I call upon the Morrigu, the ancient and dead
Goddess of these lands, and ask her to claim you. Let her rise up and take you.
Let her whisper battle cries for lullabies. Avenge with the magic of the old
gods. Rise up, child, and carry our banner forth. Remember that you are a child
of Kenneth MacAlpin’s line and bring vengeance.”
Dark clouds
moved across the sky occluding the full moon. A raven’s shrill pierced the
silence. The old gods had listened.
“Hear now,
sweet babe, Gruoch, hear how the raven calls.”
Thus the first
name fell upon me, Gruoch, an awful sounding name uttered from an angry and
vengeful man. Behind my father, the midwives crossed themselves. Though he
attended the mass of the White Christ, those close to my father knew his heart
belonged to the old ones. And me, the farthest from him, felt his beliefs most
of all. Perhaps, in this, he did me a single justice.
Chapter 1
“Toil and trouble,” my aunt Madelaine grumbled playfully as she
shook me awake. “Raising you has been nothing but toil and trouble. Wake up,
Little Corbie.”
Little Corbie. All my life she had called me Little Corbie, her
little raven, on account of my looks: raven-black hair, pale skin, and
lavender-colored eyes. I yawned tiredly and rolled over, pulling my covers over
my head. I was too sleepy to get into mischief, but Madelaine’s voice told me
she was ripe with it.
“Lazy,” she scolded, shaking my shoulder. “Get up. We’re waiting
for you.”
Through my sleep-clouded eyes, I peered out from my blankets past
the waterfall of Madelaine’s curly red hair to see the silhouette of Tavis, my
aunt’s brawny champion, in the doorway. Madelaine’s husband, Alister, was still
away, and she wasn’t going to let even a moment of her temporary freedom pass
unenjoyed.
“The night is still fighting the morning and so am I,” I complained
sleepily, but my hazy head started to clear, and the first glimmer of nervous
excitement filled my stomach. Madelaine’s waywardness almost always resulted in
fun.
“The raven caws,” Tavis said from the door. “I’ll meet my ladies
in the stable.” The door clapped shut behind him, and I heard the sound of his footsteps
recede down the stone castle hallway. I looked out the window. The night’s sky
was fading into hazy gray as the first hint of rosy pink illuminated the
skyline.
Madelaine crossed the room quickly, her fast movement becoming a
blur of swirling skirts as she gathered up my riding clothes and dumped them on
the end of my bed. In the heap I saw my leather riding breeches, an
emerald-colored tunic, and some pale green undergarments.
With a heavy sigh, I got out of bed. “And where are we going?” I
asked as I pulled on my clothes.
“Out, out! To the forest. Amongst the trees. Somewhere where we
can run wild,” Madelaine said with a laugh as she tossed me my riding cloak. “I
can smell the sap running, can’t you? I swear I could smell daffodils on the
wind this morning,” Madelaine said in a sing-song.
I couldn’t help but smile. Madelaine was my father Boite’s
half-sister, and I adored her. “Can’t the forest come to us?” I asked with a
laugh.
“Don’t worry. The morning air will perk you up,” she said with a
grin. Once I was dressed, she grabbed my hand, and we headed downstairs. The
castle was quiet. Only a few servants were stirring as we wound down the
stairwell, passing through the great hall. A fire roared in the grand fireplace.
It burned off the cool morning air.
Moving quickly and quietly, we headed toward the stables. The morning
sky was lit up with rose, orange, and violet light. Thin strips of clouds
streaked the horizon. As we crossed the yard, we stirred up the flock of
chickens that had just risen for their morning meal.
Aggie, the servant girl, was just about to feed them.
“My Ladies,” Aggie said with a smile. A tender girl with reddish-blonde
hair and face full of freckles, she was always trying to help me improve
embroidery. Despite her best efforts, I left every lesson with bloody fingertips.
“Aggie, sweet girl, tell your mother I’ll be back by supper!”
Madelaine called, referring to Ally, the head of Madelaine’s domestics.
“Of course, My Lady,” Aggie said with a grin. She winked
playfully at me.
I grinned, rolled my eyes knowingly, and waved good-bye to her.
Madelaine’s capricious ways were well-known by the servants, but
they never betrayed her trust. After all, everyone knew how vicious Alister,
Madelaine’s husband, truly was. Everyone loved and pitied her, me included. And
when it came to her household, Madelaine was always first to defend and protect
them, though there was little she could say in anyone’s defense when Alister
found a reason to hate…or punish…or want. I shuddered. I’d learned the hard way
that it was dangerous to be close to him. I swallowed hard and tried not to
think about it. Alister was gone, for now, and Madelaine was right. You could
smell spring in the air.
The yard was a muddy mess. It rained nonstop for three days
nonstop. All of the grass outside the walls of the tall stone citadel had been
worn down to the bare earth. While the rains had finally relented, my boots
were caked with mud by the time we reached the stables. Tavis was waiting
outside the barn with our horses already saddled.
“Lady Raven,” he said and smiled as he held out his hand,
helping me onto my beloved black horse, Kelpie. The steed was the last gift my
father had ever given me. Given his bewitching color—midnight-black without a
speck of disruption save his dark-brown eyes—I named him for the shape-shifting
horse spirits said to haunt the lochs.
“What mischief have you been up to, my water horse?” I whispered
once I mounted, leaning over to hug his neck and whisper in his ear. I inhaled his
sweet, hay-frosted scent. The horse flicked his ears backward to listen to me
then nickered softly. I patted his neck.
Tavis helped Madelaine mount her chestnut-colored palfrey then
swung up onto his own steed.
Madeline smiled at me, the first rays of morning light making
her red hair glow like flames. “Ready?”
she asked, her green eyes twinkling.
I nodded.
With a click of the tongue, she spurred her horse away from the
castle. Laughing, Tavis reined his horse in after her.
“Come on, Corbie,” Tavis called as we rode toward a forest
trail. “And don’t fall asleep in the saddle.”
The air was cool and fresh. Once the sun had risen, it warmed my
raven-black tresses. Despite my best effort to keep up with Madelaine’s energy,
my head bobbed drowsily. She and Tavis meandered down the forest path, flirting
shamelessly. Madelaine’s red hair shone bright as a cardinal amongst the trees,
her gown, the color of brilliant blue forget-me-nots, hugged her perfect shape.
After half a morning’s ride, we came to a lush green valley
between three high mountains where a small, still loch reflected the
periwinkle-blue sky. Large white clouds were reflected on the smooth surface of
the water.
“Let’s stop here,” Madelaine called when we neared a small
clutch of apple trees. She smiled brightly. Such trips outside the castle were
a rare treat. Only when Alister was away could Madelaine roam the countryside,
always with Tavis at her side, enjoying her freedom. She was, after all, a wild
thing. She moped like a caged bird in the castle, but the forest—and
Tavis—brought her back to life. Since I was almost always part of her
capricious plans, I enjoyed the change as much as she did, though I hated to
wake up so early.
Tavis helped Madelaine and I dismount then spread out a blanket
while Madelaine pulled a wine jug and goblets from her bag. I took off Kelpie’s
bridle to let him wander where he pleased. He went to the loch and drank deeply
from the fresh spring water.
Madelaine filled three goblets and handed one to each of us. “To
this fine spring day,” she toasted.
“And to my ladies,” Tavis added, tapping his goblet against Madelaine’s
and mine.
He drank his wine in large gulps, Madelaine refilling his glass
when it was empty. She then corked the wine and lay back under the trees. A
small wind shook the pink and white apple blossoms, showering her in petals.
She giggled when the pearly wisps of silk landed on her face, but she didn’t
open her eyes. Tavis laughed and gently blew the petals off. The sweet scent of
the blossoms filled the air.
“It’s getting warm. I can smell the earth coming to life again,”
Tavis said.
“Humm,” Madelaine commented as she stretched out, seeming to
doze under the warm sun. She was settling in just as I was starting to finally
feel awake. From the way Tavis was looking at Madelaine, I had an inkling they
wouldn’t mind some privacy, so I decided to wander.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” I said, standing.
“Leaving already?” Madelaine asked teasingly. Her eyes still
closed, she didn’t see me roll my eyes at her.
Tavis rose and went to his horse, returning with a sword. “My
spare,” he said as he belted the scabbard around my waist. His hands were deft,
and as he leaned in close to me, I smelled the heavy scent of lavender oil on
him. I breathed in deeply. My heart beat a little faster. “Yell if trouble
finds you.”
“No trouble will find her,” Madelaine commented sleepily.
I raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing.
* * *
I stepped lightly around the lake. Salamanders and fish swam in
the clear water amongst the high cattails. A soft breeze chased the winter
chill away, filling the air with the smell of damp earth. Above me, a raven
shrilled and flew into the valley. I followed it.
The raven flew from tree to tree into a very old forest. Here the
trees were massive, the old oaks reaching far overhead. The bird hopped from
one branch to another, leading me around a bog where bright-colored dragonflies
zipped from place to place. It cawed at me then led me deeper into the woods. All
the hair on the back of my neck had risen. Ravens were the emblem of my family.
Surely the bird was a harbinger. I followed the inky bird to a stream where it
roosted in a tall willow at the water’s edge. Cawing down once more at me, it
then took off quickly, disappearing into the sky. My nerves were set on edge. I
looked all around, expecting…something. But there was nothing. I sighed. I was
in the middle of the forest near a fallen tree at the edge of a stream with
only the eyes of the woods on me. I had followed the raven where? To the middle
of nowhere. It was peaceful and far from the confines of castle life, but something
told me Madelaine was having a much more exciting time than me.
Sighing again, I spotted a small clutch of snowdrops grew near a
fallen tree. I picked a handful and relaxed into a niche amongst the branches
and started weaving a crown. I breathed in deeply. I loved the loamy smell of
the earth and the sound of the babbling brook.
Intent on my task, I hardly noticed the passage of time. An hour
must have passed when I was suddenly struck with a strange feeling. I felt
someone near me. I looked up to find a woman standing on the other side of the
creek, just twelve feet away, watching me. Fear washed over me; I bit my lip.
My hands trembling, I set the flower wreath on my lap and
studied her. Was she friend or foe? Over one shoulder she had slung a game bag.
An herb pouch hung from her belt, and she held a bow in her hand. She had long
brown hair pulled into a braid. She wore the leather jerkin of a man and pants
to match. On her hands she wore rough leather gloves, and the hilt of a dagger
stuck out from the top of her boot.
“You are Gruoch,” she said calmly, her voice deep and raspy.
I didn’t reply.
“Gruoch, tell Madelaine the Goddess calls. Tell her to bring you
at the full moon.”
My heart thundered in my chest. Gruoch. No one called me by that
name except my father. When he had visited in my twelfth year, he and Madelaine
talked in hushed tones deep into the night. Curious, I spied on them through a
crack in the door.
“The Goddess will call her when the time is right. We will have
to give her up then,” my father had said in his deep, gruff voice. I could just
see him through a gap in the closed feasting hall door. A tall fire roared,
casting orange light on them as they sat at the slat-wood table. His long black
hair was pulled away from his face by two braids which were tied at the back
with a silver raven knot pendant. His hair shimmered blue in the firelight. My
father was a hulking creature, but as he leaned in toward Madelaine, who looked
as thin as a goldenrod beside him, his rugged features were gentle. He tenderly
took her hand.
“It will be hard to let her go,” Madelaine replied, and I saw
her wipe a tear from her cheek.
My father kissed her on the forehead. “I am so grateful that
you’ve loved her like she was your own. I could not…”
Madelaine shook her head and entwined her fingers in his,
comforting him. “It was not in your hand.”
“But I love her so,” he whispered. “As much as I can. I hope she
knows.”
“Even if she doesn’t understand now, one day she will. After
all, we have the same blood in our veins. Our line must serve.”
“Yes…we all answer our call,” he said, touching an all-too-apparent
bruise on Madelaine’s cheek. Such bruises were the ongoing handiwork of her
husband, Alister. “No matter your will. No matter the price.”
Moving his hand away from his bruise, she replied, “We all
endure. But where you can, use better sense than your father.”
Madelaine and my father were half-siblings; they shared the same
mother. When Madelaine’s father had died, her mother had been wed to Kenneth, my
grandfather. Their marriage produced two noble sons, Boite (my father), and
King Malcolm (Boite’s elder brother), and so by marriage Madelaine became their
sister and at the mercy of Kenneth’s decisions. It was he who had wed her to
Alister in political alliance.
“Wed her to a kind man or don’t wed her at all,” Madelaine
pleaded to Boite.
“May the Goddess let it be so,” my father whispered.
“May the Goddess let it be so,” Madelaine chimed solemnly.
That winter, in an effort to pacify strained relations with the
English, King Malcolm sent my father and a small army to Wales to help English
King Cnut settle an uprising. Heavily outnumbered, with reinforcements far
behind, my father died. I once heard Alister say that Malcolm had sent my
father to his death, eliminating my father’s threat to his throne. Maybe he was
right. But at the time, the line of succession didn’t matter much to me. I
mourned the death of my father.
As I sat looking at the woman standing across from me, I wondered
about their words. Was this what Madelaine and my father had meant? Was this my
call? This moment? Fear and excitement gripped my throat, strangling the words
and questions that wanted to come out. I rose and took a step toward the creek,
toward the stranger.
The woman smiled, her lips pulling to one side in a bemused look,
and turned from the creek. “See you soon, Little Raven,” she called as she made
her way back into the woods, disappearing amongst the trees. I took a deep
breath, and with weak knees, turned to make my way back to Madelaine.
Chapter 2
By the time I returned to the loch, the sun was high in the sky.
I walked toward the trees where I had last seen my aunt, but I was distracted.
My mind thundered over my encounter in the woods. Who was that woman? What did
it mean that the Goddess had called? Busy with my own thoughts, I was surprised
when I finally looked up and saw Madelaine lying naked under the trees with
Tavis. I could hear their light moans as he moved himself over her.
Startled and feeling a bit stupid, I sat down at the water’s
edge away from them, hidden by the high cattails. I felt my cheeks redden, but
my curiosity got the better of me. Peering through the leaves, I gazed toward the
intermeshed figures of my aunt and her lover. Their hands roved in hungry
caresses over one another’s bodies. My aunt was beautiful, her red hair lying
like a pallet around her. I felt ashamed of my curiosity, but the thought of
being with a man excited me. At the age of sixteen, I was still a virgin, but I
could be called for a marriage contract at any time. I loved the idea of being
in love. I wanted to be wanted. And I hoped I ended up with someone like Tavis.
He was kind and funny, and his body was glorious. His muscular back and round
ass glimmered in the sunlight, enhancing his every curve.
Tavis kissed Madelaine passionately then lay his head on her
chest. She stroked his golden hair, and I could just catch the murmur of their
whispers on the wind. A moment later, Tavis rose carefully, tickled Madelaine’s
chin, and ran naked to the loch. He disappeared under the water as my aunt
began to redress. Eager to tell Madelaine what had happened, I rose and walked
toward her. It occurred to me as I walked, however, that maybe Madelaine already
knew. Maybe she’d planned it, or at least suspected, all along. I hid my
eagerness in order to find out.
She spotted me as I rounded the loch and smiled widely at me.
Grinning, Tavis waved from the loch. I poured myself a glass of
wine, sipping the red liquid as Madelaine and I watched Tavis swim toward the
shore. He rose from the water and walked toward us, his naked body dripping
wet. I looked at him without modesty. In the end, he blushed and began to
redress.
“So where did you go?” Madelaine asked.
“Into the forest.”
Madelaine nodded. “See anything interesting?”
“Well, nothing as interesting as you did,” I said with a wink,
making Madelaine giggle unapologetically. “But I did make this for you,” I
said, handing her the flower wreath.
“Thank you,” she said, putting the ring on her head.
“Oh, yes, and I followed a raven into an old forest. A woman
there told me that you are to bring me at the next full moon,” I added offhand.
Madelaine’s cheerful gaze turned serious. She took my hand and
looked at me closely. “Who said this to you?”
“The huntress,” I replied, gazing into my aunt’s green eyes. To
my surprise, they’d become watery.
“The huntress,” my aunt repeated.
I nodded. “I was near the stream by the tall oaks. A woman with
long brown hair came to me there.”
Madelaine nodded and smiled softly. “Her name is Uald.”
“And I’m to go at the next full moon? Where?”
“The Goddess calls,” Madelaine replied and pulled me into a deep
hug, squeezing me tightly.
* * *
I rode ahead of Madelaine and Tavis on the way back to the
castle. The full moon was only three eves away. I felt overwhelmed with questions. Where was
it that I was supposed to go? For how long? And why had my father planned this fate
for me?
A mess of nerves, I asked to take my dinner in my room that
evening; I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Perching carefully on the
windowsill, I looked out at the grounds around the castle. The landscape sparkled
silver in the moonlight. The moon was a nearly-full silver orb. I snubbed out
my candles, letting my chamber fill with silver light. The moonbeams made my
pale flesh glow. It was late when Madelaine finally entered.
She sighed heavily and sat down on the side of my bed. “I will
tell Alister you are being sent to a convent until a suitable marriage match is
made for you, that you will learn the ways of the White Christ and to read and
write Latin. I will tell him that this was your father’s wish.” She paused
then, looking off into the distance. “The convent…well, it is a lie he will
believe.” She turned to me. “My Little Corbie, your father wanted this for you.
It has all been arranged for a long time. You will go to learn the ways of our
family. It was your father’s true wish. Boite would not have his daughter turn
to the White Christ, to deny the old gods. You must learn the ancient arts. Old
magic flows through the beating heart of this realm. It is your duty to know
these ancient truths. It is part of who we are.”
Neither Madelaine nor I ever partook in the ways of the White
Christ. As a Lord should, Alister kept priests in the castle, in particular,
the annoying Father Edwin who always dogged his shadow. I avoided him at all
costs. He was a vile man. On more than one occasion, Father Edwin had tried to correct my pagan ways.
Two years before, on a lonely winter’s night, a bard had sung
the legend of Tristan and Isolde after dinner. In the ballad, the young lovers
were torn apart by a marriage contract which ordered Isolde to marry Tristan’s
uncle Mark. The miserable Isolde, married off to Mark of Cornwall, had tried to
catch a glimpse of her lover by scrying in the flames. Through the eyes of the
fire, the fair Isolde saw that Tristan had married another. It nearly broke the
poor maiden’s heart.
I became enamored with the idea of seeing images in the fire. That
night, after everyone had gone to bed, I’d tried to catch a glimpse of my
father through the feasting hall fire. I was staring into the fire, trying to
work magic like I’d heard in the story, when I’d felt someone come up behind
me.
“What are you doing?” a voice asked.
I had been sitting there a long time. Maybe I’d been staring too
closely into the flames: I felt dizzy. The heat of the fire had made me sweat.
I never saw my father in the flames, but I’d seen what looked like a snowy white
field dotted with ravens.
“I’m looking for my father,” I replied weakly.
A moment later, I felt the sharp sting of someone’s hand on my
cheek. I looked up to find Father Edwin standing over me.
“Devilry,” he swore, his whole body shaking. “You are conjuring
the devil in your uncle’s very hall! Would you bring Satan into this place?” His
thin body leaned threateningly over me. He shouted with such venom that his
spit splashed on my cheek. Shocked, I shuddered as I stared at the priest’s
pock-marked face.
When I didn’t answer him, he lifted his hand as if he would hit
me once more.
“Enough,” a voice called from the doorway. I turned to find
Alister standing there. His long brown hair hung in a greasy tumble. His
stomach had grown so large over the course of the winter that the bottom of his
bloated belly peaked out from under his tunic. He was lighting a pipe, the red
of the flame making a collage of shadows and red hues across his face. “Enough,
Edwin. I’ll school her,” Alister told the priest as he crossed the hall. He staggered
as he walked.
“Yes, My Lord,” the priest said, glaring at me once more, and
then smiling before he left me and my uncle alone.
“Little Raven. Come,” Alister called. He dragged a chair before
the fire, the legs screeching across the stone floor. He set the pipe down and beckoned
for me to sit on his lap. He reeked of ale and the heavy scent of angelica root
smoke from the pipe.
Still feeling dizzy from looking into the flames, and my cheek
smarting with pain, I did as I was told. But my instincts were on alarm. I knew
well that Alister was not to be trusted.
“Does it hurt?” Alister asked, touching my cheek lightly.
The stink of body odor emanated from him. His hair held the
light scent of ox fat. Alister stroked my cheek with his sweaty hand then
rubbed his fingers up and down the length of my neck.
“Yes,” I replied quietly, forcing my stomach not to revolt. My intuition
told me to run away.
“Poor thing. I won’t let him touch you ever again. Don’t worry.
But tell me, did you see anything in the flames?” Alister asked as his hand
softly caressed my shoulder.
I shook my head.
“Come now, Little Corbie, I know your blood is full of the old
magic. Tell your foster father what you saw.”
His hand rubbed my arm, his thumb pressing against my breast
over and over again.
“I saw ravens…ravens in the snow.”
“Ravens in the snow?” he asked, his hand now rubbing my leg.
“Poor girl. How frightening. Here,” he said, pulling me against him. This time,
he moved my bottom over his pelvis, and I felt his hard cock pressing into me. His
hands caught the hem of my dress, his sticky fingers sliding up the insides of
my bare legs, my thighs. I gasped. I’d seen Alister use the same move more than
a dozen times on the serving girls. I knew what came next. I just couldn’t
believe he’d try it on me.
I tried to pull away, but he grabbed me roughly, squeezing my
inner thighs, forcing my legs open. He tore my undergarments aside; I felt the
fabric rip as I struggled to be free. But he was stronger than me. Forcing my
legs open, he jabbed his fingers inside me.
“Don’t move, Little Raven,” he whispered in my ear. I struggled,
feeling sick as his fingers jabbed into me. “You’ll like fucking as much as
your sweet auntie does. We can keep each other warm all winter.”
The door to the feasting hall opened.
“Corbie?” Madelaine called. I saw the look on her face as she
took in the scene. Her pretty features contorted into a weird grimace.
Alister let me go.
Gagging, I fell to the floor.
Madelaine rushed across the room, bending to pick me up. Tears
were already rushing down my cheeks. My stomach tossed.
“Go upstairs,” Madelaine whispered to me, but I was frozen in
place, staring, horrified, at Alister.
“Christ, Madelaine, you’re such a nuisance. Barren cunt. What
good are you, anyway?” Alister asked sarcastically as he rose. Stepping toward
us, he punched Madelaine in the gut.
Gasping, Madelaine fell to her knees.
“Whore. You’re nothing but a whore,” he said. Grabbing Madelaine
by the hair, he lifted her to her feet and slammed her against the wall. I
heard her moan when she hit the hard stones. He was advancing on her again when
I noticed that a carving knife lying forgotten on the table. Jumping to my
feet, I grabbed the knife and put myself between Alister and Madelaine.
“Don’t touch her,” I said, lifting the knife menacingly.
“Well now, what do we have here?” Alister asked with a laugh,
but he didn’t come closer.
“Keep your filthy hands off both of us, or next time I’ll chop
your fingers off,” I spat. I hoped Alister wouldn’t notice my hands trembling.
I clutched the knife handle so hard my hand hurt.
“Well, there it is…now that is the blood of a true MacAlpin, not
some half-blooded bitch from Strathclyde like you,” Alister said to Madelaine
then turned to me. “You’ve got your daddy’s blood, girl,” Alister said
laughing. He picked up his pipe and lit it, the heavy smoke twisting upward and
turned and left the room, banging the wooden door shut behind him.
I dropped the knife. It hit the stone floor with a clatter. I
turned to my Madelaine. “Are you all right?”
She collapsed into my arms. “I’m so sorry,” she heaved, grabbing
me tightly. Her whole body was shaking. “Did he…did he ruin you?”
I shook my head.
“May the Great Mother watch over us both. He’s drunk tonight.
He’s lost even to his worst self. He knows better. King Malcolm would execute
him. I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
My stomach rolled. I could still feel the sharp prick of his
fingers in me, crooked, sharp and vile. I felt sick and angry. I felt polluted.
And even as bad as it was for me, my heart ached for Madelaine. I knew that
what I saw was just a hint of what happened between them behind closed doors. Madelaine
had faced far worse, worse than she would ever name. Her body, all the bruises,
told the tales she never spoke. In Alister’s house, no one was safe.
I squeezed my eyes tight, forcing the memory of that night away,
and tried to focus on Madelaine who was still speaking of what it meant that
the Goddess had called: “You will go amongst our wise women,” Madelaine was saying.
“They are women of the old ways. They will teach you our faith, the ways of our
people. You have no need to fear,” Madelaine explained.
“I’m not afraid,” I whispered. At least, I was not afraid of
them.
Dark clouds rolled over the moon. Everything grew black.
Madelaine fell silent and did not speak again until moonlight lit the room once
more. “Your soul is very old,” she whispered. “Even as a babe, you were always…different.
You belonged to the otherworld. I will miss you,” she added and rose, leaving
me to my solitude.
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