Dragon Witch Series - Dragon Witch Part 6

"Of course not," answered the man. "That would end

everything, and I will not allow it."

"You cannot cancel or reverse the sorcerer's spell, you know. He is very powerful and would know if we interfere. I do not want him to notice what we do. You must be very careful."

"Do not push me, dear. I am an inveterate chess player and 'tis my move. Watch carefully and mayhap you will learn a thing or two." The man lifted his fingers and moved them in intricate patterns in the air. They seemed, just for a moment, to leave silver trails of light behind them. And then the patterns were no more, the trails of light gone from view. The man snapped his fingers and the couple disappeared.

The golden dragon slept on. His wounds began to close.

His life's blood no longer flowed, but trickled slower and slower from his battered body. The dragon dreamed, but did not wake....

SEVEN.

Tempest had felt uneasy since her skirmish with her mother. Something dark and dangerous lurked at the edge of her consciousness. Something was not quite right in her world but, try as she might, she could not bring the problem forward to examine it more closely. It was like a skittish colt, dancing away as soon as she tried to reach out to it. She dressed slowly, her mind occupied with the battle of her subconscious.

The sound of horses in the courtyard drew her attention, and she went to her window to see what was causing the commotion.

From the looks of things, another n.o.ble had arrived. There were huge war horses, men-at-arms and at least four mounted knights, their armor s.h.i.+ning in the morning sun. The n.o.ble was richly dressed, and his standard-bearer carried a flag which boasted a griffin locked in combat with a dragon.

A coldness seemed to grip Tempest as she looked at the family crest on the flag and she drew back from the window, taking a deep breath to calm herself "Tempest," her mother said as she entered the room without any thought to her daughter's privacy. "They have finally arrived, and I wanted to check to make sure you are dressed properly." She looked Tempest over critically but could find no fault.

"Well then. I guess you will have to do. That frock is simple enough to proclaim your innocence. Here." She reached into her pocket and withdrew a gold pendant cast in the form of a Celtic cross. "You may wear this for today only, then it must be returned to me. I do not want Count Mirabelle to think you have nothing except a few clothes. He is very wealthy and would

not desire a poverty-stricken wife."

"Then he would not want me, Mother, for I am as near to poverty as any poor serf. I own no jewels. I have only what Father has given me, and the beautiful birthday gift Tristan gave me last night. You would have me lie to your friend?"

Tempest realized she had just put Christiana in an uncomfortable position and waited to see how she squirmed out of it this time. She was beginning to enjoy this new power that seemed to coincide with her coming of age. In past times she had quietly deferred to her mother's wishes in order to avoid conflict.

Christiana looked at Tempest for a long moment, then spoke thoughtfully. "You have found a sharp tongue, child. If you are not careful, you will become a shrew, and no man treats such a wife with kindness.

"Speak no more to me of your poverty," she continued.

"Soon you will be gone from here, and you can complain to your husband if you are not given everything you think you need. You will be on your best behavior this day, or I shall see you flogged for your indiscretions. In truth," she said with a tight, malicious smile, "I will administer the punishment myself. Quite happily, I might add."

"Aye, Mother," Tempest responded grimly. "You have always enjoyed punis.h.i.+ng me, have you not? Especially with that riding crop you love to carry. I have felt its sting many times in the past, and I look forward to the day when I no longer have to call you Mother or bow to your impossible demands." She turned to leave the room.

Lady Christiana grabbed Tempest's arm with steely fingers and spun her around. They were standing nose to nose and Tempest looked her squarely in the eyes, neither moving nor blinking.

"Do not turn your back on me." Christiana hissed. "I am not finished with you."

"You have made your threat, Mother, and I have listened to you. Now let me go to greet your guests. Or would you rather beat me now so I will not have to see them at all?" Her voice dripped venom. "I am sure Father will not be any more

angry with you this time than he has been in the past."

Abruptly Christiana let go of Tempest's arm. She well remembered the last time she had beaten her willful daughter.

'Twas not a fond memory.

"If you ever lay your riding crop to my daughter again, I shall lock you in the north tower for the rest of your life,"

Wendall had said, anger making his voice low and menacing.

"You will never see or hear another human voice or look upon my face again. And I will make sure you live a long, long time in your solitude. You will have many years to reflect upon your cruelty."

Lady Christiana had realized too late that the punishment she had inflicted had been much too severe. Tempest had been abed for many days recovering from the beating and still carried scars on her back from where the riding crop had broken the skin.

Christiana admitted freely that she had allowed her temper to control her and had nursed her daughter diligently until she was able to be up and about again. She had hated every minute of the nursing ch.o.r.e, but shook visibly every time she saw the condemnation in her husband's eyes.

Tempest did not know of her father's promise to her mother and Christiana fervently hoped she would never find out.

She knew if Tempest realized that Christiana could no longer use the riding crop, she would lose all control over her obstinate daughter.

"Be in the great hall before our guests have stabled their horses." Christiana pushed Tempest from her. "We will discuss this later," she said between clenched teeth as she left the room, a false smile already pasted upon her cold, beautiful face.

As Tempest approached the great hall, she heard the sound of deep male voices and the brittle tinkle of her mother's laughter. The sound was false to her ears. She knew from past experience how the Lady Christiana could charm anyone if she put her mind to the task.

"I really do hate the way she laughs," Tempest muttered, as she neared the stone archway leading into the great hall. "I

sincerely hope I never get to a point in my life when I need to be so deceptive." She paused at the entrance. "What new tortures does she have in mind for me now?"

Wendall smiled at his daughter as she reluctantly entered the room. He was standing with a richly appointed man of middle age. With them stood a smiling, pet.i.te, flaxen-haired young woman.

"Tempest," Wendall called to her. "Come meet Count Mirabelle and his lovely daughter Marisa."

"My Lady." Count Mirabelle bowed deeply. "You are as beautiful as I have heard. 'Tis my pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

"You flatter me unjustly, my lord, but I thank you for your compliment. Have you come to visit my father or are you just stopping here on your way to other faraway places?" Tempest was not sure about Count Mirabelle and wanted to tread this ground carefully. Was this a friend of her father's or another suitor?

"I have traveled many days to meet you, beautiful lady and it has been well worth the long trip. You are even lovelier than I had imagined." As he spoke, his eyes slid over her body to linger uncomfortably long on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Look at my face, Sirrah, when you speak to me," Tempest snapped. "I do not speak with my b.r.e.a.s.t.s!"

"Tempest!" Lord Wendall was thunderstruck at his daughter's words. She had always been a well-mannered, quiet child, and he had never heard her speak harshly to anyone before. "Count Mirabelle is here as a guest, and you will treat him accordingly."

"Forgive me, Father," Tempest said, suddenly weary. "I do not feel well today. May I please be excused?" She turned to leave but felt the heavy grip of Christiana's fingers cutting deeply into the flesh of her arm.

"Nay, you may not leave." Christiana was furious, and Tempest knew she would pay dearly for this unprecedented breach of etiquette. "Count Mirabelle has traveled far. You will pay him the respect a Count deserves."

"Lady Christiana, please do not be angry with the poor

girl. Tempest is young and has led a sheltered life. Besides, I admire a woman with spirit." He looked into Tempest's eyes and smiled. "'Tis hard not to admire such a beautiful woman.

If I have offended you, please forgive me." He made a courtly bow, drew her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

"Thank you, sir," she replied. "I was rude."

A commotion from the entrance drew their attention, and Tempest was relieved of the burden of further apologies as all eyes turned to see who had entered.

It was the dark, sinister man from her dream. Tempest shuddered and drew in a shaky breath. He was still dressed in the black robe with the hood drawn over his head. In his hand he carried the long black staff with the red crystal on the end.

As the man approached, Tempest's eyes were drawn to the staff. Her heart beat faster, then seemed to slow almost to a standstill as she stared, spellbound, at the softly glowing crystal.

She felt as if she were being smothered, dragged unwillingly into the depths of fear and depravity, absorbed by that cold, evil, red orb. Voices came to her as though from a great distance.

She tried frantically to pull her gaze from the ruby crystal, but it held her tightly in its dark embrace. Would no one help her?

Could they not see this man as she saw him?

"Tempest." The voice was weak, seeming to come from a great distance yet demanding her attention, helping her to break the spell which held her enthralled.

"Beware." A soft golden haze enveloped her mind, and she fled gratefully to its protection, crumpling to the floor in a swoon.

"Tempest, please wake." Wendall patted her hand gently, his voice filled with concern.

She opened her eyes and looked at his worried face.

"I am all right, Father." She smiled up at him. "Why are you here in my room? I am not ill...."

"You swooned, Tempest, and frightened me nearly to death.

You have never done such a thing before."

"She told you she is all right." Christiana's voice came gratingly from behind Wendall. "I would not be surprised

if it was just one of her tricks to get your sympathy. Get up girl, you still owe Lord Mirabelle an apology."

"Nay." Wendall looked up at his wife, anger flas.h.i.+ng from his green eyes. "Tempest is ill and shall be excused from further engagements with our guests today. The apology was given and accepted. There will be nothing more said. Do I make myself clear, Christiana?"

Their eyes clashed, but Wendall was still lord of his domain.

Christiana was wise enough to defer to her husband's wishes.

She turned without a word and stalked from the room, leaving blessed silence behind.

"I am sorry, Father," Tempest said quietly. "I really was not trying to cause trouble. I know I was rude, but the man infuriated me."

Wendall took his daughter gently in his arms, patted her softly on the back and spoke. "I love you more than anyone upon this earth, Tempest. I wish you only a life of love and happiness. William Mirabelle is a wealthy man with a lovely castle overlooking the sea. He has many servants, and from all reports is not a cruel master. He is generous with his daughter, from the looks of her wardrobe and the jewels she wears. She holds no fear of him. I know he is older but seems fit and sits a horse well. Please, dearest, will you give this arrangement a chance? I would never force you into a marriage against your will."

"But Father, he is so old. His daughter is my age. Surely there are younger prospects from which I may choose. There are more important things to consider than whether or not a man sits his horse well, you know." Her smile was weak.

"You have seen the best this country has to offer, Tempest.

Were there any who interested you at your birthday celebration?

If so, I will send Count Mirabelle on his way. Just tell me what you desire."

Tempest read the truth in his eyes, but could find no answer.

"Nay, they were all so...so..." Her voice trailed off. "I will do as you say, Father. But..." She hesitated.

"What is it? What do you wish?"

"May Tristan come with me? He is unhappy here, and I

need him with me. Mother is so cruel to him. How would he survive without me?" Tempest was as afraid for herself as she was for Tristan.

"Aye. If 'tis Tristan's wish to go with you he has my blessing. I shall speak to Lord William to insure he is given a decent life at his castle. Mayhap William will take him as his squire and help him to attain knighthood." He answered her thoughtfully, relieved by so simple a request from his precious daughter. "You rest now; I have guests to attend."

Tempest closed her eyes as he patted her hand and arose to leave. Suddenly a figure flashed across her closed eyelids. The man in black. A feeling overtook her, a feeling of dread and of being mired helplessly in the red fog of that staff.

"Father!" Panic sharpened her cry.

"What is it, sweeting?" He turned quickly, worry etched across his face. "Are you ill again?"

"That man. The one in black. The one with the staff..."

"Sardon di Mercia? He is William's priest and trusted advisor. Why do you ask?"

"'Tis just..." Tempest did not know how to continue. Could she explain her fears to her father? Would he understand? What did he see when he looked at Sardon di Mercia? Had her witch's powers shown her what others could not see?

"He frightens me, Father. There is something evil about him." Her lips quivered.