Chapter Seventeen

Gràdh uillt soilleire nuair a dh'aois anaman beantuinn.

(Love burns brightest when Auld Souls touch.)

— Auld Scots Adage

As dawn kissed Glen Shane, Tamlyn joined the women of the clan and left Glenrogha, heading to the Sacred Orchard of the Silver Bough to keep the rites of Beltaine ―their May Day .

Tamlyn smiled as Raven hurried her steps to catch up. Her sister linked arms and gave her an impish half-smile. "Morn, Tamlyn. Sleep well?" With a lift of the brows, she leaned forward to exchange knowing glances with her twin, who approached to Tamlyn's right.

Over the years, she had grown accustomed to the twins having a special bond. It seemed one beyond The Kenning , as if they spoke directly to each other's minds. Ofttimes, their closeness had left her feeling an outsider. Howbeit, as they reached womanhood, she had learnt to accept it for what it was—something that touched them because they shared a birth.

"Aye, I rested. Auld Bessa's tansy saw to that." She put her hand over Raven's where it rested on her upper left arm.

Again, Raven exchanged glances with Rowanne, and then questioned, "The Earl Challon sleeps with you?"

Tamlyn nodded. "He says we needs must come to ken the other. Calls it bundling."

Rowanne gave a faint chuckle of mocking, and rolled her eyes, looking off to the side. "She does no' ken what you ask, Raven."

Raven's smile spread, but she tried to suppress it. "Very well," She leaned closer so the sides of their heads met, lowering her words so they did not carry to the other women following. "I was asking if he touched you."

Still confused by her own emotions, of her body's betrayal, Tamlyn little wished to tell her sister aught about Julian Challon. Images of them in the solar flooded her mind, and heat rolled through her body in a wave of fire. She looked ahead not wanting to meet the probing stares from either sister. "Aye...he has touched me."

Rowanne snorted. "Not touch, Tamlyn. Touch you . Has the earl lain with you?"

Tamlyn opened her mouth to say yes, but Rowanne laughed aloud, mocking. "Pray the goddess saves us from na?ve little sisters! Dearling, has the mighty Dragon taken you? Be you still a virgin?"

"Ro—" Raven spake in caution.

Tamlyn could feel her cheeks burn bright. Too bad The Kenning did not give her the power to wish her sisters back to their holdings. "Nay... Aye."

Rowanne frowned at them both. "By the Lady, it canno' be both! 'Tis no' something you have to reflect upon."

"Nay , he has no' touched me—by that meaning. And aye, I still be a virgin...I think." Tamlyn tried to tug her arm from Raven's clasp, but her darker sister held firmly.

"Think? The Goddess weeps! Our dear father neglected to explain a great many things to you." Now it was Rowanne's turn to blush. "To us all."

Only, Tamlyn sensed it was distress—not embarrassment—for Rowanne. Brushing out with her gift, she tried to understand her fair sister. Only, Rowanne resisted the fey intrusion.

"Stop it! Do no' try to rob me of my thoughts, Tam. They be my own." Rowanne met her stare, trying to hold it. Tears welling in her brown eyes, she quickly looked to the side, blinking them away. Finally, when she regained control of her emotions, she turned back. "I ask to how things go betwixt you. Does he treat you well? The Lord Dragon warms to the role of conqueror. Demanding the people of all three fortresses kneel to him. Commanding Raven and I marry with his brothers—when they finally choose. No' asking! Just like we are prized horses to be picked or not. He breathes fire and dictates we obey his will. His brothers choose . Mayhap he would earn less enmity shouldst he permit Raven and me to pick. We have no say in the matter—wed or else, at the king's whim. The least he could do would be offer us what has always been our rights in Clan Ogilvie. Servants speak that Sir Destain even jested about jousting for our hands. 'Tis wrong, Tam."

Tamlyn reached out to snag Rowanne's arm, so they all three were linked. "I...truly understand your questions and concerns–"

" Concerns? How can you just submit to his decrees?" Rowanne demanded. "Does it no' bother you? Nay , you just do what he wants."

Again, Raven issued the warning. "Ro, 'tis no' fair to—"

" Och , stuff a rag in your mouth, sister dear. We may be twins, but we be nothing alike."

Raven laughed softly. "You say those words as if I wouldst find disappointment in that truth."

Her twin compressed her mouth in a frown. "Mayhap I shall help you in putting that rag in your mouth."

"Peace, sisters. 'Tis Latha Bealltainn. A day of joy."

Raven leaned into her side to hug her. "Ignore, Ro. She worries overly for you, and fashes if the Dragon treats you well."

Tamlyn nodded, knowing Rowanne's marriage had not been a happy one. She rarely spoke of the baron of Craigàrd since his death. Once, she had intruded on Rowanne's thoughts and it had disturbed her to discover just how much her sister had hated the man she married. When she pushed Rowanne for answers, her sister would only say men were ever deceivers, and to never trust the face they show the world.

"I just do no' wish to see you harmed, Tam." Rowanne's chest moved with an exhale, trying to control her emotions. "You have gone into this too trusting. Trust only leads to betrayal."

"Aye, things seem too easy to some, but fighting against this—what will it bring? Our lord father left us unprotected when he rode to Balliol and Comyn standards. Of all the cork-brain things to do! The Shane wouldst never support the Comyns in aught! So, his daughters raise a muckle hue and cry and try to resist the will of Julian Challon? What will that beget us?

More troubles, cypher on that. I have walked through the Dragon's mind, witnessed the sights—the smells—of what Edward Longshanks can do to a town when they fight him. I do not want that foul evil visited upon our peaceful valley. The Men of Challon are our last—our best—hope at saving our lives here. Mark this and heed well : If we fight Julian Challon, the English king shall take pleasure in raising his dragon standard and sending forth his hoard of mercenaries to sweep through this land. You saw the men tied to the stakes and whipped for trying to rape me. Auld Bessa said you witnessed this whilst I was held in the lord's chamber. Did you no' see the metal of those English tailed dogs? Stop me if my words are less than truth."

Neither sister spoke. They just gave a small nod.

"Oh, aye, it would have been better if these Challon warriors came here when our father asked them this year past. Come in peace instead of a time of war. They did not. And now days are different. We must deal with what be, no' our foolish pride. Only a stupid woman wouldst not see we needs must make the best of this, else something worse shall come rolling through these hills. Honor be bone-deep in the men of Challon blood. They will become one with this land— if we show them the way. They shall become our shield." Tamlyn spoke from fierce passion, knew she was right in this, and it was of import her sisters came to terms with these realities. "Life seldom be as we wish. We needs must bend things to our will, bend these men, until they fight for us, not Edward Longshanks."

"The warding of the passes no longer protects us." Raven conceded. "That—or the Men of Challon were fated to come to us. You may be the youngest, but mayhap you are wisest." She paused and kissed Tamlyn on the cheek. "Come, Evelynour awaits us."

G narled apple trees twined high to form the entrance to the ancient grove, and beneath their arched branches stood Evelynour, waiting for them. Muted shafts of light filtered through the spring leaves, haloing her long white hair that fell all the way to her knees. Her near lack of color lent her the appearance of an angel descended to earth. Named after the goddess of the orchard, no elder could recall a time when she was not there serving the members of Clan Ogilvie. In spite, she appeared ageless, the scores of years little marring her lovely face. Pallid lavender edging toward grey, her eyes were so translucent many oft mistook her as being blind. Her milky skin burned easily under the sun, thus few ever saw her except at dawn or in the gloaming. She seemed most at ease in the haar, as if her greyness made her a part of it.

Gowned with fragrant blossoms, the silver-limbed apple trees held the promise of a good harvest. Tamlyn laughed as petals fluttered from overhead, raining down on her hair and then to the ground, blanketing it as thick as snow. The ghostly fog shifted and swirled around their grey trunks, embracing the grove and rendering it a fairyland of white and grey.

As she entered the orchard, Tamlyn was imbued with a sense of peace. There was a harmony, a balance about this sacred place. She wore a plain white kirtle, same as the other women of the clan, all in accord with the foggy wonderland.

On Beltaine morn, the women and young girls came to wash their faces with dampened apple blossoms. 'Twas believed the dew and blooms worked magic to make them beautiful.

To renew the life of the orchard they would plant three rows of apple seeds. Thirteen in each. Come summer one tree would be marked for death, and at Samhaine , the wood of the apple tree would burn in their balefire. A symbol of the Wheel of Life .

For as long as she could recall, Evelynour welcomed them to the grove on Beltaine . The Three Wise Ones of the Wood were the mothers of the two Clans in the truest sense. They taught lessons needed for life, guided the clans with the ways of the stones. They were charged to keep the oral history, and advised through counsel of their special gifts .

After the death of her lady mother, each woman played an important role in molding her. Yet, in some ways, Tamlyn felt closest to Evelynour. Therefore, when they embraced it was more a mother-daughter exchanged than teacher-disciple.

Lighthearted, the women gathered hands and wove their way through the rows of apple trees. They sang a chant to Evelynour, Goddess of the Apples, asking her to bless them with a plentiful harvest. When they were done, they gathered fallen flowers wet from the morning dew and brought them to their faces.

The scent was heady. Breathing deeply, Tamlyn let the essence wash through her being. Apples were magical. They provided delicious treats in summer, cider come autumn, and with careful handling slices could be dried and stored for winter. Apple petals were at the center of any love-drawing spell, so the blossoms were valued and gathered for sachets and possets.

Kneeling on the ground, Tamlyn brought handfuls of the blossoms to her face. She inhaled the sensual aroma and cleared her mind of all thoughts. "Oh, Goddess Evelynour, please guide me on the right path of choices I face," she whispered, "please, let Challon be the one.""

???

Julian reined Pagan to a halt. The powerful Friesian stallion fought against the bit, wanting to run. Instead of letting the prancing destrier have his head, he turned him in a circle, as he tracked Tamlyn through the Sacred Grove .

He slowly rode along the hillcrest, keeping watch on Tamlyn. He spotted her entering the sheltered area under the boughs of two ancient trees. All the women wore the same, simple white kirtles. High ranking ladies of the clan wore silver girdles about their waists, whilst the remaining females had donned ones made from sewn material of green.

In spite of their numbers, Julian had no trouble singling out Tamlyn. She shimmered, her aura golden. Even from this distance he felt the pull toward her. It took all his willpower not to nudge Pagan with his gold spur and go after her.

He did not stalk her to spy on the activities, but for protection. Last night, after hearing of this ritual at dawnbreak—and being firmly told no man was allowed to accompany them—he had left orders to have three of his knights posted high on the tòrr as lookouts, and gave word for others to discreetly follow in the ladies' wake, and guard them without their knowledge.

'Twas true they had chased the miscreants who attacked Damian's cadre from the glen and the two beyond. Nonetheless, he could not rid himself of the fear the Scots had circled around and returned to the area. At the back of his mind, he worried other stragglers from the battle at Spottsmuir might seek refuge in this forgotten pocket of the Highlands. Desperate men were as dangerous as a wounded animal. He would not see the females of the four holdings at risk.

Protective streak aside, Julian admitted to a pinch of male curiosity about this eccentric females-only start to their day of Beltaine . He saw the old woman waiting for them. By the white hair, he presumed her near the age of Auld Bessa. As he maneuvered Pagan closer to the grove, he was surprised to notice she was comely. Despite the youthful face, something about her manner bespoke a wisdom of the ages. Then the shafts of the morning sun penetrated the deep wood, and it created a brilliant halo around her being. She appeared like an angel that he had seen in paintings, coming to earth to guide mankind or to deliver a message.

Tamlyn nodded her head in deferment, and then accepted a kiss of pax upon her forehead from the fae woman. They linked arms and leisurely strolled into the grove, and were nearly swallowed by the blanket of fog. Julian's jaw set in frustration. That damn haar was disquieting. So thick, it hungrily shrouded the area around the orchard.

His knees nudged Pagan, wanting to be closer. As the horse approached, it suddenly shied and began backing up. Off to the right, Julian could have sworn he heard tinkling of bells. The horse was sweating, spooked, an unease Julian almost shared. His destrier was trained to gallop into the mouth of hell and not flinch, and yet the fog and tinkling bells sent the horse into a panic.

Then it struck him. No chirping of birds. Not the first stirring of breeze. 'Twas eerie, unlike anything he had ever experienced. This place was touched with otherworldliness, of ancient mysteries. A stillness that was unnatural. Julian found disquiet that Tamlyn seemed so a part of this primeval land. This glen held a claim on Tamlyn's soul, owned some part of her he could never touch.

His blood surged, resenting that insight. Julian closed his eyes for several breaths, willing his anger to still, until the thud of his heart was the only thing he could hear.

You belong to Glenrogha …the ethereal whisper brushed against his mind.

If he listened hard enough, he could almost hear furtive voices, murmuring. The words were unfamiliar, but not the emotion behind them, reassuring in some strange manner he was of this land. All he had to do was open himself, his heart and make it so. Whether these shades were Tamlyn's Auld Ones speaking to him ever so softly, or mayhap as Guillaume suggested, the presence of Christian, he could not decide. He had never bent his mind to accepting things that could not be seen. He dealt in realities, the power of his hand, his mind. Only, he had a sense if he truly wanted to be a part of Tamlyn's life here, to be a part of her world, he would have to change.

Reaching out with his thoughts, Julian embraced the feeling of rightness . This rich dark earth and the golden woman touched him. In his life, he had been many places, and not once had he tasted this sense of being a part of a place, of knowing this is where he was meant to be.

Of coming home . The sense of belonging was water to his parched soul.

He only had to reach out to make it come true.

???

"Where be our Aithinne?" Rowanne asked, pausing from paring twigs from the low hanging branches and dropping them into the basket. "Our cousin loves this festival. She never misses coming to us. I canno' imagine letting the day get away from her for any reason. It seems odd her no' being here sharing the morn with her."

All heads turned to Evelynour for the answer. The pale, iridescent eyes looked in the direction of the hills far behind Kinloch, as if seeking knowledge. "Aithinne shall no' come. Matters press her. You will no' see her until summer."

Frowning, Raven inquired, "She ails?"

"'Tis a demand for her presence there." Evelynour turned away, signaling that was all she would say concerning their cousin, who resembled Tamlyn closely.

"Come, there be much to do this day," Raven called, dashing ahead.

As they approached the entrance, where the ancient trees arched and twined together, the fog parted and revealed a black destrier with the warrior upon its back, just beyond. In the world of white and grey, he was a stark contrast clothed all in black. Apple blooms swirled around him, as heavy as a snowstorm, ruffling the blue-black hair, and covering his head and shoulders.

Tamlyn's breath caught and held. Julian Challon was beautiful, as powerful and majestic as these Highland Hills. Somehow, she sensed he belonged here. Just as she belonged to him. As their eyes locked, she knew her destiny twined with his, that Evelynour's visions of the coming of the dark lord were true.

He was the one.

Petals rained upon him, the Goddess Evelynour giving Tamlyn the sign for which she had asked.

Slowly, he held out his upturned hand, beckoning.

As if still needing affirmation, Tamlyn glanced back to the pale woman, almost materializing from the fog. She could not draw breath as Evelynour's witchy lavender eyes met hers. Finally, the old woman gave a single nod.

Tamlyn ran to her mentor and hugged her. Evelynour squeezed her tightly, as a mother would a daughter, and in many ways, she was. "Oh, lass, you be special. The fate of the whole clan rests with your happiness. The Most Chosen Daughter , the child conceived under the Silver Bough on Beltaine . Listen with your heart. Show him the way. Make him yours."

Tamlyn nodded, a sob lodging in her throat. Lifting her eyes, she saw tears of joy mixed with a bittersweet sadness in her teacher.

Evelynour leaned her head to Tamlyn's and whispered against her hair, "Go to him, my bonnie lass. Trouble looms ahead for you both. Take him, make him part of us, a part of this land. Remember, that which has the most value you must fight for… fight for him. The Lord Challon be your soul mate. Never forget that, my child. Never ."

Tamlyn kissed Evelynour's cheek. In some ways, she had rushed to Evelynour as a child seeking assurance. Now she turned, her eyes searching for the Dragon, waiting motionless upon the midnight charger. The horse snorted and stamped its impatience. After a hesitation, she rushed forward―a woman ready to accept the changes this man brought to her world.

Willing to take him, as Evelynour said, make him a part of her life, a part of this glen. Willing to fight for Challon.

???

Julian's jaw clenched as Tamlyn sought the assurance from the witch. His gut tightened, fearing what the woman might do. Relief flowed through him when Evelynour nodded to Tamlyn, almost seeming to encourage her to go to him. He met the fae woman's eyes. Pale, almost dead eyes that saw more than others. She bowed her head to him, blessing and acceptance upon her serene countenance.

Warmth filled him at her approval, her favor. 'Twas evident the woman was reconciled to see Tamlyn set upon the path of her life. Then, the expression altered, her face clouding to sadness. Julian almost flinched at the change.

Though the pressing need pushed him to snatch Tamlyn away from the crone, some invisible aura stopped Julian just outside the entrance to the orchard. The invisible barrier warned both man and beast that they were intruders in this sacred female place and unwelcome. Howbeit, he was ready to set spur to Pagan, violate that sanctity, and swoop down to carry Tamlyn back to a sphere of his control shouldst the crone call her back. Evelynour did not.

The woman's crooked half-smile spoke volumes. Julian felt as if she looked into his dark soul and found him wanting as a mate for Tamlyn, nonetheless recognizing there would be no stopping him from claiming her. The witch's head drooped slightly. Then, she moved back, the mist beginning to rise around her angelic form and enfold her.

Impatiently, Julian observed Tamlyn kiss her sisters on their cheeks. Raven clutched

at Tamlyn's shoulders and leaned to whisper words to her ear. Turning, Tamlyn picked up the kirtle's material on either side of her knees and then ran to him.

Until that instant Julian had not realized he held his breath, for what seemed so innocent, held much portent, for Tamlyn. For him.

Julian's knees silently controlled the steed, dancing its impatience at the entrance. He was not making Tamlyn come to him, but sensed his black presence was not welcome in this white and silver world of the sacred orchard.

His left foot kicked out of the stirrup so Tamlyn could use it. He leaned over, eager to reach for her.

Tamlyn's face was so open, as she placed her icy cold hand into his. All her emotions were etched there, all the hope, trust and faith. All the wanting. He lifted her and seated her crossways on his lap, feeling her shiver.

Julian swung the heavy black mantel around her, and for the first time since coming this grove, felt secure of his possession of his lady. Tamlyn was now surrounded by his color. His left arm slid around her and she leaned into his warmth.

Once again, off in the distance, he could hear the tinkling of bells and then laughter. Then it struck him, his shoulders and hair were nearly white from the apple petals. In an odd way, the whiteness of this fey grove was touching him with her color.

Julian closed his eyes and leaned his head back for an instant. For a man who abhorred tears from a woman, and saw them as a weakness in a man, he felt very much like shedding them now. In his life, he had not cried many times. When he was sent away to be page to the Warrior Prince Edward at the age of seven. Again, over Christian, as his brother lay begging for death.

And this morn, as he held Tamlyn in his arms. Julian wanted to say a prayer of thanks, knowing that somehow in his dark, empty life he had been granted this blessing.

He could force Tamlyn to wed him. Force the people of this glen to accept that act and him. 'Twas the way of the world, the way of the sword. To travel that road would kill him in a way he lacked words to explain. Some inner hunger drove him to crave acceptance from this woman, his lady. He needed Tamlyn as he needed air. The ravenous plaint was as fearsome a power as any he had ever encountered. He was incapable of controlling it, any more than he could put name to it. It scared him, more than facing the infidel in the Holy Land . More than the horrors of Berwick. It terrified him. If this consuming need were not satisfied, it would destroy him beyond time's healing.

???

Tamlyn buried her face against the curve of his neck. She absorbed his radiant heat, the heady male scent off his flesh. So right , whispered The Kenning. She had been so cold, felt she might never be warm again. Then, she put her hand into his larger, warm one. He pulled her against his body and wrapped the thick mantle around them, cocooning them. Sharing his body's fire, she felt safe.

Other Challon knights materialized out of the fog, along with Sir Guillaume, and St. Giles. Then other men-at-arms moved forward. They had been on guard the whole time, yet the women had remained unaware.

The way of men , she thought. Reaching up, she dusted some of the petals from Challon's black locks. The prospects scared her, being lady to this powerful, complex man. Even so, it was a fate she embraced. A fate she would fight for .

The gentle rocking gait of the prancing destrier, coupled with the soothing energy from Challon, nearly lulled her to sleep. Batting her eyes, she resisted. She did not want to lose one precious moment of this magical day.

She leaned to kissed his jaw.

Surprised, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Pleasure warmed his dark green eyes. "What is that for, My Lady?"

"A Beltaine kiss, My Lord Challon," she whispered, once more burying her nose against the soft skin of his throat to drink in that wonderful scent. She could stay like this forever, absorbing his dragon's fire, his magic aroma that was his alone.

Aye, she was Challon's lady.

And tonight, she would make him hers.