Phemie tramped far behind her, holding up the ragged hem of her kirtle. She refused to remove her thick shoes that sloshed with water and left heavy prints in the wrinkled mud. " Are ye no weary yet. lady-lass? I wouldna be sorry to rest a bit, for I'm some tired. "
"The tides are at their lowest point, " Lady Catherine answered, pointing ahead to a wide streak of silver. "We should cross the Solway now, and we'll be in your own country , the land of the Scots. "
A sigh of ecstasy broke from Phemie. "My own country -where I climbed the hills in the white dawns, and saw the sun sink down wi' a smile. It's little one sees o' sunrising or sunsetting in the towns. " Memories of her childhood swept over her. " Ah, the days o' my youth, when I ducked in the sea fro' mornin' till night, an' the bonnie summer days wasna near long enough for me. "
Soft mud squashed around Lady Catherine's bare feet as she set out bravely across the Solway Firth. Red and brown seaweed, carried by the tide, twined around her waist. In her upraised hand she carried her shoes. There were unseen patches of quicksand, she knew, but there was nothing she could do about that. Keeping her gaze on the sharply-cut hills of the far horizon, she waded on, trusting Phemie to follow. The cold was numbing: she could barely feel the razor shells that nicked her feet.
Halfway across she heard a wild splashing, and turned to see Phemie gesturing wildly. "For God's sake, mistress, flee an' hide yerself! I seen two o' Sir Wallis' men behind me, gallopin' through the bog like mad. "
Without thinking, Lady Catherine grabbed Phemie's sleeve and flung them both down into the water.
Releasing her breath slowly, she sank to the muddy bottom and wrapped her skirt around her ankles. She kept a tight grip on Phemie's ann. There were shouts and splashings; she felt turbulence and glimpsed wavering shadows that might have been the legs of horses. F ear was cold in her chest, colder than the icy water .
Her chest was burning, she could hold her breath no longer .Cautiously she lifted her face above the surface. Two riders were urging their mounts up a bluff on the far shore.
When they disappeared into the trees, she stood up, as did Phemie, gasping. "There's more o' them, I'm mighty sure. As sure as ye're a liviD' soul, Sir Wallis is in pursuit. We must go back. "
Grim purpose vibrated through Lady Catherine's voice. "We cannot turn back, we must go on. "
" Are ye daft?" Phemie exploded. tossing back her sodden hair with both hands. "They'll be upon ye w-ithin two breaths."
Without answering. Lady Catherine set out once more, heading resolutely for the coast of Galloway.
Muttering. Phemie followed- "She never was like other lasses, an' canna be held back. Well if Sir Wallis kills me, it's just too bad, I'll just ha' to die."
Cliffs and the spears of pines rose above a pebbled beach; on the edge of exhaustion, the two women scrambled up into the shelter of the trees.
Phemie wrung out her bedraggled skirt in distaste and tried again to make her mistress see sense. "We canna go on. It's temptin' Providence."
Lady Catherine rubbed her dripping face on her sleeve and tried to explain. "You're near your own country now; if it's in your heart to stay here. stay, But I must keep going. I must find him. " It was so difficult to put into words the one dream of her life. She shook her head in bewilderment. for she hardly understood it herself. "Phemie. there is a bond between us. Everything that happens to me happens to him. Every sorrow that comes to me touches his soul in some way. Every joy I feel. he feels. How can I turn back or sink under the weight of fear. when I know that Lord Alistair's arms are reaching out for me. that his heart is longing for me? With such a man waiting for me at journey's end, I cannot falter."
Grumbling, Phemie emptied out her shoes. "It's an odd place the world. full o' odd things, but to my thinkin' the oddest o' them all is man. Though maybe woman is odder."
The following day they tramped through a land of little wooded glens thick with oak, ash, and birch trees. Sometimes they had to push through an underbrush of hazel and thorns. Beyond the woods they rounded gleaming lakes that reflected silver skies like shimmering mirrors. The air had the peaty smell of bogs and often they caught the scent of the sea. In the distance, mist settled over high blue hills like castles of smoke.
The second day, the landscape changed to a wild and desolate seacoast dotted with dark green islands.
With a groan, Phemie folded her long legs and sat down on a fallen tree trunk. "Sit, we'll do the trees no harm. It's as cheap sittin' as standin'." She disliked the look of the sunset: a haze of blood red. Her shoulders drooped as she let herself grumble, "It's a weary, weary, wanderin' way".
"We'll reach Raven's Rock somehow," declared Lady Catherine, forcing herself into cheerfulness. She was worried sick they might have traveled too far. Anyone of those dark green specks on the ocean might be the Heathery Isle.
"Ye may well say 'somehow,' my lady," returned Phemie sharply. "But it's a fearsome venture."
They had shared their last oatcake the morning before. Phemie didn't know that she had been given all of Lady Catherine's portion.
Shading her eyes, Lady Catherine sat up straighter as hope thrilled through her . "Look! That gray curl must be smoke. There must be a settlement, perhaps a fishing village."
Phemie grimaced and clutched her stomach. "I'm so hungry my soul's hangin' by a thread. The inside o' my back is stickin' to the inside o' my front. I'm empty."
Lady Catherine staggered a little as she got to her feet. Her hunger and weakness shamed her: she didn't want Phemie to see. To encourage her companion she said, "There will be neat's foot broth there. and cock-a-leekie, and cold sheep's head, and heather ale."
"Lead on." Phemie rubbed her tired legs and followed once more. "I'm so hungry I could eat a raw dog. "
The bloody sky had faded to black by the time they edged across a log bridge that spanned a fissure in the cliff: A waterfall poured down the chasm to the sea far below. Nearing the settlement they saw ominous signs that the villagers still clung to the Old Religion: gravemarkers painted with spirals. and rag and bone sacrifices fluttering from the branches of a dead oak tree .
A bonfIre that blazed in the center of the path cast strange shadows over dancing men who leaped around the flames. Some of the dancers wore antlers strapped to their heads. Beyond the last squalid huts loomed a ring of stones, capped by heavy slabs.
Phemie took a step backwards, bumping into Lady Catherine. "it's an ungodly place. I'm no so hungry after all. "
Lady Catherine swallowed her own apprehension. She bent. smeared her hand in the dust. and traced a spiral on Phemie's forehead. "We are two women of the Old Religion who have come to celebrate the Solstice at the ring of stones."
Phemie's eyes widened in superstitious alarm. "Godsake me! Losh gosh an' lovenenty! Do ye say so?"
Lady Catherine was aware of her own quickening heartbeat as she came nearer the bonfire and found herself confronted by a Druid priest who clutched a rod twined with mistletoe. A wreath of oak leaves hung over his frowning eyes; gold shields swung from his ears.
He glowered at the two women. "Begone. strangers, thou shalt find no welcome here. On this night we burneth to ashes curses and sickness and the evil eye. in the names of the three worlds. the four implements of power, the five-fold wheel of being. the six invasions, and the seven gods. " His head rolled back.
Lady Catherine raised her voice, trying to keep him from slipping into a trance. "We have traveled from beyond the Solway to join with you in these rites. The standing stones in our village are small and not ancient as yours are."
His voice rose and fell: he was lost in a chant of his own previous incarnations. 'By the Wiseman among Wisemen I was marked before the existence of the world: I have been a star with a curved beak; I have played in the night. I have slept in the dawn. When the waters like unexpected spears fell from the sky to the depths of the abyss, I was a raindrop in the air .I have been a thrush of portending language; I have been the hero of the blood-stained meadows in the midst of a hundred chiefs, red is the stone of my belt. my shield is rimmed with gold..."
She pressed a coin into his hand: his fist closed convulsively around it. With an effort he pulled himself back to reality, half-dazed by his own prophecies. He glared at the two women until Phemie wanted to scream.
Frowning, he said, " As thou art believers, rejoice, then, sisters; and share our fare. At dawn a foul unclean demon who hath brought a curse with him from the Heathery Isle shall be consumed in this sacred fire." He pointed toward the ring of stones at the far end of the village, and flashed a hex sign.
A grief-stricken woman appeared behind him. clutching a bundle of rags from which a small hand protruded. Her haggard face was smeared with ashes and her mad eyes glared.
She hissed, "I seen the demons, leapin' about like mad an' borin' holes in children wi' their frightsome horns. Three times my dead son has cried: Blood! Blood! Blood! What else should he say to the enemies o' mankind that sucked his breath?"
Behind her, one of the horned dancers took up her cry ."There'll be a vengeance this dawn they'll tell to the babe yet unborn --aye, for many generations. It'll be an awful death for that dog o' Hell, a death worth seein'. It'll just be mighty!"
Lady Catherine choked down a gasp. "Indeed ...burn them all, before the demons swallow the village as a snake swallows birds:" To Phemie she whispered, "Buy food enough to fill our packs. Dance and sing."
The priest stared after the two women suspiciously as they neared the bonfire. Drunken men leaped around the flames, waving pitchforks and scythes: women leaned from their windows to cheer them on. As her mistress had commanded, Phemie joined the revelers, hopping awkwardly, her face ghastly with fright. Lady Catherine slid past two fishermen who staggered arm in arm.
She hurried past the last hut. It was quieter there, beyond the noise and reek of the village, and she glanced up at the stars, wondering if indeed there was such a thing as destiny, and what her fate might be.
She sped down a dirt path that led to a circle of great stone monoliths. A glimmer of white lay in the center. As she came nearer, she saw it was a man bound with chains and ropes.
Her hand flew to her throat. Only one sort of outcast wore such white robes. Still, questions were burning in her; questions that she had to ask.
He lay on his side in the dust, his gloved hands fettered behind him. Lengths of iron chain and lashings of rope around his body and legs kept him motionless.
Cautiously she came nearer; he heard the light step and a tremor went through him. Even his brave spirit shuddered at the thought of the fire.
In a voice hoarse with thirst and pain, he whispered, "Is it dawn already?"
On an impulse she unfastened the leather water bottle from her belt, and knelt before the condemned man. A hood and a featureless cloth mask concealed his face. He lifted his head slightly to look at her through the cloth, and she heard the sharp intake of his breath.
Gently she said, "Your bell and robes of white tell me that you have been stricken. I have water here, but I must remove your mask. I mean you no harm, can you trust me?"
No answer came for a long moment; she could hardly hear his words when he finally spoke. "To see horror in your eyes would pain me, my lady. A leper I am not, but some have called me a demon. "
Her hand shook a little as she put back his hood and untied the cords of his mask. Under a coating of blood and dust his strong jaw was tense with agony; she caught a glimpse of curved teeth before his lips shut tight. holding back a moan of anguish.
Shock made her draw back she saw pain in his eyes not caused by his injuries. Ashamed of her reaction. she held the bottle to his lips. saying. softly. " Here. "
As he drank. she forced herself to look at him again. Slanting brows were drawn together in a grimace of pain. Fur dusted his high cheekbones and feline nose. Like the mouth of a cat his upper lip was grooved. Not a leper, she thought, but a supernatural being. captured by Druid spellcasting. She had often heard that otherworldly creatures could not escape the touch of cold iron.
He drank deeply, then his head dropped back to see her more clearly. There was wonder in his expression. "God bless you. God reward you. " His voice was rough with emotion.
She was startled -- no creature that lacked a soul could utter the holy name. She was forced to revise her first impression: despite his inhuman features, he was mortal, and facing a swift-approaching death of unfathomable horror.
"Such a prayer could not come from the heart of a demon, but only from the heart of a true man." Sudden tears of sympathy stung her eyes.
His voice cracked he swallowed and tried again. "The water was an act of mercy, but your words are more merciful still, my lady. I am a stranger to you, but you are not unknown to me, Lady Catherine. I have seen you at last, and that lifts from me half the bitterness of this fate. Not even death will take this memory from me."
Wonder widened her eyes - how could he possibly recognize her? Then curiosity was overwhelmed by a surge of pity. Her heart went out to him in a sudden wild rush of sympathy that swept away all rational thought. Because of his appearance, he had been condemned to die, and in such a dreadful way. On a long-ago visit to London she had seen a heretic burned, and the sight and smell of it still plagued her with nightmares.
She placed a hand on his shoulder; it was his eyes now that widened with shock. Her touch was a blessing that he felt through his whole body. "Have you a name?" she wondered.
"Vincent." Just once he longed to hear her speak his name. It would be another memory to take with him into the dark.
She recalled then the words of the Druid priest, and her deep need compelled her to say, "Vincent, I am in desperate trouble. Have you indeed sailed from the Heathery Isle? Tell me, I beg you -- I have no one else to turn to. What are the landmarks to tell me I have not lost my way, and how can I know that island from all the others in the sea? What are the dangers that lie ahead?"
A groan broke from him, he twisted in his chains. It was more than he could bear -- she was pleading for his help, and he was powerless.
His voice was a rasp of pain. "Though I die at dawn, my spirit will travel with you and guard you. That I promise. You will not be forced to make the journey alone."
His unselfish courage moved her deeply. A man with such a generous soul deserved better than the fate meted out to him. In that instant, her decision was made . The Druids would have to find another sacrifice. From her belt she pulled a short copper knife, saying, "What I have the power to do for you, I will." She began to saw at the thick hempen cords.
Hardly daring to hope. he stared upward at stars that glittered in the dome of the night. Was there indeed a destiny in such stars? Beyond all expectation, was his life being given back to him. and by her hand?
Suddenly he lifted his head, listening. Destiny had been mocking him once again with a hope that would not be fulfilled. "Someone is coming. Don't let yourself be caught here. Run, I beg you."
"Never, by God. " she said through her teeth. Madly she chopped at the ropes. Phemie burst into the circle of stones. "We're betrayed. mistress. There are two men o' Sir Wallis here an' the pagan folk ha' sold us."
"Help me with these ropes!" cried Lady Catherine.
Phemie caught sight of the prisoner and crossed herself quickly. "Mercy me, what is it?"
They could all hear shouting. and the thunder of hoofbeats. Desperately Lady Catherine slashed at the twisted strands: one by one. they parted. The length of chain that had joined the ropes fell to the dust with a rattle of iron.
Vincent got to his hands and knees. and almost fell again. One sleeve was stained with dried blood where a reaping hook had caught him. For two days he had been left in the center of the stone circle without food or water while the villagers waited for the Solstice. Staggering a little he got to his feet; despite his weakness he was so tall and seemed so powerful that Lady Catherine felt a sudden qualm of apprehension. Her alarm deepened as he removed his gloves, and she saw his furred hands and pointed nails.
He caught her look of dismay, and a pang of suffering clouded his face. "Forgive me for what I am. Lady Catherine. If I am forced to fight for us both. turn your face away ...don't look."
A light of rebellion flashed in her eyes. "We travel side by side from this day on. I will not stand aside and cover my eyes while you fight for us. What I have the power to do, I will." In her hand shone the copper dagger.
Phemie took a stand beside her mistress, gripping her own knife and shouting at two riders, a knight and a mercenary , who came charging down the path from the village. "If there's any men among ye, come down here to me, any four o' ye at a time!"
A mob of fisherfolk circled the place of sacrifice, waving farm tools and shouting encouragement to the riders.
"To the stake --to the stake! "
"Fire is too good a death for such devilry!"
"Tear 'em to pieces!"
Vincent cursed his own weakness as he slashed at the first horseman and missed. The knight wore a conical steel helmet -- a red bull blazed on his shield -- laughing, he thrust and stabbed. The point sliced the air an inch from Vincent's face and he flinched back.
Dizzy and sick, Vincent opened himself to the battle madness that lived always within his deepest self. To his dismay, he only felt emptiness.
He moved back again as the terrified horse kicked and plunged, slashing the air with thunder hooves. Lady Catherine seized the bridle with both hands and hung on: the horse reared. lifting her from the ground. The knight wheeled his horse around to strike at Vincent again: Lady Catherine would not let go of the bridle.
Phemie tore a spade from the hands of
one of the villagers and risked slashing hooves to pound the knight across the
back. He ignored the maidservant: it was the noblewoman he had been sent to
find. He bent from the saddle, seized Lady Catherine around the waist, and
pulled her up in front of him. His triumphant laughter rang out and mingled with
her scream of despair.
Behind Vincent's eyes, madness flickered. The battle fury in him welled up into his brain and ran back through his body. Suddenly he exploded with a rage so terrible that it felt as if he would burst into a single flame of anger. With a maddened roar he leaped and seized the knight's shield. Bracing his feet. with one motion he pulled him from the saddle and threw him violently against one of the standing stones with a force that cracked the sword in two.
Screamed Phemie, "Ye are but half a man. keep half a blade!"
Roaring like an avalanche, Vincent attacked the man. both clawed hands raised to rend and tear. Vicious thrusts and feints of the broken sword could not keep him away. A murderous underhanded sweep of his arm broke through the wooden shield, drove into the knight's ribcage, and lifted him from his feet. Vincent held him high, then flung him aside like a heap of bloody rags.
Lady Catherine slid down from the saddle, grabbed up a length of chain from the dirt, and lashed at the second rider, a mercenary, who spurred his bay stallion and knocked Vincent down. Breathless and stunned, Vincent tried to rise and fell back, furious at his own weak condition. One villager braver than the rest broke from the ranks of onlookers, thrusting at Phemie with a pitchfork: she beat him to the ground with her spade. "Take that. ye murderin' rascal. By the great God my maker, if ye seek to rise, I'll come down on ye as ye lie."
The bay reared like a dark tower: the mercenary swung a spiked iron ball over Vincent, who had gotten to his hands and knees. Screaming like a hawk Lady Catherine hurled the chain at the mercenary's face: Phemie threw her spade aside, grabbed the saddle, and stabbed at his mail-clad leg with her dagger. With an ugly oath he whirled the mace above Lady Catherine; the sight cost Vincent the last of his sanity .
With one motion he leaped, stretching straight out in the air. The force of the collision hurled the man from the saddle. Vincent landed on top of him as they both struck the ground. Growling and snarling, again and again he slashed and tore, ripping through chain mail and the flesh beneath, until Lady Catherine seized his upraised arm.
"The villagers have surrounded this place of sacrifice; we must run."
Her words reached him: the light of madness faded from his eyes. He lurched to his feet. fighting with all that was left of his senses towards a dim light which he knew for his own self. He had a moment of clearness when he felt the sweat roll down his face and he was aware of the blood on his hands, and the flicker of torches beyond the standing stones.
The Druid priest stood between two upraised torches, looking like an incarnation of Death itself. Rolling his head from side to side, he focused his malignant gaze on Lady Catherine, who had deprived them of their Solstice sacrifice. With both hands he aimed the staff out straight: his voice seemed to come from the middle of his body. " I have been word among letters. I have been book in the beginning. I have been light of the lamp. My prophecies art true. I predicteth the fate alotted to each. Death before thee. death behind thee. on thy right hand death. on thy left hand death. "
She shrank back, one hand on her heart as if that pointed staff might pierce her through. The priest moaned. "Death above thee. death below thee. A coffin shalt be thy portion: I have said it. "
Through the fog that still clouded his mind, Vincent heard the curse of the Druid and his face became completely inhuman in its wrath. Before he could gather himself to attack. Lady Catherine called to him, in a voice that trembled. "Please -- we must get away."
At once Vincent whirled and grabbed the bridles of the two horses. He seized Phemie around the waist and set her in one saddle, then lifted Lady Catherine to the other. The two women spurred their mounts and he ran between them. beyond the ring of stones. The villagers pounded after them, waving their farm-tool weapons, throwing rocks and screaming.
"We have na killed 'em enough!"
"Down wi' the demon an' his two hell-cats!"
"fire's too good a death for such deevilry!"
The sacred grove of oaks loomed ahead. Vincent gasped, "Ride straight through, they'll never follow."
*
Yells and shouts faded behind them: as Vincent had hoped, the villagers feared to enter the grove. Following his lead, the two women kicked their mounts into a run and charged on through the trees -- then in the unknown night there were only the sounds of horses' hooves and his own harsh breathing as he raced along between the two. The ground was rough and the moonlight faint.
His chest was burning like fire, while his legs were turning to water: only his power of will kept him running. The settlement was far behind; every step drove knives through him, still he ran on. Lady Catherine reined her horse to a walk; he staggered beside her, while Phemie galloped ahead. Within a stand of fir trees they halted at last; Vincent fell back against a tree, gasping for breath. He had suffered through terrible physical ordeals since sailing from the Heathery Isle, and the emotions that raged within him weakened him further.
The two women slipped from their horses: Phemie panted, "Lady-lass, tell me ye're no hurt."
"Not in the least." Lady Catherine threw the reins over a branch and knotted them, then bent to loosen the saddle cinch.
Phemie re-sheathed her knife, declaring smugly, "I didna think they would win. I'm no that good at losin' when once I'm started."
Lady Catherine knew her companion very well, and a ring of command steeled her words. "Because of Vincent's courage, we still live. He has agreed to guide us to Raven's Rock."
Phemie staggered. She had seen the rage that took him over heard the growls as he tore the mercenary apart. "No! Ye would be safer goin' a league into the mouth o' Hell than meddlin' wi' such a demon. He's no fit company for the likes o' ye. We wouldna be sure o' our lives a minute in the company o' such a red-mad wild deevil as that"
Vincent turned away and braced his arm against the tree, hiding his face. He was struck where his strength was weakest, wounded where he had no defense. Agony caught him in the chest, pressing until he could scarcely breathe.
Horror rang through Phemie's plea. "I never beheld such a creature as yon. Hear me, mistress! If that's no a deevil, there's none on earth!"
Lady Catherine glanced in Vincent's direction. His solitary stance, the loneliness of it, set him apart from all humankind.
Cold anger turned her voice to steel. "Stand away from my sight. I'm ashamed of you, Phemie." Turning her back on her maidservant, she stepped to Vincent's side. He still concealed his face within his arm.
He was well used to pain. well used to self-control, but all at once the bitterness of his fate almost vanquished him. His voice was hoarse. "She speaks the truth. Those two men -- I still see their faces. I can hardly bear to remember what these hands of mine have done. and yet I can never forget." He faced her then, but kept his eyes on the ground; his hands curled into fists.
His pain touched her deeply. For Lady Catherine, there was seldom a pause between a kind thought and a kind act. Between her two small hands she folded his. "You grieve because you have a heart. If those two men had slain us, they would not have grieved. They would have laughed. I bless these hands, Vincent, that have held death back from me. " .
Her light touch vibrated through him. He looked down at her face, so warm and sympathetic, and felt his heart beat. Lying in the dust, chained and helpless, he had given up all hope. Now, beyond all prayer or expectation, life had been given back to him. More than that, he had seen the face that haunted his dreams waking and sleeping. Lady Catherine was beside him, her hands wrapped around his own.
"Forgive her ... forgive us both, for any doubting, " she said gently. She added. "It is my belief that you are a messenger from Lord Alistair. Is that true?" He had been sent to find her, which proved he was a servingman. And yet he did not speak as Phemie did. in a rustic dialect. His speech was that of a man of learning, as if he had been tutored by clerics.
His voice was thick; he could not lie, and could not answer truthfully. "In a way."
"Since he places his faith in you, we must trust you as well, Vincent. "
He took a breath, and spoke the words of a vow. " If you can find it in your heart to trust me, Lady Catherine. I will fight to my last breath to make certain you never regret it ."
Softly she said. "You are weary. Sleep, and I will keep the first watch."
He was So exhausted and battered that he could not refuse. He walked a little way into the trees, then looked back -- a smile quirked his mouth. "And to think I was journeying to Ambermere to rescue you. "