Nessa’s Seduction by Jayne Castel

33

YER HEART CALLS YE

NESSA FOUND THE High Bandruì upon a ledge, halfway up the rock-face.

She’d climbed a rope ladder inside the cavern and then crawled out onto the damp ledge to find Colina already seated, her back up against the mossy rock, her farsighted gaze unfocused. For once, her familiar wasn’t with her. The Wailing Widow, a frothing column of water, fell just a few feet away, sending a misty cloud of water over the ledge. Droplets settled over Nessa’s face as she crawled over to Colina and settled down next to her.

This ledge was the High Bandruì’s special place—one of the few spots that allowed her quiet, meditative time away from the rest of the order.

Few others joined her up here, but this morning Nessa had intruded upon her peace.

Seated there, Nessa breathed in the fresh, rich air that the waterfall created. The ledge afforded them a lofty view across the stony, wooded gorge. Looking on at the unchanging scene, it was hard to believe that, to the south, the English were still laying siege to Stirling Castle.

At the Wailing Widow Falls, the world seemed to stand still.

“Ye aren’t yerself these days, Nessa,” Colina greeted her with disarming bluntness. Her voice was gentle, as always, yet there was a strained edge to it.

Nessa’s throat tightened. Was the High Bandruì disappointed in her?

“Aye, I’m sorry about that,” Nessa replied, cursing the sudden huskiness in her voice. “It just that things … have caught up with me.” She broke off then, wishing she had the courage to speak her mind—to voice the conflict within her. However, she held her tongue. Once again, fear had her in a stranglehold. Letting go of this life seemed impossible.

Likewise, Colina lapsed into silence. Watching the older woman’s face, and the lines of care upon it, Nessa wondered what the High Bandruì was thinking. She was wise and kind, and yet in many ways an enigma—even after all these years.

“Things do catch up with us,” Colina murmured. “Eventually.”

Nessa didn’t reply, wondering at the comment, and the brittle edge to her leader’s voice.

Colina looked at her then, her gaze suddenly sharper than it had been in years. When Nessa had been a bairn, the druidess who had mothered her had managed well despite her poor vision. But with the passing of the years, her shortsightedness had worsened.

Yet this morning, as their gazes met, it was as if Colina could once again see as clearly as she had in her younger years.

“Sometimes I think I failed ye, Nessa,” the High Bandruì said, reaching out and taking her hands in hers, squeezing gently.

Nessa’s eyes prickled, tears threatening. “No,” she whispered back. “Never.”

Colina’s throat bobbed before she shook her head. “I’ve only ever been proud of ye,” she whispered. “When I found ye all those years ago, chilled to the marrow in the woods, wrapped up in nothing but a sheepskin, ye gazed up at me with such trust in yer eyes that I swore then and there that I’d protect ye as if ye were my own.” The High Bandruì’s gaze glistened. “Ye were such a happy bairn … so full of curiosity and gentleness … I knew early on that ye would be one to follow the healing arts.” Colina broke off there, her fingers squeezing tighter. “The three of ye all came to me in the space of one cold spring … and I knew that ye’d all have a role to play in the fight that was coming … a fight I’d seen in my visions.”

Nessa listened silently. She knew of Colina’s premonitions; she recalled the High Bandruì speaking of them when she was a bairn.

The English would come.

The Scots would rally against them.

A freedom fighter who’d lost his woman to the enemy would raise an army against them.

And Colina had been right. The English had indeed crossed Hadrian’s Wall and marched upon Scottish soil—and William Wallace, whose love, Marion Bradfute, died at English hands, had led an uprising.

Colina was indeed skilled at divination.

“Ye see … I knew that ye would lose yer heart to an Englishman, if I sent ye to Dunfermline,” the High Bandruì continued.

Nessa’s breathing caught, her gaze widening. “Ye knew that would happen?”

Colina nodded.

Nessa’s belly contracted. “Couldn’t ye have sent someone else?”

“No one else could have done the job as well as ye, Nessa … perhaps Fyfa, but she has a vital role at Stirling Castle.” Colina paused there. “Breanna is too quick-tempered, and none of the others have yer patience, yer skills with potions and earth and moon workings—and yer independence.”

Nessa’s pulse now beat in her ears. “So ye sent me anyway.”

A nerve fluttered in one of the High Bandruì’s eyelids. “Aye … the cause came first.”

Nessa held her gaze. She didn’t know how to respond. She was angry with the High Bandruì, and yet she also took responsibility for her own decisions. Colina might have caught a glimpse at the future, yet Nessa had agreed to the mission, and no one had forced her to let Hugh de Burgh into her heart.

“I think,” Colina said finally, shattering the silence between them, “that the time has come for ye to leave us.”

Nessa’s lips parted, a gasp rushing out of her. Although she’d been wrestling with that very decision, her mother’s words shocked her all the same. “What?”

Colina’s grip tightened, to the point where it was almost bruising. “I don’t say this lightly, lass … I say it because I know in my gut that to keep ye with us would only bring ye sorrow.”

“But—”

“Ye have given yer life to this order, but it’s time now to pass the torch to another.” Colina released one of her hands, raising her own as Nessa once again attempted to interrupt her. “Some of the young ones are developing strong healing skills. They will take yer place in that role.”

Nessa swallowed hard. Once again, conflict twisted within her. In her heart, she wished to go, yet the part of her that clung to the safe and familiar rebelled. She felt like a baby bird, about to be shoved from the nest. “Am I that easily replaced?”

Colina shook her head, her eyes glittering. “No … ye are the daughter I always wanted, Nessa. No one can ever replace ye.”

Nessa stared back at the High Bandruì. Her candid words robbed her of any response. She knew Colina was fond of her, yet she’d never realized just how deep her feelings ran. Nessa’s eyelids now burned, and a tear slid free, rolling down her cheek.

“I only ever saw ye as my mother,” she whispered. “I have only ever wanted to do ye proud.”

Tears now wet Colina’s cheeks too. “And ye have,” she said, her voice husky. “Thanks to ye, we had advance warning of the siege upon Stirling. We were able to furnish them with extra supplies, and a number of our allies have ridden south to help defend the castle … they continue to harry the English as we speak. And now we know a witch resides within the English camp. These details are vital to us … if ye did nothing more for the rest of yer life, these deeds would be enough. We still don’t know where the threat to Robert Bruce will originate from … but at least we are forewarned.”

A beat of silence passed between them before Nessa replied. “Hugh de Burgh has my heart, mother.”

The High Bandruì’s mouth quirked. “Aye, lass … I release ye from the oaths ye swore to this order. I give ye the freedom to leave us … to ride south and wed the man ye love.”

Nessa stared back at her. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. “What if I don’t fit in anywhere but here?”

Colina shook her head, her smile widening. “Ye are a survivor, my daughter … ye would fit in anywhere. Yer heart is calling ye … and ye would be wise to answer it.”

Grosmont Castle

The Welsh Borders

“Something is amiss with you, brother,” Kit observed as he eyed Hugh over the rim of his goblet. “Yet I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is.”

Hugh snorted, even if tension rippled through him at Kit’s words.

His brother was far too perceptive.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he replied, frowning. “I’m just getting used to my old life … that’s all.”

Kit nodded, although his gaze didn’t change. “I imagine it must be a change from leading the king’s army,” he admitted. “And I’d expect you to feel a bit restless here … but it’s not that. You’ve always been a surly bastard, yet you hardly speak these days. Just now, I caught you staring off into the distance like you were hundreds of leagues away.” Kit paused then, letting his observations sink in. “What happened in Scotland?”

Hugh muttered an oath under his breath, before reaching for the ewer of wine, and topping up his pewter goblet. The brothers sat in the solar, upon the first floor of the keep. Just over a week had passed since his return to Grosmont, and after supper, the brothers had settled before the hearth to share a goblet of wine and talk over the running of Hugh’s lands.

So many years had passed since Hugh had managed them himself, he needed his brother to update him.

However, Kit wasn’t interested in telling him about their last harvest, their tenants, or the taxes they collected for the king. Instead, he wanted to know about things that Hugh didn’t wish to discuss.

“Nothing happened.”

“Aye, it did. Why are ye so tight-lipped about it?” Kit held his eye, his own expression stubborn. Moments passed as their stare drew out, and then Kit’s eyes widened, understanding dawning. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”

Hugh couldn’t help it, he flinched—and victory flared in Kit’s eyes. “I knew it!”

“Shut your beak,” Hugh growled, taking a gulp of wine. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

Kit reclined in the high-backed chair, nursing his goblet of wine as he viewed his brother with a hooded gaze. “A Scotswoman too, I’d wager.”

Hugh heaved in a deep breath, fighting his rising temper. Kit was never one to leave a subject alone. However, short of shoving his brother’s teeth down his throat, he wasn’t going to shut him up this evening.

“All right,” he muttered. “There was a woman … but it’s over.”

Kit watched him, taking this in. “And was she a Scot?”

Hugh nodded, fighting the images of Nessa that crept in, tormenting him. Her smile, both knowing and innocent, her sharp green eyes, and the soft lilt of her voice. He missed her with an ache under his ribcage that only seemed to grow with each passing day.

Kit gave a rueful shake of his head. “Well, that was an unfortunate choice, wasn’t it?”

Hugh snorted before taking another deep draft of wine. It was—and yet despite that Nessa could never be his, he didn’t regret knowing her. Before Nessa, he’d cared about little save the glory of England. His loyalty to Edward had narrowed his world to the point where he sometimes forgot who he really was, and what he’d left behind. His empty marriage had been his own doing, and Nessa had made him realize that he didn’t want to die alone on a battlefield.

Glory was a cold mistress.

Aye, he missed Nessa with every waking breath, yet he was thankful to her too. She’d taught him what was truly important.