Tales of the Order:
The Craftsman

Candace Sams

 

Chapter One

Gawain O’Malley slowly backed away from the castle window. Three stories below, magical creatures of the Order danced and sang. Unknown to them, it would be the last celebration for some time. They were putting behind them the terrible fire that had cost nine friends their lives and their actions were the traditional way to both say goodbye and move on. The families of the dead would mourn in their own way, but the Order would together find their peace in the celebrations. For his part, he had been responsible for those deaths and could find nothing to celebrate. Losing his right hand in the inferno had been a small price to pay for his lack of judgment. How could he ever look any of them in the face again? He couldn’t even tolerate his own reflection.
“Won’t you come outside and sit with me, Gawain?”
The sound of the Sorceress’ voice startled him. He’d been so immersed in his guilt his ordinarily keen senses hadn’t alerted him to her presence. “No, Shayla. I have some thinking to do.”
“You can’t stay up here forever, man. Your family is worried, as well as your friends.”
“Soon, they’ll have a great deal more to worry over than my missing a celebration. You haven’t told them, have you?” He slowly turned to look her in the face.
“Everyone knows all the craftwork and your art went up in flames. Will my reiterating the point make it better?” she responded.
“Do they know how close to financial ruin we really are? How low on first-aid supplies we are? How the food will have to be rationed?”
She walked forward until she stood close. “And you think all of this is your responsibility and that we haven’t faced hard times before?”
“As the Craftsman, it is my responsibility to make sure we have marketable goods.” He turned away. “Because of my ego, I let my art become the main source of income. Now—”
“Now we shall all make do with less,” she interrupted. “We’ve done it before. And you don’t hear sounds of anger or sorrow out there.” She motioned toward the window with one hand. “Those are the sounds of joy.”
“Wait a few months, Sorceress. When the doctors don’t have the medical equipment they need or the children go hungry, there won’t be any sounds of joy. And there are those absent from the gaiety. The families of the dead aren’t there,” he bitterly pointed out.
She gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Why are you blaming yourself when no one else does?”
He struck a towering bedpost with the fist of his left hand. “I should have checked the gas lines better. It was my job to make sure everything was safe. And those people wouldn’t have been in the building at all if I hadn’t asked them to stay late.”
“Gawain, no one could have known the kilns would explode.”
“Wrong, Sorceress. I should have known. Any kiln using a gas line can explode. If I’d checked the connections better instead of worrying over my precious artwork and my next gallery showing, those people would still be alive. The entire building wouldn’t have gone up in flames and eighteen months of work wouldn’t have been destroyed.”
“Blaming yourself will change nothing. Monday morning, all the artisans will meet in the great clearing and sort this out. With their doubled efforts and your new artwork—”
“What new artwork?” he interjected and held up his right forearm. “I can’t create art with one hand, Sorceress. I’m right-handed. Or was.”
She shook her head. “Gawain, I refuse to let you castigate yourself this way. We will come out of this situation stronger and closer than ever before. You’ll see.”
“I don’t know how you can say that when the computers will have to be shut down, the utilities won’t be paid and we’ll have to find some way to explain to the London gallery owners that their precious artist won’t have anything to exhibit.”
“We’ve already told them that DeForest won’t be able to make his exhibitions. That he, or should I say you, won’t be able to make this season’s gallery exhibits.”
“That’s bound to cause suspicion. What if some wily reporter or tabloid writer starts asking a lot of questions?”
“That’s why I’m the Sorceress of the Ancients and why, for thousands of years, all the magical creatures of these sacred woods have looked to my kind for protection. I can assure you, a plausible excuse will be made until you can get back on your feet again.”
He sighed in frustration. “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”
“All I’m hearing is a man who’s blaming himself for things he couldn’t control. Accidents happen, Gawain. If the Goddess didn’t give us obstacles to overcome, how would we know when to celebrate life? There can’t be good times without bad. Sweet times without the bitter. That’s the way life is.” She paused and patted his uninjured arm. “I’ll expect you to be in the great clearing on Monday. Think about what we must do to pull ourselves out of this circumstance instead of looking back at what happened. The past is done.” She turned and left his room as silently as she’d come.
Gawain looked down at his right arm and winced when the pain burned its way up to his shoulder. The doctors had called it phantom pain. He’d been told its primary cause was self-induced stress and had been prescribed mild painkillers and even anti-depressants. People who’d lost limbs often suffered this kind of pain or so he’d been informed. But how was he supposed to forget the nine people who’d lost their lives in that fire? How was he supposed to ignore the needs of hundreds of magical beings whose safety might depend upon their financial security? Shayla Gallagher couldn’t just march into the nearest London bank, explain that she was Sorceress of the Ancients and protector of a forest full of hidden, magical creatures, then take out a loan to cover their losses. What kept them hidden was their ability to blend in with the outside world and provide, through a covert maze of business dealings, for their own needs. The very castle within which he now stood took thousands of pounds a year to keep up. Outsiders were led to believe that a reclusive Earl lived within its walls. And while that was true, his ability to keep the world outside this place was due to the past efforts of the artisans, weavers, jewelry makers and others who paid the bills. Even their physicians, in London and elsewhere, had been trained using funds which originated from the Order. But in the past years, his artwork had become the most important of all. His creations sold for the highest amount so the other artisans were able to place more emphasis on watching over the young, repairing buildings and using technology his artwork had purchased to maintain safety and anonymity. As he produced more magnificent sculptures and creations in different media, the other artisans relaxed and made better crafts, though fewer in quantity. Still, the rest of the art might have sustained them for just a bit longer if his had been the only craftwork lost. With costs soaring to keep up their collective masquerade, however, his work was now crucial. Without it, the most expensive items, such as computers and medical supplies, couldn’t be purchased or maintained for long.
Gawain shook his head in self-loathing. How had he let himself become so important? “If only I’d checked the damned kilns.” He paced the floor for a time. When the pain in his arm became so strong he could no longer ignore it, he left the peace of his room to locate someone in the castle infirmary.
He was halfway down the hall when the squeaking noise of a hinge alerted him. A girl carefully closed the door to the room from which she exited. The room served as a nursery for the children whose parents were now celebrating. Gawain watched her with sorrow in his heart. He watched as her expression hardened. For the first time in his thirty-four years, Gawain wanted to run. The girl was only twelve years old, but the look of hate she shot toward him tore into him like a glass shard.
“I was wondering when I’d see you,” she muttered.
“Hello, Lysson. Have you been well?”
“No. I miss my mother and father.”
Gawain swallowed hard. Lysson’s parents had both died in the fire. “I’m sorry, honey. I wish there was some way to make it better.”
“Well, there isn’t.” She turned to go back into the room and the children she was helping to watch. Then she paused and faced him again. “I hate you! And so long as I live, I always will hate you. I wish you’d been the one who died.”
In shock, he watched her retreat back to the safety of the nursery. He’d heard about people’s hearts breaking. But he’d never known you could actually feel as though that part of you could be ripped into a thousand pieces. With tears in his eyes, Gawain mechanically made his way to the basement infirmary. With everyone out celebrating, except those without a cause to do so, the contents of the medical supply cabinet were freely available. That was one of the problems with this place. People trusted too much. They’d trusted him and he’d let them down. At that moment in time, he felt there was nothing crawling under any rock that didn’t rate better treatment than him.
Gawain grabbed a very large bottle of morphine tablets and some assorted small bottles of other medications, then made his way to the back entrance of the castle. He reasoned that it didn’t matter if he took the bottles. No one but him seemed to need them and what few other medications were in the supply cabinet would run out quickly anyhow.
If anyone noticed as he left the castle, they raised no alarm. After all, he was the Craftsman. Once trusted, loved and revered as a talented artist and Druid warrior, he was now only the object of hatred for a child whose parents would never come home. But if her hatred burned itself into his soul, it was nothing compared to the self-deprecation he couldn’t escape. Anxious to be anywhere but near those who’d mistakenly trusted him, Gawain began to run. It didn’t matter where. Just so long as he could be far away from the Order.
۞  ۞  ۞
Weeks later, Gawain was in the Highlands. Fearing someone might recognize the famous artist the outside world knew only as DeForest, he let his beard grow and kept his long brown hair loose. He’d taken no spare clothing, so that which he had was beginning to look very used. But his appearance kept people away. What food he needed came from the land. If desperate enough, Druids knew how to find roots, berries and a few edible plants and herbs. They weren’t much to sustain even a child, much less a man his size, but they were as much as some in the Order would have when the money ran out. And, with a steady supply of morphine to dull the pain in his right arm and his conscience, food was a secondary concern.
He kept moving. There were sacred sights known to beings of the Order. All were in remote locations and had safe places to sleep, water to drink and pools in which to bathe. And Gawain knew it was only a matter of time before the Sorceress or her minions found him. He didn’t care. It wasn’t really her he ran from so much as himself and his responsibilities. He damned the insufferable ego that led him to think his position as artisan was better or higher than that of the other craft people. The accolades he’d received as the much-vaunted DeForest led him to believe he could single-handedly support the ranks of the Order and all its magic denizens. But there was a problem with being indispensable. Without his artwork, hundreds of thousands of pounds were lost to the Order. While Shayla could make light of the matter, the entire Order was going to suffer. There weren’t a hundred artists who could bring in what one of his pieces could fetch in a single gallery opening. Looking down at the stump of his right arm, he felt he’d never be able to create another piece of art as long as he lived.
Then the bodies of the dead came to him. Through his morphine-induced haze, their faces floated before him and they silently gestured. They pointed accusing fingers and grotesquely mouthed his name. Sometimes, he’d find a rocky escarpment, cave or windswept moor to escape their presence. But the dead always followed. His drug-clouded brain had them constantly chasing him. He received little rest or reprieve from their presence. Finally, he found a sacred circle of stones high up in the Scottish moors. Within the circle was a small, spring-fed pool. Gawain desperately hoped the upright stones would keep out the dead so he could rest his tortured brain for a time. But when he looked into the water and saw a reflection, it frightened him as much as any of the restless spirits haunting the hills.
The man he saw was wild-eyed, unkempt and had dark circles under his eyes. Unable to recognize who this stranger was, Gawain cried out in fear and tried to fight this new stalker. When he couldn’t force or drag the stranger from his watery realm, Gawain fought the image until he fell into the pool and finally collapsed upon its shallow bank. Hours or perhaps days, later, he woke in horrible pain. He reached for the bottle of pills to discover there were no more. What followed was the most agonizing time of his life. Only the loss of his coworkers had been more emotionally painful. But this was a physical pain so intense he might have taken his own life to escape it. Gawain knew he was a coward or he would have completed that task long ago. A coward ran from his responsibilities, his friends and his family. With no idea where he was and physically unable to consult the heavens and stars for a location, he staggered from the sacred circle of stones and wandered. Occasionally, he fell to his knees, but he tried to keep moving. The spirits of his dead friends were determined to have their revenge. Their ranting left him almost mad. The days came and went. Finally, he could move no further. He staggered his last steps and collapsed. Deathlike darkness followed.
۞  ۞  ۞
“Thank the Goddess one of our people found him and not some outsider,” Shayla said to her consort and constant companion as she pulled on her warm gloves. Hugh McTavish opened her door and she got out of the large four-wheel drive. She gazed around at the open moor, trying to sense if anyone was near enough to watch their activities. Satisfied the area was quite remote and no one watched she proceeded. “I’ll have his head on a stake for this!”
“I don’t think there’s enough left to punish,” Hugh commented. “Lore says he’s almost dead.”
Shayla walked toward a group of Fairies and the small fire they’d built. Near it, a large man lay on his back. Blankets covered his body. Lore, the Fairy Leader, approached Shayla and Hugh. They glanced at each other after noting Lore’s expression. The man’s face looked grim.
Lore pointed toward the figure on the ground. “We found him out here, near a sacred circle. I’ve never seen Gawain like this.”
Shayla approached the figure on the ground and gasped. “Gawain! What have you done to yourself?” She knelt beside the unconscious figure and barely recognized the once-massive warrior’s emaciated frame.
“We found this, too,” Lore added and handed an empty bottle to the Sorceress. “I don’t think Gawain knew where he was or what he was doing. It’s a wonder he’s still alive. If my people hadn’t stumbled onto him, he’d have been dead by tomorrow night.”
“Morphine! He probably mixed it with those other pills missing from the infirmary.” Shayla’s hand closed around the bottle. “If he was trying to kill himself, there were much easier ways to do it.”
“I can’t fathom how he came to this,” Lore murmured as he knelt beside the Sorceress and Gawain. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t know. But we’d better get him to the truck. Goddess only knows who might happen along. Even though this is a remote area, we can’t risk being seen. Someone would surely question our presence.”
“Help me get him to the truck, lads,” Hugh ordered.
Lore and several of the other Fairies lifted Gawain’s body and carried him to the vehicle. Shayla carefully scanned the horizon and sensed they were still alone. She quickly turned away ordered the area cleared of any sign of their presence, then let Hugh drive while she tended Gawain. They were back in the English countryside when she felt they should stop for the night. After booking into an out-of-the-way motel, Fairies covertly carried Gawain’s body into a room before retiring to their own. As always, Lore and his Fairies had done a superior job in tracking the missing Craftsman. In human form, no one would ever guess their real identity. And because they could hold that form for as long as they wished, they were her first choice to send on the search.
Druids had also been sent. Unable to shapeshift, their keen senses could still root another magical being from hiding. But she hadn’t known Gawain was so ill or would be so difficult to track. By the look of his tattered clothing, it hadn’t mattered that he sought refuge from the harsh Highland elements. Of course, in his healthy state, Gawain could have controlled those elements to a certain extent. But not the way he was now. Shayla seriously doubted that he knew where he’d even been. She gently stroked the matted brown hair away from his unshaven face.
“You’ve done a good job on yourself, haven’t you, my man?”
Something in Gawain’s brain dragged him into consciousness. He opened his eyes and tried to focus on a figure hovering over him. “W‑who are you?”
“It’s Shayla,” she told him softly.
He tried to sit up only to be pushed back down by the older woman and her man Hugh. “Where am I?”
Hugh leaned near him. “You’re back in England, lad. Do you recall Lore and his men finding you?”
“No,” Gawain croaked. “I... can’t...  No.”
“Hugh, bring me a cup of that herbal tea in my thermos, will you?” Shayla requested. When she had the cup in her hands, she gently lifted it to Gawain’s lips, raising his head as she did so. “You gave us all quite a fright, young man. But you’re safe now.”
“Sorry... so, sorry for... can’t... ” Gawain’s voice trailed away, but he felt the Sorceress fussing around him.
“Don’t talk now. Just rest. When you awaken again, you’ll feel a bit better,” she consoled. Then she watched as he slipped back into an unconscious state.
“He’s withdrawing from the damned combination of drugs,” Hugh told her. “And I’d have wagered my life that this man would never have done such a thing.”
“That only goes to prove the worst things can happen to the best people. He blames himself for the deaths during that damned fire. I should have seen this coming. Gawain shut himself away from everyone, refused to regroup or listen to any amount of reasoning.”
“I could have tried harder to speak to the lad myself. Since my nephew handfasted with Gawain’s sister, that makes us family.” Hugh settled himself on the other side of the bed and pushed back the unconscious man’s hair. “But he wouldn’t even let his parents, or anyone else, near.”
“There’ll be a stop to all that. Even if I have to have him locked in the castle so he’ll listen to reason,” Shayla warned.
“Well, I’m going to get some rest, m’love. I suggest you do the same,” Hugh advised.
She nodded. “I will, Hugh. But I’ve got some thinking to do first.”
“What are you planning?”
“Something to rock Gawain’s world back into orbit, so to speak.”
Hugh’s eyebrows shot up. As always, when the Sorceress of the Ancients got an idea, nothing would stop her from putting it into action. Still, no one could make a man want to live. And Gawain had come close to killing himself.
Shayla watched Hugh settle himself on a large sofa. He’d left the double bed next to Gawain’s for her. Before she sought rest, however, she spent time trying to decide how to get Gawain to give a damn about his life and the direction it might take. There was only one way to do that, as she saw it. Convinced that her decision was right, she finally settled herself against the pillows and slept.
۞  ۞  ۞
Gawain slowly opened his eyes and tried to push himself into a sitting position. His gut ached and every bone in his body felt like the marrow had been replaced with heavy lead. Someone was speaking to him, but what was left of his brain just wouldn’t register what the voice said.
“Gawain, lad, can you hear me?” Hugh asked for the third time.
Finally, the older man’s calm, repetitive question sunk in. It happened to coincide with the return of his vision, if still blurred. “I hear you.”
“The Sorceress is here. We’re going to take you back to the Shire. Lore and some of his men found you. Do you remember?” He paused and took the meal the Sorceress handed to him. It was only a bagel and juice wrapped in a paper bag, but Gawain had been without food for so long that even such a small amount would probably seem like a banquet. “Can you eat?”
Gawain’s stomach protested at even the suggestion. “No.” He waved his hand in denial. “Take it away.”
“You have to get something inside you,” Shayla insisted. “It’s a long way to the sacred forest.”
“You should have left me where I was. I’m no use to you.” Gawain ran a hand over his face and was surprised by the length of his beard. Looking down at himself, he saw that his clothes were filthy and torn. “I don’t suppose you have something else I could wear?”
“Why does it matter what you look like? Especially if you’re just trying to kill yourself.” The Sorceress shrugged her shoulders, opened the bag containing the bagel and began to eat.
Gawain’s stomach roiled ominously at the sight of food. He looked away and refused to be drawn into one of the Sorceress’ discussions where she craftily drew out of people the information or response she desired. Those conversations always started casually, over nothing. Then, somewhere in the middle of them, she’d have the strongest foe or most loyal ally spilling their guts. And the only answer he had to give concerning his clothing was that he smelled so bad that the stench would attract a great deal of attention. That was the very last thing he wanted. In his mind, it would have been better if Shayla, Hugh and the others had just left him alone. Except for the occasional hitched ride, no one had seen him. Certainly no one would recognize who he was, even if they could stand his hermitlike appearance and the smell.
“Come on, lad, we’ve brought some of your clothing. Your mother packed it. Your entire family would have come, but the Sorceress thought it best if they stayed behind. As you are, that might have been a very good decision. You’re in a bad way and could do with a very long shower. After that, maybe you’ll feel more like talking on the drive home.” Hugh offered a hand and hefted him from the bed.
For a moment, Gawain stood still and closed his eyes. The world began to spin and his gut started to ache again. “I’m afraid I’ve developed a... a bad habit you two should know about,” he breathed out the words, taking deep breaths to steady himself.
Shayla nodded. “If you’re talking about the morphine and the other drugs, we know. Just go with Hugh and let him help you. When you come back, I’ll have some of my herbal tea brewed. It should help with the pain.”
He took a deep, shaky breath and let Hugh lead him to the bathroom. Some of his own clothes were laid out on the vanity. As soon as the door was closed and Hugh began to run the shower, Gawain looked at himself in the mirror and saw the face and body of a complete stranger.
“Don’t hardly recognize yourself, do you?” the older man asked.
“Goddess! What’ve I bloody done to myself?”
“It’s all right, lad. Get in the shower.” Hugh pointed to Gawain’s reflection. “This can be undone.” Then he gestured to his head and heart. “The other things will be much harder to fix if you won’t let us help you.”
Gawain shook his head in shame. “I can’t see why you’d want to. I’m a damned fool.”
Hugh grinned and shrugged. “Most of us are at one point or another. It’s how we deal with life after the foolish episode that matters. You understand?”
Gawain nodded. “Thanks for your help. When I’m not in such pain, I’ll find a way to pay you back.” His hand went to his stomach and he groaned as Hugh helped him undress.
“You don’t owe me a thing except a promise not to ever do anything like this again.”
He was far too ashamed of himself to answer. As he stepped under the hot water, Gawain tried to reason things out. With each moment that passed his body felt a bit better, but his heart still hurt. Then he thought of his parents, brothers and sister. They were probably worried sick. It was one thing to cause yourself grief. Quite another to inflict it upon others through a stupid, cowardly act. For that was exactly what his running had been. The pure selfishness of a bastard. And while he couldn’t put right what had happened to the people who had died, he could honor those deaths by trying to help their families and the rest of the Order. Of course, the Sorceress would have to punish him first. No one was allowed to leave sacred land without permission. But that hardly mattered. No punishment she could dream up, short of death, could put him through more hell than he’d already seen.
Determined to salvage what little pride was left to him, Gawain scrubbed himself almost raw. Then he stepped out of the shower, feeling a great deal more human. Hugh was gone, but he could hear voices coming from the room. After wiping the condensation off the bathroom mirror, he took a more critical look at himself. He’d lost a great deal of weight and the body he’d once prided himself on keeping fit was much worse for wear. As Hugh said, those things could be fixed. His heart and mind were the real problems. But there was one thing that was a certainty. He was no longer the Craftsman. Someone else would have to fill that role.
When a leader let his followers down, it was time for someone else to take over. He made a silent promise to help restore as much of the decimated craftwork as he could, then he’d find something else to do. Perhaps a man with one hand could gather herbs, sow a garden of vegetables or help teach the children. Looking down at his left hand and noting the loss of muscle in his arms, Gawain seriously doubted he could serve as a guard and wield a weapon. Those who took that duty had to be the strongest and most vigilant. If the world outside their forest ever converged, it would be those men and women who would protect the rest of the Order. And he couldn’t even lift a razor to shave, let alone lift and swing a heavy, medieval weapon.
People didn’t realize how they depended upon their right hand unless it wasn’t there anymore. Certainly he’d never given the matter much thought.
He finished drying himself and was able to put on a pair of jeans. They were much looser than before. The buttons on the shirt posed a problem. If it wasn’t because of having only one hand, it was because he was shaking so much that the smallest task became a major chore. The drugs to which he’d become addicted were doing a horrible number on his nervous system. Minute by minute, he could feel the drugs’ hold on him slipping. But it would take time to rid himself of its effects for good. Frustrated, he finally left the bathroom and found Hugh sitting on the bed talking to Shayla.
“I don’t suppose I could get some help with this damned shirt?” he blurted.
Hugh nodded, stood up and buttoned the blue cambric shirt for him. “Not like wearing a leather jerkin, is it?”
Gawain didn’t answer. The medieval clothing of the Order, worn when deep in the sacred forest, had no buttons. It had been easy to shrug into a leather jerkin and leave the front open. Outsider clothing, however, was more difficult. He realized there were some things he would have to do on his own, without asking the castle staff to assist him. Still, it was a small thing when compared to dying. He’d be willing to bet any of the nine people who’d died in the fire would change places with him. Because of him, they could no longer voice an opinion.
“What are you thinking, Gawain?” The Sorceress raised her eyebrows as she slowly scrutinized his expression.
“Nothing.”
“You’re still thinking about the fire, aren’t you?” She knew her guess was correct when he averted his gaze and wouldn’t look at either her or Hugh.
Hugh exchanged a quick glance with the Sorceress, then picked up the keys to the truck. “I’ll pay the bill and then bring the truck around to pick you and the others up.”
Shayla waited until the older man was gone before saying, “We need you, Gawain. The Order needs its Craftsman.”
“Then let them find him somewhere else,” Gawain said. “I can’t hold that position any longer.”
“I refuse to let anyone else have the title,” she countered.
Gawain closed his eyes, sighed in frustration and shook his head. “I won’t argue with you about this, Shayla. For the sake of my family, I’ll come back, work where I can be of some use and try to get on with my life. But I’m not an artist anymore. And I certainly can’t lead. The subject is closed.”
Shayla raised her eyebrows and shot him an imperious look. What Gawain wanted and what he’d get were two completely different things. The discussion might be over for now, but Gawain O’Malley was going to resume his duties if she had to drag him back into the position, kicking and screaming. There was no man better qualified for the task. And that artistic brain was still there. Even if he had tried to fry it with a very large bottle of morphine and assorted other drugs. He was capable of great things. Perhaps greater than those remarkable feats he’d accomplished before the fire. Sadly, someone was going to have to shove him hard before he would realize it. But shove she would. Otherwise, the financial stability of the Order would be in shambles before the year was over. As Sorceress of the Ancients, she wasn’t about to let that happen. Bills had to be paid, new equipment and medical supplies purchased. More urgent was the need to purchase land surrounding the sacred forest so their future would be secure. The safety of the entire Order was at stake. Thousands of years of culture could be lost and the outside world could come crashing down on their secretive existence. All because one man was so hurt and guilt-ridden that he wouldn’t take his rightful place and find a way to fill the coffers again. While her heart ached for him, the safety of those in her charge was of primary importance. To that end, Gawain would have to put aside his pain and do his job. Whether he wanted to or not.

Chapter Two

For several days after returning back to the Order, Gawain met with his family for brief periods of time. In an effort to deter their pitying remarks over his physical appearance and to forestall their reproach over his having left the forest in the first place, he finally refused to see them at all. Putting all his energy into one task and one task only, he picked up a pencil and paper and made himself use his left hand. His efforts at writing were painstakingly awkward at first, but he persisted and his writing became clearer as the hours went by.
He was about to stop his self-imposed writing assignment for the day when a hard knock sounded on his door. In his debilitated state, his senses didn’t register the new visitors in the hallway. Though he’d assured the Sorceress there would be no more running away and that he’d recover, she or one of her staff seemed to ignore his nauseated state and pestered him constantly. Several hours during each day they hounded him about meeting with the other artisans and designing a plan to restock the Order’s marketable goods. Because of these visits, he assumed the pests at his door were more of Shayla’s staff come to haunt him again. The hard knocking turned into very insistent pounding.
“Go away!” he angrily shouted. A split second after he yelled, the door swung open, hit the wall behind it and his huge father stalked in the room. Behind his sire stood his anxiety-stricken mother and five worried-looking brothers. Gawain took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you, Dad.”
“What’s all this I hear about you not wanting to be the Craftsman?” his father loudly asked. “You take off for weeks, almost kill yourself, come back looking like the bottom side of an old insect-infected log and refuse to leave your room. I’m getting tired of this behavior, Gawain.”
“Stop shouting, Markham,” Gawain’s mother chastised. “Does our business have to be broadcast all over the castle?”
“Well, look at the boy, Deirdre. At first, I was thanking the Goddess he was safe. Now I wonder what for. He’s completely useless.”
“Markham! How can you say such a thing?” Deirdre gasped.
“Calm down, Dad,” Taurus, the second-born son, advised. “Gawain didn’t deserve that.”
As the firstborn, Gawain was used to handling his father’s tirades. Markham was a Druid warrior of the first class and he sometimes let his testosterone rule over his better judgment. But this was the first time Gawain had heard his father question whether one of his seven children was worthy of being kept safe. Those curt remarks cut him to the core. For a moment the callousness of them left him completely speechless. Taurus had taken up for him. He saw the look on the faces of his other siblings and knew the remark had hurt them too. All of his siblings were very close. And while he might well deserve his father’s anger, his sire did not have the right to cause his brothers and his mother the kind of pain this confrontation would bring. They might well be wondering if Markham’s love was conditional for the rest of them.
Gawain slowly stood. “Maybe you and I should talk about whatever is bothering you... alone.” He kept his voice low and calm. It should have alerted his father, but the big man kept on bellowing.
“No son of mine should have caused this much trouble. You’re a disgrace to the entire family. Just because you lost a hand doesn’t give you a right to shirk your duties,” Markham snarled out.
Gawain’s pain was so shockingly deep that it almost had him on his knees. His father had never spoken to him or any of his siblings in such a way. When he saw his brothers step forward to protest their father’s remark, Gawain held up his hand for them to stop. His mother was now in tears. He watched as she bowed her head and put her face in her hands. “That’s enough, Father.”
“Not nearly enough! That I bred such a coward is beyond belief. The entire Order is depending on you to help get the craftspeople organized and productive again and all you seem to be able to do is sit here and wallow in self-pity. If you aren’t hiding behind drugs, you’re hiding behind closed doors. I could almost rue the night I bedded your mother and conceived you.”
Deirdre fled from the room, sobbing. Gawain watched his brothers’ faces turn pale. “Stop... now.” Gawain said in a very low voice. He’d never been more angry in his life. What his father said about him might be true, but to hurt the rest of the family like this was unconscionable. “No more, Dad!”
“Or what?” Markham belligerently provoked. “Has the great DeForest got the guts to take on his old man? It’s certain you don’t!”
Before he knew what happened, Gawain’s left fist shot out. He struck his father soundly on the jaw. The older O’Malley fell back onto the floor. Two of his brothers picked their father up and held him as he shot an angry look at Gawain and struggled to get free.
“Ian, Bolt... get Dad out of here,” Taurus instructed his youngest brothers.
Gawain watched the expressions of the two middle brothers, Drew and Sean. A mixture of pain and confusion wandered over their features. When their father began to shout curses and threats toward Gawain again, Drew and Sean joined their younger siblings in dragging their sire down the hall and out of the castle.
Gawain noted the horrible expression on Taurus’ face. Nothing like this had ever happened in their family. For a moment, the two brothers just stared at each other. Since the time they had been young boys, Gawain had never seen Taurus’ eyes fill with tears. It hurt terribly to watch the man struggle with his complete bewilderment over his father’s behavior.
“Dad didn’t mean... he loves you, Gawain. You know that, don’t you?”
For his part, Gawain could forgive his father’s outrageous behavior. But the pain the elder O’Malley had caused his sons and wife could never be absolved. “Just... get him...  Calm him down, Taurus. We’ll work through this somehow.”
Taurus breathed in gasps and tried to control his emotions. “The rest of us don’t think the same as Dad, Gawain. You must believe me. You have to!”
The two brothers simultaneously moved toward the center of the room, then fiercely hugged one another.
“I know, Taurus. I know,” Gawain consoled as he desperately tried to blink back the tears in his eyes. “It’ll work out. Dad is just pissed. He’ll get over it.”
Taurus slowly pulled away. “I thought he was only coming to talk to you. He didn’t seem angry on the walk over. If I’d known this was going to happen, I’d have never let him... ” He stopped and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Gawain.”
Gawain squeezed Taurus’ shoulder with his left hand. “Let it go. Go home and see to the others. Mother was more upset than I’ve ever seen her. Make sure she’s all right.”
“I will.” Taurus turned to go, but he looked back at Gawain when he got to the door. “What’s happening to us?”
Gawain shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’ll fix it. Don’t worry.”
“We’d all better try. The Sorceress sent to the States for Afton. She’ll be here with Blain and the baby tomorrow.”
“Goddess!” Gawain ran a hand over his face. All he needed was his baby sister’s arrival with her husband and child. Once Afton found out what had just happened, the entire family would be at odds. “I’ll try to talk to Dad when he calms down.”
Taurus nodded and slowly walked out of the room.
Gawain stood staring into space for a very long time. He’d actually struck his father. Nothing in his life had ever prepared him for such a confrontation and it was frightening. The one stable thing in his life was the love of his family. Without that, what was left? He dragged his hand through his hair and sat down. His entire body shook with emotion. The words his father said echoed in his mind over and over.
If his father felt that way, what must his mother be feeling? And his siblings? Since the fire and his return from his self-imposed exile, he’d kept them all at a distance, making one excuse after another to limit their visits. If his father’s behavior hurt them, then his actions must have cut them all to the very core. That his sire would have said such terrible things was proof of how deep everyone’s emotions were running. But the entire situation was his fault, there was no denying that.
“Somehow, I’ve got to stop this,” he whispered to himself. But there was only one way to do it. Clenching his fist, he decided to take up the position as Craftsman again. But only until the Sorceress could find someone to replace him. His family’s welfare was at stake. That was all that mattered to him now. They were all he had.
۞  ۞  ۞
The next day Gawain was standing by the window of his room, thinking of how to start over with nothing. Inspiration came from the most unexpected source. A gentle rap on his door almost went unnoticed. It was the total opposite of his father’s loud, forceful banging.
“Gawain, it’s Afton. May I come in?”
His sister’s gentle voice was like a soothing ointment. Of all the siblings in his family, her presence would be the most calming. He quickly moved to the door, opened it and wasted no time pulling her into his embrace. Right after the fire, when he had been at death’s door, Afton had come from the States and helped nurse him back to health. Even his beloved mother had been at her wits’ end with concern and unable to offer the strength he needed. But strong as an oak, Afton had helped them all. “It’s so good to see you again, Flower,” he murmured, using his nickname for her.
Afton pulled gently away, cupped his face with her hands and looked him over. “You’re a mess.”
With tears blurring his vision, he smiled into her blue eyes. “I know. But I’m working on getting back into shape.”
“When you went missing, Blain and I called here every day to find out what was happening. The Sorceress told me to stay put when we wanted to come to England and help search for you.”
“That was probably a wise decision.”
Afton regarded him for several moments before continuing. “I think she thought they’d find you dead and didn’t want me here when it happened.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I guess I just lost it for a while. I don’t really know why I ran off like that.”
She gripped his left hand with both of hers. “All that matters is that you’re home now.” She hugged him again.
As when they were younger, Gawain felt as if he could tell her anything. Though Afton was the youngest in the family, she had a wonderful gift for listening and not judging without knowing the facts. “How are Blain and the baby?”
“The baby wants to see her Uncle Gawain. And Blain was worried about you.”
He could almost smile over that revelation. “I can remember when I cleaned Blain’s clock because he was out in the forest all night with you. I thought he just wanted a piece of... that is, I thought he was just using you,” Gawain quickly corrected, then cleared his throat and changed subjects. “So, Blain and the baby actually came with you?”
She smiled. “Blain would take exception to your claim of having ‘cleaned his clock’. He thinks he beat the hell out of you.”
“Well, maybe he did, at that,” Gawain amiably conceded.
“In answer to your question, Blain and the baby are with the family right now. Taurus picked us up at the airport and told us what happened with Dad. When I found out about it, I wanted to see you alone. Dad had no right talking to you the way he did, Gawain. I can only think he did it because he’s been so concerned. We all are.”
“You’ve no need to worry on that account. I’ll fix things with Dad.”
“You’re not angry with him, then? Taurus said you knocked him halfway across the room.”
Gawain lowered his head in shame. “I did. And I feel like a complete son of a bitch for doing it.”
“Don’t. Dad is a big man with a big mouth and very strong opinions. Maybe he’ll curb that temper of his if he knows there’s a consequence to his actions.”
“The only thing that bothered me about the incident was how I saw Mother and the others respond. He can say anything he wants to me. But it’ll be a long time before I get over how his words hurt the others. I’ve just never seen him act like this before, Afton. But I promise that it’ll end peaceably. You all...  You’re everything to me. And since this began with my actions, I’ll fix it. I promise.”
She led him to a sofa and sat beside him. “What about Portia?”
As always, Afton had a way of gleaning the most private information from him without ever making him feel that she was meddling. “I’m afraid she couldn’t handle it when I lost my hand. Portia went back to London to try to get the gallery owners to cancel our contracts with them. I haven’t heard from her in some time. I never mentioned her leaving me because I was, as Dad put it, ‘wallowing in pity’. And there were other things to consider that were more important than my love life.” He thought again of the nine friends he’d lost in the fire. Nothing had been more painful or ever would.
Afton pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t need a woman like Portia, dear brother!”
He nudged his shoulder against hers. “Don’t be too judgmental, Flower. Some folks just aren’t as strong as you. The truth is I needed time to be alone. Portia knew that.”
Afton couldn’t fathom a woman leaving the man she professed to love so much simply because he’d lost a hand. Traditions of the Order would have once forced Gawain to leave their community and never come back. He might have even been put to death. Centuries ago, the loss of a limb could have cost a man and his family their lives, especially if he couldn’t defend himself. While some in the Order still clung to that unfair and archaic tradition, Afton believed it was nothing more than an excuse for Portia to find someone else’s bed to share. She’d never liked the woman, but she had kept her mouth closed for her brother’s sake. Perversely, Gawain had plunged headfirst into a fight with her mate, Blain, the first time he could find a reason to do so. Now her mate and brother were good friends. She relegated the incident to a man thing and let it go. Still, it might have been a good thing if she’d followed Gawain’s example and let Portia have a good, swift kick in the rear. And Afton would have if she’d known the woman would treat her beloved Gawain so callously. But Gawain seemed to take that particular loss in stride. Knowing her oldest brother the way she did, his concern had probably been for the families of those who’d been lost in the fire. Afton gently took his right arm in her hands and looked down at it for a time. The subject of Portia could wait. His future and helping him move into it, was all that currently mattered. “Have you considered using a prosthesis?”
“Yes. I was thinking about it. Maybe something that could be changed out to suit my mood. A hook one day, dagger the next.” He tried to make a joke of it, but Afton’s expression told him she didn’t think he was being particularly amusing.
She remained silent and gazed into his face for a few moments. “You’ve lost a lot of weight. You’re in terrible need of a shave and a haircut.”
He leaned into her and their foreheads met. “I’m not too good with my left hand yet. And you’re the only one I’d currently let near me with a razor and scissors. Would you help me, Flower?”
Afton had the distinct feeling he was asking for more than just help with his physical appearance. That her mother or brothers had been unable to come to Gawain’s aid was probably because they’d been trying to keep their father away from him. Taurus had explained how the elder O’Malley had been behaving and the things he was saying. Their father’s behavior didn’t make any sense. Though his opinions were loudly dispensed at times, he loved his children. And Gawain, as his firstborn, had always been special to their father. There had never been any doubt about that. But Afton suspected the Sorceress had a crafty hand in all this. Still, she’d never seen her strong, older brother in such a state. He was as low in morale as he’d ever been. “Sure, whatever you need, you big lug.” She pushed his wild, unruly hair off his shoulders and hugged him again.
“Thanks, honey. And don’t worry over Dad. I’ll make up with him. I promise.”
۞  ۞  ۞
After talking things out with Afton and letting her clean him up, Gawain began to feel a bit more human. Before he could temporarily take back the position of Craftsman, however, he needed to appear as if he deserved to command some small amount of respect. Even if he didn’t feel worthy.
Before approaching the Sorceress, who kept bothering him to take up the position again, there were some chores that needed to be done. For the next few weeks, Gawain busied himself with finding a place to begin, emotionally and physically. First, he found a solitary place, deep in the woods, to set up a forge. One of the only things to survive the fire in the artists’ Loft, where the crafters had worked, was a large anvil. It had been used to make art pieces of iron and to construct knives and other medieval weaponry. These kinds of weapons had been made and sold to collectors in local and foreign markets. Some of them had also gone to supply the forest guards with a source of silent but deadly defense.
For now, however, the anvil would be used to construct some kind of prosthesis. Such medical paraphernalia was expensive and with the Order’s financial status crumbling, there was no way he’d ask for the money to buy a right hand. Especially not when he might be able to make it.
With one hand, it would prove a challenge, but he had to find a way to do this on his own. If he could forge, he could also find a way to pull his own weight. This became very important to him.
While trying to put some semblance of a life together again, he attempted to speak with his father, only to be turned away. Instead of retreating the way he once might have done, Gawain used the pain and anger caused by his father’s mistreatment to get himself back into shape. Those emotions motivated him to prove his sire wrong. Each day he used the anvil to pound out designs he clumsily drew. Many times, he had to start over when his left hand and the lower portion of his right arm couldn’t physically match the standards conjured by his imagination. But he went on.
Eventually, the drawings became better and his body stronger. The use of his limbs became more coordinated. The muscle, strength and endurance he’d once had returned. Luckily, his ego had driven him to stay in superb condition before the fire. That conditioning stood him in good stead. His health returned faster than he imagined. With it came a new sense of pride and self-esteem he’d thought lost. Determined to go further, Gawain spent every spare moment working as hard as physically possible. If he wasn’t practicing exacting small motor skills with his left hand, he beat out iron over a white-hot fire and forged anything that his mind could think of. Eventually, he made a set of fine steel prosthetics and an armored vambrace to which he could attach them.
During the weeks this recuperation took, he asked Afton to tell everyone to give him some space. He met with her, Blain and his little niece, Syndra, but no one else. Probably sensing things might go her way, the Sorceress seemed willing to leave him alone. But he knew that Shayla would do so only as long as she believed her objectives were being met. Finally, when he was ready to call the artisans together and sure he could appear as someone who could command respect among a group of magical beings, Gawain set the date and time. On that day, he looked in the mirror and saw a different person. Shame filled him for ever letting himself and those he loved down. Until someone came along who could do the job better, he would be the Craftsman.
He strode out of the castle and made his way to the great clearing. This was the traditional meeting place for all those of the Order. The late spring wind blew cool. Gawain could see the bonfires lit for the meeting. Before entering the clearing, he murmured a prayer to the Goddess of all living things and asked for her help to do what was right. It would take a great deal of work to rebuild what the fire had destroyed. But he owed his dead friends the best effort he could give.
After the prayer, Gawain took a deep breath and moved into the clearing. As he walked into the light, a hush fell over the crowd. There were a great many more people present than just the artisans. In fact, it looked as though the entire Order had turned out. It was, of course, their right to do so. Any financial problems were a matter of concern for everyone. The Sorceress, as usual, took a prominent position on a stone dais situated at the far end of the clearing. Gawain strode purposefully forward and kept his gaze riveted upon her. When he was only a few feet away from the dais, she rose and held her hands up for silence. It wasn’t as if the gesture was really necessary, but anyone still speaking immediately ceased their conversation.
Shayla gazed at him in complete astonishment. The transformation was amazing. The powerful, commanding presence he’d once been was augmented now by even more muscle and the appearance of sheer, raw strength. On his right arm, he wore a magnificent vambrace of steel. To this, a large hook had been attached. The steel of the prosthetic and his bronzed muscle all gleamed in the evening firelight. He moved with the grace of a predator and commanded attention from all those present. Gawain’s head was high, his dark brown hair flowed over his shoulders and his clean-shaven face was set off by a torc of silver around his massive neck. A circular Celtic earring of glistening silver hung from his right earlobe. And those dark blue eyes never wavered. Dressed in a black leather jerkin, black pants and tall boots, he was as imposing a figure as ever existed. Shayla imagined such a man could have commanded Celt armies in centuries past. He was the stuff of legend and her glance toward the crowds indicated Gawain’s friends and family gawked at the decidedly improved figure. Behind her, some of the women of her staff remarked on his absolutely gorgeous and very virile presence. Whatever his plan was, she heartily approved of the method he was using to achieve it.
“Welcome, Gawain. It’s good to see you’ve put the time given you to very good use.”
“Sorceress,” he respectfully addressed her and bowed his head slightly. His family sat to the left of the dais. He could see them staring and could only describe their expressions as incredulous. It had even been a few days since Afton and Blain had seen him. They’d had no idea he’d turn himself out in full dress, as it were. His brother-in-law smirked, shook his head and gave him a thumbs-up signal. Gawain tried not to laugh at the man’s antics. Okay, maybe he’d overdone the body-building a bit, but it was worth seeing his father’s stare. Something in the older man’s gaze seemed proud. But that could be a trick of the light. Or his own boyish eagerness to regain his sire’s approval.
“What news do you have for us, Gawain?” The Sorceress amplified her voice, using her magic to do so.
When a crowd was gathered to hear news of a critical nature, tradition dictated that he respond so that everyone could hear. He used the forces of the earth and wind to help him amplify his voice as the Sorceress had. “I’ve come to take back the position for which I was chosen.”
Shayla nodded her head and smiled in approval. “You shall have whatever resources we have at your disposal. Have you any plans?”
“I do. All the craft workers are to be assembled here tomorrow morning. They’re to bring whatever tools and raw goods they have. We start again.”
With this pronouncement, a loud cry issued from the crowds.
Shayla’s gaze locked with Gawain’s and she knew the man was definitely back.
When some of the crowd, including his brothers, sister and mother, came forward with questions about how they’d replenish the Order’s marketable goods, he held up his left hand. “Tomorrow. I’ll have my plans for you then. Tonight, celebrate one last time as you will. Things won’t be easy in the months ahead. Have no illusions to the contrary. You’ll all work harder than you’ve ever worked in your lives. I’ll drive you night and day to get the work done and done to perfection. But I’ll ask nothing of any of you that I’m unwilling to do myself. Everyone will have to sacrifice.”
“And those who will not will do without,” the Sorceress added in her booming voice. She raised her hands and wine and food were brought forward. Music began to play and some of those before her began dancing, taking Gawain’s suggestion for one last celebration to heart.
Shayla left her prominent position from the dais to walk toward him. “I would speak with the Craftsman alone. His family and friends may speak with him later. Carry on,” she instructed and the Order’s revelry began in earnest.
When they were some distance from the merriment, she finally spoke. A passing Fairy girl offered them some wine, but Shayla noticed Gawain declined that beverage in favor of pure spring water. “I see you’ve changed a great many things about yourself other than just your appearance.” She nodded toward the goblet of water he drank.
“I prefer to keep myself clean and sober, Shayla.” He glanced down at the water. “Those drugs taught me a few things.”
“Then perhaps that journey was one you were meant to take, though we all wish you hadn’t come so close to never returning from it.”
He nodded. “Afton has told me that you sent for Troda.”
“I have. He’s probably in the crowd even as we speak.”
That the Sorceress had sent for the aging, former head of the artisans came as no surprise. Old Troda, former Craftsman and now head of the Brownie faction, had been his mentor for more than ten years. Nor did it bother him to ask the man for help. It had been years since his Master’s retirement, but everyone who could build, sculpt, carve, mine or weave would be needed. The other members of the Order didn’t realize how desperately close they were to missing payments on computers and other pieces of equipment that were absolutely necessary to help keep the world at bay. But Gawain had paid a visit to the bookkeepers and knew the damage. “Will Troda be able to help? It has been years since I last saw him.”
“Troda and his people are committed to doing everything they can. And, as you well know, there are no more talented and industrious workers of the face of the earth than the Brownies. He’s brought some of his best artists.” Shayla stopped walking and turned to look at him. “But he’s very old, Gawain. It will fall to you to give everyone inspiration and find a way to make enough wares to sell. Without a kiln, there’ll be no pottery and the pottery was some of our most lucrative art, other than your own individual pieces.”
“There’ll be a gas kiln. Just like before, Sorceress. It’ll be smaller, but I’ve asked the bookkeepers to scrape enough together for its purchase. This time, however, it will be outside, where there’ll never be a repeat of what happened. And the rest of the artists will be separated by craft. Far away from each other. If we ever have another fire, everything we have won’t go up in flames. And there’ll be better safety features, a system of checks and balances that will stop any more deaths from occurring.”
The vehemence of his words left her in no doubt that Gawain still blamed himself for the fire, the lives lost and the almost irreparable damage to the Order’s means of sustenance. She gently placed a hand on his arm. “I don’t know how many times I’ll have to say this before it sinks in. But you are not to blame for this, Gawain. If fault lies with any, the major responsibility falls on me. In recent years, I’ve changed a great many laws and procedures so that we can avoid detection by the outside world. Safety within our ranks should be as much of a concern as what risks lie outside our sacred lands in the real world. I should have separated the craft workers long ago, the same way I’ve set up a colony in the States. The only way to remain safe is to keep all our people, holdings and goods from being in one spot.”
He shook his head in denial. “That’s why you put me in charge of the crafts. You can’t be everywhere at once, Sorceress. Those to whom you delegate power should think about their response to whatever might occur. I was too busy thinking of my own artistic career to consider a catastrophic event. But I won’t make that mistake again.”
She sighed in resignation. “You’re being far too hard on yourself, my man. Your artwork has given us the ability to step into the twenty-first century. The pieces you created and sold have bought us computers, medical equipment, trained younger generations and extended our holdings of land for the future.”
“The families of the dead don’t care about any of that,” he responded, looking down into his goblet.
“Any of us should be willing to give our lives, at a moment’s notice, for just such things. Without them, we can’t continue to hide. It’ll be soon enough that the world will find its way into our forest. You can imagine the consequences.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? To know that nine friends... ” He stopped. There was no use going into it again. The responsibility was his. Nothing would ever change the way he felt about that. The Sorceress saw it her way, he another. But he could make damned sure it never happened again.
“Does this mean you’ve given up your artwork?”
He looked down at the hook which now served as a right hand. “It’s not as if I have much of a choice. I can make sure that more goods are produced and spend more time marketing other goods besides mine.” He placed his goblet on the tray of a passing servant. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow, Shayla. If you don’t mind, I’d like to make it an early night.”
“Won’t you even stay for a while and be with your family?” she asked.
Gawain cast a glance toward the throng of revelers. In the firelight, he could see his father staring in his direction. He’d tried, over the past weeks, to find some ground where they could agreeably meet, only to be turned away. While he would have loved being with his mother, siblings, brother-in-law and little niece, another confrontation wasn’t what the family needed. As far as Gawain was concerned, his father could now come to him. And the man could apologize, not to him, but for the pain he’d caused the rest of the family. He bowed respectfully to the Sorceress and left without another word.
Shayla watched him go, then glanced back toward Gawain’s family. Her gaze met that of the elder O’Malley. Even from the distance that separated them, she could sense the father’s pain. The son had no way of knowing why his sire had done what he had and she was bound by a promise not to tell Gawain.
But there were other, more gentle, ways to any man’s heart. To that end, Shayla was determined that Gawain was about to meet his match. In her mind, she was sure that a woman’s touch could solve many of Gawain’s problems. Time would tell.

Chapter Three

“Welcome, Troda.” The Sorceress moved forward to hug the old man. “It has been a long time since you graced this old castle with your presence.”
“I am very happy to be here, Sorceress, though I doubt these old hands can be of much use to you and O’Malley.” He looked down at his shaking hands with eyes that didn’t see as well as they once did. Still, he prided himself on being in very good condition for a man approaching one hundred years.
Shayla was amused to see that he wore the traditional brown leather pants, jacket and vest of a Brownie, complete with pointed cap and shoes. He was shorter than she remembered, but still tall for one of his kind. And his kind, green eyes were as warm as ever. Behind him stood two taller figures, a woman whose cape and hood hid her features and a young Brownie man.
“Let me introduce my granddaughter Wren and one of our craft workers, Wyckem.” Troda beckoned the two young people forward.
“Ah, Wren.” Shayla acknowledged the cloaked woman with a smile. “I remember you. It has been such a long time. You were just a little girl running about in braids the last time I saw you.”
Wren smiled, pushed the hood of her green cape back and walked toward the Sorceress. She bowed her head politely, then hugged the older woman. “I’m quite a bit older now, Shayla. And it’s good to be back in England. Scotland is lovely, but there’s no place like the sacred forest.”
Shayla’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. The girl was absolutely breathtaking. “You look like your lovely mother, child. Has anyone ever told you that?”
She nodded. “Many say so. But I doubt I really compare.”
“Well, there were quite a few Brownie men who fought over her. There are some stories I could tell you, my girl.” Shayla smiled as she thought of her girlhood friend and the escapades they’d shared. Now the daughter was here to remind her of those old times. But anxious not to ignore the newcomer, Shayla held out her hand for the young Brownie man to come forward. There were many of the Order she didn’t personally know. Small groups of magical creatures, by permission and the traditions of their kind, lived all over Europe. They were unable to regularly travel to the Order’s most sacred holdings in England, Scotland and Ireland.
“Great Sorceress,” Wyckem said and bowed very low. “It’s an honor indeed.”
Shayla took the hand he offered and noted that he was a handsome Brownie warrior with dark eyes, long brown hair and a square jaw. From the rumors she’d heard, he was romantically linked with Wren. “If you’re rested from your travels, I’d like you all to accompany me to the great clearing. Gawain will be making a number of announcements this morning and he’s kept his plans secret from everyone but me and my staff. I’d like to see the reaction of the others and make sure there are no problems.”
“I heard my former pupil had been quite, um... ill,” Troda said tactfully. “But I understand he’s in extraordinarily grand health now. I missed him at the clearing last night.”
“He’s had his setbacks, old friend. But his pride has certainly returned.”
Troda chuckled. “He always did have his share of that, the young pup.”
Shayla led the three Brownies out of the castle and toward the great clearing. She and Troda spoke of old adventures as they walked. All the while, her gaze kept going back to Wren. As with all Brownie women, the girl emanated an air of wonderful serenity. Shayla’s senses were filled with it. Her hope was that Wren’s composed and efficient work ethic would help Gawain organize his schedule and the projects the artisans would be producing. The girl was also supposed to be, by Troda’s accounts, an exceptional artist. Unfortunately, months of artwork the Brownies had sent went up in flames with everything else. All the craft people would be starting from scratch.
As Shayla and the others entered the circular area of huge oaks known as the great clearing, Gawain’s deep, commanding voice could be heard. He was dividing crafters by the type of work they did and sending them to separate work cottages to begin their chores. Raw materials such as wool, wood, leather and metal had only just arrived. It had almost emptied the Order’s emergency coffers to get the goods so soon, but there was no time to waste. Shayla was mightily impressed with Gawain’s efficiency and renewed sense of command.
“He was always a magnificent organizer, that one,” Troda remarked as he watched the massive Craftsman give his orders.
As Gawain sensed the presence of the Sorceress and her companions, he turned. His heart warmed at his mentor’s presence and he strode toward Troda, wasting no time hugging the man in greeting. “Welcome, old Master.” He used the name he’d given Troda when, as an apprentice, the Brownie had taught him everything he knew about art.
Troda hugged him back and tears dimmed his vision. “You’re a sight for these old eyes, my boy. Just look at you!”
“I’m a bit older than the last time we met,” Gawain told him.
“But every bit the Craftsman I knew you’d be when I retired. And how is your family?”
Gawain wouldn’t mention the falling-out with his father. It was a matter best left between him and his sire. “They’re very well, Troda. And I thank you for coming. I’ll need you.”
The older man’s heart was lifted by the fact that the renowned artist would say such a thing. There was very little Gawain could learn from him anymore. But there might be a great deal that Wren could. Since his old pupil had far surpassed any achievement he could have hoped for, it was his wish that his granddaughter continue improving her artistic talents. And he thought it quite appropriate that she could learn from his best pupil. Besides, he’d taught Wren all he could as his eyesight and shaking hands continued to fail him. He turned and motioned Wren forward, “This is my granddaughter, Wren Fitzgerald. And my assistant, Wyckem Goodefellow. I hope you’ll allow them to help wherever you may have need. Wren has been trained in many different mediums of art. I’ve taught her everything I know.”
Gawain’s attention had been consumed by his old mentor. When he looked up and saw Wren, however, his mouth went dry and an odd knot formed in the vicinity of his heart. Gawain was no stranger to striking women. He’d met many when playing the part of famous artist. And his former lovers had been stunning. But Wren was simply the loveliest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Troda had often mentioned her, but she’d been young and lived with her parents in Scotland, so he’d never actually seen her. He’d had the impression that the girl was little more than a child. This exquisite creature was definitely all woman. Her long, nut-brown hair was parted in the center and gathered in back, but part of it fell over one slender shoulder in soft, loose curls. Her eyes were a strikingly unusual whiskey color. The features of her face were classically beautiful, with high cheekbones, an almost heart-shaped bone structure and a small, bow-shaped mouth. And she had the sweetest nose, which barely turned up. Freckles were spattered across it, giving her a wholesome look. She was smiling brightly at him now and two perfect dimples appeared on either side of her full lips. Her coloring reminded him of looking into an autumn sunset. And there was an overwhelming peaceful quality that invaded his senses. It was as if someone had lit a fire in a cold room and placed before him a wonderful work of nature to ease his tension. A perfect piece of the Goddess’ artwork on Earth. Sensing he’d stared at her a little longer than was polite, he smiled and nodded.
“Hello, Craftsman,” she greeted. “It’s an honor to meet you at last. My grandfather has told me so much about you over the years.”
For a split second, he couldn’t respond. But when he took the warm hand she offered, Gawain finally found his voice. “Call me Gawain. It’s good to meet you,” he replied in a low voice. Somewhere, his shaken brain registered that the Sorceress was bringing forward another Brownie and introducing him as Wyckem. Though he tried to act cordially toward the man, his attention was still riveted on Wren. The name perfectly suited her looks, but something in her eyes told him she was anything but the shy little bird after which she’d been named. Her beautiful eyes sparkled like evening stars at Solstice. There was a kind of mischief in their depths. And her voice was just as warm as her golden-colored eyes. Inappropriately, he found himself wanting to know about the small body beneath the green cape she wore. And he was willing to bet his life that she’d be as delectable as any rare treat he could have sampled. If she’d been handfasted to someone, Troda would surely have mentioned it, though he reminded himself his interest in her should be only as a coworker.
“Have all the crafters been given assignments?” Shayla asked him, noticing his close inspections of Troda’s granddaughter.
Gawain nodded and pulled his attention back to the task at hand, an action which wasn’t all that easy under the circumstances. “Everything will go forward as planned. Though we’ll have to start with new designs, tools, dyes and blueprints.”
“Look at it this way,” Troda consoled, “it’s a chance for everyone to use their imaginations and innovate.”
“Still, we’ll have to work fast,” Gawain pointed out. “We’ll have to make up for months of lost time.”
Quick movements from behind Shayla caught Gawain’s attention. Something in his expression must have alerted the others, as they all turned in unison. Gawain’s former assistant and lover stood a few yards away. She seemed anxious to speak with him. “Will you excuse me?” he apologized, already walking toward Portia.
It had been a long time since she’d ended their relationship and asked Shayla to send her back to London. She was supposed to have been talking to the gallery owners about why there would be no showing, as their contracts demanded. Gawain felt no animosity toward her. As he’d told Afton, Portia just didn’t have the mettle it took to stay with a man as badly screwed up as he’d been.
“Hello, Gawain.” She looked him over. “It seems you’ve pulled yourself together.”
He nodded. “It took a while, but I finally got my life back. How is news from London?”
“That’s what I needed to speak with you and Shayla about. All the gallery owners were quite understanding when I told them everything had been lost in a fire, though of course I didn’t tell them where it happened. I led them to believe the warehouse where all the goods were stored just went up in flames.”
“That’s not far from the truth. So, we won’t have that pressure on us. I was afraid someone was going to hold a contract over our heads and—”
“You didn’t let me finish, Gawain. All the gallery owners were understanding—all but one. The Corrington–Smythe New Age Gallery in Soho. They spent an incredible amount of money on advance advertising. So much so that they’d suffer an extensive financial setback without our gallery showing. Their insurance company is reneging on payment against loss since their agents can’t personally verify exactly what was burned. The gallery owner was supposedly late on some of his insurance payments as well,” she added. “As a result, they won’t let us out of our agreement. Of course, the ad campaign the owner designed and the insurance snafu were incidents that were outside our control and the owner’s fault for overextending himself, but that seems to be beside the point. The owner insists that we still have a contract and he wants the new original works from DeForest that he was promised. He says that if we don’t produce the goods, he’ll have his solicitors contact ours. I can’t blame him. He could go bankrupt. But we don’t have the funds to pay off a lawsuit.”
“Damn!” Gawain said, then added a few more choice curses. He dragged his hand through his hair and paced. “From now on, the contracts will have a clause nullifying them if anything happens that’s out of our control. That’s what I get for trusting outsiders,” he said, though he really knew the fault lay with him.
Hearing the outburst, Shayla came forward. “What’s wrong, Portia?”
“I’ve just returned from London, Sorceress. As you know, it took time for me to visit all the merchants and marketers of our goods. Everyone was quite accommodating to our problem except these people.” Portia, still in a business suit, took the contract from her handbag and handed the document over to the Sorceress. As Gawain’s assistant, it had fallen to her to book gallery openings for the reclusive artist known as DeForest. Without him, not many galleries would have shown any of their other artwork at all. It was his name that drew crowds. The money from the sale of his art was what generated a tremendous amount of money for the Order. Otherwise, they’d barely be functioning. At least, they couldn’t continue to function on a level that insured their holdings and, ultimately, their world.
The Sorceress arched her eyebrows as she read the contract and the parts which had been underlined, presumably by the gallery owner. “Well, then. We’ll have to give him what he wants.”
Gawain looked at Shayla and wondered if she fully understood the problem. “Shayla, I can’t create a damned thing!” He held up the hook on his right arm. “Remember?”
“I’m sorry, lad. I don’t mean to step in where the business isn’t mine,” Troda interjected as he joined the group, “but I couldn’t help overhear. When is this exhibit to take place?”
“It was supposed to be in about three months’ time.” Gawain shook his head in dejection. “But it can’t be done. I can’t create or sculpt the way I once did.”
“Can’t?” The Sorceress projected her most menacing tone of voice. “You should have put that nullifying clause you were speaking of in the contract, Gawain. What you can or can’t do is hardly an issue now, is it?”
Portia shook her head in protest. “I don’t think this particular gallery owner would have let us book with him if we’d altered his standard contract, Shayla. His place is quite exclusive and he doesn’t let other people’s problems bother him. He has a lot of buyers lined up and they just want Gawain’s art. And the fault for not negotiating a better deal is mine, Sorceress, not Gawain’s. I just didn’t foresee anything as horrible as a fire ever happening.”
“No,” Gawain denied and held up his left hand, “the Sorceress is right. I shouldn’t have signed the paperwork without the proper wording.”
“Seems to me, the problem now isn’t what the contract says,” Troda pointed out, “but what will be done about fulfilling it.”
Shayla nodded in agreement. “Absolutely! And I hold you to your word, Gawain. You’re the Craftsman. As Portia says, we can’t afford the attention or money a lawsuit would cost us. Deal with this. Don’t let us down.”
Gawain could almost hear the silent “again” at the end of her statement. Shayla’s expression radiated determination. But he had nothing in the way of talent to offer. It was lost, along with everything else in that damned fire. He turned and strode away. Once more, his lack of attention to detail would see them all suffer. How could he have been so careless? As he walked on, Gawain thought back to those days before the fire. He’d had every gallery owner in London and many over the rest of Europe, vying for a showing of his work. In his supreme arrogance, he’d neglected a seemingly minor contractual necessity, just like he’d neglected checking the fuel source on the kiln. It all fell back on him, but what could he possibly do about it now?
“Gawain, wait!” Portia called after him.
He slowed his stride so she could catch up. “I don’t know what the Sorceress wants from me. Did you happen to tell that gallery owner that I’m now missing a hand?”
“Yes. And he just doesn’t care. He says he’s got advertising bills to pay for. I tried everything short of sleeping with the man.”
Gawain stopped walking and stared at the beautiful blonde woman beside him. “Don’t even think of doing such a thing!”
“I was trying to make a joke of it, Gawain. But there’s really nothing funny about any of this.”
“I’ll... I’ll just have to think of something. Goddess only knows what,” he said as he ran a weary hand across his face.
Portia stepped close to him and kissed his cheek. When she stepped back, Gawain’s expression of complete surprise prompted an explanation. “I should never have left you. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t suppose you could bring yourself to forgive me?”
Gawain stared into her green eyes for a moment. “There’s nothing to forgive. I wasn’t worth anything to anyone right after the fire. I’m still not.”
“That’s not true. Besides, I knew it was wrong of me to leave. Especially when the Sorceress told everyone you’d gone missing. I thought you were dead, Gawain, and that’s when it hit me how selfish and horrible I’d been. I wanted to come see you much sooner, but Shayla had me out canceling those damned gallery contracts and your family let everyone know you didn’t want company and... and... I thought you’d hate me for what I’d done. Running from you was such a spineless act.” Her voice broke and she began to cry.
Gawain immediately pulled her into his embrace. “Don’t do this. I’m not worth it.”
“Don’t say that,” she sobbed. “You’re magnificent and I’m a complete bitch.”
He took a deep breath and held her close. “No, you’re not. You were just a woman with an overwhelming situation facing you. And I don’t hate you, Portia.”
“You’re making me feel even worse.”
“Hush, now. It’s over.” He rocked her gently. “It’s like Troda said, we should be dealing with the problem at hand. Let’s just think about that and see if there’s some solution. All right?”
She sniffed and walked away with him. Gawain put a comforting arm over her shoulder.
Shayla, Troda and the two younger Brownies watched them leave.
Shayla turned to them. “You can see what an uphill battle this will be. Gawain thinks his talent has left him.”
“In all fairness, Sorceress, he might need help until he gets used to using tools and paintbrushes again,” Wren pointed out.
“That’s true. But he’s refusing to even try. It may be that he’s more afraid of something else. Perhaps that he’s lost his inspiration,” she responded.
“I don’t suppose he’d consider allowing us to craft the artwork, then let him take the credit? After all, it’s for the good of the entire Order,” Wyckem suggested, then looked at the others as they turned toward him. Expressions ranging from disbelief to anger covered their faces. “Goddess, it was just a suggestion.”
“No true artist would ever consider such a thing, Wyckem. It just isn’t done. Besides, I’ve seen his work. Anyone would know it isn’t Gawain’s art. Even though each piece is extraordinarily unique, his style, sense of balance, color and mixture of media can’t be duplicated,” Wren explained.
Troda nodded in agreement. “What’s in his brain just can’t be copied by anyone. I knew he was special when I first saw him create.”
Shayla looked in the direction Portia and Gawain had walked. “To add to that, it has been difficult getting the false documentation together so that no one discovers Gawain’s real identity and trace the artwork back here. We’ve spent years setting up a marketing system with a series of intricate checks and balances. It would be enormously stupid of us to jeopardize our secrecy, and all that work, by trying to forge the man’s art. For that same reason, we can’t let a solicitor force a lawsuit. Gawain will have to find a way to work again.”
۞  ۞  ۞
In her room that night, Wren found it difficult to sleep. She had a growing suspicion that her restlessness had nothing to do with wanting to be outdoors, as all Brownies loved to be. Her earlier encounter with the Craftsman had rattled her in a way that was unsettling. If what she was feeling was what her mother and grandmother had once explained, then this night would give her no peace. Her skin still tingled and there was an ache around her heart that was actually physical. At times, she broke into an uncontrollable sweat. But the thing that most upset her was that she was having these sensations over the Craftsman. The women of her kind called this very personal response the heart quickening. Unless she was ill and there was no reason to believe she was, she was experiencing a magical event that would never let her go.
It was said that women of her race suffered the symptoms in varying degrees, but the onset of the quickening always heralded the same result. Humans referred to the event as love at first sight. While a Brownie woman wasn’t compelled to follow her quickening choice to the end of her days, she’d never love another man with as much depth or heart. It didn’t matter if the man was Brownie, Gnome or Troll. This mystical event involved a matter of the heart and knew no bounds. Because Shayla was now Sorceress of the Ancients, any Brownie woman in a quickened state could approach the man in question, regardless of race and hear whether or not he reciprocated the feelings. Before Shayla, the rules of the Order had not allowed any race to mate outside their own kind. Tragically, this had led many Brownie women to bury their feelings when the quickening occurred. She’d taken a Brownie mate for life whether he was the right man or not. The result of this new openness should have been wonderful for Wren, but the timing was all wrong. Gawain O’Malley was the source of her quickening and she couldn’t approach him and add to an already precarious situation. Even if he would consider her as a possible mate, the man was in no state of mind and had no time now to contemplate a love life. So, like her predecessors of old who were forced to deny their heart quickening, Wren simply had to keep her mouth shut and suffer through it. Besides, there was no guarantee O’Malley would respond positively to her, even if the Order’s monetary situation wasn’t so dire.
Of course, she could be wrong. She’d never felt the magic before and some Brownie women never had the emotions overcome them at all. But her feelings toward Gawain were growing stronger by the minute. No other male, including Wyckem, had ever provoked these reeling sensations of need and passion. But she was stronger than most women and could fight her feelings. Still, it was confusing and quite alarming to have the event come upon her so very suddenly.
As Gawain had spoken to her and she’d gazed into his eyes, she’d almost known then. It was sort of like having someone pull a blindfold from her eyes and being able to see for the first time. Before meeting him, she’d been perfectly fine and ready to begin whatever task the Sorceress had in mind. A few moments of being in the Craftsman’s presence, however, and she’d begun to lose control of her normally coherent thoughts. She’d gone from mentally planning her art to being completely mesmerized by a stranger. It was that fast and that disconcerting. Sadly, the Craftsman was, by the desperate nature of the Order, out of her league. At least for the time being, until their finances could be restored.
She vaguely remembered her mother and grandmother telling her that the quickening had been instilled in their blood when hiding and running from humans gave her people little time to court. The quick onset of magic was supposed to assist the women of her race so they might efficiently choose a mate and feel instant attraction. In her chaotic thoughts and even with her physical needs, Wren recognized what she was going through might not be the magic of the quickening. She had to be very, very sure. Not knowing was causing almost as much anxiety as if she were certain. But her female kin were long dead and there were no other Brownie woman she would dare approach. If the man were anyone other than Gawain, she’d have readily asked for help and even asked the Sorceress her opinion. As it was, she’d have to handle the matter herself. She would keep it a secret for a long as she could hide her emotions. And Gawain was more than just a male. He was an almost-godlike warrior in her eyes. Now, unfortunately for her, he was in her heart as well.
She needed rest to sort the matter out, but sleep would never come this night. The moon was out and its powerful light called to her. She decided to quit fighting the pull of the stars and accept their embrace. As the night was warm, she tossed aside her cape, picked up her bag full of crystals and divination paraphernalia and set off for the forest. It couldn’t hurt to ask the Goddess of all things and the forest deities for help. Not just for her predicament, but for the entire Order as well.
In the coming months, the entire Order would need all the help they could get. But Brownies were particular about where they held their ceremonies and Wren decided this one should be performed carefully. It wouldn’t do to anger her patron the Moon Goddess. It was with that thought in mind that she went about seeking the building where the Craftsman himself would work. He was, after all, the focus of both her quickening and the Order’s troubles. And that was where her ceremony should be held, to bless and consecrate the activities there, as well as to calm her passionate feelings toward the big Druid.
As she walked, Wren’s thoughts never left the Craftsman. Though she knew her focus would be better spent on her artistic talent and producing new crafts, she couldn’t help where her brain wandered. The night before, Gawain had appeared in the great clearing like a warrior of the ancient Celts. She’d found the rumors about both his mental and physical illnesses hard to believe. He’d been absolutely superb. But Shayla had informed her and Troda that Gawain had struggled very hard to get himself back into form. It must have taken a great deal of courage and work to pull himself from death’s gates. But every muscle, tendon and ligament looked as though he was up to the task. He could probably wield a hammer against a forge like Hephaestus, the Greek god of metal-working. Unlike that god, however, Gawain wasn’t lame. But his missing arm made him believe his impediment was much more debilitating.
As far as she was concerned, the metal vambrace he wore was a stunning addition to the power of the man himself, not a disabling factor at all. It actually magnified his noble presence and that presence had shone as brightly as the sheen off his toned, muscular body. Her senses tingled all over again just thinking about his skin, bronzed from working in the sun and the tight black leather he’d worn. And, on closer proximity in the daylight, his dark eyes were really a deep, midnight blue and not black as other women claimed. As her imagination soared, she found herself believing that if he braided that long brown hair, he could be the legendary Cu Chulainn. But then she recalled that the man in that particular legend had a short, though heroic, life. Such must not be the fate of a man like Gawain. Though, for a time, it had seemed he desired to shorten his life.
According to Shayla, he blamed himself for things that weren’t his fault. Wren shook her head in denial. The very idea that such a vital life force would be cut short was too disturbing to contemplate. Perhaps it would be better to see him as the Roman equivalent of Hephaestus, known as Vulcan. And the lovely Portia would be his Aphrodite or Venus. They looked stunning together. And Wren smiled to herself as she foolishly gave in to carnal thoughts about a man who wasn’t hers. But he’d just been too devastatingly handsome. In the light of day, she’d been better able to see his strong, square jaw, sensuous, full mouth and brilliant smile, though she sensed he’d hardly smiled lately. Then her sense of fair play brought her mental wanderings to another person in her life.
What would Wyckem think if he could hear her thoughts? What would he do if he knew her quickening might have occurred, but for another man? They’d been promised to each other at birth. Such was her grandfather’s wish. And Wyckem was a good worker and cared for her, so she should feel lucky to have him. Many of her friends thought him quite a catch. Unfortunately, Wren just couldn’t bring herself to see him as anything more than a friend. It was said that matches based upon such platonic emotion could lead to love and respect. But it wasn’t fair to Wyckem to keep putting him off as she had. If she’d really wanted him, she and Wyck, as she called him, would have been handfasted years earlier and be well on their way to having a large family. Wren kept him at bay by saying that she wanted to establish herself with her art first and perhaps even take the place of her grandfather as head of the Brownie faction someday. Wyck had been more than patient. They even made love often enough. But even in that, he failed to satisfy her needs. She wasn’t sure if the fault was hers or his. It didn’t seem to matter as there wasn’t any real way to remedy the situation. She just plain didn’t want him as a life mate and it would hurt him on the day he finally came to grips with that fact. For that, Wren would be sorry. It wasn’t in the nature of her kind to hurt anyone. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she sought counsel from the Goddess. So she’d know how to deal with her own problems, as well as the Order’s, when the time came.
Her ears twitched and the points began to tingle when she sensed a presence. Before her was the cottage she sought. A Brownie’s senses were as acute, if not more so, than any Druid’s. The building causing her senses to pulse was a place of work, particularly the Craftsman’s main structure. Still, there was no light coming from inside. For a few moments, Wren pondered whether she should walk back to the castle or go into the structure. She shrugged and decided to go ahead and hold her ceremony. It wasn’t as if the building was a dwelling, but a workplace. Brownies always knew the difference. There was no smell or feel of habitation. Still, someone was inside or very near. Since the cottage was very deep into the enchanted forest, it wouldn’t be one of the perimeter guards, but the lingering presence made little difference. Consecrating the building simply had to be done. Plus it would help her jumbled, romantic feelings to contact the Goddess. The small ceremony she’d perform was the only way to keep the work organized, safe and productive and her mind on her craftwork. As the Sorceress couldn’t be expected to deal with every detail herself, now was as good as any time for her to do it. The moon was full, she had her crystals and talismans. So the deed would be done. Whoever was there would show themselves if or when they wanted to.

Chapter Four

Wren walked forward and gently pushed at the arched oak door. It creaked as it swung inward. Moonlight streamed through the windows, showing that the place was completely empty of any furnishings. She chewed at her lower lip, feeling the presence of another magical being even stronger than before. She took a deep breath, exhaled and went to the center of the room. There was a stairway at the far end, but there would be no need to go to the second floor. Working magic as Brownies did, the entire structure could be consecrated from the center of the one room.
She knelt, pulled the crane bag off her shoulder and began to empty the contents. She smiled as her fingers felt for each crystal, mineral, herb and her tarot deck and pendulum. Each item was important, as it was a lifelong pursuit just to gather them. Everything had a very special meaning. When the bag was finally empty, she used it as an altar cloth by laying it on the floor. The floor itself would be the altar. Then she laid the contents out in a specific order on the bag itself. She crossed her legs in front of her. She was about to ground her powers and ask the spirits of the woods to join her before requesting the favor of the Goddess herself when footsteps sounded on the staircase. She quickly turned her head at the sound.
“Oh! I didn’t...  What are you doing here?” Portia asked as she smoothed down her short blonde hair.
A moment later, Gawain joined her on the stairs. They’d looked as though they’d been involved in a romantic tryst. Portia was completely surprised by Wren’s presence. It was as if the Druid woman’s senses had been attuned to something or someone other than her surroundings. Gawain’s expression only registered mild surprise. Wren saw his eyebrows go up. He wore only his black leather pants and Portia continued to straighten the expensive outsider suit she wore.
“What are you doing here, Brownie?” he asked. “We’ve got a great deal of work to do, but you’re not scheduled to be here until early in the morning. You should be sleeping.”
Wren swallowed hard and tried not to let her feelings about him show in any way. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to intrude. I wanted to consecrate the building during the full moon. I sensed a presence, but I didn’t know where you were.” She began to gather her things.
“Don’t go, honey,” Portia said as she held up a hand. “I was just leaving. And you’re right. Many of the other buildings have already received a blessing from one source or another. It’s a good thing to ask the Goddess for guidance, especially when things will be so hard for a while.” Portia glanced at Gawain, smiled, then walked toward Wren with her hand out. “I know who you are. I’m afraid my manners have failed me when I didn’t introduce myself earlier today, but I had that contract mess on my brain. I’m Portia Reynolds.”
Wren smiled back at the woman, stood and took the hand offered to her. “I’ve heard wonderful things about your business acuity, Miss Reynolds. I hope we’ll be working together.”
“Of course we shall.” She nodded. “Please, call me Portia and do go on with your ceremony. I’ll ask this big brute to walk me as far as the path so you can have your privacy.” She waved a hand toward Gawain.
“I’ll walk you all the way back to the castle,” Gawain offered.
“That isn’t necessary,” Portia declined. “You have to get up early. We’ll just let Wren take advantage of this moonlight for a few minutes. Then you must get some rest yourself.”
Wren waited as they acknowledged her with a goodbye nod, then she watched them walked out the door. She took a deep, calming breath and tried not to focus too much on Gawain’s finely honed upper torso. While it didn’t hurt to appreciate magnificence when one saw it, the stirring in her body wouldn’t be useful when it took a calm mind and a great amount of focus to contact the spirits. She shook her head as though the small gesture could also cast away Gawain’s virile presence. It took her a moment to take her place on the floor again, check that her talismans were all properly laid out and begin.
Wren straightened her back, crossed her legs and placed her hands on her knees. She closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind of everything but the structure around her. Then her senses reached to the outside and the woods.
Her plea was directed to the spirits she believed had dwelled there for thousands of years. “Oh, spirits of this enchanted place, it is I, Wren, of the Humble People. I ask your presence and favor. Come, gentle spirits, and let only good enter here.” She relaxed every part of her body and felt a kind of peace enter her soul. “Come, Goddess of the Moon. I offer you my hands for work in this place. I ask that you bless all who come here in peace and direct their efforts to your good. If it does no harm, I also ask for peace to enter my soul. I have quickened toward one who cannot know my feelings. Please help me and help those who will toil in this place.” In an almost trancelike state, she opened her eyes and let her hands drift over the items before her. When the feeling was right, she lifted each object as her intuition dictated and held them up in the moonlight that was flooding the room through the windows. The belongings before her were ceremonial offerings to the deities she summoned. Tokens of her desire to receive them in peace and do their will. “Only happiness enter here, I beseech you all.” Then she meditated for a time before repeating the procedure. This was to be done three times, as that number held magical qualities and would, in itself, be an offering to the Goddess and her minions.
۞  ۞  ۞
After wishing Portia goodnight, Gawain left her on the path. She insisted on going back to the castle by herself and letting him get some rest. As he’d told her, the castle would be a more comfortable place to reside, but he’d be closer to his work at the cottage. There was a need inside him to be very near the things being created, to make sure nothing happened to them or, more importantly, any of the workers. To that end, he would spend the days drifting from one workplace to another. It was a terrible waste of time, but the only way to ensure safety. Above all, there would never be a repeat of that awful night when the Loft had gone up in flames.
That was the only thing on his mind when he carelessly entered the cottage, throwing the door open only to find Wren deep in meditation. He’d assumed she’d be done by now and opened his mouth to apologize for the interruption. It was considered beyond rude, and a violation of all tradition, to burst in on someone’s private worship. But Wren was so deep in her trance that the woman didn’t even know he was there. He paused and watched for a moment, then felt a deep, peaceful flood of emotion. It literally brought him to his knees beside the little Brownie. Gawain closed his eyes and then opened them, letting the feelings flow through and around him. It was like someone was taking him in their embrace, holding him close and cradling him. The smell of green pine, wild flowers and herbs wafted through the building. Scenes of wonderful things drifted through his mind. He imagined his mother making her homemade pies with Afton by her side and he and his brothers finding a pool to bathe in after the sun set. In his mind, he saw his brother-in-law Blain with his niece Syndra. And he heard his father telling him how much he really loved him. They were, he realized, events from the past. Given to him as a gift to calm his spirit.
Then, as the weight of the world fell away, a new vision began. In it, he felt himself shift and become a creature of the night. In this vision, he could see himself as the creature and be the animal at the same time. Gawain was now a large barn owl. He spread his wings, soared through the night sky and landed on the branch of a huge oak. Lightning bugs blinked around him and drifted through the woods. The stars above flickered like tiny lanterns and they cast their glow, even though the moon was full and very close to the earth. It was like a giant orb he could almost reach out and touch. It seemed it had a life all its own and called to him. For a time he sat and gazed at it, then took stock of the wonders of nature around him. Soon, he wanted to fly again. Just as he would have lifted his wings toward the sky, Gawain felt his spirit come shooting back through the roof of the cottage and into his body. All the while, he had been aware of Wren, who was sitting quietly by his side and any small movement or gesture she made. The event was some kind of omen, but he couldn’t begin to understand its meaning. The very wonder of it left him euphoric. It had been so very long since asking for the Goddess’ help in such a way. It seemed, through Wren’s small ceremony, the giver of all life was taking matters into her own hands and had forced him into the ceremony, whether he’d wanted to be there or not. He’d heard of such things happening, but not to a Druid. And certainly not to someone who’d neglected the religious aspects of his life. But the Goddess had meant for him to be there. That was a certainty.
The visions were gone, but the deep, restful meditation Wren enjoyed was now his to share. For some time, they didn’t move or break the trance. Gawain knew that only when the Goddess of all things was through with them would coming back to reality be possible. When a full hour had passed, they were finally able to slowly come back to their own plane of existence at the same time.
Gawain took a deep, cleansing breath as did Wren. He looked at her and knew that some bond had formed between them. Then his attention was drawn to the crystals and other objects on the makeshift altar cloth. “What just happened?”
“I’m not sure. Your presence was known to me, but I couldn’t seem to come out of the trance. That’s never happened before. It’s almost as if we were meant to share a spiritual journey of some kind.”
“Explain,” Gawain urged and leaned toward her.
“I saw you as a great barn owl. It was wondrous to see you gliding through the forest with the moon on your wings. Free as any creature of the forest is meant to be.”
He tilted his head, considering for a moment. “You saw me, but I didn’t see you. At least, not in the vision. I didn’t sense your presence there, but I saw you sitting here beside me. That’s very strange.”
She came up on her knees. “But I was there, in the vision. It... it wasn’t as a creature though. It seemed I was everywhere at once.”
Gawain exhaled slowly. “The light of the moon. I felt it as though it were an entity. That was you,” he whispered.
“We must find out what this means and why we were given this vision,” she insisted. “It’s very important somehow.”
“Do you think we could try the ceremony again? Maybe glean more of the message?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think it will come again. At least, that’s the way I feel.”
“What about consulting some of your rune stones or the pendulum?” He pointed to the objects on the cloth.
“We can try.” Wren picked up the pendulum. It consisted of a silver chain, one end of which had a piece of jade attached. The jade was carved in a triangular shape. The jade piece was then loosely grasped between the thumb and index finger, while a quartz crystal, attached to the other end of the chain, dangled toward the floor. “Ask a general question and see what happens.”
Gawain took a deep breath and tried to slow the rhythm of his heart. The experience had been so real and invigorating that it was difficult to concentrate. But his training and beliefs indicated he must if the reason for the vision was to be made clear. Knowing the pendulum only worked with simple yes or no questions, he tried to phrase his query appropriately. “Was the vision we’ve seen meant to help?”
Wren swallowed hard as the pendulum began to swing in a small, clockwise circle. “Yes.”
Gawain nodded, then proceeded with a second question. “Will its meaning be made clear to us?”
Again, the pendulum swung clockwise in an affirmative answer. Wren held her breath. “Ask a third question. But only this one last time. I’ve never used the pendulum more than that. I’m afraid to ask any more. This time, be very specific,” she instructed.
With determination, Gawain focused on the object she held. “Will the meaning of the vision be shown to us within the hour?”
The crystal at the bottom of the chain remained completely still for a moment, then it began to glow. Wren’s eyes opened wide. She gasped, dropped the chain and scooted back several feet. “It has never done that before. Gawain, what do we do?”
For a moment, he was as flustered as she. Nothing in his Druid upbringing ever mentioned such a thing happening. Even after Wren dropped the pendulum, the quartz crystal at the end still glowed. The mineral wasn’t supposed to light up like a candle at all, yet it did so by itself. Or it was being controlled by an unseen spirit. When Wren dropped it, the crystal landed near a mineral that sparkled in the moonlight. The point of the glowing crystal now seemed to serve as an arrow, leading to that specific mineral. Then the other mineral began to glow just as the crystal pendulum dimmed.
“The celestite!” Wren gasped as the small mineral began to glow. “Look at it!”
Gawain tried to recall what that specific mineral represented. It had been so long since he’d properly studied objects from the earth that its intrinsic powers escaped him. He clenched his left hand, desperately trying to pull the information out of his brain. “Celestite is supposed to send its owner good dreams, isn’t it?”
“That’s one of its uses,” she agreed. “It’s also used for travel to other dimensions. Symbolically, of course. And it promotes the arts. It aids in design, healing, balancing chaotic thoughts and promotes rational thinking.”
“Well, its use for travel to other dimensions isn’t symbolic anymore. And, if its use can improve the production of art, there may be some reason we’re being shown this particular mineral now.”
Wren wiped her sweat-moistened hands against her hips. “Gawain, we have to find the Sorceress and tell her. I don’t remember anything like this ever occurring. It’s a bit frightening.”
“We’ll let Shayla know later.” He paused. “First, I’m going to pick that bad boy up and see what it wants of us,” he said as he nodded toward the Celestite. The glow was even more pronounced than before.
Wren swallowed hard. “I d‑don’t think that’s such a good idea. You don’t know what might happen. We should just get Shayla,” she repeated.
“No time. We’re being shown something now. By the time the Sorceress gets here, it could be too late to find out what all this means.” He looked at her and saw the fear in her eyes. “Don’t worry, little Wren. I think this was meant to be.”
Wren put out her hand and tried to stop him from touching the stone, but she was too late. As Gawain picked it up, the glowed intensified. The Celestite took on a stunning blueberry hue. Normally, the best examples of that particular mineral were an almost deep, gray-blue. In fact, the mineral was so named because its color was close to that of stars in the night sky, as if it had fallen from the firmament. The less precious examples of the stones were a light shade of gray mixed with white or blue. But none of them ever did what this particular mineral was doing now. No stone just glowed in the dark by itself. As Gawain held it in his palm, the stone seemed to emanate warmth. Wren could feel it from where she sat. “Is anything happening?” she whispered.
“It’s warm. Like it’s been in the sun. Here, you take it and see what happens.” He tried to hand her the mineral, but she held up her hands and scrambled away again. “Wren, don’t be afraid. It’s like holding a warm star.” He closed his eyes and felt a great wave of serenity wash through his entire being. “Go on, little one. Don’t be afraid. Trust me.” He used a calm, soft voice to urge her to take the mineral.
In the glow of the mineral’s light and that of the moon, Wren could see his eyes had a serene, peaceful look. It was as if Gawain had taken on some of the very qualities attributed to the stone but had magnified the effects. His gaze was so compelling that she couldn’t help holding out her hand. Gawain placed the stone in her palm and Wren immediately felt the pacifying rush of gentle tranquility. “You’re right,” she breathed, “It is like holding a warm star.”
“Where did you get this stone?”
“It was mined in Scotland. I found it in a small vein on our sacred land there.”
“If... if I remember correctly, Celestite only comes from Madagascar and it’s moderately rare.”
She held the stone in both palms, letting its energy flow through her. “It can be found in other areas. It’s just that those examples of Celestite found in Madagascar are the best quality.” She smiled at him and held out her hands. “Let’s hold it together and see what happens.”
He flashed her a brilliant grin and placed his hand under hers. “You aren’t afraid of it anymore, are you?”
Wren shyly ducked her head. “Not now. It’s having quite a positive effect on me. But I still don’t know what all this means. The vision, the pendulum... now this.” She nodded toward the stone.
“I don’t either.” He held his hand beneath hers for some time. And they both stared at the glowing stone without speaking. Reluctantly, Gawain pushed her hands away with his one remaining palm. “Keep it safe, Wren. It’s a very special mineral. The Goddess has blessed it.”
When his warm touch left hers, there was an immediate sensation of loss. Something inside her said, Give it to him. Without pausing or questioning the inner command, Wren grabbed his left hand and placed the Celestite in his palm. “It’s yours.”
Gawain stared at her in surprise. “This is too precious a stone. I can’t take it from you, little Brownie.” For some reason, the words took on the tone of an endearment. She was little and, of course, was a Brownie. But even to his own ears, the phrase sounded soft and affectionate. He could only attribute such a thing to his Druid’s protective instincts. Men of his kind always held a soft spot in their hearts for the smallest of the Order. The women in particular. And Wren was trying to gift him with this very special stone. It was a sweet gesture, especially since he knew Brownies had very little in the way of personal belongings.
“You must have it. I’m certain it’s meant to go to you.” She pulled her hands back and smiled. “It just feels right somehow.”
“Thank you,” he murmured. “I... I don’t exactly know what else to say, Wren. That you would give me such a powerful object is... ”
She held up her hands to stop him. “Just put it in your crane bag with your other stones. I’m sure it’s meant to lead you to something. When it’s time to use it, you’ll know.”
“I lost my crane bag in the fire. It was hanging on the back of a door and went up in flames with everything else,” he said and lowered his gaze. The bag containing his collection of minerals and other accouterment used for worship had been forgotten until now. It meant very little to lose the sacred things collected in a lifetime when his friends had died, so he’d never searched for the remains of his items of worship.
Wren watched the expression on his face. He was remembering something very painful. Even the stone he held couldn’t block out the sorrow in his dark eyes. “Then that’s all the more reason you should have it. It’s time to start over.”
When he raised his eyes again, Wren’s golden gaze combined with the warmth of the glowing mineral. In that instant, he felt the truth of her words. It was time to start over. And he remembered his inner promise to do his best in memory of those who were lost.
For a long time, they gazed at each other. Finally, Wren looked down at her collection of minerals and began to put them back into her crane bag with slow, deliberate care. “I should be going. We’ve a very early start tomorrow. I must get back to the castle and tell the Sorceress about what happened. Maybe she can make sense of it all.” She stood at the same time Gawain did, looped her bag over one shoulder and turned to leave.
“Don’t go,” Gawain blurted. He was at a complete loss as to why he’d said it. She was right. They should get some rest. But the evening’s events still had him wired and Wren’s presence calmed his chaotic thoughts even more than the stone he still held. He wanted her near.
She sighed in relief. “I’m glad you stopped me. I didn’t want to leave. There’s no way I could sleep. Not after everything that happened.” She quickly lifted a hand to loop her hair behind one ear.
Gawain noticed the gesture. It seemed, in the brief time he’d been in her presence, that pushing her hair behind her sweetly pointed ears was a habit. Wren apparently did it when her emotions got the best of her. Almost subconsciously, he had been aware of her pushing her hair back several times while the stones glowed and mesmerized them both. Even as he’d been captivated by the strange powers exhibited by the minerals, he had still noticed her little gesture with her lovely hair. Her body language and even her face had all been in his mind as they considered the stones and their odd behavior. He was only now aware of her effect on him. It was as though she was part of the magic, as much as the mystic powers that had been displayed. Part of every little move she made was still with him, in his memory and clinging there.
He grinned, then sat back on the floor. “Let’s talk. Together, there’s a way we can figure all this out.”
She smirked mischievously and sat down beside him. “Good. I’d only be waking the Sorceress up and disturbing her sleep. We can tell her about the stones later.”
Like two old friends, they talked through the night. For Wren, her deep feelings for him were only increasing, but she dared not say a thing. Her loving emotions due to the quickening were too new and he was too engrossed in a project to save the Order. For now, they were just two people conversing.
Wren opened her crane bag again and let Gawain handle the other stones and tarot deck. It didn’t seem to matter where their conversation led them, just so long as neither left the small building. The more Wren was with him, the less she wanted to leave. They were still deep in conversation when they heard workers approaching with equipment, tools and other materials necessary to begin their assigned tasks. But the energy from their shared vision still tied them together. The Celestite might have lost its glow, but not its effectiveness. Something more powerful than friendship now united them, yet she feared the intensity was more from her perspective than his. Even so, Wren could feel Gawain’s attraction toward her, but she could still say nothing about her heart quickening. He didn’t need that complication in his life. She was afraid he might reject her under any circumstance. Her magical feelings, after all, weren’t his.
Gawain placed the small mineral in his pocket and helped Wren up from the floor. Together they went outside to greet the workers. More than ever, Gawain knew he had to try to find some way to keep from letting the Order down. He’d been given a vision meant to inspire. Failing to use it was unthinkable. Thankfully, someone had not only shared it, but would help him interpret its meaning. It was with this motivation that he met the workers and the new day.
۞  ۞  ۞
As soon as the workers started delivering materials, Wren set about organizing tools and equipment. Gawain knew there was no use looking over the goods until she was done. Brownies were an efficient lot and hated, with all their being, to work in an area that wasn’t clean and very well prepared. For a time, he watched her progress and saw that she’d soon have the empty cottage ready for work. Realizing he was only half dressed, Gawain went upstairs, showered, changed, then left to make his rounds of the other work areas. It was part of his job to oversee plans of the various artists and check in with the Sorceress. All the while, events from the previous night still puzzled him. He also knew that Shayla should be told about the magical happenings between him and Wren, but the exhilaration of the event still had Gawain captured in wonder. Nothing would force him to share what had happened until both he and Wren decided to do so. It had to be a joint decision since the vision had been shared by them both.
Inside the castle, he saw that a great many people had been put to work on projects the Sorceress had planned. Men and women carried boxes of records from one room to another, computers were on-line and some of the staff moved from room to room in a flurry of activity. It had been a long time since he’d seen the place so alive.
It was in the middle of all the commotion that he eventually found Shayla. The Sorceress was in the library, pacing around the room. Some of her people were taking copious notes as she dictated instructions like a commanding general. She stopped, however, when he came into view. With a regal hand, she waved the staff away to do their work and beckoned him in.
“Your supplies are all in order?” she asked as she picked up a notepad to peruse an agenda.
“Everything is here. I’ve already got some of the artists creating,” he responded. “Even the looms are almost ready to set up. We should have some idea how fast the work proceeds within the month.”
“Good. And your ideas about the gallery showing?” She looked at him over the top of the notepad.
He recognized her imperious stare. The Sorceress of the Ancients wanted an answer and wouldn’t let the matter go until his response pleased her. Gawain didn’t have one to give. But something about the vision kept churning in his mind. Even without sleep, his brain hung on it. He would have expected the shocking quality of the experience to have left or at least diminished with the morning’s light. That just wasn’t the case. “I’m working on something.”
“The Brownies showed up and everything is in order with them?”
He nodded in response. In that instant, Gawain was aware the Sorceress knew Wren hadn’t come back to the castle. Whatever interpretation Shayla chose to put on Wren’s disappearance couldn’t be helped.
Shayla put down her notepad and sat on the arm of a large sofa. “You know Wren is promised to handfast with Wyckem, don’t you? It was a blood-pact made between her parents and his.”
Her revelation came as a surprise. He was confused as to why it should matter. “That’s none of my affair. What she and Wyckem do on their own time isn’t my business.”
“Wyckem was quite upset this morning when he couldn’t find her. I believe he’ll be looking for you,” Shayla warned.
He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. “The tone in your voice indicates there’ll be some kind of confrontation. What makes you think Wren was with me? Or should I ask why Wyckem thinks Wren and I were together?”
“He and everyone else saw the way Wren looked at you when you two first met. Brownie men are very astute about the emotions of their chosen mates. As I said, Wyckem was very upset. He already sees you as a threat to his and Wren’s relationship and we don’t need that kind of distraction right now. Time is running out. I’m having my staff shift funds from various accounts to cover expenses. There’s no time for romantic foolishness, Gawain.”
Feeling like a small boy who’d got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Gawain took a deep breath and willed himself to be patient. “All right, we were together. But what Wren and I do in our workplace is of no concern to anyone. And people are going to have to understand that bankers’ hours won’t be kept. She and I came across some... some ideas we’re working on. And if I’m to do my job, Wyckem and everyone else will have to understand that. I can’t be questioned about every damned thing I do with any woman I supervise. And I won’t have anyone working around me who can’t adapt to the situation. It’ll be rough going. I’m in no mood for distractions any more than you are, Sorceress.”
“Well put.” She slowly nodded. “Just keep your priorities straight, Gawain. Things will get worse before they get better.”
He nodded and, sensing she was through with him, walked away. Gawain wasn’t certain whether her last comment had to do with the Order’s financial worries or something having to do with personal relationships with his coworkers. He lengthened his stride and headed for the cottage. Before the building even came into view, Gawain heard shouting. One of the voices was male, decidedly angry and out of control.

Chapter Five

“You’re being an absolute ass, Wyck! Where I go and with whom is none of your affair.” Wren put her hands on her hips and tried to keep the level of her voice down. Already, the argument Wyckem had insisted on pursuing was causing discord among the other workers. A few had taken their work outside to avoid having to listen to their business being bandied about so freely. Wren was furious that Wyck would behave in such a way where others could witness and hear. Their race was one which valued peace and order. His jealous behavior, therefore, was inexcusable. She realized he might be aware of her physical change or something might be cluing him in to her quickening. Still, this was the wrong time and place to air his anger.
“Do you forget that you’re promised to me? That staying out all night with that big Druid is bound to cause comment?” Wyck glared at her and raised his voice another octave.
“What of it? You’re certainly not helping matters by confronting me like this, where everyone in the cottage will hear our business,” she angrily replied. “If you don’t trust me, then what kind of life would we have as mates?”
Wyck took a deep breath, swallowed hard and clenched his fists. “If I have to end up fighting that... that one-armed, mindless oaf because he challenges me at our handfasting, you’ll be banished from our people, Wren. You know that a Brownie blood-pact formed at birth is sacred.”
She knew it well. Such a pact would even supersede her growing feelings toward Gawain, especially if the object of her desire didn’t acknowledge her with the same intensity. As all the women of her race before her, she’d be relegated to taking a second choice. Right now, however, her concern had more to do with Wyck’s embarrassing behavior in public than her own desires. Wren gritted her teeth, walked forward and stared him straight in the eyes. “How dare you say something like that to me. I’m perfectly aware of my responsibilities to our people. Your petty jealousy is not only misplaced, it’s juvenile. And the only oaf here is you.” She turned her back on him. “Get out and find some other place to work. You’ve disrupted this environment enough for one day.”
Wyck turned to leave and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw Gawain standing in the doorway. It didn’t matter how much the man had overheard. Wren was his. She always had been. And he’d noticed the sensuous way the massive Druid had looked her over when he and Wren were first introduced. It was a though the man were looking at a piece of rich French pastry. Though a pairing of Brownie and Druid had never happened before, Wyck wouldn’t put it past Gawain to take advantage of the Sorceress’ new policies concerning such matters. Wren was a beautiful girl. Fairy and Goblin men and a Satyr or two had gazed at her with heat in their eyes. He felt the continual need, therefore, to stake his claim where she was concerned. Wren either didn’t notice or dismissed other male attention as harmless. But he knew better. With a beauty like her in his life, he’d always have to be on guard. Knowing that an argument with Gawain now wouldn’t win him points with Wren, he picked up his tools, quickly shoved them into his leather satchel and stalked past the mountainous Druid.
Wren turned toward the door and sighed in frustration when she saw the Craftsman standing there. Disruptive behavior shouldn’t be tolerated when so much work stood before them. She dropped her head toward the floor in shame. Wyck had wasted a full half-hour arguing over something which just didn’t exist. At least it didn’t exist on Gawain’s part.
Gawain glanced at the retreating Brownie’s figure and then turned his attention back to Wren. “I’m sorry if your man took our being together all night as some sign of intrusion. I can explain to him that we were just talking all night.”
Embarrassed, Wren kept her gaze down and shook her head. “Don’t bother. In the first place, I don’t have to justify my behavior. In the second place, it’s not worth the time and Wyck wouldn’t listen anyway. His head is like granite. Besides, he’s not my man.” She took a deep breath and sighed heavily. That spoken truth was out and Wyck would eventually have to be told.
Gawain walked forward, swept his gaze around the room at some of the other workers and noticed their covert stares in his and Wren’s direction. “If the rest of you don’t have enough work to do, I’m sure I can find some.” With that threat, the workers picked up the pace and turned their full attention back to matters at hand.
Wren chewed on her bottom lip, tucked her hair behind her ears and looked up at Gawain. “I’m sorry about the disruption. It won’t happen again, I can assure you.”
He waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s all right, little Brownie. Let’s just get back to work.”
Wren readily nodded, picked up a sketch pad and pencil and then sat in a far corner where she could work in peace.
Watching her, Gawain thought he knew how Wyckem must feel. Light from a window streamed across Wren’s work area and illuminated her hair and golden eyes. It captured her delicate features and framed them like a halo. The girl was as sweetly beguiling as any he’d ever seen. If she were his, Gawain knew he’d never let her get far from his sight. But she had just denied any connection to Wyckem. It seemed the Brownie man’s possessiveness was misplaced or their relationship was misunderstood by the Sorceress and others. He shook his head. Rather than dwell further on it, he cleared his mind, picked up a sketch pad and pencil with his left hand and went to work, hoping some inspiration would strike.
Hours later, he still sat there. Pages of rough sketches had been discarded. They lay around his booted feet. At different times, workers left the building to take a break or eat a meal. As long as their pace was maintained, they were free to do so at their own discretion, so he hardly noticed them coming and going.
The intensity with which he focused started the old pain in his arm all over again. He went up to his room, took a shower to clear his mind and returned to his workspace. He tried again. Finally, he tossed the pad and pencil aside in frustration, took a deep breath and attempted to block out the pain. It just kept getting worse. Glancing around, he noticed the orderly way Wren had arranged things. Every single item was in the most useful, efficient place. He wished, with all his heart, that someone could arrange his inspiration so effectively, but it just wasn’t there. Worse, the damnable ache in the lower part of his right arm was.
Wren noticed Gawain move to the center of the room, stretch and lean against a post. After leaving for a brief time, he’d returned. Though the day wasn’t all that warm, the Druid seemed to regard working with a shirt on as a distraction. Because of that fact, her concentration didn’t seem any better than his. Discarded drafts of work lay around the tall stool, placed where there was perfect light and specifically for his benefit. His left hand stroked his right forearm. For a moment, she closed her eyes and dropped her own work when waves of pain struck her. Compassionate and intuitive as all her race, Wren immediately stood and went to him. She placed a gentle hand on his left biceps. “What’s wrong? Where is this pain coming from?”
He dropped his head back and shook his head. “It’s called phantom pain. Something induced out of stress, probably. Don’t worry about it, Wren. It’ll go away.”
She waited for a moment before speaking. “You can’t work like this.”
He sarcastically snorted. “I wasn’t doing anything you could describe as work. I’ve got nothing to show for hours of trying.”
Wren looked around his workstation at the discarded drawings. She picked one up, then another. Like a ray of sun shining through the clouds after a summer storm, what he was trying to express on paper came to her. She glanced at Gawain, then back at the drawings. The man just didn’t know what he’d done and it was certain he wouldn’t while in so much pain.
Workers began to put their tools and craft items away. Later, another shift would enter the building with their own gear, but Wren knew that true artistic talent and inspiration didn’t keep schedules. Gawain was onto something now and he had to see it for himself. First, she’d take care of his right arm. Brownies had as many curative means at their disposal as any of the rest of the Order. And once his pain abated, she could help him with the drawings. The incoming workers could go on without them for a while.
“Come on,” she tugged at his left hand, pulled him toward the stairs and grabbed her crane bag from its place on a nearby wall peg. Some of Gawain’s sketches were tucked haphazardly beneath one arm.
“Where are we going?”
“I need to see you alone. That arm has to be tended and then I have to show you something.” Wren kept telling herself that she was only trying to help. Part of her brain was working on an idea, but the other part was still infatuated with Gawain. The half of her mind still thinking professionally was the one she concentrated on. Her libido and the magic causing it to work overtime could wait.
Using more strength than he’d have attributed to such a tiny thing, Wren half pulled him up the stairs and into his makeshift bedroom. An old four-poster bed was the only furnishing.
Wren noted the tidy bed with its brown patchwork comforter and matching pillow shams. She tried not to think of Gawain and Portia having shared that place the night before. It was hard to do, but his pain sent her into action. “Take your boots off, lie down on your stomach and get comfortable.”
Gawain’s eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”
She grinned mischievously. “Just do it.”
He almost smiled. Such a little thing giving him commands was an unusual happenstance. In other days, no one except the Sorceress had ever tried. With a shrug, he did as she asked. The throbbing in his arm had somehow moved to his head. It would only get worse and at one time would have sent him looking for the morphine. But that wasn’t an option he would consider now. The use of drugs had alienated almost everyone he’d ever loved. Even now, he kept his family at a distance because of the trouble his father would cause if his mother or siblings were seen talking to him.
It was clear Wren was only trying to help. If she could show him a healthier way to deal with the pain, it would be welcome.
Wren waited for Gawain to lie down. After he lowered himself onto the bed, she dropped her crane bag at his side and placed his sketches on the floor. Pushing her hair over her shoulder with one hand, she climbed on the bed and straddled his waist. Despite her diminutive size, this was easier than she imagined. His hips were narrow while his shoulders seemed to stretch across the bed forever. She convinced herself what she was about to do was for his own good, only to help him. There was no sensual or seductive motive.
She reached inside her bag and brought out a small vial of oil. Meant to soothe its user, only the most precious and relaxing herbs had been gathered to make the ointment. Since it was her own concoction and a fairly new one, no one else had ever tried it. But Wren was sure it would help. She poured a small drop onto one palm, then rubbed her hands together.
Wren’s small hands on Gawain’s shoulders had his body responding in a way that was all too carnal. He tried to keep the massage in perspective. Wren was only trying to help him. Most Brownies had a need to do so, it was in their very blood. No creature was too small or, as in his case, too big to be denied aid. His eyebrows shot up as he ruefully thought of the part of his anatomy that was only getting bigger. Still, he tried to relax and let her do her thing. It was working wonders on the pain in his head, which quickly calmed to a dull throb. He knew it would eventually go away as she loosened the muscles in his neck.
“Better?” she asked. Wren wondered how much muscle one man could have. Genetics gave all men of the Order a better-than-average physique. Their strength was what had allowed them to survive for so many thousands of years. But Gawain was larger than many. Men of warrior class always were. Still, she battled the suggestive little demon in her gut that wanted to caress instead of massage him. She kept silently repeating the mantra, I’m only doing this to help, over and over again.
“Mmmmm. A little lower on my back,” Gawain murmured. Then his eyes closed as she worked on the exact spot.
“You need to relax more. Probably meditate, too.”
“There isn’t time these days. Too much to get done.”
She poured more oil into her palms and started on a new spot, very low on his spine. The moment she touched him there, Wren knew it was a mistake. Everyone had sensitive places on their bodies. With some creatures of the Order, like herself, the tips of their pointed ears were highly responsive. With this particular Druid, however, he dearly loved having his lower back massaged. She could see this in the way his body moved.
Gawain’s hips rotated as her hands caressed him. The girl had to know what she was doing. She couldn’t miss his body’s reaction. He stretched out as flat as he could, buried his face into the pillow and tried not to moan too loudly. When her hands moved to the outside of his hips, the fingers of his left hand clenched. Even through the leather of his pants, her touch was highly erotic.
Wren immediately took her hands away. But it had been a force of pure will that made her stop. His response was mesmerizing. To have that kind of sensual control over a man this large was something she had always fantasized about. Wyck was a strictly in-and-out kind of lover. When she wanted to prolong the act, continuing the foreplay, he got impatient and ended up on top, just plunging in. He never hurt her, but he never gave her much pleasure either. Afterward, he always rolled over and went to sleep. Then she’d have to pleasure herself.
Up until now, she wondered if that happened to a lot of women or just her. But Gawain’s responsiveness to her touch was thrilling. His body responded as though he actually desired the lengthy caresses. His actions told her there were men who could enjoy themselves as much as she longed to.
Gawain took a deep breath, moved his hips again and looked back over one shoulder. “Don’t stop, little Brownie,” he whispered. “Keep going.”
“I only wanted to help. I could sense the pain in your arm and... ”
“Then touch me there if you want. Just don’t stop.”
“I’ll have to undo that vambrace.” She pointed to the leather straps that held the metal cuff onto his arm.
He considered it for a moment. “It’s not a pretty sight beneath the metal, Wren. The doctor who took my hand off was trying to save my life. No one was worried about aesthetics at the time. The scars on my arm are worse than this one,” he told her as he rolled slightly on his side to show her the jagged line partially hidden by his pants.
Wren had seen the scar running up from his lower abdomen. But men of the Order sometimes got injured doing heavy manual labor. Wyck had scars of his own. “How did you get that?” she softly asked.
“When the kiln exploded during the fire, a piece of wood was embedded in my abdomen. The surgeons had a bloody bad time getting it out.” Why he was telling her the story was a mystery. But she was so easy to talk to that the memory of that incident didn’t hurt as much as it once might have.
Her heart softened. “Just tell me where it hurts.” She quickly unbuckled the leather straps at the inside of his arm and pulled off the attachment that served as his hand. She swallowed hard at the sight. Horrible burns covered half the lower part of his forearm. It was clear nothing had been left of the hand. Not judging by the scar tissue.
“I told you,” he muttered and tried to roll away. Wren’s gentle but firm grip on one shoulder stopped him.
“Lay back down. You’re still in pain.”
Taking a deep breath, Gawain paused for a moment and then he did as he was asked. Her small, soft hands started on his right shoulder and gently kneaded the muscle there. She slowly worked her way down to the biceps and elbow. But her touch was so exquisitely gentle when she reached the forearm that the pain melted away. It was as if it had never been present at all and his entire body relaxed. While her touch was imminently soothing, its sensuousness wasn’t lost on him.
Sensing the oil and her ministrations were finally have the desired effect, Wren moved back up the arm and down again. She enjoyed every single second of the massage. Of course, he should be getting the benefits, but she couldn’t help the way touching him made her feel. Surely, there couldn’t be anything wrong with feeling pleasure while helping another? But then, she reminded herself, she was promised to someone else. Her magical need for him might be thwarting her more genuine efforts to help. Still, the part of her that sexually desired the encounter wouldn’t let her stop.
Gawain didn’t know how much more he could take before his better judgment and resistance caved in. Her hands traveled over him as if she needed the contact as much as he. Initially, her intent might have been to help, but the experience was becoming something a great deal more intimate. Turning on his side, he unbuckled his pants. He stopped long enough to watch her expression. The scarring there was very bad. Wren slowly nodded, as if his action had been expected or wanted. As he continued to undress, her hands moved over his chest and softly over the puckered scar tissue on his abdomen. And those lovely eyes went from a warm golden color to deep amber. The woman would never be able to hide her emotions. Such was the honesty within her expressive face. Without his prosthetic, he had only one hand with which to work. Wren began to help him and he saw her breathing deepen, heard her soft sighs of anticipation.
“I want you,” Gawain whispered. “Tell me to stop now and I will.”
She slowly shook her head in denial. “I can’t.” She helped him pull off the remainder of his clothing and stared at the most perfect body she’d ever seen. Even scarred and burned, he was fabulous. Every muscle, angle and curve exuded great strength. No one could ever say, even with the loss of his arm, that he wasn’t a warrior. He reached for her and she didn’t back away. Instead, her own hands went to the neck of her jerkin and began to unlace the leather. Her breath caught as his fingers softly traced a pattern down her throat.
“I can’t tell you how much I want this,” he breathed against her ear. Her small body shuddered as he softly kissed the tip. “You like that, don’t you, Wren? Sweet little bird.”
When she slipped out of the leather, her nipples went taut. His deep blue gaze darkened to an almost midnight color. Her hands slid down to her waist, unbuckled the pewter belt buckle and pushed at the leather. His hand slid down the curve of her back and gently caressed her hip. Wren closed her eyes. She would finally know what it felt like to have a man make slow, deliberate love to her. Satisfying her needs as well as his own. To have a partner who wanted the experience to last and to enjoy each other without limits. Damn her better intentions. She had to have him.
Gawain lowered his head and tasted one soft nipple. Her hands plunged into his hair as she drew him closer. He took advantage of the opportunity to lave the sensitive area and its twin. “You’re so damned sweet,” he sighed. “Let me see all of you, Wren. Show me what you want.”
She thrilled at his words. No one had ever bothered asking. Here was a man who wanted to give pleasure. And she was determined he’d get equal to what he gave. Everything in her was focused on pleasure, how to get it and give it.
With one hand, he pushed the leather off her hips and pulled off her soft doeskin boots. He smiled at the tiny black thong she wore. “This is nice.” He looped his index finger under the side strap and gently stroked. Wren’s answering moan enticed him to take his time. Finally, when he couldn’t wait any longer, he pulled the cotton from her tiny waist and down her legs. Legs that seemed incredibly long and shapely for such a small thing. But all of her was perfectly proportioned. He thought of the old saying about how the best things came in small packages. There was absolute truth in the old adage.
Wren was finally as naked as he and he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her with him. They landed in the soft bedcovers and began an immediate exploration of each other’s bodies. He was so much taller than her that for a moment her mind drifted to the logistics of how the lovemaking would proceed. But Gawain seemed to be well ahead of her and knew exactly what to do.
“You get on top, baby. You’re in control.”
Wren’s heart filled with sweet passion. Gawain had nothing to prove to anyone. Totally secure in his masculinity, he’d let her take control. She vowed he’d have an experience that would never leave his memory. Even if she had to rely on instinct instead of expertise. Her hands traced over muscle and moved down to the thick curls between his thighs. When he quickly expelled his breath and closed his eyes, she knew how to use his responses as a guide. He moved his hips, moaned and reached behind him for the bedpost.
He opened his eyes and watched her toss that beautiful curtain of chocolate brown hair over her shoulder. Her breasts were full, pert and white as ermine. He released his hold on the bedpost and gently squeezed one until she moaned in pleasure. She leaned forward, writhed against him and then pulled herself up his body by using his shoulders for leverage. Her sweet lips brushed against his and Gawain knew he was lost in the moment. He opened his mouth for a kiss that was hot and wild. It seemed the peaceful, serene little beauty had a marvelous streak of primal desire buried deep inside. Somehow, instinct told him he was the first to see it. Possessiveness prompted him to make sure no one else ever would, but he had no right to take on a relationship now. Not when so many needed him.
His left hand moved over her back and hips. She lifted up, reached between their bodies and slowly mounted him. Breath left his lungs as she closed those enchanting eyes and lowered herself onto him. The blood-pact between her and Wyck wasn’t right. This girl was too precious to spend the rest of her life with a man he knew she didn’t love and every instinct in him said she didn’t love the Brownie. The light in her eyes when she looked at him was evidence. The way she touched him and her slow, deliberate lovemaking told him as well. Wren dropped her head back and, ever-so slowly, slid up and down the length of Gawain. He filled her perfectly. When he began to match her rhythm and pace, she pushed her hair back with both hands, smiled and moved faster. “Goddess, this is wonderful,” she gasped.
“Let me show you something even better,” Gawain growled out. He suddenly sat up while holding her onto him. “Put your legs around me.” They were now in a sitting position. Wren’s legs quickly wrapped around his waist. He slid his legs over the side of the bed. As soon as his feet touched the floor, he lifted slightly upward. Her answering cry of satisfaction drove him on. He felt himself push against the back of her womb and how she tightened around him.
“Yes, Gawain. Yes!” she cried out.
“Hold on, Brownie. Just hold on to me.” She cried out as he held her and the magnificent orgasm he experienced when she came was mind-blowing. He barely remembered falling back into the bed with her on his chest.
Later, as they lay in each other’s arms stroking their bodies, Gawain lifted his right arm and sadly shook his head. “I can’t hold you the way I’d like.”
“You did everything perfectly. I loved every moment of it,” Wren said as she kissed his full lips and stroked his cheek.
For a moment, Gawain didn’t speak. He was afraid his next words might shatter the intimate bond they’d formed. “Sweetheart, you can’t handfast with Wyckem. You don’t love him, do you?”
She swallowed hard, shook her head and turned her cheek into his chest. “No. But I don’t want to be shunned by my people for breaking the blood-pact. It isn’t fair. Not to either of us.”
“He’s in love with you.” Gawain stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.
“I know. I’ve tried to tell him without hurting him. Maybe I could be more insistent and he’d understand. He’d be angry and his pride would be hurt, but I have to try.”
“If he released you from the pact and the agreement was mutual, wouldn’t that solve everything?” Gawain asked. He smiled as she snuggled closer to him and sighed with pleasure.
She nodded. “It’s getting him to agree to it that will be the problem. I’ve never actually confronted him with how I feel, though I’ve suggested we weren’t right for one another.”
“Why not? Why haven’t you just had it out with him?” Gawain lifted her chin up so she was forced to look at him.
Wren shrugged. “I don’t know. Until now, it wasn’t really an issue. I just put it off and hoped he’d get bored with me, find someone else and let me go.”
“Well, you can’t put it off any longer. After what I saw today, the guy thinks he owns you.”
Wren sensed some advice coming and needed it. “Can you suggest how a woman would tell a man she doesn’t want his attention anymore? Is there some tactful way to put it?”
Gawain suddenly sat up, held her in the crook of one arm and looked down into her face. “You just say that you can’t give him what he wants and that it’d be better for both of you to go your separate ways.”
He pulled her against his chest and held her tight. If time could go back and he’d met her before the fire, things might be different. For now, all he could think about was his job as the Craftsman. It wasn’t fair to contemplate his own happiness or a relationship with Wren, other than what they’d just shared. His full attention had to be on putting the finances of the Order back in place. As to her happiness, however, Wren had a right to be with someone who could love her as a desirable woman. He’d damn well bet that hotheaded Wyckem hadn’t the patience or the experience to pull the fantastic, erotic response from her that he just had. She deserved better, any woman did.
She pushed slightly away and stared up at him. Since the subject of Wyck had been brought up, she had one of equal importance to ask. “What about Portia, Gawain? What does she mean to you? When I saw you together upstairs I think I may have jumped to a conclusion. I don’t think you’d be capable of loving me the way you have after having been with another woman so soon. I’d have sensed deceit. But there’s absolutely none in you. When I look in your eyes, I see straight into your heart.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “That’s because there is no deceit. When you came in to bless the cottage, she and I were upstairs working. We’d been at it for a while, so we got comfortable and began pouring over options to get that damned gallery owner to lighten up on his demands. But we weren’t together in any other way. While it’s true she and I did discuss our previous affair, neither of us wants to go back to that place in time. We’ve grown apart. Too much has happened to us both.”
“I know. I feel that way about Wyck, too.”
“You just talk straight to him, little minx. He’s not stupid. He’ll finally get the message.”
She kissed him hard, then moved only a breath’s distance away from his full lips. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone. Portia seems very nice. I’d hate to cause her pain, along with Wyck and grandfather, but I can’t help how I feel.”
Gawain took a deep slow breath then let it out. “I feel as if something inside me is more at peace now.” He stroked her cheek. “I have you to thank for that, Brownie.”
“It wasn’t my intention to bed you,” she smilingly told him, “but I feel better, too. Lots better.”
“Then love me again, little bird. We’ll make the entire damned world leave us alone. We might have our mutual problems, but we seem to have found a way to get over them for the present, haven’t we?” he softly asked.
She nodded and stuffed down the desire to tell him about her growing feelings for him and the magic surrounding them. Their problems were nothing compared with those of the Order. Instead, Wren simply moved into his arms. He loved her slowly and with great care and she felt his deliberation in giving her everything she’d missed with Wyck. When they were finished this time, she held him and he finally slept peacefully in her arms.
۞  ۞  ۞
When Gawain woke, it was early morning. Wren wasn’t in bed with him and, for an awful moment, he wondered if the entire night had been a highly erotic dream. Then she walked through the door, dressed, her hair still damp from showering. She carried a cup of steaming tea in one hand. “Time for you to wake up,” she said as she handed him the cup and gifted him with a beguiling smile.
For the moment, everything was right in his world. The peace all Brownies had to give was his. He felt the softness of it invade the room and his heart. In her presence, he could find respite. Gawain stretched, took the cup of tea and pulled her toward him. “Kiss me.”
She laughed and did as he commanded. “You were tired. I let you sleep in.”
Had he only known her for such a short time? He felt as though some connection had been forged between them that far surpassed anything he’d ever experienced. But duty called. He had no time for anyone right now and couldn’t afford the division of his attention. He sipped the hot tea and nodded at a bundle of papers she held in one hand. “What are those?
“Sketches. The ones you worked on all day yesterday.” She pushed her hair behind her ears, hopped up on the bed and spread the papers out in front of him. “Look at what you’ve done.”
Gawain handed her the cup of tea, then pulled the drawings toward him. One after another depicted the same scene over and over. “It’s the vision we had.”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded. “You kept drawing it as one scene over and over again.”
“I must have been trying to make some sense of it. All I remember was my arm hurting like hell and a little Brownie coming to my rescue.” He glanced at her and smiled.
She returned the smile and playfully pushed his hand away when he reached for her. “Work time.” She laughed when his expression said otherwise.
He ran his hand through his hair and looked at the drawings again. Suddenly, something clicked in his brain. “I think...  This might be turned into something. A painting, maybe.” He shook his head at the thought. His left hand would never be able to render the scene on canvas.
Wren saw him glance at his left hand. “If you don’t want to paint it, could it be done in some other medium?”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
She sighed and handed him back the tea. “Well, it would make a lovely piece of art. Very fantasy-oriented and New Age. People are all into that sort of thing now.”
“Wonder what they’d do if they knew the New Age was really us and we’d been a part of their lives for thousands of years.”
She patted his thigh. “We’d be hunted down and sent, in small pieces, to every scientific laboratory in the world. Or we’d be exploited to obtain magic powers.”
“Mmmmm,” he murmured. “Quite probably true.”
She stood up, gathered the papers and walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” He wanted her company. Preferably in the bedroom.
“Downstairs. We’ve got work to do.”
He rolled his eyes, shook his head in frustration and swung his legs out of bed. “Brownies. All work and no play.”
Her laughter rang out as she descended the stairs. He found himself smiling as he showered and dressed. With Wren waiting for him, work didn’t seem the impediment it had been just the day before. She was onto something with his sketches. He just couldn’t quite work it out in his head, but it was definitely coming. The vision they shared was the key. It was still meandering through his brain as he came down the stairs. When he looked up and saw the drawings tacked to the back of the cottage door, the idea hit him so hard it almost left him breathless. Gawain lunged toward the door and stared at the drawings. Then he backed up and looked at the entire door.
Wren watched his actions in amazement. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you put these up for a reason?” Gawain asked as he quickly turned toward her.
She shook her head and shrugged. “I just tacked them up there to keep them out of the way.”
Gawain pulled her toward him, turned her toward the door and held her by the shoulders. “Tell me what you see.”
She tilted her head and looked at the sheets of paper hanging on the wood. Gawain’s sense of urgency told her to look carefully. He apparently saw something worth noticing. After a moment, she tilted her head and found that the scene he’d sketched would look wonderful done in wood. No... not in wood, but on wood. “Gawain, you could do the entire scene as a functional piece of artwork.”
“Exactly!” he exclaimed, took her hand and pulled her toward the door. “The entire picture could be done on a set of doors.”
His excitement was contagious. “Of course,” she gasped. “You could use oak carved into an owl, then paint the wings the right colors.”
“And a large geode of Celestite or quartz for the moon,” he added.
“You could forge the hardware out of iron and quartz crystals could be embedded in the wood for stars,” Wren excitedly chimed in as she thought of the quartz pendulum.
He picked her up with one arm, hugged her hard, then kissed her. It didn’t matter that other workers in the large room watched. The only person he cared about was in his arms. “Come on, honey. Help me.” He carefully lowered her to the floor and gestured toward a workstation with the hook on his right arm.
Wren hurriedly picked up a fresh sketch pad, then went to work, drawing as he dictated. Their heads were together for the rest of the day. Work had never seemed so energizing.

Chapter Six

“Are you certain about this, Hugh?” The Sorceress stood behind her desk, clenched her right hand and brought it down hard on the polished oak.
“As sure as anything,” he responded. “We discovered everything this morning as the debris was being cleared away from the site.”
Shayla slowly sat back down and shook her head in disbelief. “Then we’re finally betrayed from within.”
For a moment, he said nothing. As the Sorceress’ consort, it often fell to him to deliver bad news. But as her lover, this was a particularly odious task. How it must hurt the Sorceress of the Ancients, the protector of the entire Order, to hear that someone had deliberately started the fire in the artists’ Loft. And whoever had done the deed had let Gawain O’Malley think that his carelessness made him responsible. “What shall we do, my love?”
“Send for Gawain. I’ll see him alone.” Shayla paused, gathered her Druid robe about her and mulled over this horrible turn of events. “Was the evidence obvious to those present?”
Hugh nodded. “But only the Goblin Leader and his mate, Kathy, were there. Kathy was a paramedic in the outside world. She had firefighting education, which included locating the source of a fire. She was the first to notice the outside gas pipe had been tampered with. Anyone else might have missed it. She alerted the Goblin Leader who, of course, sent for me right away. No one else knows.”
“Good. Keep it that way for the time being. Whoever did this knows I’ll have them punished severely for it. That makes the guilty person or persons very dangerous. They’ve nothing to lose if they think I’ll use magic on them or lock them away forever.”
“You believe there was more than one person responsible?” Hugh took a deep breath and waited for her answer. Nothing in his memory of the Order had prepared him for betrayal such as this. What must Shayla be thinking?
She clasped her hands together and looked up into Hugh’s concerned face. “It seems highly likely and I can almost guess the motive.”
“Either someone wanted a worker dead or the building destroyed,” he provided. “But why?”
“If I remember events of that night correctly, no one was supposed to be in the building. Gawain asked for volunteers to stay and finish some special projects. There would have been nothing on the schedules about his shift change.”
Hugh sighed and ran his hands over his face in confusion. “But that means whoever did this deliberately destroyed an entire year’s worth of work. We’re already rationing food because of this. They would have only been hurting themselves and their families by doing such a thing. It makes no sense.”
Shayla stood, walked toward the fireplace and began to pace. After several minutes of considering the matter, an entirely new set of circumstances presented themselves. She quickly turned to Hugh. “What if someone wanted the building burned to keep other activities from being discovered?”
“I don’t understand.”
She walked toward him and caressed his face as she passed by. “You will, my sweet. You will. Just get Gawain here and don’t alert anyone as to why you’re doing so.”
“Shayla, surely you don’t suspect the Craftsman of something. He risked his life trying to get the workers out.”
“No, of course not. This wasn’t Gawain’s doing. The man was suicidal after the event. The deaths of his friends almost killed him. But I will get to the bottom of this, so help me Goddess!”
Hugh bowed, as courtesy dictated, then quickly left to find Gawain.
Shayla watched him go. A slow-burning anger made the bright day outside seem garish. Though she never used her powers carelessly, Shayla waved her hand. The skies darkened and thunder rumbled in the distance. Clouds soon encompassed the sun. The weather now reflected her dark mood. Someone was going to pay dearly.
۞  ۞  ۞
Gawain didn’t notice the change in the weather. He and Wren were deep in discussion about the project so new and dear to them both. It would be a labor of love to work with her and create something beautiful. He couldn’t remember being so alive. Especially after having endured months of pain caused by the fire. This was a new beginning. And Wren would help him see it through. She shared his love of beautiful artwork and could help create it. Her ideas had him inspired as he’d never been before.
Wren held up a beautiful piece of fluorite and smiled brightly as Gawain admired it. He took the mineral from her and was bending down to kiss her as a way of thanks when a movement caught his attention. Hugh McTavish stood in the door of the cottage and beckoned to him. Gawain politely excused himself from Wren’s company, then laughed as she playfully pulled him back, hopped up on a footstool and kissed his cheek. Being away from the peace she emanated, as all Brownies did, would be intolerable. But Hugh’s presence was generally a sign that the Sorceress wanted something and it was never a good idea to keep her waiting.
“What’s up, Uncle?” Gawain laughed as he approached the older man.
Hugh’s heart softened at the title. While it was true his own nephew, Blain, had married Gawain’s sister, Afton, his and Gawain’s relationship was only in name. Gawain had never recognized their family ties in such a way. That he did so now was proof that Gawain was in an excellent mood. The man was actually smiling. Happy. It was the first time he’d seen him so relaxed. He’d watched as the pretty little Brownie bestowed a kiss on Gawain. He hated to be the one to spoil the carefree mood, for what the Sorceress would tell him surely would.
“Perhaps we’d better go outside,” Hugh suggested, then didn’t wait for an answer. He simply walked away so the big Druid would have to follow.
Gawain knew trouble when he felt it. Something was wrong. But he was determined not to let it spoil one of the best days of his life since the fire. “All right, Hugh. Out with it. You look like someone just stole your favorite pipe and tobacco.”
Hugh slowly turned to face him. “I’m afraid it’s a bit more serious than that, lad. You’re to come with me to see the Sorceress.”
Gawain looked back toward the cottage door, anxious to get back to Wren. “Right now? I’m in the middle of something that—”
“It’ll have to wait, lad.” Without looking at the younger man’s face, Hugh turned to walk away.
Gawain realized something was seriously wrong or Hugh wouldn’t be so morose and insistent. He tried to shrug it off, but the closer he got to the castle, which housed the Sorceress and her staff, the more anxious he became. Without Wren’s influence, his anxiety returned quickly.
When they arrived, Hugh opened the doors to the library, beckoned him inside, then closed them. Gawain found himself alone with a very angry-looking Sorceress.
“All right. What have I done now?” The remark was meant as a joke, but the Sorceress motioned him to sit down without a word in response. He did so and waited for her to begin.
“Do you remember much about the night of the fire?”
Words to start a fight by. That was the very first thought that crossed Gawain’s mind. “That’s a subject I’d rather not discuss, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m sorry, my dear. But it’s a subject that won’t go away. Not ever.”
Gawain bowed his head. “Thanks for the reminder.”
Shayla sighed in regret. She hadn’t meant to be so indelicate, but the matter had to be addressed. “Do you remember the Goblin Leader’s mate, Kathy?”
Now he was completely confused. What did Tearach and Kathleen Bruce have to do with the fire? “Of course. When Tearach and one of his men pulled me out of the fire, Kathy helped the surgeons save my life. How could I forget that? I owe both Tearach and his mate my life.”
“Did you know she had experience fighting and investigating fires before she came here?”
Kathy hadn’t come to the Order. Not by choice. The woman had been kidnapped by the Goblin Leader who, as fate would have it, fell in love with her. Happily for everyone concerned, Kathy had stayed of her own will.
Before he could open his mouth to question the relevance of Kathy’s past, the Sorceress continued, “This morning, Kathy was helping Tearach clear away the last of the debris from the fire. To make sure I got the facts straight, I spoke with her just a few minutes before you arrived. And there’s no mistake about what she found.”
“I’m sorry, Sorceress. Color me dense, but I’m completely confused.”
Shayla took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy for him to hear. “The fire was started deliberately. Kathy described how it was done.”
Gawain’s heart fell into his gut. He stood and walked a few paces away. Then, after gathering his composure, he slowly turned around. “Tell me,” he whispered.
“Someone tampered with an outside gas line to the kiln. A contained source of heat, probably a candle or lantern, was placed nearby. It took a while, but the flame finally ignited the fuel. Kathy said the explosion came from outside and went in. Not the other way around as we first thought.”
Gawain’s hand clenched into a fist. His throat tightened and he could barely speak. “All those people... my friends... they were murdered?”
“Sit down, Gawain!” She watched as an expression of pure rage flooded his face. If they ever found out who the culprit was, she’d have to have Gawain restrained. He looked capable of committing murder himself. Remembering she had been just as angry, Shayla quickly tried to get him under control. There was no telling what a man of his size and strength might do to avenge himself against the responsible person.
“All this time, I thought it was my fault.”
“You need to calm down, my lad. I’ll be the one to find out who did this and decide who’s at fault.”
“Those people had families. Lysson lost both her parents and had no other living relatives. She’s having to live with friends. Those in the fire suffered before they died. I heard their cries.” His fury grew.
Shayla was aware of all those facts. At the moment, she was more aware that the gray clouds her wrath initially conjured suddenly resounded with thunder. It was the result of his pain and it was one of the very few times Shayla had seen one lone Druid pull such power from the air. That Gawain had done so was proof of how very distraught he was. The man was so furious that he didn’t realize what his emotions were doing to the elements.
“Gawain!” she shouted. “Get yourself under control.” She walked to a window, threw it open and pointed toward the darkening afternoon light. He needed to see the results of his misuse of powers and regain some semblance of composure.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. After a few moments, the thunder rolled off into the distance. “I’ll know who did this,” he angrily muttered.
“If you’ll let me explain, there’s more.” She watched his midnight-blue eyes darken to black orbs. Another sign he was drawing on a warrior’s ancient instinct to seek vengeance.
He closed his eyes and attempted to listen. “What else?”
“Think back to that night, Gawain. You and those who were in the fire weren’t supposed to be working. I believe whoever did this is trying to cover up something that had to do with the artwork in the building.”
He put his hand to his face and took several deep breaths. “Someone burned down the Loft without knowing we’d be there?”
She slowly nodded and held out her hands. “You have it. I believe they were in such a hurry that their sense of who was present failed them.”
“Go on,” he muttered.
“The outside fuel line was opened. By the time the explosion occurred, the person who did this could conveniently put themselves someplace else. But I truly don’t believe they knew anyone would be in the building. I don’t think it was an attempt to hurt anyone.”
“Still, people died,” he growled out.
“Yes. Though I’m convinced it was unintentional, the families of the dead won’t care. Those responsible should have known something like this could have happened. Like you, many people were hurt just trying to put out the blaze.”
“Why would someone do such a thing?” He paced, trying to get his agitated senses under control.
“I’ll get the answers, my man. Be sure about that! For now, you must keep all this to yourself. No one is to know we’ve found out what really happened. Only a chosen few will be told. Do you understand?”
He nodded in agreement. “You’ll let me know if you get any new information?”
“That depends on your behavior, Gawain. It’s my job to pass judgment, not yours. And I won’t repeat myself on this issue. Keep your anger under control. Do you understand?”
He bowed his head in pretended submission. “By your command, Sorceress,” He said aloud. Silently, he added, I’ll still find whoever did this. No matter what you say. I’ll have revenge.
۞  ۞  ۞
Gawain stalked back to the cottage where he had left Wren. When his sense of outrage hadn’t diminished, he knew he’d have to gain some measure of calm before going inside. Anyone with whom he worked might have started that fire. But why? Why burn a building, thinking no one was inside? Why destroy the artwork? Was someone out to ruin the Order by doing away with their means of financial support? His brain raced and roiled with questions. It just didn’t make any sense. But he couldn’t let anyone know what he knew. The Sorceress was right on that matter. The only way to catch the demon who’d done so much harm was by playing along with the scenario. Let everyone think it had just been an accident.
Just outside the cottage door, he leaned against an oak tree and used its calming powers to balance himself. Finally able to plaster on a fake smile, he continued into the work area. Wren was still seated on her stool, working with some semiprecious stones. She looked up and smiled that lovely smile. He wanted to run away with her to someplace where things like this didn’t happen. When her expression darkened and she quickly walked toward him, he knew there would never come a time when he could lie to her. She was too perceptive and he already cared for her too much.
“What’s wrong?” She placed a soft hand over his forearm. “You’re in pain again and you’re angry.”
Gawain used the phantom pain as an excuse. “It’s just bothersome. The damned pain comes on at the most inconvenient times. The Sorceress was worrying me about the artwork. Supplies are very low and we need to get some goods to market more quickly than expected.”
The lie seemed to work. Wren pulled him toward her workspace and began to show him a list of progressing artwork she’d efficiently compiled. While he looked it over, his mind was only half aware of whatever she said. Wren removed the metal vambrace he wore and began to massage the arm. The physical pain diminished, but that which was in his heart would never go away. For one member of the Order to deliberately cause such unprovoked suffering was unthinkable. He almost wished the fire was an act committed by an outsider. But he knew that was impossible. The Loft was too deep within the forest. Perimeter guards would have caught any intruders. That meant it was certainly someone within their own ranks who had burned down the building. Someone who could come and go as they pleased, someone trusted. Whoever it was must have known the guards’ schedule and hastily completed their odious task before they could be caught. All this knowledge hurt. He knew almost everyone living in the entire woods. There just wasn’t any form of betrayal that was worse. The Sorceress’ orders aside, his responsibilities as the Craftsman and his warrior’s honor couldn’t let the incident go. Whatever it took, someone was going to pay.
“Gawain? Have you heard anything I’ve said?”
He dragged his attention back to Wren’s sweet voice. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
She shook her head and sighed. “You’re tired. You’d better get some rest. We can start on your gallery piece tomorrow.”
He absently watched as she put away her tools, but he caught her upper arm when she would have walked out the door. “What about Wyck?” Even in his disturbed frame of mind, he had to know what Wren might do about the man who was causing her grief.
She shrugged and considered the matter for a moment. “I’ll talk to him tonight. And to Grandfather. You’re right. I can’t handfast with someone I don’t love. It’s time I quit worrying over what others think and do what I feel is right.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Wren swept her hair back with one hand, picked up her crane bag and jumped up to quickly kiss him. “No. It’s something I have to do alone. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
If he hadn’t known about the treachery within their folds, Gawain would have pleaded with her to stay the night. In his current mood, however, it was best he was left alone. His hand ached to hit something and though he’d never touch a woman in anger, he could easily see himself tracking down Wyckem and pummeling the man into letting Wren have her freedom. It was an excuse to get himself into a fight. Right now, any excuse would do.
He watched from the cottage doorway as she briskly walked back toward the castle. Her beautiful hair swung against her back as she moved. Wren was the one sweet thing he had in his life at the moment. A bit of calm in the stormy sea of his emotions. He longed for the days before the fire. But the man he’d been was as dead as his friends. All he could think about was revenge.
۞  ۞  ۞
After pacing the length of the building for an hour, Gawain went outside to start up the fire near his forge. If he couldn’t find someone willing to take an uncalled-for beating, he could start constructing the iron hinges and locks for his set of doors. As he hammered the iron into shape with his left hand, the fire burned red-hot. Heat from it drove him to remove most of his clothing. It was dangerous work, made more so because he only had the use of one hand and the hook on his right arm. All his concentration was centered on not making a mistake. He couldn’t afford an injury. Not now. So intense was the work, he didn’t hear or sense anyone approach.
“I think you need a break,” Taurus called from the path.
Startled, Gawain’s hand jerked. The hammer he held slid off the hot iron and a small ember flew up. It grazed his left biceps before floating to the ground. He quickly stomped on it to prevent a grass fire, then splashed water, from a nearby bucket, on the burn. It wasn’t serious, but it caused Taurus and his companion to run forward.
“Are you all right?” Taurus asked as he grabbed the arm to look at it.
Gawain snorted at his clumsiness and gently pulled his arm from his brother’s grasp. “It’s nothing. Next time I’ll pay more attention to what I’m doing.”
“You’d better have your mother look at that, son.”
Surprised by the sound of his father’s voice, Gawain hesitated for a moment. Finally finding his composure, all he could do was mutter a halfhearted greeting.
“He, uh... he wanted to have a few words with you,” Taurus explained.
“If I remember correctly, we’ve already said more than enough to one another,” Gawain sarcastically replied. Their last encounter had almost torn the family apart.
“I came to see how you’ve been.” Markham looked Gawain up and down. “It seems you’ve gotten yourself back into fine condition.”
Gawain chose to find an insult where none existed. Looking for the fight the Sorceress’ news had provoked, he threw down his hammer and moved forward. “Finally, something pleases you.”
Markham turned and tried to walk away, but Taurus put his hand on his father’s shoulder to stop him. “Dad, wait. Tell him why you acted so crazy the last time you two were together.”
“Yes, tell me, Dad.” Gawain used the most sarcastic tone he could muster. “Why did you hurt everyone in the family? Aren’t I still... let’s see, what was it again? Oh, yes, I remember. I’m a shirker and a coward. I’m useless, a disgrace to the family and I’ve got no guts. Isn’t that what you said?”
“Gawain!” Taurus held up a hand to stop his older brother’s tirade. “You have to listen to him.”
Gawain sarcastically snorted, “Go ahead. I’m not going anywhere.”
Markham held out his hands in a supplicating gesture. “All I was trying to do was get you angry enough to pull yourself back together. You almost died, son. You were strung out on drugs, wasting away. It was as if you’d totally given up on yourself.”
Gawain dragged his hand through his hair. “So, your idea of motivating someone is to kick them while they’re down?”
“I know you. From the time you were little, you’ve done your best when someone challenged you and put the pressure on.”
Gawain glanced at Taurus in disbelief. “Goddess! What does he do to the rest of the family when I’m not around?”
Markham stepped forward. “Talk to me, son. Your brother only came because your mother thought you and I would kill each other if he didn’t.” He paused. “Hate me if you want to. Stay angry and curse the ground I walk on. Better that than to see you dead.”
Gawain swallowed hard. “What are you talking about?”
Markham quickly moved forward and pulled Gawain into a fierce embrace. “I’d cut out my heart, replace the hand you lost with mine or let you kick my ass all the way to London if you’d just stay alive.”
For a moment, Gawain didn’t know what to do. He’d been prepared to fight his sire into the dirt for the things he’d once said. Now the man was completely back to normal. He pulled slightly away from his father’s embrace and stared into his eyes. “Are you telling me that all that crap you threw around, all the names you called me, were just a ploy to get me pissed? You were hoping anger would get me to straighten out?”
Markham nodded. “You’ve got a hard head. Just like your old man. The Sorceress guessed right away what I was doing and why. Your mother didn’t. I slept on the sofa for about a month after that.”
“S’truth. He did,” Taurus confirmed and grinned.
Gawain hung his head and let out a huge sigh. He wasn’t sure if it was from relief or amazement. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
Markham lowered his head. “After having said things to you I wouldn’t have said to an animal, I was ashamed. I felt even worse when I saw how it affected the rest of the family. When they finally accepted my apologies, it was time to offer them to you.”
Gawain lowered himself to a tree stump. “Am I really so thick-skulled that it took something that extreme to get my attention?”
“Well, you can be a royal pain sometimes,” Taurus confirmed. Then he spoke with a more serious tone in his voice. “You looked like a sack of shit when they brought you off the moors, Gawain. You don’t realize how ill you were. It scared the life out of us. I think any of us would have done anything to give you back the will to live. You were about two hours away from death.”
Gawain finally understood. In his own way, albeit a very bizarre one, his father had pissed him off enough to get him to survive. “I was that far gone, eh?”
“You were,” the other two men answered in unison.
“I knew the drugs and self-pity had done a real number on me. Guess it was selfishness that didn’t let me realize what it was doing to the family.”
“It’s all over, son, and I’m so sorry. Maybe if I had more experience with things like this, I’d have done a better job. I was scared and didn’t want to lose you. I do love you, Gawain. No matter what idiot thing I do or say, I’ll always love you.” He paused and put his hands on either side of Gawain’s face. “Will you forgive me?”
Gawain tried very hard to hold back his tears. More than ever, he needed his family’s support. It had hurt so much to think his father hated him. It hurt worse to think he’d caused them so much pain. If he hadn’t known what to do with himself, how much harder had it been for them to find what was right to do for him? He fell into his father’s arms and wept. Not a very warriorlike thing to do, but he needed that release and his family’s love.
Taurus stood back and smiled through his own tears. They were a family again.

Chapter Seven

Wren pulled open the massive library doors and walked inside. The Sorceress stood at the far end of the library and her grandfather and Wyck sat on a sofa. They all turned in her direction. She hadn’t been through with her evening meal five minutes before the Sorceress’ consort, Hugh, came knocking on her bedroom door.
“You wanted to see me?” she said to the Sorceress, glancing at the two men. An uneasy knot settled in the vicinity of her stomach.
“Come and sit down with us, Wren.” Shayla lifted her hand toward a nearby chair and leaned on the edge of her desk. “We’ve been having a nice chat.”
Wren pursed her lips together. She very much doubted the chat had been anything more than a summary of her activities with Gawain. Wyck would have told her grandfather and Shayla every detail. As she settled herself into the offered chair, one look at her grandfather’s angry expression confirmed her thoughts.
Shayla poured herself a sherry before beginning. “How have things been getting along with the gallery project, Wren?”
“I’m sorry, Sorceress. Gawain told me he’d informed you about it earlier today. I was given to understand you’d summoned him for that reason.”
Shayla nodded. “Of course. But I was wondering about your perspective on the work.”
The older woman offered her a drink which she refused with a wave of her hand. “We know why I’m really here, Shayla.” She looked at Troda and Wyck. Their expressions were very solemn.
“All right, then.” Shayla swallowed some of the drink before addressing the matter at hand. “Your grandfather and I have received a complaint about your spending so much time with Gawain.”
“I can’t imagine the source,” Wren muttered and glared at Wyckem.
Wyckem stood up. “Look, Wren, if you’re going to dishonor our pact—”
“Sit down, Wyckem,” Shayla ordered. “You brought this complaint to my attention. Therefore, I’ll do the talking for now.” She turned her attention back to the pretty Brownie in front of her. Many a man would fight over such a beauty. She couldn’t fault Gawain’s taste.
“I dislike being so tactless, Wren, but I have to ask the question.” She paused. “Are you and Gawain having an affair?”
Angry now, Wren stood up and faced the Sorceress. “With all due respect, Sorceress, I’m not about to answer that.” She turned to leave.
Shayla raised her drink, secretly smiled behind her glass and waited for the resulting fireworks.
“Just one minute, young woman!” Troda stood up and pointed a finger at Wren. “You do remember your responsibilities, don’t you?”
Wren was halfway to the library door, but she turned to face her grandfather before speaking. “Blood-pacts are an archaic, medieval form of bondage. No one does such things anymore.”
“Your parents made that pact with Wyck’s in order to keep our bloodlines strong. And for protection in a world they were uncertain about,” Troda angrily announced.
“I shouldn’t have to remind you that my parents are dead. They made that pact because that was the way our race handled things in their time. If they were here today, they’d want me to be happy.”
Wyck stood by Troda’s side. “And you’re saying you wouldn’t be happy with me?”
Wren studied their faces. Why were they making such a grand issue of Gawain’s and her first day together? Her only answer was that Wyck had sensed a change in her, one of magical origin. Her grandfather was furious. Wyck was both outraged and hurt. Deep inside her was a need to keep balance, to avoid confrontation. That trait ran through her blood. But the time had come to finally draw a line. She’d put off the confrontation long enough. The heart quickening had made that abundantly clear, even if Gawain’s sexual interlude hadn’t. “Don’t blame Gawain for something I’ve been feeling for a long time, Wyck. We grew up friends and I’d like to keep it that way.” She stopped, approached him and softened her tone. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t love you. I’ve danced around the subject, but it’s time to make it clear.”
“Posh!” Troda waved a hand in disparagement. “You get along well enough. That’s what counts through the years.”
“Grandfather, I don’t know what your life was like with Grandmother. She’s gone now. But I dearly hope you felt more for her than just friendship. The two of you were together for more than fifty years.”
Troda’s fist came down on the back of the sofa. “What your grandmother and I felt isn’t the point. Nor is it any concern of yours, Wren.”
“Exactly!” she countered. “Just like what I feel for Gawain, or anyone else, is none of yours.”
“Wren, I will have you honor our pact.” Wyck stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders.
Wren pushed him away. “I’m not a piece of property. And don’t you ever put your hands on me again or I’ll assume you don’t want them anymore.” She turned and left the library without another word.
Shayla turned to hide a broad smile. So much for the reputation of submissive, meek Brownie women. Secretly, she couldn’t be more pleased. Blood-pacts were a thing of the past and were rarely ever heard of in this day and age. She surmised old Troda had had a hand in the ancient ritual. Probably to keep the control of his faction in hands he thought worthy.
“Sorceress, I demand respect.” Wyck clenched one fist in front of him.
“Demand?” She magnified her voice so it bounced off the walls of the cavernous library. “Don’t come into my presence thinking you can demand of me what you won’t get from Wren or any other woman, my boy. Respect is earned.”
“I’m sorry, Sorceress.” He quickly lowered his head in contrition. “I meant no offense to you.”
“No. You just want compliance from Wren.” She paused and arched one eyebrow. “You came to me with your grievance. So here is my answer to your problem. I cannot force Wren—or anyone else—to handfast with someone not meant for them.”
Wyck swallowed hard. “But you interfered in the Goblin Leader’s relationship. You brought in an outsider for him and forced them to mate.”
Thunder rolled in the distance. Troda swallowed hard and knew Wyckem had gone too far.
Shayla narrowed her eyes at the young Brownie’s audacity. “I don’t justify my actions to anyone,” Shayla told him coldly. “The Goblins’ business is none of yours. Wren’s situation is quite different. That you don’t understand that leads me to believe her judgment is rightfully sound. She isn’t for you, Wyckem.”
“Are you saying that Wren and I were never supposed to be together? You’ve foreseen this?”
Shayla reeled in her anger at the sound of pain in the young man’s voice. “What I know is that you’ll have a very unhappy ending if you pursue this, Wyckem. Problems dealing with emotions aren’t solved by staring into a scrying dish. If that could be done, there would never be any broken hearts. Would there?”
“I don’t understand that girl. She used to be so... so good-natured,” Troda mumbled absently.
Shayla sighed, poured herself another sherry and sat near the fire. “She loves you, Troda. And she wants to maintain a friendship with you, Wyckem. But the woman isn’t a doormat. Nor would I have given this matter so much of my time if she was.”
“I’ll have to abide by the ancient laws of our faction,” Troda said. “My own granddaughter will have to be shunned. It will be as if she had died.” He hung his head and ran a hand through his hair.
“That, of course, is up to you. You’re leader of your people and, as such, I won’t interfere with that decision. But be warned, old man. Pursue these ancient and outdated traditions and you’ll drive that girl away. Then you and Wyckem will be poorer for the lack of her presence in your lives,” Shayla warned. “I could order you to drop the entire matter, but I’ll leave it to you to make your own bed, so to speak. And when you know you’ve been wrong, you’ll drag yourself into the twenty-first century of your own free will. I fear you’re going to have to suffer first. But never let it be said that you weren’t given the option to change your own minds.”
“He’s got her mesmerized,” Wyck complained.
Shayla had to hide a grin. “I assume you’re speaking of Gawain?”
Troda sadly shook his head. “I prized him as a pupil. He was once very dear to me. But this open, flagrant dismissal of our customs is inexcusable. If I must, I’ll go to his father and—”
Shayla snorted in frustration. “Haven’t you heard a single word I just said?” She got up, went behind her desk and sat down again. “Let me spell it out for you. I tolerated this only as long as Wren kept her opinions to herself. She’s now told the both of you to mind your own business. Do whatever you think you have to do. Talk to whomever you please. But we’ve far more important things to be worrying over than your antiquated customs and bruised male egos. I will not have our work hampered by this nonsense. Is that clear?” She carefully enunciated the last words, hoping they’d finally understand.
Both men bowed in unison. When she waved them away, they turned and left the library.
۞  ۞  ۞
Gawain returned from his parents’ cottage feeling guiltier than ever. While there had been apologies offered all around and time spent working through feelings, he ached at the realization that his drug-induced escapades had caused so much grief. What had he been thinking? To hurt those who loved him was contemptible. During the evening meal, his mother and sister fussed over him. His brothers had offered support. Even his brother-in-law had been there for him, joking and trying to get him to laugh. Between his guilt and the worry over the Sorceress’ latest news, he hadn’t been able to fully enjoy his homecoming. His guilt compounded when he saw how meager the meal had been and how his siblings readily shared diminishing supplies with one another. The entire Order was suffering and it all circled back to the loss of their income. If someone would come along to kick his sorry ass, he’d feel much better. As soon as he approached the darkened cottage where he worked, Gawain sensed a presence. There was someone inside. All the night workers had been reassigned temporarily to the textile cottage. The textile artists were already behind in production for one day and everyone knew it. New schedules had been posted to beef up output in that area. So why was someone sneaking around this place? If unauthorized work was going on, he should have been informed.
Given what he now knew about the fire, Gawain’s suspicions soared. With his left hand he reached for the ever-present knife clipped inside his boot. All Druids carried one, the same way most outsiders carried a pocketknife. His was used to cut twine, gather herbs or any number of chores. It wasn’t meant for defense, but it might be needed for that purpose now. He stealthily crept forward, hoping to blend in with the woods enough to mask his presence.
As he reached the far end of the cottage, a shadowy silhouette appeared in one of the front windows. Gawain raised his knife and waited for whoever it was to make a run for it. He was now certain they knew he was here. Several minutes passed and the door finally creaked open. He stepped closer, intending to grab whoever came out the door.
Suddenly, he was knocked to the ground from behind. His warrior’s training kicked in and he instinctively rolled forward. He was up on his feet in an instant. A hooded figure stepped in front of him and raised one arm. Too late, Gawain saw the moon’s reflection off the barrel of a handgun. A light at the end of the muzzle flashed but there was only a short, whooshing sound. A sharp, tearing pain burned into his right shoulder and he fell to the ground. Gawain staggered to his feet and tried to find soft flesh for his knife or hook. A blow to the back of his neck sent him sprawling. Again, he tried to rise, but the barrel of the gun came down across his face. Stars reeled about him and everything went completely dark.
When he opened his eyes, pain shot through his head and chest. He had no idea how much time had passed or why he’d been left alive. He knew, however, that he had to find his way to the castle and alert the Sorceress. Calling for help was out of the question. Guns were never used by the Order’s guards, as they were only armed with silent but deadly medieval weaponry. None of them could fight fairly against someone armed with a handgun outfitted with a silencer. If his attackers were still near, an innocent guard was sure to get killed.
Realizing he was bleeding, Gawain grimaced and hauled himself up by digging the hook on his right arm into the outside wall of the cottage. When he was finally up his breath came in broken gasps and the world spun. But he was able to stagger into the forest and toward the castle. Blinded by the pain, he took one slow step after another. Still, he tried to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Someone from inside the Order had done this. Until he could find the bastards responsible, no one else’s safety must be compromised.
When he got to the front doors of the castle, Gawain slammed his fist into the thick oak. It seemed to take forever until one of Shayla’s staff responded to the pounding. He could only hope none of her staff were involved in the betrayal. Unable to stay conscious, his world tilted and he slipped into darkness once more.
۞  ۞  ۞
“Can you hear me, lad?” Hugh sat on the bed beside Gawain and spoke softly. Then he turned to address the Sorceress. “I think he’s coming around. The bleeding has stopped. Luckily, that bullet went through his shoulder and didn’t do too much damage. His head is going to give him hell though.”
“Goddess help whoever did this!” Shayla angrily bit out. “Let me know when one of our physicians arrives, Hugh.”
Hearing their voices, Gawain slowly opened his eyes. He saw the Sorceress sitting on one side of the bed and Hugh on the other. “I suppose I should explain,” he croaked.
“We’ll hear it later, lad. Right now just keep quiet. Rest for a while,” Hugh advised. “Shayla will stay with you while I get the Goblin Leader’s mate, Kathy. She was a paramedic as well as a firefighter in the outside world. And I’ll also go for your father.”
“No!” Gawain shouted and tried to sit up. But the Sorceress put one hand to his uninjured shoulder and slowly lowered him back to the bed.
“Go on, Hugh. Gawain and I will talk.”
Gawain shook his head. “You can’t get my family involved in this. I don’t want anyone around me to get hurt.”
“Hush now,” Shayla softly crooned and pushed his long, thick hair away from his face and shoulders. “I’ll take a look at that wound. Do as Hugh told you and rest.”
Ignoring her command, Gawain attempted to explain again. “Someone w‑was at the... at the main craft cottage. The lights were out. They had a gun when I tried to stop them. Silencer on it. Didn’t see their faces.”
When he began to babble incoherently, Shayla stroked his face until he lost consciousness again. But for his size, she realized, he’d have probably died. His labored breathing slowed and became easier. The pupils of his eyes weren’t responding to light properly, which told her Gawain’s head injuries might include a concussion. Their physician would have to be summoned from London. But the Goblin Leader’s mate was much closer. It didn’t take long before Shayla heard others approaching. Without a knock the door crashed open. Gawain’s father, the Goblin Leader and his mate were all there. They immediately moved toward the injured man in an attempt to help.
While Gawain’s injuries were being tended, Shayla stood and drew Markham aside. “Where were you when Hugh told you about this?
“On guard duty. Hugh came straight to me and I ran all the way.” He cast an anxious glance toward the bed. “Will my son be all right?”
Shayla placed a consoling hand on his arm. “Yes, but you must not repeat what you’ll hear in this room. Is that understood?”
Markham nodded and ran an anxious hand over his face. Gawain looked pale, but he seemed to be responding to the care he was receiving. “Who’d do such a thing? None of us has weapons that could put a hole in a man like that.”
“When the others leave and Gawain is resting more peacefully, we’ll talk. The doctor is on his way from London. In the meantime, I’m sure Kathy has everything well in hand.”
For another half-hour, everyone worked to make sure Gawain would be stable until the physician arrived. When nothing more could be done, Shayla ordered everyone away except Markham. She explained the circumstances to him as best she could, including the truth about the fire in the Loft.
Markham sat beside his son and placed a gentle hand on one shoulder. “I don’t understand any of this. If someone is betraying us, what possible reason could there be? To burn the Loft, kill all those people and attack my son is madness. There’s no rhyme or reason to any of it. Gawain believed the fire was his fault. He was tortured by that belief for months.”
“Time will give us the reasons for this, Markham. But you must remember, only those I’ve chosen will know the entire truth. That means your family can only be told what I’ll tell the rest of the Order. Gawain’s attack will be all over the forest by noon today. We won’t be able to keep that part secret. But this incident mustn’t be connected to what happened at the Loft. Otherwise we’ll have the families of those dead people to contend with as well as their friends and neighbors. We can’t have that kind of chaos right now. Everyone is needed to restock our marketable goods.”
“And you’re sure this attack and the fire are connected?”
Shayla nodded. “It’s obvious someone wants something Gawain has. They wanted it the night of the fire and they were searching again last night.”
Markham put a hand to his forehead as the realization hit him. “His artwork! It’s worth a king’s fortune.”
“Precisely.” She began to pace near the foot of the bed. “It’ll be hard enough quelling fears about this incident. Never mind what would happen if the Order knew betrayers were killing, burning and looting. We have to give ourselves time to ferret these cowards out.”
“How will you explain what happened last night?”
“I’ll probably say that someone attacked your son as part of an old grudge. Before the fire in the Loft, Gawain was known to get into a few petty fights. Especially when it came to defending his baby sister Afton. I remember he drove off quite a few of her suitors when he didn’t think they were good enough and fought quite a number of men who made fun of her lack of powers at the time. There are some bad feelings over that.”
“That’s all true enough,” Markham reluctantly agreed. “He’s protective of Afton and that’s a fact. Only Blain was good enough for her as far as Gawain was concerned. Still, I hate to conceal things from my family. His mother will be frantic.”
“Gawain is already concerned that you’ll be involved in this. Until we can’t hide the entire truth any longer, leave everyone else out of it. For his sake.”
Shayla walked to the window and watched the sun rise over the treetops. She could already see guards gathering in front of the castle. Everyone would be discussing the Craftsman’s attack and why it happened. The last thing the Order needed was for people to panic. She’d have to make a great show of finding those who were responsible, though it was obvious the cowards would be careful to conceal themselves. “I’ll make sure Gawain has his workplace to himself. You’ll stay with him. Tell your family and anyone who asks that I’ve ordered this because his work takes precedence and I don’t want any more setbacks.”
“As you wish, Sorceress. But will this ruse work? Someone is very desperate to get my son’s art. Goddess only knows what else they might do.”
“That’s exactly why Gawain doesn’t want anyone else involved, but he can’t watch his back all day and night and get any work done. So, you’ll have to be with him.” She pounded her fist into one hand. “It’s damned hard enough keeping the outside world from discovering us. When I get my hands on whoever is behind this, I’ll make them wish they were dead.”
“These bastards know that, don’t they?” Markham took a deep breath.
Shayla waved her hand toward the sleeping man. “Stay with him. The physician will be here soon. I’m going to gather my staff and make some plans. When Gawain is awake and rested, he can see any visitors he’d like. I’m certain he knows what to say and how to act. Follow his lead.”
Markham watched as the Sorceress left the room, then turned his attention back to his firstborn child. “You’re having one hell of a bad year, aren’t you, son?” he said. “I didn’t make things any easier, but I swear to make up for it.”
۞  ۞  ۞
The physician arrived just before midday. By then, Gawain was awake and much more alert. His shoulder hurt like hell and his head pounded. The pain gave him that much more incentive to find those responsible and make sure they never betrayed the Order again. After the doctor left, he managed, with the help of his father, to sit up. There was one issue that needed to be addressed between them.
“I don’t want you having anything to do with this, Dad.”
“I’m your father. That makes me involved.”
“You could take the next bullet. There’s no way I’m going to let that happen.”
“Son?”
“What?”
“Shut up and get some rest. That’s an order from your old man.”
Gawain glowered at his sire. He opened his mouth to utter a more strongly worded protest, perhaps one with a few colorful expletives thrown in, but a soft knock sounded on the door. Every cell in his body told him who it was. Before he could ask his father to send her away, Wren slowly pushed the door open and came in.
She raced to him and gently looped her arms around his neck. “Gawain! Goddess, when I heard you’d been hurt, I came as fast as I could. I was on the other side of the forest looking over some wood for your art piece or I’d have been here sooner.”
Wren’s voice was so soft—but strangely calming. He wrapped his left arm around her body and held her tight. “I’m all right, little bird. It takes more than a beating to get me down.”
She glanced at the bandage over his shoulder. “You could have stood your own if someone just meant to beat you. That gunshot wound tells me someone wanted a great deal more.”
Over her head, Gawain saw his father’s expression and knew what the older man was thinking. How did anyone know about his being shot? That wasn’t part of the story meant to get out. He gently disengaged her from the embrace. “Wren, sweetheart, how did you know a gun was used? How did you find out what happened?”
“It’s all over the forest. I heard guards talking about it in the woods. Everyone knows.” She ran her fingers over the wound and then his head. “Why would anyone want to use a weapon like that? No one here is supposed to carry a gun. And no outsiders got past the guards.”
He pulled her close. “All this is just a bit of my sordid past catching up with me, little one. There’s nothing more to it than that. Someone is just angry over an old grudge.” Again, he saw his father’s disbelieving expression. But there was no way Wren could be involved in any of this. She was telling the truth. He was certain. Someone from the Sorceress’ staff must have let the part about being shot slip out. He’d planned to tell everyone he’d been jumped and beaten. Now the entire Order would suspect each other of carrying outsider weapons. He saw his father shaking his head in absolute frustration.
“Wren, darling,” he said as he turned her toward the older man, “this is my father.”
Wren swiped at the tears in her eyes and stood up. “Of course. You look so much alike.” She smiled at the older man and held out her hand. “I guess you know my name already.”
Markham returned her smile and took her hand in his. “Charmed, my dear. You’re Troda’s granddaughter.” Gossip about her fight with Wyckem had already made its way around the forest. Everyone knew her by now if they hadn’t before. But it was easy to understand why Gawain would throw a wrench into old Troda’s plans for the girl. She was a captivatingly, elegant creature. And everyone in the forest gossiped that she was refusing a blood-pact because she preferred his son. Markham silently praised Gawain’s excellent taste.
“Could you give us a few minutes alone?” Gawain looked at his father pointedly.
“Of course.” Markham released Wren’s grip—which was surprisingly strong for such a small woman—and left the room.
Gawain waited until his sire closed the door before beginning. “I’m sorry to have frightened you. I’m sure it was just a stupid, vengeful act over something that should have been forgotten long ago.”
She placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him carefully. “I hope the Sorceress won’t let the people responsible get away.”
“And how do you know there was more than one person involved, darling?” He smiled as he said it, but her reference to more than one attacker bothered him. Just as her knowledge of the gunshot wound had.
“It would take more than one person to do this. You’re a bit of a size, aren’t you?”
He laughed. “I’d like to think I’m invulnerable.”
“Ganging up on you just plain makes them cowards,” Wren angrily announced. “Did you see who it was?”
He shook his head and kissed the tips of her fingers. “It’s like you said. The Sorceress will catch up with them sooner or later. Until then, I’m afraid I won’t be seeing too much of you.”
She pulled back slightly. “Why?”
“Shayla wants me working alone from now on. I think she feels the project is going too slow and I’ll manage better with more space. All the other artists will be moved to other work areas. This incident has cost us more time.”
“I thought you and I were going to work on the gallery piece together? That was the plan.”
He sighed and pulled her head against his shoulder. “I know. We shared that vision, didn’t we?”
“I don’t suppose trying to convince the Sorceress you need me would help?” she whispered.
“It’s better to follow her wishes in this, Wren. I promise, I’ll make it up to you later. You and I are partners in the gallery piece, aren’t we?”
She adamantly nodded. “We’ll need to work together on it. When can we see each other?”
His hand closed around a thick portion of her hair. “I’ll try to figure something out. Until then... ” He gently pulled her head back and kissed her deeply. She was so warm and tender. He wanted to believe for a moment that they could have more together than a shared passion for artwork. But his life wasn’t currently his own. Besides, he was concerned about how she’d come by the truth of his attack. His heart told him she was innocent of any wrongdoing, but his head told him to be wary of everyone. As he kissed her, her hands moved over his bare back and much of his pain seemed to float away. But she was the one to finally break the embrace.
“I don’t know what’s going on, Gawain. You’re hiding the truth about all this. But if you really want me to work somewhere else, I’ll respect that. Just promise me one thing.” She paused and placed a hand over his heart. “When the Sorceress allows it, will you tell me what this is really all about?”
“And what makes you think there’s any mystery?” His lips ran lightly over her cheeks and throat. He wouldn’t even think of casting her in the role of betrayer. He sensed only concerned honesty from her.
“Because. You’re a horrid liar.”
Gawain gazed into her golden eyes and prayed his heart was right where she was concerned. Surely if she was a betrayer, she wouldn’t willingly blurt out so much knowledge of his attack that she’d come under suspicion. But he had to guard every word and movement on his part now. His attackers were crafty. No one was to be believed, not until those who’d started the fire were caught. “Trust me and do as I ask,” he solemnly requested.
“I will. But I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I, but that’s the way things are right now.”
She nodded, stood and walked slowly toward the door. Before she exited, she turned back to look at him. “I have this awful feeling something bad is going to happen.”
“No, Wren. I won’t let it.”
Wren tried to smile, but her fear wouldn’t let it come naturally. She quickly opened the door and walked away.
Markham walked in as soon as she was gone and shut the door before speaking. “You really care for her, don’t you?”
“Yes. But now isn’t the time for me to get further involved. I’ve got to keep my head straight. And I bloody well can’t do that while I’m worried about everyone who gets close to me.”
“I, uh, don’t mean to get into your business, son, but what about Portia? I thought you and she might renew your relationship. You’ve been with her for years.”
“You’re right, Dad. You’re in my business,” Gawain remarked, but he smiled to take the sting out of his words and answered the question anyway. “Portia and I only share a working relationship. Nothing more. Whatever we had was some time ago.” But his feelings for Portia had never been so intense or felt as vital as they did with Wren. From the first time he saw the little Brownie, he’d been enchanted. They shared a love of art and a passion for creating wondrous things. And they had been given a special vision by the Goddess. It connected him to her more deeply than any sexual relationship ever could. He realized sex was all he had ever shared with Portia. Maybe that was why they had always found a reason not to handfast. Both of them knew their affair wasn’t based on true love. And in the world of the Order, a man and a woman had to have more than just a physical need to stay together. The bond must be spiritual as well. It was how their kind had existed for thousands of years. It was the abiding love he saw when his parents looked at each other. If nothing else was ever granted by the Goddess, that kind of love was all he craved.
“What are you thinking?” Markham asked after watching the play of emotion in his son’s face.
“How much I want this entire situation over.”
“One way or another, it will be.”
Gawain kept his more morbid thoughts to himself for the rest of the day. His family showed up as his father predicted and they were all worrying themselves sick over him again. It was one more item to put on a long list of things over which to feel guilty. There was no escaping the fact that every single incident leading up to the present was still his fault. No, he hadn’t accidentally started the fire as he’d first believed. But his artwork and the exorbitant price it could bring was the cause. He was now certain someone torched the Loft to cover up a theft. What other possible reason would someone burn the place if not in an effort to make it appear all the artwork had gone up in flames. It was who had done it that ate at him. Dozens of people had access to that building and the art housed there. Besides, it would take more than one person to move some of the heavier pieces. He was sure the thieves had taken them away in the dead of night, set a slow fire and unknowingly killed nine people. He’d been attacked last night because the thieves had come back to see if they could loot more. Why not? Whoever it was had to realize they would be harshly punished when the Sorceress caught up with them. It was as she’d so astutely pointed out—the culprits had nothing more to lose. But why had they done it? Was it just for the money? It was the only plausible reason.
Art pieces with the DeForest signature on them could fetch an enormous amount of money on the black market. If the rest of the artwork couldn’t have been taken out of the forest without the thieves being discovered and he seriously doubted they could when there were so many textiles, pottery pieces and woolens to steal, then only one of his works would have been targeted. It stood to reason that his art was what the betrayers were after. Only one of his original sculptures or paintings could provide someone with a lifetime of funds. Even as he made the assumption, he hated the ego behind it. But his was the only conclusion that made sense. He again questioned his judgment at having become so necessary. No single talent should have been that important. His reputation as a great artist wasn’t worth the terrible price others had paid. Because of this realization, his conscience and the voices of his dead friends demanded satisfaction. The Sorceress could order, command, bellow, plead or beg. It wasn’t going to keep him from hunting those responsible. Because of what he felt and knowing there would be a terrible consequence for his actions, there might not be a life left to make with anyone. For that reason he had to distance himself emotionally as well as physically from all those he loved.
The more he thought about it the less likely it seemed he’d ever be happy again. One alternative was to let the Sorceress deal with it, if she could catch those responsible and deny him revenge for the sorrow caused. The other was to seek that revenge himself. The Sorceress would most certainly punish him severely for seeking this second alternative. Either way, he would find no true peace.

Chapter Eight

During the night, Gawain pretended to sleep so that Markham would seek rest himself. After the older man stretched out on a nearby sofa and finally relaxed, Gawain opened his eyes and began to think back. The faces of his dead friends drifted before him. He had known those people all his life, played with them as children. There had even been a time when he was trusted to look after their babies. His heart ached. Through the years, they had all grown closer. On the night of the fire, none of them had hesitated to work extra hours when he’d asked for the favor. He closed his eyes and could again hear their screams of fear and pain as the fire engulfed them, cementing his resolve as nothing else ever had. His eyes fell on his beloved father. That was the catalyst for an idea.
Markham would rather have his eldest son hate him than see him die. Desperation had driven his father to say cruel, irrational things so he would get angry and fight his way out of the depths of depression. In short, his own father had started a horrible fight just to prick his pride. Admittedly it was a bizarre way to show love. But in his case it had worked. Using some of that logic in reverse, Gawain decided to distance himself from his family, what remained of his friends and even his little Wren. If the opportunity presented itself, his behavior might lead him to the very betrayers he wanted dead. His apparent change in attitude might motivate them to seek him out. But he had to be smart about it. Nothing overt or everyone would see through him. His plans in place, Gawain finally found a few hours of fitful sleep.
۞  ۞  ۞
Nine days after the shooting Gawain was up and around again, Portia watched the sweat pour from Gawain’s colossal, muscular frame. She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and walked forward. “Working hard, I see. You certainly don’t act like a man who was badly hurt.”
Gawain lowered the hammer he was swinging and laid it on a bench. Portia handed him a nearby towel and he wiped his upper body with it. The bullet wound was well on its way to mending and the injury to his head was but a memory. As he turned, she walked toward him and wrapped her arms around his torso. He hugged her back. “Sorry, I was too busy to sense you.”
“That’s all right.” She shrugged in dismissal. “You seemed so absorbed. I don’t think a bomb would have captured your attention. I was frightened to death after hearing you’d been attacked.”
“That was nothing. I assume it was just some drunken idiot trying to make a point. I used to always fight over trivial matters.” He shrugged his shoulders in dismissal. “Anyway, I’m recovering and missing you terribly. Where have you been keeping yourself?” He dipped a ladle into a bucket of spring water and drank deeply.
“You know Shayla. She had me running errands in London, getting more information about the gallery showing, making up false paperwork and whatever else needed doing. It’s a perpetual subterfuge, involving a lot of paper trails that will all fall apart someday.”
He nodded in agreement. “I know. She seems to think we can go on living like this forever. All it would take is one well placed satellite to give us away. Sometimes, I don’t believe she’s aware of how close to the edge we really live.”
Portia looked up into his face, surprised by this revelation. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything like that. And it isn’t exactly something the Sorceress should ever hear you say.”
“We’re friends. I know you won’t tell. Besides, you damned well know I’m right.”
She traced the outline of her lips with an index finger. “Yes, you are. But it still wouldn’t do for her to know we’ve been talking about such matters. It might appear as if we don’t trust her judgment.”
He smirked and shook his hair off his shoulders to cool himself. “It isn’t a question of judgment so much as futility. One day, this place will be on the front page of every newspaper on the planet. Only those with the biggest balls and the brass to use them will make it out of here unscathed.”
Portia eyed him critically before continuing. “Let’s change the subject. I want to see you tonight.”
“Why? More schedules to go over?”
“No. This hasn’t got anything to do with work. I’ve got a bit of a confession to make, though I’m not sure you’re going to like hearing it.” She paused for a moment. “I’ve been engaging in and listening to a lot of gossip about you and Wren. I apologize, but I wanted to admit it up front.”
He shook his head in disgust. “I dislike adding to rumors. You know that, Portia.”
“Of course. I wasn’t trying to pry. It’s just that I was thinking about the way you and I used to be together.”
Gawain wasn’t sure he should continue with the conversation. What did she want? “You know what we had is over,” he gently reminded.
She gave him a friendly shove. “I realize we can never get back to what we once had. Whatever the rumor mill has going and however you deny it, I know you want Wren. She’s the sweet, wholesome type you always craved. But your desire for her wouldn’t have to cut me out of the loop completely. You could have us both. I wouldn’t be a permanent fixture, darling, just an occasional stop along the road.”
He took a deep breath and frowned. “I don’t play with people’s feelings. You of all people should know that. I never cheated on you the entire time we were together. I’m not about to do so with Wren or anyone else I’m seriously involved with.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh, Gawain, you’re too much. I was just joking and you fell for it.”
Gawain’s irritation with her dissipated. “Sorry. I guess I haven’t been in the mood for jokes lately.” He didn’t think there would ever come a time when any joke could make him laugh.
She patted his shoulder. “It’s all right, darling. You never were in a good mood when someone interrupted your work. And speaking of which, I should be getting back to the castle. I’ve got tons of work waiting for me and I shouldn’t even be here.”
“I know. Shayla has my father overseeing my work and she’s put me off-limits to everyone until it’s done,” he lied. “I don’t know whether it’s a matter of trust or thinking my old man can get more work out of me if he watches everything I do.”
“You know the Sorceress. She always has some reason for her decisions that she rarely shares with anyone but Hugh.” She sighed and lifted one hand in resignation. “We’ll talk some other time.” She smiled and was about to go, but turned back. “Did you really mean all those things you were saying about the world finding us and Shayla not being able to stop it?”
He nodded. “It’s inevitable. A matter of time.”
“You might want to be careful about saying such things, Gawain. It won’t do for the Sorceress to think she isn’t trusted. But I must say that I agree with you.”
“Goddess, woman. I wasn’t going to broadcast that opinion all over the forest. I’m not an idiot.”
She smiled. “Didn’t mean to imply you were. But let’s just keep our minds open and our mouths closed. I’ll get back to you.”
“Will do.”
Reluctantly, Portia left him and headed back to the castle. His attitude about the Sorceress was something he’d never expressed before. It was definitely something to think about. She wondered how many in the Shire really didn’t believe Shayla Gallagher could stave off the entire world with her small staff, a few computers and false paperwork.
Gawain watched her go then turned back to his work. The sooner all this was over, the better.
۞  ۞  ۞
Wren sent messages and Gawain pointedly ignored them. She had to be kept away from danger and apart from any suspicion. He wanted to trust her but was afraid to. He’d trusted everyone in the Order at one time, now he didn’t know who was lying and who wasn’t. All the same, his fears didn’t reduce his growing need for her presence. Portia was right about one thing. His absence from Wren was causing him some serious thought about the little Brownie. He could use a good dose of her peaceable spirit and he wanted to hear her soft voice and see her lovely smile again. There was something about her that kept revolving around his heart. He was afraid to care for her, but he did. Perversely, the less he saw of her, the more he needed her gentle spirit with him. He chalked it up to that particular way Brownies had of endowing a situation with a calm and serene air. That was their gift to others and their main claim to magic.
His family tried to visit but Gawain quickly ordered them to leave. This was a circumstance that had his father in a perpetual foul mood because he missed his mate. But his father’s bad mood was what Gawain needed. It would make it that much easier to pick a new fight with his sire. Though the artwork had to be kept safe, it was far more important that his family and friends remain so. They had to believe his attitude was taking a turn for the worse. As he planned, Gawain threw himself into his work. And as it came together, he had the satisfaction of seeing a piece of art emerging that was far better than anything he’d previously crafted. But then it had to be. Sadly, he recognized that the same talent that had caused so much trouble could pull the Order out of it.
Money. The more money his work brought, the sooner the Order could recover. He suspected the Sorceress had not only agreed with his plan to stay isolated for safety’s sake, but that she wanted him out of the way so he wouldn’t be privy to the further rationing of food. Perhaps she thought that by distancing him his guilt would diminish. But his own meager meals made it clear how very serious things were. Once, Taurus brought Markham an apple. When they thought Gawain wasn’t within earshot, they argued over who should take it. Taurus maintained there might not be another for some time and he refused to take a bite even though his sire insisted. The simple sacrifice angered Gawain in a way nothing else had except for the deaths of his friends. He kept his anger close. Guarded and nurtured it. That rage would serve him well in the near future.
He stared into the coals of his forge. More iron was needed to make the hinges and handles for his doors. There was precious little raw material left and a mistake could mean a project would go unfinished. His thoughts had him so consumed that precious little penetrated his consciousness. All this because of him.
“I’ve been calling you for five minutes. Didn’t you hear me?”
Gawain slowly turned. “I’m sorry, Dad. What did you want?”
“You’ve been at this for more than ten hours. Don’t you think that’s enough?”
“When I’m through, I’ll stop,” he replied testily.
Markham watched as the light of the fire glistened off his son’s hardened body. “Gawain, we don’t have enough rations for you to work like this. You’ll be ill.”
It was the first excuse his father had given him to start a row. And now was the time. “When I want your advice on how to work, I’ll ask.”
“I was only trying to help, Gawain. You’ve been going at this constant pace for days and—”
“I don’t need your opinion.” He threw down his hammer. “Don’t you think I know what’s really on your mind? You’re wondering if I’ll be able to produce anything that can pull us out of this mess. That I might not be up to the challenge. That’s it, isn’t it, Dad?”
“I was thinking no such thing.” He pointed at the glowing, white coals. “One slip-up, caused by exhaustion and you could be in a world of hurt. That fire is burning too hot.”
“No,” Gawain growled, “one mistake would put us that much further behind. That’s what you really mean.” His voice rose as he pretended to let anger and fatigue get the better of him. “I know what I’m doing, Dad. I don’t need you or anyone else telling me how to work.”
“Dammit, Gawain! I know you’re tired. Goddess knows I am, too, but I don’t have to stand here and take this from my own son.”
“Feel free to leave any time,” Gawain bellowed. “I’m sick and tired of being responsible for everything that’s wrong with the Order. Maybe if other people pulled their weight we wouldn’t be in this fix. Why should I have to work my ass off to provide for everyone? There are thousands of able-bodied men and women in the Order and you’d think I was the only bloody one who could work.”
Markham’s hands clenched at his sides. He opened his mouth, but never got the chance to comment on Gawain’s accusation.
“What’s going on? It sounds as if there’s a battle brewing.” The softly phrased comment came from the darkness.
Both men turned their heads toward the sound and Wren stepped into the firelight. Gawain’s gut twisted when he saw yet another opportunity to promote his plan. To hurt someone else he now knew he cared for.
“I’m sorry,” Markham apologized. “I’m sure the rest of the forest doesn’t need to hear my son and me arguing.”
Gawain snorted in derision. “I couldn’t really care less if they hear us.”
Wren slowly approached Gawain and gazed into his face. “Why are you so angry?”
“You shouldn’t be here, Brownie.” Gawain ignored her question and proceeded to start yet another fight. “The Sorceress has told everyone to keep their distance, remember?”
She nodded but continued to carefully watch his expression. “She gave me permission to come. I was hoping you’d be happy to see me.”
Gawain took a deep breath to avoid her scrutiny. Those gorgeous eyes would be his undoing. She’d see right through his charade and want to be near to help. And that could never happen. Not if she was to remain safe and not suspected of any wrongdoing. “Right now, I’d as soon be left alone. By everyone.”
“Gawain, mind your manners,” Markham criticized. Then he turned to Wren. “You’ll have to excuse him. I know he wouldn’t be acting this way if he weren’t so tired. This whole thing has been—”
“I don’t need you making excuses for me, Dad. What I do or how I act is of no concern to Wren or anyone else. Do I have to keep repeating myself? Leave me alone!” Gawain said the words with every bit of vitriol he could muster. He was finally rewarded when his father stalked into the night.
“Gawain, why are you acting like this?” Wren tried to soften her tone, knowing anger would only make the situation worse.
He turned back to her. “You may as well know that I want to see Portia again. She and I have talked and I’ve decided I don’t want to give her up.” The lie would appear to be truth soon enough.
The words hit her like ice in a winter storm. He’d never professed to care for her, but she’d once believed there was something in his eyes that made her hope. “I see.”
“It’s probably better for everyone. I once thought about us being together, but your grandfather would never condone it. The Sorceress has already warned me to stay away from you and get my work done. And the last thing I need is Wyckem coming after me while I’m trying to design. I’d have to beat him half to death and that would only have your people up in arms over a silly fling. All in all, I’d say that anything we started together by having sex is probably left in the past.” Even as he said the words, his heart ripped open. Hurting Wren by saying such a thing would haunt him forever. It was just one more sin to add to his list of many. Maintaining his angry appearance so she wouldn’t sense the lie was far harder than he’d have ever believed possible. All he really wanted to do was grab her and run off somewhere. Just so she could use her peaceful aura to mend his battered heart.
Wren frowned. “That’s what you think we had? A fling?”
“That’s the way I see it. If I’ve led you to believe otherwise, I’m sorry, Wren. As I’ve just said, whatever we started would cause us both too much trouble, as well as rattle the cages of a lot of other people. Frankly, I just don’t have time for the dramatics. Please try to understand. Portia and I once had something going. No one will be hurt by us getting back together.”
The look she gave him was colder than anything he’d ever seen. It froze a part of his soul that would never thaw. Wren had cared far more for him than he’d imagined.
“You must have some very good reason for acting this way. Whatever it is, it will never be reason enough for me to accept your apology when you’re finally ready to give it.”
He watched her walk quietly away and knew his heart went with her. Maybe he could explain one day and she would listen. If he was alive. Just as his father had done to him he’d done to her. Better to have her safe, alive and hating him. His path lay another direction. One he was almost certain led to the murderers and traitors in the Order. Wren couldn’t accompany him on that journey. No one could.
Picking up his hammer, Gawain held back tears and threw every bit of concentration into the work before him. If his father was near, he kept his distance. He was certain half the guards in the forest must have heard his temperamental outburst. And that, too, was exactly as he’d planned, but the toll it took on his conscience was devastating. He was only able to console himself by hoping the ones he cared for would understand one day. He wasn’t sure if he could keep up this level of animosity. It was necessary so that no one would suspect he was lying. But it made him ill, physically and emotionally.
۞  ۞  ۞
Wren sat by her window and absently stared at the woods. Her grandfather and Wyck had been only too happy to hear about Gawain’s erratic behavior. The “I told you so” attitude they took was infuriating. She knew Gawain was up to something. That he didn’t trust her enough to tell her what was insulting. Wren’s first instinct was to go find the big Druid and show him what a swift kick in the butt felt like when it came from a small but enraged source. Brownies could be exceedingly fierce when angered. It just took a great deal more goading to get them that way. And Gawain was going to find out just how hard it was to undo what he’d done. She might be small and seemingly meek to some, but as was so often said, appearances could be deceiving. The men in her life were in for a surprise. She loved her grandfather and Wyck had been a friend before meeting Gawain. He had her heart and there was nothing on Earth she could do about it. Unknown to the Craftsman, the heart quickening had bound her to loving him. But enough was enough. No man was walking on her anymore.
Partly to prove her point to others and partly to establish her independence, Wren set about working on her own art. She ignored the well-meaning but unwanted advice of others and took her cue from Gawain. Her work would be every bit as good as his and just as ingenious. Then, to rattle the proverbial cage a bit, she approached the Sorceress about an idea. It was sure to incite Gawain’s fury and that thought satisfied her. She paced outside the library, waiting to speak to Shayla about her plans.
When the door opened and one of Shayla’s staff motioned her inside, Wren held her head up and prepared to face the only opposition there might be. “Good afternoon, Sorceress.”
“And to you, Wren. I’m given to understand you have something in mind for the gallery showing.”
“Yes. I know the Craftsman sometimes exhibits other artwork next to his, but only if it’s of particularly high quality.”
Shayla’s eyebrows rose at the reference to Gawain’s title rather than his given name. “He does show other work along with his at times. Did you have something in mind? Have you seen something one of the artisans is creating that meets his standards?”
Wren slipped her crane bag from her shoulder, set it on a chair and pulled out the bulky item from within. “This will certainly meet gallery standards.”
Shayla’s eyebrows rose in fascination as she took the piece of pottery from Wren’s hands. She turned it over and surveyed the work from every angle. Then she quickly moved to an open window and inspected it in brighter light. “This is first-class work, my girl. Exceptional! Who did it?”
“It’s mine and I want to share the best gallery space with the Craftsman. My work is good enough and it deserves to be there.”
Shayla tried not to smile. Everyone had heard that Gawain had spurned the Brownie. She had her own opinions as to why. But Wren, in her embarrassment and pain, had proudly found the inspiration to play a game of one-upmanship. Instead of abusing those around her, as Gawain was reportedly doing, Wren calmly kept her creative mind on the task at hand. And Shayla suspected Gawain would be put firmly in his egotistical place because of it. Shayla was impressed. The girl was showing strong mettle by taking charge of her situation. The battle between Wren and Gawain was heating up and Shayla so loved wars of this kind.
“Your work is more than just good, Wren, and you know it. The quality is superb. How many different pieces can you create for the gallery and when can you have them ready?”
Wren flashed a brilliant smile. “You just tell me what you need and when.”
Shayla walked toward her and returned her grin. “You and I should talk. I feel an unusual plan coming on.”
An hour later, Wren emerged from the library and walked out into the sunshine. She balled one hand into a fist, lifted it and pulled it into her chest. “Yes!” No man would ever control any part of her life again. She now had the means to make a future for herself and help the Order restore its finances. But there was no time to waste. Every moment must be efficiently planned and there was no more efficient race on Earth than hers.
۞  ۞  ۞
Shayla waited in a clearing near the cottage. When Wren made her appearance, they would approach Gawain together. For now, however, she was content to watch him work from a distance. With one arm, he swung an axe with the power and grace of a Norse god. He used the hook on the other hand to lift heavy wood and tools. Muscle rippled under his sweaty skin as he moved. He rarely let up or stopped. The guards told her his work continued night and day. And as long as that work yielded the results for which he was famous, she let the reports of his contemptuous behavior slide. Provoked beyond belief, Markham still exhibited amazing control and tried to make allowances for Gawain’s increasingly bizarre aggression. He defended his son against anyone casting a disparaging remark. There was no question that he loved his firstborn. Without much sleep and with very little food to sustain so much physical activity, it was possible Gawain had a reason for his poor manners. He had never been pushed so hard with so much at stake. Some people just couldn’t handle that kind of pressure.
But Shayla didn’t believe Gawain was the type to cave in. She suspected there was a more realistic reason for his eccentric bouts of temper. After he was shot, he had become concerned about anyone getting too close to him for fear they’d be hurt, but he didn’t seem concerned about Portia. According to forest gossip, they’d been meeting regularly. There was something odd about his abrupt preference for Portia and his reluctance to get near Wren. It just didn’t add up.
A subtle movement caught Shayla’s attention. Wren walked toward her wearing the traditional brown hooded cape of her people and brown leggings, boots and jerkin. The weather was becoming cooler. Samhain was near and so was the gallery showing. Portia was making the final arrangements. There would be a few last-minute additions to the plans and Gawain wouldn’t approve any of them. Still, the decision had been made. Shayla couldn’t wait to see the expression on the big Druid’s face when he found out. Together, Shayla and Wren approached the outdoor forge where Gawain labored to the point of exhaustion.
When Gawain sensed the women’s arrival, he doused his head in a nearby well, shook the excess water free and waited for them to get close enough to speak. He looked them both in the eyes. Shayla’s expression was as inscrutable as ever. The Sorceress of the Ancients never gave away too many of her secrets. Wren, however, had a jubilant, almost haughty look about her. Those golden eyes would never be able to hide her thoughts. Such was the honesty within her. Gawain wished, with all his heart, he could tell her what he was doing and beg her forgiveness for his hurtful words. But the deed was done. He had to let the scenario play out. They’d never exchanged any vow to keep their relationship going once its tenuous beginnings had emerged. But the close bond between a man and a woman after having the kind of sex they’d shared would be understood.
“Good afternoon, Gawain. How is the work going?” Shayla asked and perused the tools, wood remnants and iron that littered the area.
“Another two or three days and it’ll all come together, Shayla.” He kept his eyes on Wren as he spoke, but she averted her gaze to the disorder around her. Clearly the Brownie didn’t like what she saw. Gawain was usually fastidious about his work area, but that too was part of his plan. Everything about his personality and habits must appear to change.
Shayla nodded in approval. “Your timing is good. Portia has everything set to go. We’ll have trucks to load the art and one of our seamstresses will even fit your tuxedo for you.”
He nodded nonchalantly. Over a ten-year period, there had been many gallery showings of the great DeForest’s work. This was just one more, with the exception that his work must now sell for a great deal more than it ever had.
Shayla lifted one index finger. “There have been a few last-minute alterations. Nothing too major, really.”
Gawain slowly approached the Sorceress. Something in her tone alerted him. When she spoke in such a careless way, there was always something on the receiving end that shocked the listener. What she considered a minor change was usually catastrophic for those involved. “And what would that particular change be?”
“I’ve been to some of your gallery openings. Because of the importance of this one, Hugh and I will attend.” She paused and picked up a metal spike. “So will Wren.”
Gawain felt his jaw sag and then he struggled to get his composure back. “A‑absolutely not!”
Shayla turned back to him and fixed the man with what she knew was one of her stoniest expressions. “And why not?”
He stared at Wren and she stared back. Those once warm eyes were now as cold as an arctic wind. “The most obvious reason is her appearance. Look at her!”
Shayla made a pained, studious show of looking the girl over. “I can’t for the life of me see what you’re talking about.” She actually did, of course. Unlike many in the Order, Brownies didn’t have the ability to shapeshift out of their true form. But she waited to hear his argument anyway.
“H-her unusually colored eyes and... and what about those sweet, pointed little ears of hers? She has a habit of tucking her hair behind them when she gets excited or she’s thinking about something that captures her interest.”
“My, my,” Shayla remarked, “for a man who isn’t interested in her, you’ve certainly noted Wren’s personal habits and appearance well enough. Hasn’t he, dear?”
“Quite,” Wren agreed and smirked at him. “But I can keep my hair over my ears. It’s really not a problem. As for my eyes, a lot of people wear strange contact lenses these days. If anyone asks, I’ll just say that’s what causes the color.”
He swiped his hand in denial. “No! Absolutely not! She’s not used to being among outsiders. I can barely tolerate them myself and I’ve mingled with the blighters for years. But Wren hasn’t the foggiest idea how to act among some of these elitist, pretentious, artistic snobs.”
“I’ve been around you,” Wren replied sweetly.
Shayla laughed, stepped back and waited for the explosion to follow. She watched in great amusement as Gawain’s expression visibly darkened. The man’s square jaw tightened and his hand balled into a fist.
“Soho isn’t a safe place,” he growled between clenched teeth.
“Well, if you’re frightened, perhaps you should stay behind,” came Wren’s saccharine reply.
Shayla shook with barely controlled laughter. She sat down on a nearby bench and tried to hide her humor from the huge Druid. His temper was all but lost. While the underlying reason for this mess wasn’t amusing, the battle before her certainly was. Normally Brownies were the most amiable, humble creatures. To watch one fight back was a monumental occasion. Apparently Wren had been pushed as far as she’d go. The girl had cared for him and he’d publicly humiliated her.
Gawain pointed the finger of his large, left hand into the ground. “You’re staying here. I’m the Craftsman and I have final say in these matters. There’s no reason for you to be at the gallery showing.”
Unconcerned, Wren turned her attention to the Sorceress. “Is that true? Does he have the final say in these matters?”
Shayla smiled and shrugged. “It was always that way in the past.”
Wren slid her gaze up and down Gawain’s massive form. “Oh, is this the part where I’m supposed to say, All right, I’ll leave, and then sedately crawl back to Scotland?”
Gawain took a deep breath. “Wren... ”
“I’m going to the gallery showing, Gawain.” She spoke slowly, calmly and deliberately, as if she were talking to someone whose mental capacity wasn’t all that great. Then, to inflict the same kind of insult he’d bestowed on her, Wren lifted his hook up and gave it a patronizing pat. “It will be all right, I promise.”
Before he could butcher the girl, Shayla quickly stood and put a hand on Gawain’s wall-like chest. His expression was murderous. “It seems she has her mind made up.”
Gawain jerked his head away from Wren’s determined gaze and riveted his attention on the Sorceress. “Shayla, you can’t be serious.”
“Well, what’s a Druid to do? I have so many things I’m responsible for, Gawain. And, as you so ably pointed out, this is a matter for whoever holds the position of Craftsman. That means you.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “I suggest you handle it.”
Wren grinned smugly at him, put her hands on her hips and stared up into his face.
Gawain’s eyes narrowed and he moved to stand very close to her. He could feel the heat from her small, perfectly proportioned body. In his anger and frustration, he desperately wanted her. Those whiskey-colored eyes drilled into him. But they held all the passion he knew her so capable of giving. Still, her safety meant more than his own. “All right, Wren. You win this round. If you’re going with me, it’s my responsibility to keep you safe. You’ll share a suite with me.” The confusion in those beautiful eyes told him he’d scored.
“He’s right, Wren. There’s safety in numbers. Hugh and I will be sharing a suite as well. And it will cut down on costs.” Shayla gathered her robes. “Handle it between yourselves. I expect no more arguments from either of you.”
It didn’t occur to Wren until much later that the two men could share a suite while Shayla, Portia and she shared another. That would get her out of having to suffer through Gawain’s company. But was that what she really wanted? He’d hurt her with his callous words. Yet, she knew there was some reason for them. A man just didn’t blow hot and cold like that without provocation. Maybe if she could get close enough to him, he’d open up. There had to be some very good reason for his alienating everyone around him.

Chapter Nine

Gawain backed away from the doors and looked them over one last time. In his heart, he knew it was the finest work he’d ever done. There wasn’t one more piece to polish or screw to tighten. The work was finished. He covered it with a large cloth. It would sit in a gallery frame made to fit his specifications. The lighting and surrounding decor would be his responsibility once their people had it delivered and properly placed. He stepped back, leaned against a table and closed his eyes. Like all artists, this was the time he dreaded most. Someone would put a price on it and someone else would buy what had been a part of him for so long. Each part of it had been painstakingly perfected. And he’d never see this artwork again.
“Sad to let it go, isn’t it, darling?”
Gawain dragged himself out of his morose thoughts and looked up. Portia was standing in the doorway watching him. “Yeah. I don’t know why this piece seems to be harder to lose than any of the others.” That was a lie. The artwork before him was created because of a vision. Something precious given to him and Wren. The loss of this piece would hurt almost as much as losing Wren did. Every day he ached to see her smile and feel her touch. He knew he’d never want another woman. He sometimes dreamed that he heard her sweet voice. And he almost believed, in the depths of slumber, that he felt her little body next to his as he had on that one magnificent and unforgettable occasion. But he hadn’t the luxury of expressing his feelings. Not when he had a game to play out that could be deadly. Still, if ever there was a time when he needed her calming influence, it was now. A man could be with a woman ten minutes and know she was the right one... if she truly was.
“You wouldn’t actually have to lose the idea altogether,” Portia reasoned. “You can always expand on it. Create more doors similar to this first one.”
He dragged his attention back to the conversation and slowly nodded. “I plan to.”
She stood by him for a while, trying to gauge his mood. “Since I hear you’re pining for me, would you like me to stay with you tonight? Maybe then you could explain how you’re trying to get me back into your life. That’s the story I’m hearing, anyway.”
Gawain had known the rumor about his and Wren’s argument would get back to her sooner or later. “Forgive me, Portia.” He opened his hand and raised it to her in a beseeching gesture. “I hoped you wouldn’t mind that I brought your name up when I confronted Wren. She’s a sweet little thing, but our budding relationship, as it were, became a bit of a diplomatic problem where her grandfather and Wyckem were concerned. Besides, she and I didn’t have a past in common the way you and I do. And because you were going to be working so close with me at the gallery, I used you as an excuse to break things off.”
“I figured it was something like that. But using me as an excuse to dump Wren was cowardly of you, Gawain. That isn’t like you. And this is the first time I’ve ever heard you speak of someone you’ve been close to in such a way. Why all this gut-spilling now?”
He had to be careful. Portia had to be convinced. “You’re right about me being a coward.” He shrugged. “I just didn’t want to be in a relationship that was going to start an incident with the Brownies. The last thing I need right now is Troda and his people breathing down my neck. I liked Wren. We had a good time, but she just wasn’t worth the trouble. She wouldn’t fight for her freedom, so how was I supposed to? Besides, I’ve reconsidered my opinions lately. It was a mistake to tell you we were through. You and I were good together once. Like I said, we’ve got a lot in common. Wren could never share the world of art like you and I have. We’ve been all over Europe together and I’d like to get that excitement back. This place is... it seems to close in on me.” He looked around the forest and shook his head. “And I still say the world is going to walk right in on us someday and my art will be gone with everything else. I want a taste of the fame again before that happens. Just one more shot at being DeForest.”
“Now that’s more like it, Gawain.” She put her arms around his waist. “You’re finally beginning to see what I do. And there are others who feel this way, you know.”
“I was sure there were. I was really hoping to make things just as they used to be. I could get my reputation back with the galleries and we could book art tours. Just like the good old days. Oh, I’m not saying we would have to jump into anything. If you’re willing, I’d like to take it one day at time and see where it gets us.”
She smiled and hugged him hard. “Oh, Gawain, that would be fantastic. You’re like you were before the fire. And I wish we could even share a room together like we used to at all the other gallery openings, but the Sorceress has booked me into a hotel with her staff in the adjoining suite. Seems she doesn’t want us all in the same place. But I could see you tonight.”
Gawain shook his head. “No, not tonight, love. I’ve got to get packed and put some tools together in case we need them. You know, the regular drill.”
“Shayla told me you’ve been booked in a room with the Brownie. Why?”
“That wasn’t the original plan. For some idiotic reason, the Sorceress thinks Wren should be at the gallery showing. I think I’m supposed to keep her out of trouble, but we’ll be in a suite if that’s any consolation to you. Separate rooms and all.” The anger in his voice consoled her.
“Darling, don’t even worry over it. So long as you and I are getting back together, it doesn’t make any difference. You’ve made it plain that Wren isn’t DeForest’s cup of tea. And we can always slip out for a cocktail later.” She smoothed a hand over his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “When this is over, we’ll have more time. I promise. We’ll get back to where we were.”
He turned, pulled her into his arms and hugged her. When he ended the embrace, Gawain stared around at the debris and discarded rubble in his work area. “I’m sick of this, Portia. I’m tired of working so hard and seeing nothing come of it. The Order uses my reputation. I work endlessly, but nothing changes.”
“I’m sure there’ll be an answer to all your problems soon.” Her hand slid down his back and caressed his hip. “Now are you sure you don’t want some company?”
“Thanks, but I’ve got to get my gear together. Tomorrow will be a long day and I’m going to have to make very sure Wren doesn’t do something idiotic in the outside world. Though why she’s there to begin with doesn’t make any damned sense.”
“I’ll be with you as much as I can. Don’t worry. We’ll get the Brownie through it. You and me, together again, just like old times.”
He forced a smile and nodded as she quickly kissed his cheek and walked away. His opinion of himself, already lower than ever, took a nose dive. He couldn’t remember ever being so shallow. Portia believed he was now back to his old self, the way he was “before the fire” as she put it. If the way he was currently behaving was how he used to act, then to hell with the great DeForest. Everyone else’s art would take precedence from here on out. Sick of himself and of the suspicions growing within him, Gawain sullenly gathered his equipment and fled to the solitary silence of his bedroom.
۞  ۞  ۞
“Soho is no place for you, Wren,” Wyck argued. “On that I have to agree with the Craftsman.”
Wren continued her packing, checking the bag containing her new dress one last time. “I’ve got artwork I’m showing, too. I have a perfect right to be there. And since when do you agree with Gawain on anything?”
“I just don’t want you that far from the Order. Suppose something happens?”
She sighed, stopped her packing and glared at the man pacing across her bedroom floor. “We’ve been through this. You, me and Grandfather. I’ve said all I’m going to on the subject, Wyck. Get over it!”
When she would have walked by him, Wyck grabbed her arm and pulled her close. “Maybe you don’t love me, but that doesn’t keep me from worrying. I’ll always care for you, Wren.”
His heartfelt explanation drew guilt. She knew how it felt to care for someone who didn’t return those feelings. Wren placed her hand on his cheek. “I’ll always care for you, too. But not the way you want.”
“Guess a night of hot sex is out of the question?” he joked.
She smiled sadly in response. She hadn’t let Wyck touch her since coming to the Shire.
“Okay. Guess not. But do one favor for me?”
“All right. What is it?” she asked.
“Be careful. Things in Soho may not go as planned.”
She shook her head in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “You know outsiders. They’re an unpredictable lot.”
“I’ll be as careful as I possibly can.” He didn’t need to know she’d be sharing a suite with Gawain. She had pled with Shayla’s staff to keep their mouths closed so Wyck wouldn’t find out. Sharing a suite would keep her safe, but it would also start another almighty row with Wyck. There had been too many arguments lately. Because her work required focused attention, she had distanced herself from her grandfather and Wyckem, much as Gawain had done with everyone but his father. The difference was, her personality hadn’t radically altered the way Gawain’s had, which still troubled her greatly. If he didn’t care for her, why did she get this feeling that he was lying about something and desperately trying to hide it?
“You’d better head to your room, Wyck. I’m going to take a shower and get some sleep. It’ll be a long day tomorrow.”
He nodded, gave her a kiss goodnight and left.
Secretly, she was anxious about the trip and all the new experiences in a big city. Her only contact with outsiders had been passing through villages where the Brownies bought supplies or with those outsiders her clan encountered while traveling through the countryside. But those meetings hadn’t prepared her for something as bold as what she was about to do. No matter what happened, someone would have to draw and quarter her before she’d admit her fears to Gawain.
She gazed at the bag now hanging on her door. The lovely dress the Order’s best seamstresses had designed for her would go a long way toward instilling confidence. Gawain had, in his superior manner, commanded that Wren was to be as inconspicuous as possible. His exact words were “Blend into the damned woodwork”. Well, the Sorceress and she had reasoned that not dressing appropriately would certainly call attention to her.
Wren took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. All she had to do was remember not to let her ears show. With her hair down, that wouldn’t be a problem unless her nervous hands inadvertently moved some of it as Gawain had predicted. But if the Sorceress of the Ancients trusted her, then so should he. She wished with all her might that Gawain could believe in her.
۞  ۞  ۞
“Remember, to everyone in the outside world, I’m known only as DeForest. Don’t ever use my given name. Everyone else will go by their first name unless Shayla says otherwise.”
For the first time, Wren desperately wanted to slap Gawain into another dimension. “I understand. We’ve been over this a million times,” she responded curtly.
“Gawain, leave the girl alone. She’s not stupid, you know.” Shayla pulled on her gloves. She glanced at the jeans, hiking boots and jackets worn by the younger people. They would be traveling in a separate car. Their attire was entirely appropriate for setting up displays later in the day. All the artwork had been safely delivered to the gallery and the actual opening wouldn’t be until the next evening.
As for herself and Hugh, they were to act the part of wealthy, would-be buyers and patrons of the fine arts. The older couple and the younger couples would speak to one another only after the work was actually on display. There was to be no contact between them prior to then. The two couples weren’t supposed to know one another. Such subterfuge had always been necessary. As always, the Order was to be kept safe at any cost.
Furthermore, Shayla wanted the couples paired in such a way that Gawain and Wren were forced together. When a man and a woman desired each other as she’d sensed the two of them did, then it wasn’t just a romantic heart fueling her actions. She wanted the two of them in a closed space to argue their differences and put some future ahead of them. Gawain wanted Portia no more than Wren wanted Wyckem. Whatever the reason for Gawain spurning Wren, he wasn’t doing it of his own free will. Of that Shayla was certain. For her part and theirs, she wanted that situation solved. Putting them in a room where Gawain would be forced to feel protective of Wren—whether she needed it or not—served all her needs.
Secretly Shayla also wished she could be a fly on the wall when Gawain discovered Wren’s artwork would go right next to his. Other art from the Order had been specifically chosen for exhibition. All of it had been handpicked by Gawain, but none of the other artisans would be at the gallery. Some, like the Trolls, couldn’t shapeshift, but Gawain always made their work part of the great DeForest’s master collection. Though he wouldn’t ever reveal who the other artists were, neither did he take credit for the pieces displayed. Bringing along fresh talent who supposedly preferred to remain anonymous was part of DeForest’s mystique, part of what made his exhibits so unusual and costly. Buyers continuously guessed at the origins of the other artwork and loved doing so. His work, however, was always the centerpiece or the showcase around which all the other items would be displayed. Before the fire it hadn’t seemed to trouble Gawain that the other artisans could never take the credit for their work. Since that disaster, however, Gawain had voiced his opinion many times against being the foremost artist, which troubled Shayla greatly. Gawain couldn’t help it that his brain was wired to create the most exciting and breathtaking works of art. To give that up would be a tragedy. Now the man either couldn’t, or wouldn’t, acknowledge the significant contributions from the money he generated. The Order was blessed to have him. And the outside world needed that kind of talent. It enriched their lives just as much as the money enriched the Order.
And someone within their own ranks had selfishly crippled Gawain’s will to create. With all the powers at her disposal, Shayla still hadn’t uncovered why the fire had been started or by whom. That infuriated her. And Gawain knew more than he was letting on. She was certain of it. Somehow, Wren figured into the equation. His treatment of her was ultra-protective one moment and rude the next. He wanted her safe and he wanted to drive her away from him. What did he know and what was he planning? And why wouldn’t he come to her with what he knew? To keep everyone around him at a distance, she realized he would die before talking. As Sorceress, it galled her to take a wait and see position. But unless one of the betrayers made a move, that was all she could do for the time being. Someone knew how to hide their actions from her very well, which made them a most formidable foe. It would make punishing the culprits much easier when they were caught. And they most assuredly would be caught.
Pulled out of her reverie by the opening of the foyer doors, Shayla stepped out to the waiting car. The others followed. Her sense of danger heightened the closer they got to the city. Parts of London, such as the Soho District, could be dangerous even for those who knew the area. For a race of magic beings, whose identity could be discovered if they weren’t very careful, that threat was greatly amplified.
۞  ۞  ۞
The farther from the Shire they drove, the more anxious Wren felt. She passed the time by trying to look at the scenery and focus on something tranquil to settle her nerves. Cattle grazing or herds of sheep were always calming, but their soothing effect was minimal today. She’d been born and raised in the woods. The city held no allure. Still, if Gawain could do it, so could she.
Gawain stopped to let a farmer herd a small flock of ewes across the road. The farmer’s black and white Border collie, ever willing to help its master, worked feverishly to keep the sheep moving. He took the time to glance at Wren’s profile. She appeared as calm as ever. But her hands were shaking. Occasionally she’d grip the edge of the seat as if she were trying to alleviate her anxiety by doing so. His heart went out to her. Druids were more adaptable to the outside world than any other beings in the Order. Brownies were either forest dwellers or preferred the wild, mountainous areas of the moors.
“You don’t have to do this, Wren,” Gawain said. “When we get to London, you can stay in the room.”
She kept her gaze on the scene outside the car. “I’ll be fine.”
“Why are you doing this? It’s a terrible risk. I can only wonder what the Sorceress was thinking. There’s no reason for it.”
He’d soon know the reason. After checking into their hotel and getting something to eat, the plan was to go straight to the gallery. There they’d meet the owner, set up displays, get last-minute details from Portia on guest lists and sale prices and then go back to the hotel for a night’s rest. They wouldn’t need to go back out again until the actual showing. Still, it was more city life and outside exposure in one day than Wren had experienced in her entire life. She began to understand why the other artists just didn’t care about having their names connected with their work. The betterment of the entire Order was all that mattered.
Some years ago, however, a particular artist’s creations had brilliantly burst onto the scene. More and more of his work had been in demand. As the demand increased, the prices soared and then the demand increased again. It was a cyclical pattern. The pseudonym DeForest had been born and Gawain had been thrust into the limelight of London society. Then his showings took him abroad. His role as the Craftsman, or leader of those who made marketable goods, took on an entire new significance. But Wren was just a carver and potter of goods she’d only considered above average until now.
What she’d created to sit beside Gawain’s art was her finest work—inspired by Gawain himself. Therefore some part of her wanted him to consider it good art.
“It’s all right, love,” he reassured her, taking one of her hands in his larger palm and pulling her close. “Stay near me tonight.”
She turned her head at the sound of his voice. Why did he use words to hurt her, but when they were in private become the gentle, kind man with whom she’d made love? His sudden mood swings made no sense. He wasn’t ill, but something terrible was certainly bothering him. Because he wouldn’t tell her, Wren assumed she wasn’t important enough to gain his trust. She kept silent. Then, as he began to drive again, she pulled her hand free from his. Better to keep a distance between them. Neither of them spoke during the remainder of the drive.
When they arrived at the outskirts of London, Gawain followed Hugh and Shayla’s sedan to the hotel. Hugh made arrangements to have a valet park his vehicle, while Gawain did the same. From that point on, Hugh and Shayla were on their own. The Sorceress had insisted that Wren accompany him to set up the gallery art or he’d have left her in the hotel room where she’d be safe. As always, when the Sorceress plotted, those around her could only guess at her motives. Gawain knew there was some mystery afoot where Wren was concerned, but the middle of a bustling city was no place to spring it on him.
When they were safely situated in their suite, Gawain tipped their porter and waited for the man to leave the room before saying, “Are you sure about going through with this, Wren?”
“I have to.”
“Why? What are you trying to prove, Brownie?”
Wren slipped her hands into the pockets of her windbreaker and kept silent.
Gawain dropped his head back, closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He might never be this close to her again. Still, everything in him wished she were back with the rest of the Order. If anything went wrong, compromising her safety would be one more black mark on his soul. But what was worse? Having her here where he could watch over her? Or in a forest where betrayers lurked and might harm her to use her as leverage against him? The Sorceress had inadvertently taken that choice out of his control.
“Come on, let’s go down to the pub and get something to eat. Try to look on it as an adventure.” He held out his hand and smiled, trying to calm her.
Wren took a deep breath, ignored the hand he offered and walked toward the door. When they were in the elevator and on their way down to the pub, Gawain turned to her and lifted the heavy fall of hair over her shoulder.
“Keep your hair forward.”
She nodded and made a great pretense of watching the numbers above them. When the elevator doors opened, they stepped out together. Gawain led her to the pub and a table near the street exit. But he pulled the chairs toward the wall.
“If you ever find yourself alone and need to be in a place like this, take seats like these. Keep your back to the wall and stay near an exit.”
“Is that what the others do when they’re out in the world?” She kept the tone of her voice as low as his.
“Yes. And never make yourself conspicuous.”
“Y-you’d better order for me.” Her hands were shaking so badly now that Wren didn’t trust herself to pick up the menu. Glancing at him, she couldn’t guess how he’d ever consider himself inconspicuous. He was the great DeForest now. And if that weren’t enough, his body, face and hair had waitresses and women near them openly staring.
Gawain leaned forward and took both her hands in his one. “Look at me,” he commanded.
Wren tried to still her darting gaze and slow her deep, quick breaths. Brownies were ultra-sensitive to having outsiders near and of course, the room was filled with them. She fought the urge to run. Hundreds of years ago, her race had almost been decimated by humankind. Magic and all those beings associated with it were rooted out and put to death. Stories of those events and her natural tendency toward survival were overwhelming.
“Wren, look... at... me!” He squeezed her hands tightly.
She swallowed hard and did as he commanded.
“We’re just another couple having a nice meal in a friendly pub. No one knows who you are. No one will hurt you. It’s all right, darling.”
Wren tightly wrapped her fingers around his hand and forearm. She took another deep breath, nodded and lifted her head to take a slower look around. No one was watching her, though there were people staring at Gawain. But no outsiders bore down on them with weapons. No one seemed to even care that they were there except for his presence. It was possible people were already recognizing him and wondering about the loss of his hand.
“I shouldn’t have frightened you by telling you how and where to sit. Forgive me, love?” Gawain stared into her frightened eyes and knew the terror there wasn’t instilled just by his words, but by thousands of years of learning to live in a world that would fear them and retaliate against them. It drove home, as nothing else had, how precarious the Order’s position was. Within that sacred forest, Wren had been taught to fight and defend herself as all the other inhabitants had. Outside it, she was vulnerable, alone and very, very frightened. Many others like her must feel that fear and it angered him they should have to live with it. Druids and Fairies traveled about at will. Fairies could shapeshift and were as numerous as his kind. Some of the other races, like Wren’s, were very few in number and would always have to hide. It wasn’t fair.
He wanted nothing more than to take her back to the forest, put her into a warm bed somewhere and hold her close, just to have her near and protected. If anyone ever hurt her, he’d kill them.
A waitress arrived, pulled out her notepad and smiled. “What will it be, then?”
“Two orders of bangers and mash and two coffees,” Gawain said, smiling back. He watched the woman return his smile and walk away. Then he turned his attention back to Wren. “Okay?”
Wren released her death grip on his poor arm and nodded. “I love bangers and mash,” she whispered and tried to blink back tears. She must seem a terrible coward to a warrior Druid like him, but her insides were still quaking.
Gawain moved his chair closer to hers. “I’m with you, Wren. Everything will be all right.”
His voice was so gentle and she was already near tears. “I‑I’ll get it together. J‑just give m‑me a moment.”
He wrapped a protective arm around her, kissed her cheek and nuzzled it with his. “Take all the time you need. It isn’t something you can help, love. It’s built in. Bloody hell! It only took a few thousand years to wire all this instinct into you. You’re not going to lose it overnight.”
She turned into his embrace and held on tight.
Gawain let her draw strength from him. He slowly rocked her against his body and felt her trembling response. If anyone noticed, they’d presume they were lovers who were having a spat or making up from one. Things like that happened in pubs and taverns all over the world. But the steady din of diners and cutlery told him few noticed them.
It took a few moments before she looked up into his eyes, took a cleansing breath and turned back toward the table. “I’m sorry. That won’t happen again.”
“Don’t apologize. The Goddess gave you good instincts. It’s just a matter of learning to control them.” He paused as the waitress put their coffee on the table. After she left, he said, “You know, when I first went out into the world, I spent half the night in the bathroom losing my supper.”
Wren looked at him with a shaky smile. “You did not.”
“It’s the truth. I was very young and petrified. Nothing could convince me the outsiders wouldn’t be on us in minutes. I remember sleeping with a sword by my side.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she accused. Her hands wrapped around the coffee mug.
“No, I’m not. It just took watching you to remind me. It was a very long time ago and I still get angry every time I remember we have to live so carefully.”
“Well, I’m not quite so afraid anymore.”
He lifted one of her small hands to his lips and kissed it. “Good. You’ll do just fine.”
Wren ate her meal in peace. As long as Gawain was by her side, she believed nothing would happen. The outsiders around them seemed oblivious to her presence, but Gawain’s warning kept her from putting her hands anywhere near her hair. If anyone saw her ears...  She didn’t even want to think about the consequences.
After their meal, Gawain paid the waitress and they went outside. To keep from having their car tags being run through some database by the press, Gawain hailed a cab. By the time it pulled up and she got inside, Wren knew she was in much better control of her emotions. The ride to the gallery didn’t take as long as expected. Per their contract, extra tools to help set up their displays waited inside the gallery. As they walked through the doors, Wren gasped at the size of the room. She’d had no idea the place would be so big. But there was no time to comment or ask questions.
From a back room, Portia and an unknown man approached. With his left hand, Gawain shook hands with the man, while Wren waited in the background. If she was very still, maybe they wouldn’t notice her at all. It worked in the woods.
“Ah, who is this enchanting creature?” The man walked toward her with his hand outstretched.
“I’m Wren, one of DeForest’s assistants,” she said and took his hand.
He boldly looked her up and down. “DeForest, you simply must tell me where you find these divine women. First Portia and now this amazing creature.” He paused and then threw his hands in the air. “Where are my manners? I’m Lyle Von Petrie, the gallery owner. And I’m simply dying to see what you’ve brought. It’ll be the talk of the town by tomorrow, I’m sure.”
When she glanced at Portia and Gawain, Wren saw they were trying to hide their smiles. It struck her how much of a bumpkin they must think her. She didn’t know how to act sophisticated, so it was best to just be herself.
“Well, I’ll leave the artiste and his people to their work. This is just too exciting for words, I must say.”
Wren watched as the man almost floated into another room. She glanced at Gawain and Portia and they finally burst out laughing. She shrugged. “Guess this is a bit beyond me,” she murmured.
“Oh, Wren, we’re not laughing at you.” Portia hugged her hard. “It was the look on your face. Your eyes were as round as the moon.”
“Well, um, I’ve never met someone like him.”
“He’s a dear man, love.” Portia patted her arm. “Don’t worry, he wasn’t flirting—Lyle is gay.” She smiled warmly. “You’ll do just fine.”
Portia’s words made her feel easier and she didn’t feel any jealousy toward the woman Gawain preferred. His choice was his and she could do nothing to change it. “I’ll get my things and we can go to work.”
As she walked away, Portia shrugged. “Ever the Brownie. They’ve always got be working.”
Gawain smiled and began to search the storage room for the artwork and his tools. Before things could be set up, he had to make sure all the crates had been received. When he found the art, it seemed there were a few more crates than he remembered, but the men and women of the Order were meticulous about carefully packing their crafts. It was always better to use too much padding for the art than too little and extra packing material would account for more crates.
Knowing his work would be expected to take center stage, it would have to come out first. He’d have to place it, assemble the frame and hang it without taking off the protective velvet drape. Part of what made his showings so successful was that no one knew what he’d created until the unveiling.
As they worked, Wren kept a close eye on Gawain’s whereabouts. Her art had been secretly boxed at the same time as the pieces he’d chosen to display. He was sure to notice additional boxes and she wanted to unwrap her things before he did. The crates with her pottery were marked, as arranged with the Sorceress and her staff. Her craftwork would be placed around his masterpiece. Shayla had promised she could do this, but if Gawain didn’t like her work, the fight was going to be a very long and hard one. Luckily, Portia was off trying to keep Von Petrie out of the way. It would make the situation easier if Gawain decided to throw one of his temperamental outbursts over her work.
Gawain rolled out the crate containing the parts of the doorframe. A dais had been placed at the center of the room and the frame would sit on it. Using only one hand, it took him over an hour to get the frame bolted together, but the iron he’d forged had to be solid and stable enough to hold such a massive piece. He took his time. Next, he carefully wheeled out the crate containing his doors and removed the wood from around the entire piece. Taking off his shirt and tossing it aside, he brought out a tall ladder from the storage room and attached ropes to pulleys in the ceiling. After that, it was only a matter of lifting the entire structure onto the dais by pulling the ropes and maneuvering the doors into the frame. This went much easier than he’d expected. Luckily, the gallery owner had met his last-minute specifications for such equipment or he would have had to call in several men to help. Looking over his work, he knew it sat solid from base to top. All that remained was to pull off its velvet covering. This could easily be done by standing at the back of the doors and grasping a cord.
Wren watched in amazement as Gawain worked. It seemed he needed no help. He used the hook on his right arm like other men used a hand, wrapping rope around his forearms when he pulled the massive set of doors into the frame. Only a man of great strength could have accomplished the task, even with the pulley system engaged. Smooth muscle rippled as he worked and a small line of sweat flowed from his neck to his navel. As was always the case when she watched him work, her mouth went dry. But Gawain was so focused on the task he never even acknowledged her presence.
When she saw him finish, she quickly continued to unpack and place other art objects in their assigned positions. It was the first time she’d seen the new pieces and they were lovely to behold. Wren placed carvings of animals on small, square pedestals. She found bare branches in the cavernous storage room, which had been cemented into large urns. They were supposed to look like trees and were probably leftovers from some other exhibit. In a spurt of artistic imagination, she wheeled these out on dollies. Celt-designed shawls, blankets and throws were gracefully draped over the tree branches. She hung hand-tooled jewelry from smaller trees, bushes and shrubs which were placed on a series of lower platforms. The illusion, as Wren meant it, was to create a forest of Celt works which all led to the centerpiece. And that, of course, would be Gawain’s doors.
When Gawain saw what she was doing, he broke into a broad grin. “That’s perfect!” He threw himself into helping her and the entire exhibit quickly came together. For the first time in his artistic life Gawain actually had fun putting the scene together. Other ideas to create an ethereal atmosphere in the room came to mind. He made mental notes to pass them on to Portia and Von Petrie.
So pleased with his approval, Wren continued working and forgot to check the storage rooms for her crates. As luck would have it, they were the very last boxes to get unpacked. When she finally realized this, she rushed into the storage room to find Gawain already elbow-deep into one of her crates. She held her breath as he brought out a particularly large pot and peeled the layers of newspaper away from it. Unconsciously, her hands went to her face and she covered her eyes, as if she could hide from his anger by doing so. But when she moved her palms away from her eyes, Gawain was holding up a piece of pottery and looking at it under the hot ceiling lights.
Gawain stared at the piece in awe. He had never seen such an imaginative and striking piece of pottery. The crock he held was almost two feet high. Its glaze was a deep cobalt blue and there were quartz crystals shooting out one side. It was like looking into the night sky and seeing a star shower. His breathing quickened just looking at the pottery. It wasn’t just a functional vase. It was a freeform piece of art created by someone with such ingenuity and it humbled him. The glazing process alone must have taken hours of work. Looking closely, he could see some substance had been added to the color that made it sparkle. Possibly crushed crystal. Under the light, it took on a magnificent celestial quality.
So taken with the beauty of it, Gawain reverently set the piece on a countertop and almost dove into the box to see what else was there. He felt like a child receiving gifts at Yule. Layer after layer of newspaper was removed from the pottery. Each that same shade of blue and containing lovely quartz crystals on the sides, top or impaled straight through the work itself. When it was all unpacked, it made a display that put to shame any he’d ever seen. Light made a prism through the crystals and created a dazzling rainbow effect.
“Who did this?” he asked softly. “How did it get here?”
Wren chewed on her lower lip, thrust her hands into her jeans pockets and went mute.
Gawain turned to her and watched as she lowered her head. “You did this, Wren?”
She nodded her head, still unable to speak and waited for him to go ballistic. But it didn’t happen. In fact, she was stunned by his next move.
Gawain walked forward, pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard. When he was through, he gazed down into her amber eyes and smiled. “This is why you wanted to come?”
Flustered by his response, Wren could still only nod.
“Why didn’t you come to me with this, love? It’s the most magnificent pottery I’ve ever seen.”
Swallowing hard, Wren finally found her voice. “I‑I was afraid you wouldn’t let me exhibit my work with the things you picked. It’s the best art I’ve ever crafted, Gawain. And I have plans for so much more. I just wanted a chance to prove I was good.” And to teach you a lesson about respecting and trusting people. But she didn’t add that.
“Honey, this isn’t just good. This is world-class work.” He glanced over his shoulder at the pottery. “I almost hate to have anyone see it.”
She tilted her head. “Why?”
He sighed, sat on the edge of a crate and pulled her into his arms. “Once people see this pottery, your work will be in demand. People will want to meet the artist. There’ll be galleries requesting your art. You’ll be just like me. You’ll have to leave the safety of the forest and travel out into the world. Are you ready for that?”
Wren hadn’t thought that far ahead. She knew her work was good, but Gawain was telling her it was gallery-quality. She thought for a moment. “You really think people will like it that much?”
He nodded. “Trust me on this. They will.”
“And it would help the Order?”
For a moment Gawain was taken aback. He could see fear in her eyes—the kind that was almost paralyzing. But with her unselfish heart, she reached beyond her fear to see what good might be done for others. Her response shamed him. He didn’t think there had ever been a time when he’d been that selfless.
“It would help the Order a great deal.”
“If people like it tomorrow night, I’ll do whatever it takes to help the Order.”
Gawain protectively pulled her against his shoulder. How brave she was. For a time, he held her and she held him back. It felt so warm. Finally, he took a deep breath and relaxed his hold. “We’d better get this stuff on the floor. And unless I miss my guess, you’ve got a good idea where to put it, don’t you?”
Wren left the comfort of his arms, picked up one of her pieces and walked onto the gallery floor. Boldly, she placed it on the dais right by the bottom of his doors. When she slowly turned to see his response, it was to find him standing right behind her.
He flashed a wide grin. “How did I know what you’d do?” Then he reached around her and pushed the pottery even closer to the doors. “There, that’s better.”
Wren closed her eyes. There had been no battle. Gawain, it seemed, wasn’t the heartless, egotistical artist she’d wanted to paint him. Quite the reverse. Here she stood in the middle of a London art gallery and as far away from home as she had ever been. And, as she had known from the first time they touched, she was deeply in love with a man who was alternately cruel and kind, harsh and tender. He was a man who didn’t want or need a Brownie in his life. He had gone out of his way to make that clear. He was a man with a secret he wouldn’t share. At least not with her.
Gawain quickly pulled Wren to him, wanting to explain everything, to tell her about the fire and how it was started. He wanted to explain that people had been murdered over his work. But what good would it do? When everything was said and done, he’d either be dead or facing the Sorceress’ wrath because he’d avenged his friends. How would sharing any of that help her? Why did everything have to be so complicated? All he wanted to do was to go back to the Order, work with Wren by his side and make as normal a life for them as he could.
“Come on, Wren. Let’s put out the rest of your pieces. I’ll leave a few notes for some added decor changes and then we’ll head back to the hotel. Okay?”
She sniffed, pulled away from him and walked slowly toward the display room. Gawain watched her go and some instinct told him to keep her close while he could.

Chapter Ten

During the cab ride back to the hotel, Gawain held her hand tightly. Neither of them spoke until they were back in their suite. Wren felt exhausted, but she wasn’t used to sleeping where tall city buildings loomed and noises from the street constantly filled the air. How outsiders did it, she couldn’t fathom. Long ago, it was said they possessed some of the same magic as members of the Order, but they’d given it up. Some said it was because they were afraid of intolerance and the consequences of being a creature of magic. Others said it was their own free choice, preferring science and technology over nature and the elements. Whatever it was that separated them from what had once been their heritage, she could see the result in some of their faces. Many of the people wore harried expressions and exhibited impatience with themselves and others around them. When driving, someone was always honking a horn or waving an arm in frustration. She had even been told that their lives were dramatically shortened, probably a punishment for failing to embrace nature and all its splendors and for putting possessions ahead of loved ones. She contemplated thoughts of what the world might have been like were it not so.
Gawain watched as she stared out the window. Something in her expression was very sad. “What’s wrong?” he asked and handed her a freshly brewed mug of tea.
Wren looked at the mug and then at him.
“Don’t worry. It’s tea from the Order. Not this packaged London stuff.”
She smiled and took the mug he offered. “Thank you. I was just wondering how outsiders live like this.”
He looked out the window, picked up his mug and sipped. “They don’t know any better. For most of them, finding a place to sleep by a small stream or near an old oak would be as foreign as this is to you.” A wave of his hand encompassed the hotel room in which they stood.
“And yet they seem to love art that depicts nature and hints of magic. Why is that?” she asked.
“I’ve often wondered about that myself.” He used the hook on his right arm to lift a thick portion of her hair and let it fall again.
“Do you think it’s because they miss it? Deep down, I mean?”
He considered it for a moment. “I think some part of them does. With every year that passes, it seems outsiders become more aware of their dwindling resources and go to great lengths to try to save them, even small plants and animals and ancient forests. Maybe they’re coming to realize they can’t live without them, just as we can’t.”
“But they’d still fear and hunt us if they knew about the Order?” She turned to look up into his face.
“Outsiders have always seemed threatened by anything new, anything they don’t understand. Yet, those few the Sorceress has allowed among us have adapted beautifully. They’ve even been of great benefit to the Order.”
“I’m not afraid of the Goblin Leader’s mate. She’s an outsider and I don’t fear her at all,” Wren said.
“Of course you don’t. There’s nothing to fear. She cares about those around her. And when you care that deeply, others know and trust you for it.” He paused to sip his tea again. “But the rest of the world doesn’t much care for themselves let alone those around them. It makes us all frightened.”
“That’s true.” She nodded in agreement. “I believe a lot of humans out there on the street could be my personal friends if I could know them better.”
For a time, they stood in companionable silence and stared at the city lights. Whatever Gawain had put in her tea had relaxed her. She set her mug down. “Well, it was a long day. I think I’ll get some rest.”
“Sleep late, Wren. We’ll be up most of the night tomorrow.”
“You, too.” She walked to the door of her room and turned as she reached it. “Gawain?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for letting me show my work and... and for being so kind about it.”
He watched as her door softly closed. Everything in him wanted to go after her, but to do so would only bring them closer when he should be driving her away. How could he explain that outsiders weren’t the only people who had lost their way? It seemed some of their own people had as well. And whoever the betrayers were, they were willing to destroy the rest of the Order to get what they wanted.
His hand tightened around his mug. He thought of all the creatures they’d left behind in the sacred forest. Some had little or no magic with which to defend themselves. It was impossible to imagine some of their own people could threaten them. By taking away their only source of revenue, they had done so in a most despicable way. Whatever it took, if he could stop it Wren and others like her wouldn’t suffer or be more afraid than was necessary.
۞  ۞  ۞
The sun was up when Wren opened her eyes. She quickly showered and pulled on an old flannel shirt and a pair of jeans. When she opened the door to her room, Gawain was stretched out on the sofa. He was shirtless and wearing a pair of jeans as faded as her own. He quickly sat up when she entered the room.
“Good morning,” she greeted him. “I don’t suppose we could eat breakfast in the room?”
“I phoned down for something earlier. You can choose whatever you want from the tray when they bring it. I don’t intent to be in any crowd again until tonight.”
She noted his distracted, careless air as he picked up a newspaper for a moment, then tossed it aside. She sensed he was deliberately trying to keep his eyes averted and his tone of voice indicated that he didn’t want to speak to her at all. “Staying here would be fine,” she responded and silently thanked the Goddess she wouldn’t have to go out among the outsiders for the entire day.
As he had the night before, Gawain got up to brew them a mug of tea. She grabbed a blanket from the closet and wrapped herself in its soft folds. There was no fireplace to cuddle up to or warm tree hollow to snuggle within. The artificially heated room did nothing to chase the chill away.
Gawain watched Wren with concern. It was too cool in the room, but he worried she was coming down with something. He quickly took her the hot mug of tea and knelt in front of her chair. After she took the steaming brew he desperately wanted to wrap the blanket around her more tightly, snuggle close and hold on tight. Who knew what tomorrow would bring and he believed there was a very good chance he’d never see her or anyone he cared for again. That thought made him turn away. He had to keep up the pretense that he didn’t give a damn.
She thought he was about to hold her, but he seemed to shy away at the last moment. His arms had lifted and she knew he’d wanted to put them around her. But he’d turned around as if some errant thought had changed his mind about the small, comforting gesture.
She tried to cover the awkward moment by saying, “I‑I’m not able to acclimate in this room. Even with the cool air outside, I felt warmer there.”
“Hmmmm. I know what you mean. It’s been such a long time since staying in a hotel room, I feel it too. It isn’t fresh, clean air.”
She nodded in agreement, wrapped the blanket around her more tightly and sipped her tea.
He wanted to hold her. Goddess how he needed that little body close to his and to feel her warmth and that soft breath up against his skin. He wanted to touch her clean hair and gaze forever into those beautiful eyes and go straight back to the forest. His lie to Portia about wanting the “old days” was just that. That time when he’d been DeForest was over. It had caused too much pain and every instinct he had was to take Wren away and never see London or any other city in Europe again.
Wren saw him half turn toward her and sensed he needed her touch. But he was holding back for some reason. Waves of fear, pain and anger hit her like a wall of cold rain, but she snuggled deeper into her blanket, shivering. He had to come to her. She wasn’t going to be rejected again.
“You should get in bed if you’re still cold,” he admonished.
“I’d rather be right here.” She paused to look at the profile he offered. Gawain was desperately trying to keep her from looking into his eyes. “Why don’t you sit next to me? Please?” That was her one and only offer.
Gawain reluctantly did as she asked, knowing it would be the hardest thing he’d ever done—to keep from pulling her close and never letting go. He allowed himself the luxury of letting his shoulder touch hers. “Better?”
“Much.” Wren sighed and allowed herself the luxury of leaning against his large, sturdy frame. She wondered what Portia would think of them being together, but the woman didn’t seem the least bit put out that she and Gawain were sharing a suite. In fact, Portia had been very kind whenever they met. Perhaps she trusted him to such an extent that nothing could shake that faith. Wren had felt that way once, but they hadn’t known each other very long back then.
Gawain picked up his own tea and drank while he sat there, trying to ignore her small but vital presence. Perhaps they could stay that way for the rest of the morning. There was a sense of urgency building within him. His time with her was short. Why that sensation assaulted him was a mystery, but he trusted his instincts.
“What are you thinking?”
Something in him said, Tell her. He so badly wanted to. “Wren, I asked you once to trust me. Do you remember?”
She nodded. “Yes. And I didn’t understand why you seemed so concerned. Or... maybe concerned is the wrong word.” She stopped to chew on her lower lip. “It was more like you were anxious or fearful about something.”
He took a deep breath, put down his mug of tea and stared into the distance. “Sometimes people have to do things they don’t want to do. It’s as though they’re pulled into circumstances over which they have no control. Do you follow?”
Wren handed him her mug and he placed it on the coffee table next to his. “Go on.” Her hand went to his cheek and she turned his head so he’d be forced to look at her.
“I want you to be safe. My family, friends and the people of the Order, too.”
“Of course you do. Tell me what troubles you, Gawain. Maybe I can help.”
He finally looked deep into her peaceful, striking gaze and couldn’t do as she asked. There was just no way he could get her involved. He had to believe she’d had nothing to do with the fire and wanted to keep her away from the confrontation he felt coming. Luckily or by the Goddess’ design, a knock sounded on the door. Their breakfast had been delivered. “I’d better get that.” His hand came up to gently pull her hair over her ears.
Wren disengaged herself from the warm blanket and sighed in frustration. Gawain had been so very close to telling her what was causing him such turmoil. When their breakfast was finally laid out and they were alone. She tried again. “Gawain, you have to tell someone what’s tearing you apart.”
“Skip it, honey. Whatever I’d have to say would only cause more trouble. None of us needs that right now. Let’s just eat and forget I brought it up.”
But Wren wouldn’t be so easily put off. When they finished eating, she cleared the coffee table in front of the sofa, got up and returned with her crane bag. It was the one thing a Brownie was never without. “If you won’t tell me, will you at least go to the Goddess and try to find some peace?”
He stood and turned his back to her. “Would we even be able to seek her guidance in a place like this?” He waved at their surroundings.
“I don’t know, but we could try. And one thing I’m certain of, if you don’t share your burden with someone, it’ll eat at you until there’s nothing of your soul left. You’ve been trying to drive everyone who cares about you away. Then all of a sudden, you act as if you’re sorry for doing so. It’s not rational behavior, Gawain. I’ve heard about the fights with your father and how you’ve kept your family at a distance. Then... there’s the way you behaved toward me.”
He quickly turned to face her and held out his left hand in a supplicating gesture. “I pray you can someday forgive me for the gossip I’ve cause about us and any grief I’ve brought you, Wyckem or your grandfather. I’d rather die than... ” His voice trailed away. He’d been about to say he’d rather die than ever hurt her. They’d slept together and he’d acted in a way that implied there would be a relationship. In his heart, he’d wanted one. Now that could never happen.
She could see how terribly he struggled with some secret. There was such pain in his eyes and something he wanted to share but wouldn’t. Wren moved to the windows and pulled the drapes closed. Then she picked up her crane bag, placed the contents on the coffee table and knelt on one side. “Let the Goddess help you. Please, Gawain.”
Her gentle plea brought him to his knees on the other side of the table. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind and let the peace of the earth balance the chaotic feelings in his heart and mind. Wren’s soft hands closed over his forearms, then slid down them. He couldn’t feel her soft touch on the right hook, but he could feel her small fingers on his left hand. When she gently lifted the hook, he knew she gripped it as hard as she did his fingers. He kept still, with his eyes closed, but there was nothing to see except a black emptiness. There was no peace, no healing. For a long time he sat. Finally, Wren took her hands away.
“I don’t understand. She has always come to me in some form or another. Maybe it’s this place, like you said.”
Gawain slowly shook his head. “No, Wren. It isn’t the place. It’s me.” He stood and crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against a wall. “The Goddess won’t come to someone whose intentions are less than honest.” He closed his eyes and bowed his head.
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s something... I have to do something the Goddess would never condone.” He paused to gather his thoughts and tried to keep his voice from shaking. “It’s something I must do alone.”
A deep fear crept inside Wren. Picking up one of the objects on the table, Wren slowly approached him. She lifted his left hand, opened the palm and dropped the tiny mineral into it. “This is a smaller piece of Celestite than the one I gave you. It broke off the original piece while it was in my bag. I don’t believe it or the one you have has ever glowed since the night we had the vision.”
A sharp pain shot through his heart like an arrow. He looked down at the miniscule piece of sparkling Celestite in his hand and believed it would never take on magical qualities again. At least not for him. “I’m sorry I acted as if we’d never shared something as special as that one night, little Brownie. It was special, never forget that. But I should have never gotten you involved in my life. It was a mistake. I didn’t know it then, but I do now.”
“What are you talking about? What are you hiding?”
For a long time, he gazed at the mineral. His words came slowly. “I had to get you away from me. I can’t say anything else.”
She reached out and put her hand over the mineral in his palm. “Why won’t you trust me?” The moment her hand touched the Celestite he held, some deep instinctive feeling came over her. She knew Gawain wasn’t having any kind of sexual relationship with Portia. He was lying about his feelings toward the other woman. Something about their touching the mineral at the same time caused thoughts to come into her brain that hadn’t been there before. There was something in her mind that had to do with his being attacked and he felt the need to get near Portia while driving his loved ones away. But why?
He put the mineral back in her palm and tried to walk away, but Wren dropped the stone, gripped his biceps and held on.
“Leave it, Wren!”
“No, dammit! Tell me what’s going on? You don’t want Portia. I know it!”
It was as if a barely contained dam broke free. He turned, pushed her against the wall and placed his arms around her. “If you only knew how much I’ve wanted you, how much I need someone like you in my life. Wren, I am so sorry for the way I treated you.”
Her arms slipped around his body and she raised her face for his kiss. It was hot, wild and full of passion. It was as though he was a condemned man, taking a last chance at life and love. But Wren answered that need with her own. She wrapped one leg around his upper thigh and held on.
Even while Gawain’s conscience was telling him to walk away from her, his body and heart refused to listen. Gawain picked her up, carried her to the nearest room and sank onto the bed. He nuzzled her cheek and neck as Wren quickly unbuttoned the soft flannel shirt she wore. His fingers skimmed beneath the waistband of her jeans, finding the snap and zipper below. She lifted her slender hips as he pulled the garment over them and then he stroked the outside of one thigh. When her hands pushed at him, he rolled over and let her help him out of his own jeans. Her small, soft hands skimmed over his abdomen and untied the leather thong most men of the Order wore. But she did it with such slow deliberation that his body was more than ready for her touch.
“Hold me,” he pleaded.
Wren lifted her body away just enough to do so. Then she moved up his body and kissed him sweetly. His answering moan made her want the contact to go on and on.
The touch of her lips was so pure and full of love, Gawain wanted to sink within her and stay connected forever. Her long hair fell over his shoulders and tangled with his own. When she kissed her way down his throat and chest, he pulled the golden brown mass toward him so it would trail down his body. He could feel its soft touch in every nerve. Her fingertips barely raked over his heated skin and his breathing deepened.
Wren threw her head back and her hair cascaded around her shoulders and breasts. “I want to touch you until time ends,” she whispered. Her hands went to her own breasts as she dropped her head back, moaned and leaned forward again.
Gawain knew this might be the last chance to show her how he really felt. Before this entire charade was over, a lot more pain would be inflicted on all sides. For now, he could ease the pain for them both. Whatever she desired, he’d give. At least for this day, even if they both regretted it.
Wren touched the inside of Gawain’s thighs with infinite tenderness. When his head dropped back and he moaned long and low, she knew his pleasure was equal to hers. It was a small bit of peace they’d made for themselves and she wanted it to last for as long as possible. And when Gawain finally rolled over, rested his weight on his arms and held himself so his body barely touched hers, he caressed her with equal patience. He managed to place his body so that her smaller one wouldn’t be crushed by his weight. Then he prolonged her pleasure by stroking her skin very lightly and whispering endearments to her as he did so. After such sweet attention, they were both in a state close to euphoria. But the ending would be better still because it was delayed. At last he raised his hips and placed his hand beneath her lower back. When she lifted up to meet him, the rhythm of their bodies was perfect. In a short time, Wren felt a tightening deep in her womb.
“Now, love. Let it happen,” he whispered.
She forgot time, space and whatever problems had ever existed between them. There was only Gawain. Only his strong, vital body joined to hers. And when his pace quickened and his thrusting deepened, they left the planet together. It was a very long time before either of them moved or spoke.
Afterward, he held her against him. If only the rest of his life could be spent holding her. No one had ever touched him in such an intense emotional way and something told him there would never be another who could give him this peace and fulfillment. He strengthened his grip and buried his head against her shoulder. He felt safe there, in a way that meant he never wanted to leave her. Gawain silently prayed for the courage to push this sweet spirit out of his life. But Wren held on to him just as tightly as if she returned each and every emotion that silently passed through his heart.
“Just lying here with you feels so good.” She trailed her fingertips down his spine.
“I wish we were back in the forest, Wren. Away from here and all the outsiders with their noise and anger. Just to be somewhere quiet.”
She lay on her side and looked deeply into eyes the color of dark sapphires. What is it you’re afraid to tell me or anyone else about Portia? That was the unspoken thought between them. Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, Gawain kissed her forehead, pushed her hair back and placed his fingers lightly over her lips.
“Whatever else I may say or do, know I cared about you more than anything.”
There was something about the way he said “cared” in the past tense. Wren wanted to ask so many questions, but she knew he wouldn’t answer. The deep, riveting gaze he bestowed on her was a bit frightening. It was as if he was saying goodbye. She quickly pulled him into her embrace and held on as he returned her hug.
Time passed too fast for them. They alternately made love and held one another. While the gallery showing wasn’t until midnight, there would be hours of chatting up buyers and art critics. Gawain wished he was anyplace else as long as it was just him and Wren. It could be on the edge of a volcano or on a storm-swept sea if they could just be left alone to sort out their feelings and lives without threats, fear or his past getting in the way.
Wren was the first to leave the bed. “We’d better start getting ready.”
He silently nodded and got up to phone the gallery. “Why don’t you use the shower first? Even with a blow-dryer it’ll take forever to get all that hair dry.” He smiled as his hand smoothed over the soft, wavy tresses.
Wren nodded and walked toward the bathroom. Then she turned as an idea struck her. “We could shower together.”
“I’ll be right in,” he responded without pause. “First, I’d better put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door or the housekeeping staff will walk in on us.”
Wren waved at him in a shooing motion. “For Goddess’ sake, please do!”
He laughed at her expression of urgency. “All right, love. I’ll be with you in just a minute.” As she walked into the bathroom, he made his way to the foyer, cracked open the door and slipped the sign on the outer handle. It only took him a moment to confirm some last-minute details with the gallery owner. When he put the phone down and turned to join Wren, his bare foot hit something on the carpet. It was the small piece of Celestite she’d made him hold earlier. His hand closed over the small mineral and he noticed the contents of her crane bag were still scattered on the coffee table. He quickly bagged them and took the items back to her room. But he kept the Celestite and put it with his belongings. In the tradition of Brownies, taking the second little piece of the same mineral she’d once gifted to him was the same as taking back any harsh insults he’d thrown at her. It would be as if he was telling her that two parts would now be made whole. She would understand the gesture. It was the last thing he could do to make up for his irrational behavior.
They shared a long, wonderful shower. The intimate memories of it would have to last. Gawain knew that if his plans to catch the betrayers backfired, he might never see her again. He memorized every move she made and every gesture. When Wren reluctantly left him to dress in her room where her luggage had been placed, Gawain viewed the tuxedo in his closet with distaste. He’d always hated wearing them. Now he had a plausible reason. Getting the buttons done, the cummerbund on and the constricting tie knotted was going to be a chore. That particular kind of clothing wasn’t made for a man with one hand. Thankfully, someone was there to help. He donned his shirt, pants, shoes and socks, then picked up the tie and cummerbund and sought out Wren.
Standing in her open door, Gawain could see her hair had been blow-dried and fell in soft, loose curls to her shoulders. She was brushing it and turned to him as he approached. The white robe she wore made her look even smaller.
“I was wondering if you could help me with these?” He held out the tie and cummerbund.
Wren readily took them from his hand, eyed them and then she looked up into his face. “Just tell me what to do.”
After the tiny studs on his dress shirt were fastened, he instructed her on how to put on the cummerbund, adjust it around his waist and knot the bow tie. Efficient as ever, Wren took the instructions well and she even managed to get a laugh out of him while she helped.
“Is that everything?” She smoothed her hands over the shirt.
“I’m just about done.” He looked over the fluffy robe she wore. “Take your time, though. We’ve got some time before we leave.”
She shook her head. “I only need about fifteen more minutes.”
His hand went to her shoulder and then he pulled her toward him. “Don’t suppose you need any help? A zipper or something?”
Wren laughed and pushed him away. “No, what I’m wearing is much simpler.”
Gawain sighed in resignation as she pushed him out of the room. Obviously, his presence was only going to slow her down. If he had his way, they’d stay put. But their obligations were clear. He finished dressing and was wondering what to do with his long hair when Wren walked into the area adjoining the suites.
Gawain gasped and stared. Wren was dressed in a very short forest-green dress, with high-heeled matching pumps. The front of the dress was cut in a halter-top fashion. As she walked by, his heart almost stopped. The long ties of the top draped down her bare back and emphasized her alluring curves. She’d gotten her hands on some makeup and had used it to create a breathtaking effect. Moss green shadow tinted the lids of her eyes, framed by lashes that were dark and incredibly long. Her pretty lips had been painted a deep wine color. The effect was to make her eyes even more dazzling and striking. Her face was perfect and that seductive, small body was intimately outlined by the close-fitting fabric. It was a captivating picture he’d never forget. At the same time, his protectiveness surged forth. Everyone in the gallery would look at her and wonder who DeForest was with. Not only did those kinds of questions pose a threat to the Order, but there were a number of men who frequented these events. Outside not knowing who or what she really was, none of those men were the kind of people whose attention should be captured by a Brownie. Certainly not his Wren.
“I thought I told you to be inconspicuous,” he muttered and waved his hand at her attire.
Wren tilted her head and turned to look at Gawain. “Isn’t every woman there going to be wearing an evening dress of some kind?”
“Y-yes,” he sputtered. “But... but not like that!”
“What’s wrong with it?” She looked herself over, ignorant as to what he could protest.
He approached and stood within inches of her. “Maybe I’d just better show you.” His arm slipped around her body and he bent her over backwards bestowing a fierce, possessive kiss as he did so. Then he pulled her upright and broke the embrace just as quickly. “How do you even know how to walk in those shoes?”
Wren took a moment to catch her breath and then looked at the green high-heeled pumps he pointed at. “I’ve walked across tree trunks and narrow rope bridges in the Highlands. If you can do that, a hundred feet above a ravine, you can certainly walk across a floor wearing pumps. And why are you so angry?”
“Dammit, woman! You can’t go out looking like this.”
She took a deep breath, expelled it and put her hands on her hips. “I don’t have anything else to wear that’s appropriate. You’re making too much out of this and I don’t need this... this arguing right now.” Wren turned her back on him.
Gawain slowly opened and closed the fist of his left hand. The hook on his other shined brilliantly, but he’d give anything to have the real appendage to hold her properly. “All right, Wren. It’s time to go, so we can’t do anything about it now. But stay close to me. And you’ll need a wrap of some kind. There’s precious little there to keep you warm.”
Wren grimaced and walked back into her room for the matching green wrap. When she emerged, Gawain was standing near the window trying to tie back his long hair. “Here, let me help you.”
He turned to let her pull his hair back, but he had to sit so she could reach him properly. She took the band he offered and carefully brushed the hair straight back. With gentle but shaking hands, she deftly pulled the thick mane through a Celt-designed fastener.
“All done,” she told him.
He stood and looked down at her. “You’re frightened.”
She tried to deny it by shaking her head and walking away, but he pulled her back.
“I’m sorry, Wren. My complaining about your dress wasn’t fair. It’s just that... you’re so damned stunning. I don’t want other men looking at you. Forgive me?”
“There’ll be a lot of lovely women there.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Mostly outsiders, though.”
“I know that frightens you and I should have been more understanding.” He held her small frame close to his. “Just stay by me, baby. I’ll get you through the night.”
“All right,” she promised, as he put her wrap around her shoulders.
۞  ۞  ۞
The cab ride to the gallery passed in silence, but Gawain kept an arm wrapped protectively around Wren’s body. When he looked into her eyes the fear was still there, but he saw determination as well. Wren would see to the end what she’d started and though her dress made him uneasy, he walked proudly into the gallery with her at his side. The women he saw were dressed much the same way, but Wren simply put them to shame. When some of the men rushed forward for introductions, he made a show of keeping his arm around her. It was an insecure gesture and he knew it. It didn’t matter. For the time they had left, Wren was his.
Portia moved through the crowd and found them. Wren noticed the lovely woman was dressed in a classic white sheath and sparkling crystals adorned her ears. She made an ethereal picture and there simply didn’t seem to be a malicious bone in Portia’s body. The tall blonde woman was sincerely impressed with Wren’s pottery and her attire. It was almost as if Portia didn’t mind if she and Gawain were in the same suite or that Gawain possessively put his arms around her. Wren found that odd. It was stranger still that Gawain had wanted everyone to think he was pursuing Portia again when he clearly wasn’t.
Gawain scanned the crowd and caught sight of Shayla and Hugh. They were chatting up some art patrons, people he not only recognized, but who normally spent huge amounts to purchase his work. When he and Wren finally made their way through the throngs of well-wishers and those wanting to be near the great DeForest, they were better able to see the artwork and newly added scenery. Flats of Irish moss had been laid on the center dais and in areas where the faux trees were placed.
Wren gasped when a thick, white cloud began to emanate from behind Gawain’s doors. His art wouldn’t be unveiled for hours, but the fog around the doors still gave them the appearance of looming out of a mist. Her pottery, sitting on the green moss before it, was spectacular. She turned to Gawain for an explanation.
“It’s part of the special effects,” he told her. “It’s a fog machine and the lowered lighting and greenery will help set an ethereal mood for the entire display. Your pottery and decorating gave me the idea. That’s why I made notes to leave for Portia and the gallery owner. I wanted to create an atmosphere that would help sell the art.”
“It’s wonderful,” Wren gasped. “Like being on the moors at night.”
“Exactly. As buyers move around, they’ll see a mythic place—not the cold, white display tables usually used. Do you like it?”
She nodded vigorously. “It makes me think of home.”
As they meandered through the displays and spoke to an endless number of critics and buyers, the gallery owner approached them. Gawain saw him first and could only describe the man’s expression as ecstatic.
“DeForest, you amazing man. All of the art is superb. Simply divine. This is the best showing we’ve ever had.” Von Petrie gestured with his hands and barely missed spilling the contents of his drink.
“It wasn’t as if he had a choice,” Wren blurted. She remembered the rumors of how the man had threatened to sue Gawain if the art wasn’t produced for the exhibit. In effect, the owner had unknowingly threatened the entire Order.
“Oh, dear girl, you’re talking about that dreadful threat to go to the solicitors. I’m so sorry about that. I simply must explain. You see, I’m co-owner of the gallery. My brother Damon owns half. He was the one who forced the issue. I tried to speak to him about his threat. I mean, you can’t make someone create a masterpiece. It just can’t be done. I tried to tell him that the very last thing we wanted was to alienate the great DeForest. After hearing about your accident,” he added as he pointed at Gawain’s hook, “I was more than ready to let the whole matter drop. But not Damon. He’s an absolute boor. An ogre. It’s lucky for us all that he’s not here tonight. He’s the type of person who would pull wings off flies.”
Ignoring most of the man’s explanation, Gawain tightened his hold on Wren. He appreciated her defense, but none was necessary now. They’d more than fulfilled their contract. “Not a problem, Von Petrie. The only issue was that I wasn’t quite recovered at the time.”
The owner moved closer. “Forgive my asking, but how did you get hurt?”
“A kiln exploded,” Gawain responded. “I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.” He was immediately warmed when Wren’s arm tightened about his waist.
“Oh, absolutely. I understand completely. It must have been terrible for you.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “But you have a wonderful display here and buyers are fighting to see your creation on the dais. And that utterly heart-stopping pottery is to die for. If your kiln was out of service, someone else must have created it. Hmmmm?”
“That was Wren’s work,” Gawain announced proudly.
“Dear Wren, you wonderful lady,” the owner gushed. “It’s fabulous, just marvelous, really! I can’t tell you the interest it’s drawing. We might have to set up a showing for you, too.” He groaned in annoyance as someone in the crowd called for him. “Well, tootles, wonderful people. The riffraff calls.” He swayed off in the direction of the crowd.
“He shouldn’t call his brother an Ogre until he’s really seen one,” Wren murmured as she took two drinks from a passing waiter.
“Quiet!” Gawain warned in a whisper but he had to grin at her remark. “Didn’t you hear the rest of what he said? The man may want to contract with you for an exhibit all on your own.”
She took a deep breath and handed him one of the club sodas in her hands. “I heard him, but I won’t do it unless you come with me.”
He frowned and looked down into his glass. “I might not be around, honey.”
Wren stared at him. It sounded as though he were making some kind of prophetic announcement. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gawain raised his gaze and looked innocently back at her. “Nothing. I only meant that I might be busy elsewhere.”
The rest of the evening went smoothly. Wren felt herself relaxing, but not to the point she’d ever want to have an exhibit alone. That was unthinkable.
She and Gawain were looking over some fine jewelry work included by the Goblin faction when a man approached Gawain.
“May I speak with you alone, DeForest?” the man asked.
Something inside Gawain yielded a warning. He looked at Wren. “Could you get me something else to drink, love? Another club soda would be fine.” She smiled at him and he waited until she left before turning back to the stranger.
“You don’t know me, but I just wanted to ask you about something.” The man didn’t bother to introduce himself, instead pulling a photo from his pocket. “I bought this piece at a private sale some months ago. I was told it was one of yours. I just wanted to be sure. Your signature was on it, but there wasn’t any other information about the work. It wasn’t in any of the gallery catalogs.”
Gawain looked at the wood carving in the photo. His heart plunged, but he forced his expression to remain even. “Yes, it’s mine. It was a custom order, so it wouldn’t be in any catalog.” He was surprised at how easily the lie came.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” the man sighed in relief, “I paid a king’s ransom for it.”
“No worries. You’ve got yourself a one-of-a-kind carving.” He signed an autograph for the patron, who profusely thanked him and drifted into the crowd. Gawain didn’t wait for Wren to return. All he could think of was finding a quiet place to fall apart. What he’d seen confirmed what had only been a horrible suspicion and it broke his heart into a thousand painful shards. He was now certain of who was behind the fire. It all made sense. He rushed into the nearest men’s room, leaned against the wall and fought to keep from crying out in fury. Now he was sure about whom to hunt down.

Chapter Eleven

Gawain was only able to pull himself back into the crowd by remembering that Wren needed him near. Like a mannequin, a thing without feelings, he walked back to the display he’d left. Wren found him instantly. When she attempted to hand him a drink, Gawain stared at her blankly.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He took the glass she handed him because his mind wouldn’t summon any other command. Finally, after taking a large gulp, his gaze passed over the crowd before he said, “I’m fine. Just wish I could get away from these damned outsiders.”
“I know what you mean. They’re so fidgety and pretentious.”
“All we have to do is unveil that damned art and we can get out of here soon after.”
She noted the edge to his voice. One that hadn’t been there before. “Gawain, something is bothering you. Please tell me.”
“Just let it go, Wren.”
Again he was turning her away with his silence. Just as she was beginning to think they were on some kind of wonderful, emotional journey together, he’d derail them. Unless spoken to, Wren kept her silence for the rest of the evening. But it was clear to anyone who had ever been close to the man that Gawain was quite upset about something.
Gawain wanted to tell Wren what was going on. More than ever, he needed someone near him. A sweet soul like Wren’s to keep his head clear, calm and level. But one couldn’t use those attributes against what he was about to face. He had to use the same irrational thinking as the person or persons he was about to confront. For there had to be more than one of them. One person couldn’t have accomplished so much alone. But he knew who one of them was.
Gawain was so deep in thought he didn’t hear the gallery owner’s presentation. Wren had to actually nudge him to step up on the dais and remove the velvet covering on his doors. He didn’t remember or care about whatever speech he made. It pleased the crowd and that was all that mattered. When the covering over his doors silently fell off, there was a moment of silence and then a deafening roar of applause. He turned to view his work and wished himself a thousand miles away.
“It’s perfect!” Wren told him as tears gathered in her eyes. It was an exact duplicate of the vision they had shared before the Goddess. On a set of massive arched oak doors, trees of dark wood had been carved. These were adorned with wooden leaves which had been carved and stained various shades of green. A huge geode of Celestite had been countersunk into the upper part of one door. It glittered like a blue moon. On the branches and the greenery, again carved into the wood and stained in different shades of forest colors, were shards of crystals. These represented dew and were exact duplicates of Wren’s pendulum. But the most spectacular element in the entire scene was the huge barn owl, silently winging its way from one of the tall tree branches across a moonlit sky with tiny shards of crystals emulating the stars. It looked as if he’d used citrine stones for the owl’s eyes—the same color as her eyes. They sparkled as if the wise animal were real and winking.
Around her, Wren could hear people literally weeping over the doors’ beauty, just as she had. Not only was the huge piece a functional work of art, complete with a forged iron lock and hinges, but it was a masterpiece of design and craftsmanship. The doors would be able to hang in the entry of someone’s castle or gallery for a thousand years. Truly, only Gawain could have done such a piece. Wren only wished she’d been able to have helped create them.
“You could do others. Maybe some of the different seasons,” she suggested loudly as the crowd pressed toward him and began to throw questions at him.
“I intended to,” he called back.
Again he spoke in the past tense. He had said “intended”. She didn’t like the way it sounded or the way he looked. Wren quickly glanced around the throng and finally found the Sorceress and Hugh. Knowing it would be appropriate to approach them now, she quickly did so.
“Wren, my girl. He’s really outdone himself this time. Look at that carving and the inlaid stones. It’s magnificent. Only he could have crafted it,” Shayla said, reiterating Wren’s exact sentiments.
Wren turned to see an even more spectacular view of the doors. From a distance, they looked more ethereal. Buyers would battle for their chance at owning the set. “Shayla, there’s something wrong with him.”
“With who, darling?” Shayla asked as she continued to stare at the amazing set of doors.
“Him,” she said as she pointed at Gawain. “There’s something wrong and he won’t tell me what it is.”
Shayla dragged her attention away from the doors to Gawain. “Whatever do you mean, child?”
“You’d better talk to him. Both of you,” she added as her gaze took in the Sorceress’ consort, Hugh. “Maybe the two of you can get him to open up.”
Wren watched as Shayla and Hugh exchanged glances.
“Don’t worry, Wren. We will. We’ll meet you back in your suite after the show is over,” Shayla promised.
Wren nodded and stayed near them. Gawain was swarmed with people, photographers, critics, even women. It was too much attention for her to bear. But then her eyes sought out the doors. They were an exciting piece of work, but she remembered the wonderful calming vision they had shared. Looking at them actually gave her strength.
From behind her, Wren heard Shayla and Hugh speaking to someone. They were standing near an elderly woman in a wheelchair. The Sorceress was treating the outsider like a cherished friend. Perhaps the older woman had ties to them in the outside world, without knowing it was the Sorceress of the Ancients who had befriended her. In Shayla’s dealings, there were probably a lot of outsiders who remained oblivious to what and who the Sorceress and her staff really were.
Shayla turned toward Wren and motioned her forward. “This is Lady Dunnemore. As you may remember, her estate borders Glen Rowan. And this is DeForest’s assistant, Wren.”
“Lady Dunnemore,” Wren politely addressed the woman and bowed her head, “it’s very nice to meet you.” They shook hands and it struck Wren that she hadn’t heard the name Glen Rowan for some time. But to the outside world, their enchanted forest—their Shire—was called by that name. The outside world assumed the land on which the Order lived belonged to a reclusive Earl. And it did. But the Earl was only “reclusive” because he was Druid and traveled a great deal. Hugh was actually managing his estates for him. But Wren was certain this frail older woman wouldn’t know any of that. No outsider knew that Glen Rowan, the Shire and the enchanted forest were all one and the same place.
She chatted politely with Lady Dunnemore, Shayla and Hugh. But she often turned to watch Gawain. Portia was beside him now, taking her share of the accolades for having set up the exhibit. For a moment, it seemed Gawain’s gaze slipped Wren’s way. She shook her head imperceptibly so he wouldn’t call her forward. If people were asking about the pottery, she didn’t want to face this crowd just yet. Maybe someday. Just not now.
“Wren, my girl, I’m told you created that lovely pottery,” Lady Dunnemore quietly said. “I would have bought some, but my physician says there isn’t much time left to me.” She made the statement without bitterness. “I don’t have anyone to leave such a beautiful prize to, but I would have so loved a small piece on my mantle at home.”
Wren could sense the woman was in pain, but she hid it behind a gentle smile. Her blue eyes were kind. “I don’t think anything should keep you from what you love,” Wren said and took her frail hand.
“Where is Macduff?” Shayla asked the older woman. “Isn’t he with you?”
Wren watched as Lady Dunnemore’s eyes filled with sorrow.
“I’m sorry to say the vet had to put him down a few weeks ago. Getting too old, you know. I do miss him.” She paused to wipe the tears from her eyes with a handkerchief. “That’s the way of it, I suppose. Old people, old dogs. We all must go. He was my constant companion for fourteen years,” she told Wren. “Since I’ve no family, he was more than just a pet. I couldn’t have had a better friend.”
Wren almost wept. How sad it was that this woman, whose eyes were so kind, had to lose the one beloved friend she had. Silently she crept away.
Shayla watched the Brownie pass behind the crowds and up to one side of the dais. Gawain and Portia were still fielding questions from reporters and others. Wren surreptitiously poked around something near the dais and then made her way back carrying a lovely pot the size and shape of a tiny cauldron. It was glazed a striking shade of cobalt blue and had small crystal points angling out one side.
“Lady Dunnemore, will you please take this with my compliments?” Wren asked as she handed the older woman the pot.
“My dear, I couldn’t possibly. I’ve already said there’s no one to whom I can leave my things. The government will get it all unless I will it to charity. Besides, if I’d wanted it, I’d have bought it,” Lady Dunnemore added stiffly.
“It isn’t for sale and I’d rather someone I knew had it than a complete stranger. Someone who loves animals as much as I do.”
The older woman smiled. “Oh, my dear, do you? Do you really love animals? I’ve been fond of them since I was a young girl. Always in the woods playing with them, I was.”
“And something tells me you like to sit out in your garden on a summer night and look at the fireflies,” Wren added.
“I do,” she gasped. “But how could you have known that?”
“Because we’re kindred spirits, you and I. I have a sixth sense about these things. Please, take the pot. I would so much rather you have it. Please? From one friend to another?” Wren implored and smiled her brightest, most winning smile.
Lady Dunnemore held out her hands for the small piece of art. “Oh, it is such a lovely thing. These crystals are so pretty. Like diamonds with big points.”
“I can’t tell you how much pleasure it gives me to see you with it.” Wren watched Lady Dunnemore’s eyes light up as she looked the pot over.
From across the room, Gawain watched the entire scene unfold. Even with the scores of people vying for his attention he’d seen it all. Lady Anna Dunnemore was one of his biggest fans, but she was so much frailer than the last time he’d seen her. And her ever-present companion, a Scotch terrier named Macduff, wasn’t with her. For years, the dog had sat in her lap or been on a leash at every exhibit. That the dog wasn’t present could only mean one thing.
Wren had thought she was being crafty by coming up to the dais and slipping away with the pot. He knew beyond a doubt that he was deeply in love with Wren. Her simple kindness was what the world needed. If there were more outsiders like Lady Dunnemore and more magic beings like Wren, the world would be so much the better for it. He ached to go to the little Brownie. And he wanted to talk to Lady Dunnemore. The woman had always been very kind to him and he knew she gave a great deal financially to help those who had nothing—animals, people, sanctuaries. If someone needed help, Lady Dunnemore would give it. Yet to his knowledge, she had no family of her own. It made Wren’s actions all the more precious to him.
“Excuse me, Portia. Handle these people for me, will you? There’s a love.” Gawain stepped off the dais and headed for Wren. He ignored Portia’s sputtering questions about what to do with the surrounding fans. He’d given enough of his life to them. His time now was short and he wanted to spend it with those who cared about others, not with those who would buy, steal or kill to get anything they wanted.
“Lady Dunnemore,” Gawain addressed her and took the hand the woman offered, “it’s good to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you as well, you young rogue. Are you still breaking all the women’s hearts?”
Gawain ignored the soft laughter coming from Wren, Shayla and Hugh. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for such frivolity these days. Far too busy.”
As the small group conversed, Gawain became aware of how much better he felt physically around the people in this particular circle. It was as if the other half of the room contained all the bad elements best avoided. This half was where the calm, peaceful folk abided. Or maybe it was just his way of trying to avoid what was to come.
As the evening wore on and Portia reported on what pieces had sold and the prices they fetched, Gawain bitterly wondered how much of the sizeable amount of money would actually make it back into the hands of the Order via its Sorceress. He was now certain that not only had his artwork been stolen, but the proceeds from sales had probably been embezzled over the years. Finally, all the art they’d sold went to the back rooms of the gallery to be packed and shipped. The last report on the sale of his piece made everyone present gasp. It had been high indeed, but he made a fair guess the actual bidding had gone even higher.
Soon it was time to meet with the gallery owner to arrange for the transfer of funds and head back to the hotel. Shayla invited Lady Dunnemore to accompany them, but the woman gracefully declined. She again thanked Wren for her gift and said her goodbyes.
“We’ll be seeing a bit more of Lady Dunnemore in the future,” Shayla remarked. “But now it’s time to make our way back to the hotel. We’ve some business to attend to.”
“If you don’t mind, Shayla, would you take Wren back?” Gawain asked. “I’ll come along later with Portia.” Wren’s questioning expression had him quickly adding something about making sure all their transactions were finished. Shayla and Hugh seemed satisfied, but Wren kept glancing back at him as Hugh ushered her toward the front doors.
Gawain made his way to the storage room. Portia was putting down the telephone when he arrived. The building was now empty, but he wanted to make sure the owner wasn’t within earshot. “Where is Von Petrie?”
“He’s supposed to be upstairs making an electronic transfer of all the sales.” She pushed back her blonde hair, walked toward him and looped her arms around his neck. “Isn’t it wonderful, darling? We’ve done better than anyone can imagine.”
Gawain pulled her arms away and stepped back. “Some of us more than others. Isn’t that right, darling?” he replied sarcastically. He watched as a muscle near her left eye seemed to twitch and a vein in her neck enlarged slightly.
“What is that supposed to mean? I don’t think I like the tone of your voice.” She started to walk past him.
Gawain kicked the door closed behind him and stepped in front of it. There was no other way out of the room. “Where is all the art, Portia?”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she let out a long sigh. “I see. Trying to pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about is out of the question, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “I won’t ask again. Where’s the money and the art?”
“You know, I was once on the Sorceress’ personal staff and she taught me how we go about hiding our transactions. So how did you find out? I’ve been covering my tracks for years.”
“And you used that knowledge to hide your own activities. But something unexpected happened. Someone showed me a photo of a carving that was supposed to have been burned in the fire.” He spoke slowly and with great deliberation. “Somehow, this person was able to buy this carving at a private showing. He wanted to make sure it really was one of the great DeForest’s pieces.”
Portia swallowed hard. “Guess I didn’t bargain on an outsider ruining my plans. But how did you know it was me who took the artwork?”
“Who else? You had the experience necessary to set up a private showing and sell it and the networking system to get it into the hands of a buyer. No one else could have done it. And if I had any doubts about who took the art and started the fire, your admission just removed them.” He lurched forward and roughly grabbed her by the upper arm. “Why, Portia? That’s all I want to know.”
“Let me go, Gawain, or I’ll scream so loudly that Von Petrie will hear. He would be on the phone with the police in a minute.”
He slowly released her and backed away.
“That’s better.” She smoothed her rumpled dress before continuing. “It wasn’t just the money, you know.”
“Now why do I find that hard to believe?” he angrily retorted.
“I’d tell you all of it, but you wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re right. I probably wouldn’t.” He moved close to her again. “But I promise you this. Unless I get my share, it won’t make any difference what your motives were. Before we leave London, you’ll be floating facedown in the Thames and the Goddess herself won’t recognize what’s left of you. Get the picture?”
Clearly frightened, Portia began to shake. “W‑what to you want from me?”
“Eighty percent.”
She gasped. “You can’t be serious!”
“Why the hell not? It was my work that brought in most of the money. I’m sick of supporting the slackers in the Order who won’t pull their own weight.”
“You’d have to run from the Shire. When the Sorceress knows, she’ll hunt the both of us.”
“I’ll take that chance. The kind of money we’re talking about can get me a long way from the Sorceress and buy a lot of powerful friends who won’t need to know who or what I really am.”
Portia smiled seductively. “Darling, if I’d known you felt this way, I’d have told you what I was doing sooner.”
He leaned against a countertop and pulled his tie loose. “I want my cut.”
She put a hand on his chest and undid the top buttons of his dress shirt. “Eighty percent is a bit much, love. And I’m not the only one in on this. The others will want their share, too. With you in on the deal, their take will be greatly reduced. You see?”
“I don’t give a damn! I sweated blood over that art, gave up most of my life to it and lost a hand trying to save it. And nine people lost a lot more than that.” He held up the hook on his right arm and watched as she lowered her head. Her tanned face visibly paled.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen. No one was supposed to be in the building the night it burned. No one was supposed to get hurt.”
“What’s done can’t be changed.” He pushed himself away from the counter and glared down at her. “Now either I get my money or you don’t get home. Ever.”
“It’s not that simple, Gawain. I’ve been taking money from the sales for years. Just a little at first. More as I saw I was able to get away with it. It has been put in different accounts in several countries. And the last of the art we took the night of the fire is sold.”
“I don’t fucking care if you buried the money in a cauldron like a damned Leprechaun! Maybe I’m not making myself clear.”
“I’ve told you. There are others in on this. To keep each other honest, the account numbers were divided between us...  I can’t get to the money. Not by myself. The others insisted on doing it that way. Frankly, so did I. As I said, it kept one of us from running off with all of it.”
“What the hell were you all waiting on? There has to be a sizable amount accrued by now. Plus interest.”
“Believe me, there is. But we had to make sure there was a great deal more. Once we ran, the Sorceress would discover what we’d done. There had to be plenty to live on and, as you said, buy off those powerful friends you mentioned.”
“So I was right. You and I aren’t so different after all. It was all about the money.”
“No. It was about surviving.” Portia put out her hands in an emphatic gesture.
He snorted in derision. “What are you talking about?”
“While on the Sorceress’ staff, I found out there were times when the Order came unbelievably close to being discovered, Gawain. You can’t possibly imagine how close. No one working with Shayla was allowed to say anything for fear it might frighten everyone in the Order. I decided that some of us should survive if the worst ever happened.” She began to clench and unclench her hands as she spoke. “That money was to get us into the world. It was to help some of us establish lives as ordinary people. Then, when the Order’s existence makes front-page news worldwide, some of us would be living as outsiders and some of the Order would still survive.”
“Portia, I don’t care about any of this. All I want is my money. I was your meal ticket.”
“My love, it seems we could both make a deal here. Something that would be mutually beneficial?”
“Why should I trust you? And why would I need to?”
She smiled and stroked his cheek. “Because to get away from the Sorceress, you’d need a lot of documents forged. You can’t just go gallivanting all over Europe or elsewhere without the proper paperwork. What credentials you have will expire someday and I know how to take care of these details. But these forgeries take a ready supply of cash. Even the great DeForest can’t just go where he wants without a valid passport.”
He remained silent for a long moment. “What’s the deal?”
“Join us.”
“Not on your life!”
“Why not? How far do you think you’ll get on your own? That’s if I get you the money.”
He roughly grabbed her wrist. “Oh, you’ll get it. Or else nobody does. With you dead, whoever is working with you won’t be able to cash in. Especially not if you’ve got part of the account numbers. Understand?”
“But with me dead, none of us gets to the money and you’ll still need someone to help you get around in the world, Gawain.” She pulled her arm free of his grasp. “I’d advise you to think about it.”
“What’s in it for me except a smaller cut?”
“Gawain, you’re not using your head. I’m sure the others will give you a larger share if you come with us. Your art will keep us in money for a very long time. More than we could have hoped for if we sell it at auctions.”
“How are we supposed to run from the Sorceress if I’m putting my face in the newspapers at art gallery openings?”
Portia tapped her finger against one cheek for a moment. Then she smiled. “I’ve got a brilliant plan. Shayla won’t ever touch any of us if we threaten to go to the world about the Order.”
“A sort of checkmate?”
“Exactly, darling.” Portia moved very close to him. “We leave together. All of us. None of us can get to the money separately. You make us more money by selling your art and the Sorceress leaves us all alone.”
“But that just puts me in a position of supporting a lot of people all over again. It isn’t much of a deal for me.”
“There will only be a few to support and you’ll live like a king instead of scratching in the forest for everything. And if you’re still interested, you can have me.” She leaned into him and began to kiss his neck.
“How do I know you won’t leave tonight, with all your friends in tow?”
She continued to kiss him. “You’ll just have to trust me, Gawain. I do want you. And think of the places we can go. The things we’ll be able to do together.”
“All the same, you’re not leaving my sight until this is worked out.”
“Does that mean you’ll be in my hotel room tonight?”
He grasped her like a lover would and leaned her slightly backwards. “I just told you. You’re not going anywhere without me. But there’s one more thing I want to know.”
“Mmmmm, what’s that, love?” She let her hands wander over his chest.
“Why the hell did one of you shoot me? I know now that it had to be one of you. At the time I told the Sorceress it was probably someone with a private grudge, but I really didn’t know what was going on.”
“That was another stupid mistake.” She shook her head in anger. “It seems that if I don’t do some things myself, they go all wrong.”
“Who did it? I want a piece of his ass, Portia.”
“Some of the guards who are in on this went to the cottage. They were scouting for anything of value that could be taken later, when we were ready to finally run. All they were supposed to do was look at blueprints, design drawings or anything that would be worth stealing when the projects were completed. Again, no one was supposed to get hurt. But one of my cohorts panicked when you fought back. Unfortunately you got shot. We wouldn’t have been carrying weapons at all, but when you deal with some of the filth we have while selling art on the black market, you have to protect yourself. I guess one of the guards that night got a bit overzealous and was afraid of being captured. Especially by the Sorceress.” She quickly hugged him. “But I swear that shooting wasn’t supposed to happen. Just like that damned fire went all wrong. The man who did it was so sorry.”
Clearly Portia saw what she and her friends had done as somehow justifiable. “Yeah, I’ll bet you’re terribly sorry about everything,” he spouted back sarcastically and held up his hook again as a reminder of what she’d done. “But why risk going back for more art? Why guns with silencers?
“The one last risk was to get your creation,” she replied quickly. “Whatever you came up with to help the Order out of its current dilemma would have to be spectacular. Something so amazing and extraordinary that it would surpass everything you’ve ever done in the past. And whatever you created would bring the highest price ever. The Sorceress would demand your very best effort. From your behavior, I knew she was pushing you. That’s when you began to complain about having to work so hard. Originally, everyone who’s in on the scheme was supposed to leave right after the Loft burned. We were just going to get away with the art and the money we already had. And our intention was to make that damned fire look like an accident, so we’d have time to get away. It was only supposed to be a diversion.” She paused as her voice began to shake.
“Tell me the rest,” Gawain choked out.
“After those workers died, we agreed that we’d wait and see what masterpiece you might create. Even without the deaths, Shayla would punish us so terribly that we couldn’t imagine her wrath. So when the artists died in the fire, we agreed there was nothing more to lose. We stayed to see what other art we could get our hands on. As it turned out, we were right to do so. The pieces we displayed tonight sold for a fortune. Enough to get us so far away the Sorceress will never get her hands on us.”
“So you decided to see what Shayla would force me to come up with and stack the coffers even higher? One last theft before you hit the open road to freedom?”
She nodded in agreement. “And as for why they had guns with silencers, we’ve argued over that. I think my friends were just giving themselves a sure way out of the forest if they were discovered. As I said, we’re all in for it if Shayla catches on, so they’ve become quite desperate. Goddess only knows what she’s capable of turning us into. We were in so deep that we wanted one last chance at whatever artwork we could get our hands on.”
He put his hand against her throat. “I ought to kill you myself, you little vixen. After that fire, my arm hurt like hell.” He nodded toward the handless appendage. “I got addicted to those damned painkillers and ended up somewhere on the moors.”
Her hands gently drifted over his, which was still over her neck. “Oh, Gawain, my darling, if you only knew how sorry I was about that. We all were. No one wanted anybody to get hurt. I keep telling you that. It was an accident. Both the fire and you being shot. Won’t you believe me?”
“That’s why I want the money so damned bad, Portia. I’ve earned every last cent with blood and pain. And the Sorceress is never going to force me to work so hard again. From this moment on, anything I create is for my new life.”
She draped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him deeply. “Let’s go back to my hotel room. You can telephone the Sorceress and let her know where you are. She’ll just think we’re having a tryst before driving back to the Shire.”
Gawain gazed down into her green eyes. “Whatever you want, baby.”
۞  ۞  ۞
A moment before they entered the room, Gawain sensed the presence of others. Too late, he realized Portia wasn’t as acquiescent or gullible as he’d hoped. He needed to keep a cool head. Long ago, when he had first begun to suspect her, Gawain realized she must have had accomplices. There was no way she could have moved all the art out of the building, got it past the guards or set the fire by herself. His suspicions were confirmed when Portia turned on a lamp near the bed to reveal six men waiting in the dark. When she turned on a lamp near the bed, the men drew an assortment of guns. All aimed at him.
“Don’t!” Portia held up her hands. “He’s with us.”
The men didn’t lower their guns, but they moved nearer the light. Gawain was familiar with them all, even with their faces half hidden in the shadows. They were men he’d worked with before and his gut ached to think they would all sink so very low. He held up his forearms, trying to indicate he meant no harm. “Like the lady says, I’m here because I want to be.”
Portia quickly turned to him. “I’m sorry, Gawain. We were supposed to meet here tonight. The lights were to stay out until I got back, just in case anyone was watching my room. We can be just as crafty as the Sorceress, you know. I’ve learned quite a lot from her. It was sheer luck that she put me in a room by myself so my friends and I wouldn’t have to meet somewhere else.”
Gawain suspected that the Sorceress had put Portia by herself for a very good reason.
“I can’t believe you trusted him.” One of the men pointed a finger at Gawain as he stared at Portia.
“He’s in this as deep as we are now. Put your weapons down.” She glanced at the rest of the men. “All of you.”
Gawain held his breath as the men slowly lowered their guns. It appeared they were equipped with silencing devices, an expensive addition to their arsenal. “I’m the one who’ll keep you in money. I’d listen to her if I were you.”
The men glanced at each other. Clearly they weren’t convinced they could trust him. Gawain wondered if the seven of them were all the traitors or if there were more. For the time being, he was in no position to make a move. Better to wait, convince them of his loyalty and then he’d strike when they weren’t armed. He had to maintain his cold, calculating manner until then. They had to sense his willing emotions and nothing else.
Portia turned back to him. “In case you didn’t hear the telephone conversation I was having in the storage room, I just transferred every farthing into our joint accounts.” She smiled at Gawain and waited for him to respond.
Wanting to give her no reason to doubt his sincerity, Gawain returned her grin with one of his own though it sickened him to do so. “You mean everything we made from tonight’s sales is in your hands now?”
Portia nodded. “We were planning to leave tonight. In a day or so, when we don’t show up, Shayla will know exactly who’s missing from the Order. She’ll also figure out that we have all the money. But there’ll be a note left on her desk advising her not to send anyone after us or we’ll begin leaking information about the Order to any newspaper willing to listen—even the most vile of tabloids. And that will keep her off our backs. She knows we have the magical powers necessary to convince others what we say is true.”
“You’ve got it all planned out except for one thing. The Sorceress is expecting me to meet with her tonight. When I don’t show up, she might send someone here to look for me. After all, this is the only other place I’d be.”
“It won’t matter. When you and I suddenly disappear, the first thing she’ll want to do is get back to the safety of the forest. We’ll be way ahead of her. Like I said, it’ll be a few days before she knows who else is missing and finds our ultimatum.” Portia smirked.
Another man nodded toward Gawain. “You mean we’re taking him with us?”
“Of course. He just told you he agrees to what we’re doing and wants to come and it’s a lucky break for us. With the Craftsman to create his art, there won’t be an end to the money. We can go anywhere and do anything.”
The man closest to Gawain stepped forward. “I’m glad of it. Word was you were bloody well tired of working your ass off for the Order and seeing nothing in return.”
Gawain nodded. “I was. But for the privilege of using me to keep you living like royalty, I want the lion’s share of profits.”
When the men turned to each other and their expressions darkened, Portia quickly spoke. “We can work that out later. Right now, it’s time to get our transportation and get out of town.”
“I agree,” Gawain announced. “Shayla will already be wondering where I am.”
Though not pleased with his demand, apparently the men were willing to put it aside for now. Gawain hoped it had the effect of making him appear even greedier than they were and gave the appearance that he was joining them. He watched as the group grabbed an assortment of bags from closets and from under the bed. Drawers and cabinets were opened and left that way as their contents were quickly packed. Still, they were traveling light. They must have planned to buy anything they needed along the way. But someone must be staying behind to see that Shayla got their note. Perhaps more than one person. Part of him was deeply hurt. It was a wound that would never heal. He was certain the influence of the outside world had done this. The allure of all they could have by leaving the Order behind was too much. Or perhaps it was like Portia said. They wanted to hide in the world now in case the Order really was discovered, but he suspected that was just a convenient excuse.
“Come on, Gawain. We’ll get you some other clothes along the way,” Portia told him as she quickly pointed at a huge canvas bag near the door. “Carry that.”
Just when he believed his thoughts could get no darker, another chilling revelation struck him. For all intents and purposes, he really was with them. He hadn’t told the Sorceress about his plans. In fact, he’d never divulged his suspicions to another soul. Gawain thought of the suffering his family would go through because of his actions. The entire Order would shun them. Then there was lovely Wren, his very heart. He would probably never see her beautiful face again.
Thinking of her inspired an idea. It might be his only chance to let someone know what was happening. Not yet trusting him, the others waited for him to go out the door first. He pretended to stumble and dropped the heavy bag in his left hand. He knelt to pick it up, using its size to conceal his actions as he slipped his hand into his trouser pocket and fumbled for a small object there that he’d carried for luck. He prayed what he left behind would be found by someone from the Order rather than the housekeeping staff and that when they found it, it would send a message. This was his only chance to let the Sorceress know he hadn’t betrayed her, too.
“Get up,” one of the betrayers commanded.
“Give him a chance,” another said. “The man has only got one hand or can’t you bloody well remember that?”
Gawain was surprised to hear one of the others defending his disability, but it also angered him. When he got his chance, the bastards were going to find that a man with one arm could fight the best of warriors and avenge the very people they were betraying. He was certain, however, that revenge would also cost him his life.

Chapter Twelve

Shayla and the others entered the hallway leading to Portia’s room. They found her door open, the room empty and the bed untouched. The drawers were open to every conceivable storage unit. It was as if someone had left in a great hurry. “Check everything,” she ordered.
While Hugh and Wren made a thorough search of the room, Shayla made a call back to the castle. Not wanting to accuse the missing Druids falsely, she needed to make sure some emergency hadn’t come up. It didn’t surprise her that there was none.
Just as Shayla was putting the receiver down, Hugh shook his head and said, “There’s nothing here. Not even a scrap of paper to indicate where they are. But they left in an almighty hurry and that’s a fact.”
“I suspected that something strange was going on. We should get back to the Shire as soon as possible,” Shayla advised.
Wren stood behind Hugh, her heart broken. If Gawain had chosen to run off with Portia, it meant they’d both be punished. It also meant Gawain was back to playing some sort of deceptive game. Why should she be surprised? He was hiding some awful secret. She knew it.
“Come, Wren. We must fly. I want to be back at the castle before dawn. I’ll have someone pick up the other car. You can ride with Hugh and me.”
Wren nodded, unable to speak. Her throat had tightened and she was afraid of weeping in front of the Sorceress and Hugh. She clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms. She would not make a spectacle of herself. No matter what happened, she was a Brownie and still had some pride left. Wren lifted her chin and headed toward the door. Something stopped her, though she didn’t know what made her turn around and look toward the floor. Something sparkled in the lamplight. She stooped and let her fingers search the carpet near a table leg. She stood up with the piece of Celestite in her hand. “This is mine... was mine. I mean, I let Gawain use it to meditate.”
“May I see it?” Shayla asked and held out her hand.
Wren nodded and handed the Sorceress the stone. “Gawain and I used it to seek guidance from the Goddess. I thought it was back in the hotel suite he and I shared.” Yet here it was in Portia’s room. That meant Gawain had taken it back—and with it the insults he’d bestowed by publicly rejecting her.
Shayla held the blue-gray stone in her hand and looked into the distance. She pondered over the significance of finding the stone here. Obviously, Gawain had been with Portia and there was no doubt they’d run off. The mineral could have fallen out of Gawain’s pocket, but why would he run away with Portia when it was Wren he really wanted? Shayla walked out of the hotel room knowing Wren and Hugh would follow. Her mind still puzzled over everything and an ominous dread flooded her heart.
۞  ۞  ۞
They were headed north, but no one would say what their ultimate destination was. Gawain had asked, only to be told he’d know when it was time. He had just ended a heated argument with the two men in the backseat of the rented car. Portia drove while he sat beside her in the front seat. The remaining members of their nefarious group followed in a truck.
Their only stops seemed unscheduled, as if they were finding out-of-the-way places to do so. Fuel, food and clothing were purchased as they drove. He was more comfortable in a pair of jeans, hiking boots, flannel shirt and jacket, all of which were purchased at any place open and selling such goods. Since the other men and Portia were dressed similarly, he figured their final destination wasn’t near a large city. For the thousandth time, Gawain wondered how he would get the information about the accounts. What Portia had stolen amounted to almost all the money the Order had left. The Sorceress had counted on making a good showing at the art exhibit and according to Portia, it had exceeded even his wildest dreams. It would have put the Order well on its way toward recovery. Several more shows like it and they could have bought the land adjoining their own forest. It would have meant a larger, more secure living area. Now he could see only doom for his family and all the others left behind.
Gawain ached to get at their throats. They all laughed and made jokes about how simple it had been. It would make what he had to do so much easier. He sat and listened in frustrated silence, trying not to let his emotions give him away.
“When the outsiders come calling, at least they won’t find most of us waiting for them in that damned forest,” one of the men remarked.
“Like bloody sheep ready for slaughter,” another agreed.
To Gawain, it made no difference. These traitors could only know how close the Order had ever been to discovery by the outside world because Portia, in her role as personal staff member, had told them. In doing so, she had broken a sacred trust with the Sorceress. This little band of cutthroats, murderers and thieves would get what was coming to them. He pledged his life on it.
“I asked Portia who shot me. Now I’ll ask the rest of you.” Gawain turned in the car seat and waited in silence.
“That was an accident, mate,” the bigger of the two men replied. “No one was supposed to get hurt,”
Gawain stared at him. “Was it you, then?” Again, there was no response. “Stop the damned car, Portia. I’m going to hang his balls off the rearview mirror!”
The man put his hands up. “I’m sorry, Gawain. You came on us all of a sudden. It wasn’t meant to be personal. I was just protecting myself, that’s all.”
Gawain noticed how the man broke into a sweat. It felt remarkably good to know the bastard was afraid of him. “You ever come at me again with any kind of weapon and I’ll cut you up into so many pieces the fish I feed you to won’t have a decent meal. Is that understood?” He shook his hook for emphasis.
“Bloody hell! The bloke is half crazy!” The other man broke into a huge smile. “I think I like his attitude. It’ll come in handy out in the world.”
“Calm down, Gawain,” Portia chastised. Then she addressed the backseat occupants. “You two would do well to trust Gawain and give him what he wants. We’ll all be living very well and safe because he’s with us.” She put her hand on Gawain’s thigh and cast him a sideways glance as she drove.
It seemed, perversely enough, that by acting as though he was ready to hurt someone he was gaining their trust. Ignoring the fact that innocent people were suffering because of them was intolerable, but his senses told him two of them were Fairies and the rest were Druid. They had collective powers enough to destroy him without leaving so much as a button from his shirt. Being overly aggressive would keep them at bay. He had to find out who else was with them and where the money was. He would never get over their duplicity. Portia must have searched for just the right people—those who were secretly disgruntled for some reason or had more to gain by betraying the Order than by staying. For cowards, it was easier to steal, kill and run away than take their grievances to the Sorceress. It was easy, therefore, to act as though he wanted them dead because he did. His intense hatred would see the deed done.
۞  ۞  ۞
“Hugh, I want an immediate accounting of every man, woman and child in the Order. I don’t care what you have to do. I want the names of these bastards!” As Shayla spoke the wind coming through the open window helped magnify her voice. It rattled the windows of the library and sent loose papers flying through the room. She could barely control her anger and the elements reflected that rage. Her fist came down on the desk as she watched Hugh hurry from the room.
Early in the morning hours, Shayla had learned the revenue from the art sale had never been placed in the Order’s accounts. That Portia, a once trusted and beloved aide, would be in on such a heinous scheme rocked her to the core. But she was certain Portia was the only person who could have planned the deed. The woman had the knowledge and opportunity to put such a plan into motion. Nearly all of her staff knew what had happened and it wouldn’t take long before the entire Order learned what was going on.
Praying to the Goddess helped steel her resolve to do what must be done, however gruesome the task might be. But the Goddess, for whatever reason, chose not to bless her with the betrayers’ whereabouts. Scrying bowls, vision circles, nor any other divination tool helped. For some reason, the location of Portia and her small group was being kept from her. But it was for a purpose. The Goddess never did anything without good reason. Shayla was sure she would find the traitors soon enough. That Gawain was with them hurt most of all. Still, something about finding that small piece of Celestite kept worming into her thoughts. There was a reason for the mineral being where they’d found it.
Shayla turned as Markham entered the library. The man’s face was a study of complete innocence and surprise. “Sit down, my man.”
Markham did as he was told. “Shayla, what’s wrong? I was just having breakfast with my family when your men summoned me here. Isn’t Gawain with you?” He glanced around the room.
“No, Gawain isn’t here,” Shayla replied solemnly. Deep in her heart she knew Gawain couldn’t have walked out on his family. She also sensed Markham was completely ignorant of the previous night’s events.
“My family and I prayed his art and all the other crafts would fetch a good price.”
“It did, Markham. Unfortunately, all the money is gone.”
Markham gasped, stood and raised his hands in a questioning gesture. “What happened?”
“Portia has taken the money and run off and Gawain is missing as well. Hugh is gathering information about anyone else who’s no longer here... anyone who might have reason to be with them.”
Markham swallowed hard as the implication hit him. “My son is not a thief! And he would never, ever do something like this. Never!”
Deep in the elder O’Malley’s eyes, a light of passion suddenly burned. Shayla studied the man’s expression for several moments. An intense sense of truth crept into her soul. Her impressions were corroborated. Gawain had not betrayed the Order or her. She walked forward, took Markham’s hand with one of hers and motioned him to retake his seat with the other.
“I believe that, too,” she assured. “But I don’t know what he’s up to. I’m certain he’s with Portia, but I don’t know whether or not it’s against his will.”
Markham passed a shaking hand through his hair. “I think... I’m not sure, but his behavior has been so odd for such a long time.”
Another emotion assaulted Shayla’s acute senses. Markham was frightened. He believed his son was in great danger. “What do you know, Markham? If there’s anything at all, even if it seems too preposterous to consider, you must tell me. Has Gawain said anything to you?”
“I think he might know something about what’s going on. If he’s with these people, he’ll try to stop them. He’s been acting like he wanted to keep his family and friends away.”
Shayla stared at him. “I’ve heard of his strange behavior, but what makes you think it isn’t just Portia and Gawain? Why do you think there are more people involved?”
He adamantly shook his head. “If Portia was the only one, Gawain would have stopped her, even if it meant losing his own life. He may already be dead.” He paused and took a deep, quivering breath. “This is directly tied to the fire in the Loft and the night Gawain was shot, isn’t it?”
“I’m certain of it. I now believe that fire was set to cover the theft of our artwork. Perhaps no one was meant to get hurt in the fire, but they were. I believe that the night Gawain was shot, the thieves went back to his cottage to steal anything else they could get their hands on or to find out what kind of artwork he’d make for the exhibit. It doesn’t really matter why they did it because they know judgment will be passed on them all. These cowards are desperate. They aren’t acting rational anymore and that, my good man, will be their downfall.”
“You agree, then, that it isn’t just Gawain and Portia? That my son wouldn’t be missing without good reason?”
“Portia couldn’t do all this on her own. She had the financial knowledge to steal the money, but not the physical strength to get the artwork all moved out of the Loft or the means to get it by the forest guards. The most valuable pieces were Gawain’s. They were the heaviest and most cumbersome to move. Yes, she’d need help. But she wouldn’t harm your son.” She stood to consider the matter, walked to the fireplace and put one hand on the mantle. “It may be that Gawain wants to— Damn that man’s hard head!” She adamantly shook her head.
Markham watched as the Sorceress seemed to entertain some kind sudden revelation. It had her turning back to him in a whirl of white robes. Outside, thunder shook the very sky. “What is it, Sorceress? Please, he’s my boy.”
Shayla pounded one fist into her palm. “I think he figured out long ago what was going on or at least enough to form some hunches. Instead of coming to me as he should have, he’s decided to see it all to an end. By himself. Everything makes perfect sense now.”
Markham shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your son, seeking to avenge his dead friends and his own injury, decided to say and do things that would surely drive away those for whom he cared and might later be hurt by his actions. His behavior would certainly attract the attention of the very people who would start a fire and use weapons to get what they wanted. People who might approach him to join their cause—if they believed he wanted to leave the Order.”
“I don’t care what he said or did,” Markham declared, “he’s still my flesh and blood. I was concerned for him. All those close to him were. Nothing would ever drive us from him. Nothing.”
Shayla suddenly realized there was another motive for Gawain’s odd behavior. “The day he was told about the fire and how it started, I made Gawain promise not to take any action. I ordered him not to go after anyone and leave the punishment for those responsible to me. Because of that promise, it was probably easier on all of you for him to sever his affections for you. That’s certainly a reason for his treating Wren the way he did.”
“What’s his promise got to... ” Markham’s voice trailed away as Gawain’s actions became clear to him. His son had lied to the Sorceress. Gawain had no intention of letting Shayla punish those responsible for the fire. Not if he could get to them first. Even as he thought it, the Sorceress confirmed his revelation.
“The man knows good and well that I’ll punish him for what he’s doing. Gawain had every intention of breaking his promise. He lied to me. He’s put himself and the entire Order in jeopardy by not telling me what he’s suspected and trying to resolve it by himself.”
“You have to understand, Shayla. Gawain is torn up inside. He loved the people he worked with. He grew up with them. He’s always blamed himself for their deaths, even after he knew the fire was started on purpose,” Markham said with urgency.
Shayla raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Why? I only told him how the fire was set so he’d stop blaming himself.”
“I know my son. He’d think it was his fault for asking them to work late and for letting Portia have so much control and for never checking on her. Gawain is the Craftsman. It was his responsibility and he’ll never see it any other way, no matter what anyone tells him.”
“Then he may as well blame me, too,” Shayla said as she pressed her palms together.
“Why would he do that?”
“I was the one who trained Portia how to go into the world, set up accounts and cover her trail. And Gawain can blame me for putting guards in the forest who are most likely involved. Then there are her parents to accuse for giving birth to her—”
“You’re making light of my son’s pain, Sorceress.”
“No, Markham.” Shayla sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m trying to say that blame can only go so far. It’s an emotion that will eat Gawain alive and drive him insane. If it hasn’t already. He should let the responsibility fall where it rightly belongs. On those who made the choices to steal, kill and betray us all.”
Markham snorted in response. “I’m afraid that doesn’t make me feel much better. The acorn, as they say, doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m the one who showed Gawain how to use anger and irrational behavior to get people to show their real mettle. And that’s what he’s done with these traitors. It’s a dangerous game he’s playing.”
“There you go with that blame again.” Shayla smiled gently.
For a brief moment, Markham began to grin too. Then he frowned. “If they ever find out he isn’t with them, they’ll kill him. People who’ve done what they have won’t care about murdering him. He can’t fight them alone.”
“This is why I wanted him to stay out of it. Still, he might do what no one else can. If he can get them all together in one place and if we can find him in time.”
“I don’t want my son dead, Sorceress. If there’s any way you can help him, I beg you to do so.”
A gentle rap sounded on the library door. Markham and Shayla looked up to see Wren standing in the doorway. The Brownie’s face was a study in pain and heartbreak and her eyes no longer glowed with the fire of life.
“Please, Sorceress, forgive me for interrupting, but I have a feeling you two are discussing just what’s on my mind. Everyone in the forest is talking. There are rumors about Gawain and Portia. I wanted to ask some questions.” Wren glanced toward the elder O’Malley. There was no point saying something in front of him that would surely cause pain. Perhaps the Sorceress was already telling Markham what everyone was saying—that Gawain O’Malley, the Craftsman, had run off with the financial resources the Order needed to buy food and supplies. That he was a traitor to them all.
“Markham knows Gawain is gone. I’m sure he knows what people will say as well.” Shayla motioned Wren into the library. She waited until the door was shut before continuing. “But there’s one thing that cannot leave this room. Gawain’s chances are less than nothing if it gets out that he isn’t in agreement with the betrayers he has accompanied. There may be one or more still among us and if that person gets word to the others, Gawain’s life will be in even greater danger.”
Wren felt as if the weight of a thousand boulders had been lifted away. “You sent Gawain to root them out, didn’t you, Sorceress? I never believed he could do the things others are saying. He knew Portia was in on this. I can see it now. That’s why he spread the rumors that they were getting back together—he wanted to get near her. Earn her trust.”
“I didn’t send him to do anything, my dear. Gawain is doing all this on his own. But thank you for coming straight to me with your questions. If others would do so, instead of feasting on gossip, events around here would be a great deal more stable. Still, the information I’ve given you two isn’t for anyone else. Remember, Gawain’s safety might depend upon it.”
“My family?” Markham asked.
“Tell no one, Markham. Your family’s response might make Gawain’s actions seem more believable. Your mate, sons and daughter will be outraged by the very gossip they’ll hear. The less they know, the more naturally they’ll respond to that talk. And... I think you should take Wren with you and explain what we’ve discussed. She’s in love with your son, after all.”
Markham turned to look at the girl. “Gawain cares for her, too. And he has very good taste. Just like his father.”
Completely confused, Wren’s glance drifted from Markham to Shayla.
“Come along, Wren. I’ll explain everything,” Markham said as he held out his hand.
Wren took it and they left. If Gawain died without hearing she loved him...  She didn’t want to think that way. Gawain would come back. No matter how long it took, he would restore his honor and return. But for a long time it would hurt that he hadn’t trusted her enough to share his plan. Still, he hadn’t told his father, Shayla or anyone else either. Because of his single-minded determination to have his way, he was in a great deal of trouble.
She began to weep silently. “I’m afraid for him.”
Markham squeezed her hand tighter. “So am I, little one. I think it would be best if we all weathered this storm together. Why don’t you take Gawain’s old room at our cottage? It’ll be easier to be near people who love him.”
She nodded and leaned into him for a hug. It was almost like having a father again. When her parents had died in a mining accident, her world had collapsed with them. But she could find a new family with those who loved Gawain and she’d be grateful for the support. For some reason, even her own grandfather couldn’t provide her with support and never had. All Troda wanted was to keep the leadership over the Brownies under his control. This he could easily do by insisting she handfast with Wyckem. Wyck would do anything Troda asked, as long as he could share their people’s leadership responsibilities and have her in the bargain. The two of them, it seemed, both wanted power, feeding off each other to get it and putting her in the middle of their scheming. Now, when Troda was needed to calm his faction, it was strange that she hadn’t been able to find him that morning. Wren had searched everywhere. Knowing her grandfather, he would probably turn up in his own good time with Wyck licking his boots.
۞  ۞  ۞
After many hours of driving, they finally reached what Gawain took to be their destination. He stepped out of the car and glanced around him. They had driven to a section of the Highlands where few people ever went. The roads had dwindled to almost nothing. Before him stood a Brownie warren, which would be invisible to any outsider. Only someone from the Order would know what the small earthen mound was. The others began collecting their gear to head inside the structure. It troubled him that the other men wouldn’t formally introduce themselves. He knew their faces and had seen them on guard duty many times, but he didn’t know their names. He wished he’d been around the Shire more instead of traipsing around the world making a reputation for himself as the great artist. He was coming to hate the name DeForest with all his heart. He would have given all that up just to be another warrior standing guard at night and coming home to a warm, loving mate and family. His talent had helped these people plunge the Order into near ruin. As the cost of computers and keeping themselves secret skyrocketed, the Order had come to depend upon him more and more and the skills of the other artisans less and less. And his ego had fueled this catastrophe. He’d let it all happen and had been happy to do so. But he would undo what he had unwittingly done—even if it cost him his life.
Once inside the deeply dug warren, the air was less cold and harsh. “So, when do I get to know everyone’s name? If I’m a part of this, it seems like I should have that privilege.” It galled him to use the word.
“I’ll do the honors,” Portia smiled and put her arm around him. As the men stood before both them, she announced their names. “Lowan, Robb, Gilmore, Farris, Calder and Reese.”
Gawain looked at the tallest of the men, Reese, and remembered seeing him near the southern section of the forest. “Doesn’t your father work with mine?”
“That he does,” the man responded and bowed his head. “But I’ll be dead to my father now.”
“Then why are you here if you feel that way?” Gawain asked and watched the man’s face carefully.
“The same reason as the rest of us. When Portia told us how close we’ve been to having the outside world march in on us, I figured I might be able to make a place in the world and save something of my family, if possible. Maybe even make a retreat where my brothers and sisters could hide.”
Gawain nodded but said nothing. Portia had made them believe things were more serious for the Order than in the past. It made no difference. Maybe they weren’t in it for the money per se, but a traitor was a traitor. What they’d done would certainly speed the Order’s demise as quickly as anything the outside world could have done.
Everyone turned when the door opened. A small figure was framed in the late afternoon light and Gawain knew this man very personally. His stomach turned and he almost choked on the bile that rose to his throat. Troda stood absolutely frozen to the spot when he saw Gawain. It would have been laughable if the situation weren’t so serious.
“What in the name of the Goddess— What’s he doing here?” Troda pointed a finger at Gawain.
“He’s joined us,” Portia explained with a grin. “Isn’t it wonderful, Troda? Gawain can keep creating his art for us.”
Troda walked forward, using his walking stick to steady his movements. “There’s no way this man could ever be counted among us! His devotion to the Sorceress is unquestionable.”
“His motives may be different than ours, but he’s here,” Reese pointed out. “The Sorceress will punish him as quickly as the rest of us.”
“That’s true,” Gawain agreed. “But I didn’t expect to see my esteemed Master here.”
“My reasons for being here are my own, Gawain, and I don’t trust you for a minute. I know you much better than the others.” Troda stood within inches of Gawain’s tall form and he looked up into Gawain’s eyes. “Why did you come?”
“Because Portia and the others took the money I worked for. I want my share. She and I have struck a deal of sorts.”
Portia moved to Gawain’s defense. “It’s like Reese said, Troda. He’s in it for keeps now. The Sorceress won’t give a damn about why he or any of the rest of us left the Order with most of their money. All she’ll remember is the fire and those people who died. We’re all on her capture list unless you left the note.”
“It was left, just as we planned,” the old man replied. “We’ll still have to be on our guard until we get out of the country,” he warned, but his gaze never left Gawain.
“We’d better get the rest of our things unpacked. The boat won’t be at Skye for three days,” Portia said.
Now Gawain knew everything. How many people were in on the scheme, where they were going and how they intended to leave the country. He assumed they’d either bought or hired the boat to take them from the islands. Troda was still staring a hole through him while the others unpacked. Since he only had the new clothes on his back, Gawain had nothing to do but stand still and return the older man’s glare. “What about Wren?”
“Don’t you mention her name to me,” Troda spat. “But for you, she’d have been handfasted to Wyckem by now. He would have fought and won the right to be the new Brownie Leader. They’d both be safe in a warren somewhere. Later, when the world learned of the Order, I was going to get them to safety.”
“You can’t make me believe she knew anything about this, old man.”
“She doesn’t! Neither does Wyckem. But they’d come to me soon enough when the Order no longer existed. They’d need a safe place to hide, as would everyone else.”
Gawain swung a careless hand in his direction. “That’s not my problem,” he said. He walked around the man and pretended to help the others. Still, Troda watched him. The old man was unwilling to accept his offhand gesture and his sarcasm as the truth. It didn’t matter. The others seemed to believe him. At least they had begun to trust his motives. After all, he silently reasoned, what threat could a one-armed Druid be to seven strong bodies and an elderly but shrewd Brownie? When he got his chance, Gawain swore, they would all find out.
Later that day, several of the men went to stand guard near the warren. Troda seemed to be leading everyone. When he and Portia were alone for a few moments, Gawain attempted to innocently question her. At least, he hoped his questions sounded innocent.
“What’s up with the old man? He’ll only hold the rest of us back.”
“Gawain!” Portia chastised. “Just because he’s old doesn’t mean his mind isn’t sharp and worthy of respect. All this started with him. The whole thing was his plan.”
Normally, he’d never have spoken of an elder in such a way, but it was necessary to play the part of the money-grubbing, self-centered artist to the hilt. Gawain pretended boredom as he brewed them both some coffee. “Why would he plan it? You were the one who knew all the dirt the Sorceress was hiding.”
“Years ago, when I was on the Sorceress’ personal staff, Troda asked me to check on some of her records. I think he suspected Shayla was keeping things from the rest of the Order. What I found out was frightening. I told Troda about some of the incidents she’d been involved in that had barely kept us clear of the outside world. One thing led to the next and we plotted out the whole plan. We knew it would take time to divert funds, slowly at first. Of course, when I was asked to handle the money from the gallery exhibits, I simply reported that sales lower than they actually were. I took the extra money and banked it.”
“Just to give a select few the opportunity to make a run for it?”
“Yes. Now you’re one of those few,” she added as she took the coffee mug he offered.
For a several moments, they drank their coffee in silence. Each deep in their own thoughts.
Suddenly, Portia put down her mug and placed a hand on his forearm. “Why did you ask Troda about Wren?”
Gawain looked down into his coffee and knew he’d better not attempt to lie about his feelings. Other things he could hide, but Portia would know how he felt about Wren. A lie concerning his feelings for the Brownie would get him killed. “I want her. She’s not exactly as sophisticated as I’d like, but there you have it.”
Portia laced her fingers together. “I believed as much. She’s much too sweet for you to resist. I guess I just wanted to hear you say it. It explains how you always had something to do... work or something... when I wanted to make love to you.”
Gawain gently pushed her hair away from her face. “Why do you seem so glad I’m here, then?”
“Because some of you is better than none of you. You may want Wren, but you’re with me. I’ll learn to live with that.” Her hand tightened on his arm. “There was a time when I wanted us all three together, but Wren would never have come with us. And Troda didn’t want to risk her life by bringing her. There’ll be time to get Wren when the Shire is full of outsiders who’ll come to look for the freaks they’ll make of us. Besides, maybe you’ll change your mind. Maybe you’ll come to find she really didn’t have much in common with you. Remember how you said that once?”
Gawain swallowed down more coffee and then changed the subject. “What about this thing with the boat? Can you trust whoever’s operating it to keep his mouth shut? Surely the captain doesn’t know who we are?”
“There’s no captain. We bought the boat outright. One of the Fairy men, Gilmore, has experience operating fishing boats in those waters. Where do you think some of the Order’s fresh fish comes from? It isn’t just all caught in streams, you know.”
Gawain smiled slyly. “Very good! I certainly see who the real brain is behind this operation.”
Portia beamed and got up to get more coffee.
Gawain knew he had to act quickly. If it meant taking them out one by one, so be it. They couldn’t be allowed to get to the island of Skye. Once they were on the boat, he had a feeling it would all be over. Much of the Order’s finances would probably be divided or spent. There might not be an opportunity to get everyone in a secluded spot again. The Sorceress wouldn’t follow for fear the small group of thieves and murders would reveal the Order to the world. Troda had left that damned note telling her so.
He rubbed the arm just above his right elbow. The phantom pain was back, but he had to push it aside. There were worse kinds of torment. That caused by the betrayers’ actions far exceeded anything Gawain could imagine. These men had families. None of them seemed to care what would happen to anyone left behind or that their scheming would cause the very thing they feared—that the Order would, after thousands of years, lose its sacred holdings because the funds to pay taxes were gone. Outside the Shire, there was only a small piece of forest in the United States to hide within. It was owned by Gawain’s own brother-in-law. It couldn’t sustain all the creatures in Britain’s sacred forest and some of the creatures couldn’t shapeshift. They’d have to make a run for it or be found on the very ground where they lived. Developers and government agencies would seize control, as they had over so many other English estates and nothing would be left. The enormity of it all hit Gawain with the force of a hammer. He couldn’t let it happen. With the last breath in him, he had to stop Troda, Portia and the others.

Chapter Thirteen

Wren tried to sleep, but she tossed and turned most of the night, listening to the shouting outside. Besides the Sorceress and probably her consort, Hugh, only she and Markham knew what Gawain was really doing. She could see how much it hurt Markham not to be able to tell the rest of his family, who had all returned home that evening to shouts of anger from the guards in the woods.
Crowds watched the cottage where Gawain’s entire family was huddled, feeling the brunt of that anger. Gawain’s sister, Afton, had asked for her mate to be called back from the States where he’d returned to see to the Order’s holdings there. The entire family felt they needed to stand together. They nobly wanted to defend Gawain. Wren figured that the families of the real betrayers must be in similar distress.
An eerie, horrible thought crept into her chaotic mental meanderings. Her grandfather was still missing. Surely he’d have reported to the Sorceress and should have found Wren by now. Everyone had been commanded to report to their faction leaders. Since Troda was his faction’s leader, it seemed highly inappropriate for him to remain missing. Unless... 
Louder shouts suddenly filled the air. Wren’s feet hit the floor and she was dressed in minutes. She bolted down the stairs to find Markham in front of his cottage, threatening physical harm to anyone coming near his family. The Fairy Leader, Lore, was trying to calm those who seemed bent on violence, but his words seemed to have little effect. Some of his own people were with the gathering mob.
Markham’s family quickly joined him. Wren felt a fight coming and the O’Malleys would need all the help they could get. She joined them in defense of their home and honor.
“Stand back!” Markham ordered some of those who came too close.
“Where is your eldest son, O’Malley? What have you to say about the actions of the Craftsman? We are all betrayed and it’s by means of one of your own blood,” someone yelled. Others joined in the general shouting and name-calling.
Markham looked over one shoulder. “Stand near me, boys.”
Wren watched as his sons lined up alongside their father. His mate and daughter held hands in order to conjure forces of wind and the other elements should it become necessary. She had seen this kind of combining of strength before. Shayla herself had used it. But Brownies had their own strengths. One of those was to bring serenity to anyone close enough to look into their eyes and yield to the influence. Since the crowd was long past listening to sense, however, Wren looked to one of the Fairy guards who was trying to help Lore.
“Please, lend me your staff,” she called out. The Fairy nodded and tossed the one he carried to her. When his hand shot to the sword at his side, Wren’s stomach turned. Surely things wouldn’t go that far. She prayed to the Goddess that no one would pull a bladed weapon. After all, some members of the crowd were trying to restore order.
One man pushed Markham’s youngest son. A fist shot out and Wren saw the offender go to the ground, but the crowd quickly moved in on the rest of the O’Malley family. Another scuffle ensued and Markham, his sons, mate and daughter were in the melee. All of them fought like the warrior-class Druids they were, but there were more attackers than they could hold off. Lore and some of his faction tried to stop the fight. He and some of his men even fought their own kind. The Goblin Leader attempted to help the Fairies who were fending off the crowd. He, too, was outnumbered and fighting his own battle.
Tears clouded Wren’s vision. Never had she thought to see the Order turn upon itself. When she saw Markham’s daughter, Afton, valiantly fighting two Nymphs, Wren gathered her courage, pushed back the horror invading her soul and battered back anyone who got in her way. She expertly cleared an area around the O’Malley women by violently swinging her staff. Because she had been trained in its use from infancy, she knew she could cause some severe bruises but no permanent damage. Taking their cue from her, some of the Fairy men tossed the O’Malley men more staffs and they were able to beat back anyone who got too close. Certainly, some were hurt. But no real damage had yet been done. Wren meant to see it stay that way if she could. If no one could get close enough to use a blade, no one had to be seriously injured or worse. Her peaceful Brownie heart was shredded and bleeding. Still, there were those who wanted to fight, so she kept valiantly battling.
“Stand back! Is this the way of our people?” Wren shouted. “You’re acting worse than any animal. This is what outsiders do to one another.” Some of the cooler heads in the crowd prevailed. They pulled those who were too angry away. Still, shouts of fury and bitter rage filtered through the air.
“Back away! All of you!” Shayla’s voice cut through the forest with the force of an edged weapon. “If one more person moves, I’ll have them locked in the castle dungeon for the next month and they’ll be beaten before the entire Order.”
The sound of her voice was all it took. Wren watched as the Sorceress regally moved forward. Her personal staff marched behind her like an army of white-robed infantry.
“I don’t know, or care, who started this, I’ll have all faction leaders at the castle reporting on the actions of those in their charge.” She stood before the O’Malley cottage and glared at the crowd. “Never in my life have I seen so many of you gathered with so few wits. Is it your intention to kill someone?” There was complete silence. “Speak up! There were those among you brave enough to attack one family. Surely you have the courage to face me.”
“I beg your forgiveness, Sorceress,” one man pleaded as he fell to his knees before her. “But I’m here because my children are hungry. I’ve heard that all the money used to buy supplies is gone. That it was stolen and we were betrayed. Where is the Craftsman? What happened to all the goods we’ve worked so hard on these last months?”
There were echoing sentiments in the crowd. Shayla looked down at him and tried to summon a measure of calm before answering. “Those responsible for the loss will be punished, but not by you or anyone else. That is my responsibility.” She paused before speaking and moved into the crowd. They circled around her waiting for guidance. “There are nine members of the Order who are missing.” She turned to her staff. “Hugh, read their names.”
When her consort did as Shayla commanded, Wren’s stomach heaved. Her grandfather’s name was among them. She felt herself sway and Afton’s arm went about her shoulders. The crowd began to murmur as the names were recognized. Some of their family and friends had just attacked the O’Malleys.
Wren heard the Sorceress astutely use this fact against them as she said, “I see those names are familiar to many of you. Should the crowd now turn on those who have family members on the list? And when those families are beaten down, will you turn on the friends of those missing? Then their children?” Her gaze scanned the crowd. “When does it end? Who would be left?”
The crowd became silent again. A great many hung their heads in shame as they realized their own kin were among those not present. Wren was shaking so hard that Afton had to hold her up. Just as she thought the confrontation might end, Wren heard one more voice speak out.
“I’ll say what no others will,” Wyckem walked forward. “I believe the Craftsman has led the betrayers away. He’s taken our money, our crafts and the very food from our mouths. Were it not for him, this wouldn’t have happened. He’s responsible. And my own faction leader, Troda, is with him. Still, I agree with the Sorceress. We can’t hold others responsible just because they have a connection to the betrayers. Troda’s own granddaughter stands there. I won’t believe she knew about this any more than I’ll believe O’Malley’s family knew what he was capable of.”
Taurus lunged at Wyckem, but others in the crowd pulled him back. “My brother is not a betrayer! He would never do what he’s being accused of. I know it.”
“Then how do you account for his absence?” Wyckem asked. “Why isn’t he here to keep you and your family from taking the brunt of this anger?”
“Maybe he found out what was going on, tried to stop it and was killed,” Taurus cried out. “All I know is that my brother could never... ” Taurus’ voice broke and he couldn’t go on.
Wren watched as Taurus struggled to get control of himself. To anyone with a heart beating in their breast, it was clear he loved his brother. He would never believe Gawain capable of such treachery. Some in the crowd nodded. Taurus painted a scenario they were considering for the first time and one that could very well have been played out. Gawain might be dead. Afton and Gawain’s mother were openly crying. The pain and sorrow emanating from the O’Malley family and her own heart were almost too much to bear. Some voice deep inside told her that her own grandfather had masterminded the entire theft and the murders of those at the Loft. It had probably been planned for a very long time. More than anyone, Troda would know how much the stolen artwork was worth. She felt dishonored and shamed to the core.
“It’s time to let Shayla do what she must and leave these people to their heartache,” Wyckem went on. “It’s clear Troda can no longer be leader as he is with the betrayers. But I, as the new leader of the Brownies, will be among the first to stand behind the Sorceress no matter what decision she makes.”
Wren’s head shot up. For thousands of years, Brownies practiced great serenity, patience and peace. It was their Goddess’ given gift to share with others. But all that fled in the face of Wyckem’s announcement. She was going through her own pain, much of it caused by her own flesh and blood. Wyckem would not take from her the one thing that could restore her honor. The one thing that her family had claimed for centuries and the only way she had of restoring her people’s respect.
She quickly walked forward. “I do agree that my grandfather, because of his actions, is no longer the leader of the Brownies. I believe he has betrayed us. But you, Wyckem Goodefellow, aren’t capable of leading anyone. My bloodline has always held that position. It’s my birthright and my place to lead. Only I can help our people bear the shame my grandfather brought upon us. I claim the right to be better than my predecessor.”
She stopped long enough to take a grip on the staff she still carried. The crowd murmured and moved back. “I do not agree that the Craftsman is responsible for what’s happened. You dishonor him as well as me. And you would use this horrible ordeal as an excuse to claim that which has never been yours. Take back your claims on my position and your accusation against a man who is guilty of no wrong.”
Wyck shook his head and played to the crowd. “A woman in love would say or do anything to protect her chosen one. It’s too bad she has given her heart and body to the traitor O’Malley.” He nodded as the crowd mumbled over the personal insult. “Oh, yes, she’s in love with a man who’s betrayed us all. I say she isn’t fit to lead any more than her grandfather was.”
Shayla raised one eyebrow, glanced at the crowd and used the power of the wind to amplify her voice. “Wren Fitzgerald, of the Brownie faction, is it your honor, the honor of your people and that of Gawain O’Malley for which you stand? Is it now your challenge to become leader of the Brownies?”
“It is,” Wren loudly responded, but her gaze never left Wyckem’s face.
Shayla turned to Wyck. “Is it your intention, Wyckem Goodefellow, of the Brownie faction, to counter this woman’s claim to the leadership of the Brownies? Is it your claim Gawain O’Malley is a traitor to the Order? Is it your challenge that you should now become leader of the Brownies?”
“It is,” Wyckem replied.
“Give Wyckem a staff.” Shayla held up her hands and the wind blew around her. “In the ancient ways of our kind, I formally announce this challenge so that all understand. The Goddess, in her infinite wisdom, will see the winner as the holder of the truth. And all must abide by the outcome.”
Shayla moved back to let the challenge battle begin. According to the customs of the Order, the outcome of this fight might determine how Gawain would be perceived. That, for the time being, was far more important than who became leader of the Brownies. Shayla had far more important things to do than break up fights all over the forest. Someone could have easily been killed had she not arrived in time.
As Wyck took his place in front of her, Wren gripped her own staff in a ready position. It was perpendicular to the ground, in front of her. Her adversary took the same stance.
“Give this up, Wren. You can’t win.”
Already angered, humiliated by her grandfather’s betrayal and hurt by the behavior of those around her, Wren’s temper flared. “Not in this life!”
They bowed toward each other to indicate their readiness to fight.
Wyck quickly swung first. His staff arced over his head and down toward Wren’s feet, but she parried with her own weapon and moved away. Trying to draw him into making a mistake, Wren proceeded to fake several moves. Finally, Wyck fell for the ruse and blocked down. Wren swung her staff in the opposite direction and struck the other Brownie a hard blow to the left side of his head. Stunned for a moment, he backed away but immediately recovered. The parrying and striking went on for several more minutes. Wren made the mistake of letting him move too far to her rear and received a nasty side blow to the ribs.
She quickly circled around in the other direction and delivered a similar blow to Wyck. He cried out in pain and Wren kept coming. The tip of her staff caught his leather-clad foot. Wyck tried to limp back, but there was no escaping her swift circular movements. His strength was greater, but Wren made up for her lack of power with speed and cunning. She rapped him on the upper arm, spun the staff forward and caught him on the shoulder. The tip of his staff raked across her chin. She knew she had to win the fight. It was the only way to redeem herself and Gawain in the eyes of the entire Order. And after winning, she could banish Wyck to whatever other faction would have him.
With a brilliant vaulting move, Wren completely jumped over Wyck and forced him to duck. Too slow on his recovery, she landed behind him and shot the end of her staff into the center of his back. Wyck fell forward, released the grip on his staff and rolled over. She stood over him with the tip of her staff resting on his chest.
“Yield, Wyck!” she demanded. “If you don’t, I’ll blacken you until you can’t move.”
Angry, but having sense enough to know he was beaten, Wyck stared up at her. “I yield,” he called out.
Wren felt caring hands encircle her. She was in pain and she dropped the staff and let Gawain’s mother and sister help her back into their cottage. She vaguely heard the Sorceress dispersing the crowd. Nothing mattered except that she had won. Gawain was vindicated, as was she. But none of that diminished the pain in her body, nor did it help the ache in her heart.
She mechanically allowed Afton and Gawain’s mother to check her wounds and run a hot bath. Later, they helped her to bed. The entire incident seemed as though it was happening to someone else. Perhaps, she surmised, this was her mind’s way of dealing with what was happening. But part of her heart would forever be dead. Her Brownies’ love of peace and tranquility was forever shattered. Someone stood near her bed and spoke. She looked up to see the Sorceress standing near.
“I-I’m sorry, Shayla. What were you saying?”
“I wanted you to see this. It isn’t a very good time, but you’re now the leader of your people. You must know what will happen.”
Wren reached out her hand and took a note Shayla handed her. The writing was her grandfather’s. It held a simply worded message. “Try to follow or stop us and we’ll tell the world about the Order.”
“Do you know what this means, Wren?”
She solemnly nodded. “My grandfather will have to face judgment. It’s his writing, there’s no doubt about it.”
“Unless he was forced to compose the note, it’s absolute proof of his betrayal.”
“I’m not sure I ever doubted he had betrayed us.” She paused and considered the words she spoke. “Strange.”
“What is?” Shayla quietly asked as she took one of the girl’s hands in hers.
“He’s my grandfather, but I don’t feel anything. Nothing at all. You’d think I’d be crying like a baby or retching with the thought of what he’s done.”
Wren’s words alarmed Shayla almost as much as the young girl’s expression. It was absolutely wooden. Sooner or later, however, the girl would realize that, as the Brownie Leader, she might be asked to help sentence her own grandfather to punishment. And that might destroy her.
“Rest now, Wren. We can speak of all this later.” She turned to go.
“Wait!” Wren held out one hand and summoned the Sorceress to stay. “Will you still go after them? Even though they’ve threatened to expose us all?”
“I don’t see any other choice, child. We’ll just have to hope any outsiders they might telephone won’t believe them and that they aren’t near enough to any village or city to actually exhibit their powers in the way of proof.”
“And if they are?”
“They and anyone they’ve told will die,” Shayla promised. “I must protect these people at all costs, my dear. I’ve sworn to it. The Order isn’t yet ready for the outside world to know of us. That day will come, but it’s not now.”
Wren sank back against some pillows and stared into the distance. Her heart seemed an empty vessel made of clay.
۞  ۞  ۞
“Were have you been?” Gawain asked as Portia stepped inside the small warren. He noticed her cell phone was in her hand.
“I had to go outside to use the phone. We’re very far from any transmitting tower, but close enough to check on our accounts and make arrangements to leave. I wish we could have left sooner, but the boat just couldn’t be readied. The weather off-shore hasn’t been on our side. If I didn’t know better, I’d think... ”
As her voice trailed off Gawain’s eyebrow rose and he took note of Portia’s contemplative expression. “You think the Sorceress can actually control the weather from this distance?”
“Don’t underestimate her powers, darling. The elements have been changing unseasonably fast.”
“You’re paranoid,” he responded and smirked at her.
“Mmmmm, maybe. But it’s certain we need to leave here very soon. After all, that money is just sitting there waiting on us to start our brand-new lives.”
Gawain’s rage was barely contained. “I’ll start getting some supplies ready. Send a couple of men to the storage area.” Gawain got up to leave. Troda’s steady, suspicious gaze followed his movements.
Though still wary of him, all of them treated him with a degree of acceptance. All but Troda. He almost never let Gawain roam without being near.
Gawain knew there was no delaying what must be done. And in the time he’d been with the betrayers, his hatred and anger had been only marginally colored by deep remorse. These idiotic fools actually believed they were doing what was right. They actually thought there would be enough time to get their few friends and family to safety if the world closed in on the Order. Even if, to fulfill their threat, they were the very ones to expose the Order to the outside world. The money they had stolen was a powerful lure to live life the way they wished. They spoke of how they would build houses like the fines ones they’d seen in magazines and buy the possessions they thought would make them happy. There were so many material things they wanted that life within the forest hadn’t allowed and would ultimately give them no satisfaction. Then, like all outsiders, they’d want more. More money would be needed to buy more possessions. And the lessons of simple living, of loving those around you and reveling in nature, would be forever lost to them. All of them would ultimately destroy the very thing they sought to save.
If any of the betrayers had second thoughts, they couldn’t escape. Portia had the keys to the vehicles. Once the supplies were finally loaded into them and they left for Skye, it would be too late. Gawain had no choice. He had to separate the group or somehow take them out a few at a time. He had to do it before they realized what was happening and raise a cry of alarm. He’d be defenseless against their combined powers.
In the dugout area behind the warren, Gawain pretended to ready supplies. Two of the men approached. Playing upon their belief that he couldn’t cope with one arm, he asked them to go into the dugout.
He held up his hooked, right appendage. “Can’t lift the heavier stuff,” he innocently explained.
He wanted them dead. He wanted to hear their screams of pain as he’d heard his friends cry out the night they burned. But there was one inescapable fact that Portia had driven home. To get the Order’s money back, he needed them alive. Each of them had part of the account numbers necessary to get the funds. After he had that information, their lives wouldn’t be worth spit.
He had to act quickly. Once his plan was put into motion and the others found what he’d done, there was no doubt in his mind that they’d kill him. After all, betrayers and thieves who’d accidentally killed, if it had been an accident, wouldn’t hesitate to murder him. They’d already shot him once.
He followed the men into the dugout. There was barely room for all of them, but that gave him an advantage. They couldn’t fight easily and he was the closest to the entrance.
Before they could respond, Gawain attacked. He struck one in the back of the head with his hook and watched him fall. When the other man turned on him, he plunged a strong left fist into his face and watched him drop. Then he quickly used their belts to tie their hands and ripped off the sleeves of their shirts to stuff in their mouths. He only took a moment to gaze at his work. Goddess, he wanted them dead. There was nothing crawling on Earth or under any rotting piece of wood that was lower.
He heard someone else walking toward the dugout. Gawain plastered a benign look on his face, moved to the entrance and pretended to fall.
“What’s with you?” the man asked.
Gawain carelessly shrugged and held up his left hand. “Tripped. Give me a hand up, will you?”
When the fool obliged by sticking out a helping hand, Gawain pulled him to the ground, wrestled him beneath his larger body and pummeled him into unconsciousness with his good left fist. Like the others, he gagged and tied this third betrayer with his own belt and part of a torn sleeve. Then he dragged the man into the dugout with the others. He was about to leave them and go look for the rest of the betrayers when he decided to completely disable them. If they regained consciousness, they couldn’t cry out but they could still get up and move. Even with their hands tied they could find a way back to the others by crawling if necessary. He didn’t want them getting away and alerting their friends.
Gawain could see nothing else with which to restrain their feet, so he simply tugged their jeans down and tied the legs of them around their ankles. The sight he beheld after finishing with the three men wasn’t very dignified, but that was more than they deserved. More to the point, they weren’t going anywhere until someone let them loose.
That left five. It was almost too easy and he felt thousands of years of hot Celtic blood flowing into his warrior’s veins. There was a kind of symmetry in what he was doing. Nine people had died in the fire. Nine were betrayers and that included himself, for how else would the rest of the Order view him?
If he could, he meant to take Portia and Troda last. Portia couldn’t summon enough elemental energy to stop someone his size. And as long as he didn’t look Troda in the eyes, the man couldn’t sway him with the same calming power Wren had used. Thinking of her hardened his own heart that much more. Troda hadn’t given a damn about what this betrayal would do to his granddaughter. None of them had cared about the families who were without loved ones because of the fire. His arm burned with a pain never felt before. It drove him into a maddened frenzy he would use to see him through this.
He made his way to the front of the warren. There was an old log, bigger than the others, leaning against a pile of firewood. They’d thought of everything. Their own money, a means to escape, how to live very comfortably and how to keep Shayla and her minions at bay. They’d even thought about the very wood to keep a fire blazing. He picked up the log with his left hand and slowly swung it back and forth. Another man, Farris, as Gawain recalled, walked toward him from one of the cars.
“Where are the others?” Farris asked and looked behind Gawain as if they’d appear at any moment.
“Sorry, they’re all tied up,” he angrily muttered, then swung the log at a speed that kept the other man from putting up a defense. Farris was, unfortunately, able to cry out quite loudly as the log landed against his side. Gawain thought he even heard bone crack.
Good at betraying others, it seemed the small group had no defense against it themselves. As Farris fell, Gawain trussed him up as he had the other men. Farris was unconscious, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He tied and gagged him anyhow.
Gawain was about to stand when he saw the butt end of a gun sticking out of the unconscious man’s belt. “Could be the same damned one used to shoot me,” he softly groused, then stuck it in his own belt and kept moving toward his next target.
Just as he was moving toward the Brownie warren, Lowan, Robb and Troda burst out of it, swinging back the earthen-covered door until it almost flew from its hinges. Obviously alerted by Farris’ cry, Gawain saw the two bigger men draw their weapons from their belts. They saw Farris lying on the ground and didn’t ask questions. They simply opened fire.
He ran toward the cars, dodging bullets as he did so. They kept firing but he was safe behind a car, some thirty yards away. One of the men, Lowan, ran out of ammunition. When Robb ran out as well, they both retreated to the cover of the warren. Troda, who’d been kneeling behind a barrel while the firing took place, finally stood. His wide-eyed gaze swept the landscape and settled on Farris’ still form.
“Stop this!” he called out. “This is madness, O’Malley.”
“I’m just finishing what you started, old man! And it won’t end until you’re all captured!” Gawain yelled from behind the car.
“Listen to me, boy, there’s been enough violence and bloodshed.” Troda held up his hands and walked forward.
“Gawain!” Portia screeched, “Please, stop!”
He saw the irony in her words. He was the one being fired on by the others and she wanted him to stop. Gawain watched as she slowly crept from the safety of the warren’s entrance. “Why?” he yelled back. “Did you stop when you started that fire in the Loft?” he asked bitterly. “Did you stop when you knew the rest of the Order was suffering because you stole from them? What difference did it make to you if children went hungry or the world took away everything we’ve ever had? Including our freedom. Give me one damned reason to stop.”
“If you don’t,” Troda softly explained, “you’ll become that which you hate most. You’ll be just like us.”
Gawain tried to close his mind to the thoughts flooding his brain. He shook his head to rid the mental images of home. He wanted to be home. Troda was mesmerizing him.
Portia noted his gesture of confusion. “He’s not using his powers on you, Gawain. It’s over. You need to give up and come back inside the warren. I promise, we won’t hurt you.”
“It’s too late for that, Portia. I’ve already killed three and I’ve taken a gun. The dead men are over at the dugout,” he lied. “You can’t get the money now. Not unless you know where those dead men hid their part of the account numbers.”
Troda sighed audibly, closed his eyes and shook his head in sorrow. “Then it really is over. We have nothing. Nothing at all. Not even a way to bargain for our safety with the Sorceress. We can’t leave, we can’t stay,” the old man nonsensically wailed.
For a few moments, no one said a word. Gawain waited for whatever they might offer. “Please,” Portia begged again, “let us go back to the Order. It’s time we took responsibility and stopped all this.”
He was far more ready to believe she thought he’d shoot them than that they’d give up so easily. Gawain watched her raise her hands in a gesture of submission, then walk toward Farris. She bent down to examine the injured, moaning man and grimly shook her head.
“Let us end this now,” Troda urged. “Farris needs help. None of us will cause you any more grief.”
“Tell everyone to throw down their weapons. Line up and face me with your hands all raised,” Gawain commanded. “One wrong move and I’ll shoot.”
Troda called out, “Come out, Robb. You too, Lowan. Throw out those guns.” Then he turned back and addressed Gawain. “Portia and I have no weapons and I assume you took Farris’ so he’s unarmed. Now you throw down your gun, too, lad. This has gone far enough.”
“I’ll throw down my weapon when I know I’m safe and not before,” Gawain shouted back and hoped they’d comply. He was surprised they did, but only when all the traitors were lined up before him did Gawain leave his position behind the car. He pulled out the gun he’d taken from Farris and slowly walked forward. Farris lay on the ground moaning, but he would survive. Lowan, Troda, Robb and Portia kept their hands where he could see them.
“Try using any powers on me and you all die. And there had better be no more weapons. Is that clear?” He could see the petrified look on Portia’s face. All he could think of was getting back to the Shire with them and watching as the Sorceress pronounced judgment. If there was any justice in the world, she’d have them executed. He wanted the families of his dead friends to have the satisfaction of knowing the truth and the opportunity to see those responsible being punished. That would be the best revenge of all. Obsession ruled him.
“W-what are you going to do with us, Gawain?” Portia swallowed hard as she saw the pure, cold menace in her former lover’s eyes.
“You’re going to give me your phone and I’m going to have Shayla come get us,” Gawain muttered.
She pulled the phone from her coat pocket and tossed it to him.
Gawain let it land at his feet, not wanting to reach for it and put down the gun with his left hand.
“We’re really going back to the Shire?” she asked and let her gaze fall to the ground.
“It’s that or die where you stand. I don’t give a damn which. Make up your minds,” Gawain responded as he raised the gun toward them.
“No, we’ll go back,” Troda shook his head in resignation. “It’s over. Even if we could fight you and win, we can’t access the accounts now. I’m sure you’ve killed the others.”
It took everything Gawain had not to march them into the warren and set it on fire as they had the Loft. Still, all Troda could think about was the money. The others could charge him and take him. Though the men and the one woman were all smaller than he, they outnumbered him. He didn’t believe for one moment the threat of a gun would stop them. It was still about the money. They couldn’t go anywhere without it. Thinking he’d really killed the other three members of their group, they couldn’t get into the account. That was the only thing keeping him safe and it enraged him. Gawain could only feel bitter hatred. For eons the Order had stood together. Their greatest fear was outsiders. Forever after this, trust and innocence were lost to them all. With every fiber in his being, Gawain would see this last task through to the end. His mind, heart and spirit were eaten away by the treachery. They were like outsiders now.
“Portia, bind up Farris’ injured side. I want him alive when the Sorceress gets here. We’re going to wait here all night, if it takes that long. But we will get back to the Shire. And I will get the satisfaction of seeing you all burn for what you’ve done.”
“What about the men you killed, Gawain? A‑are you j‑just going to leave them here?” Portia stammered.
He wasn’t about to let them know the others were only gagged and unconscious. “Why not? The men I killed left nine people to burn alive. The Sorceress will have her staff dispose of them. The way I see it, that’s just that many less to waste firewood on. Now keep your mouths shut!”
He watched as Portia untied Farris and used the clothing to bind up his midriff.
“Why don’t we just let him take us out here and now?” Robb asked the others. “When the Sorceress gets her hands on us... ” He let his voice trail away. The others knew the answer to his unfinished statement.
“I, for one, want to have a chance to say why I’ve done this,” Troda told him. “Even if we’re going to die at the Sorceress’ hands, I’d rather the end come from her than this murdering savage. There’s no sense in any more of us dying because of him. I should have made a move to stop him sooner. I knew he couldn’t be trusted.”
Gawain watched as Troda nodded toward him. He was amazed the old Brownie, the architect of all this cowardly behavior, could call him a murdering savage. To him, Troda was the only real villain present. How could they have become so twisted?
“Why don’t you just load us up and drive us back, Gawain? We could sit here for hours before the Sorceress or some of her minions show up,” Portia tiredly told him.
“Turn around, all of you,” he ordered.
“Wh-what are you going to do?” Portia stammered.
“Just turn around and keep quiet.” He waited until they’d done so, then knelt on the ground and picked up her cell phone. He placed the gun where he could get to it quick, dialed the Sorceress’ private number and waited.
When Shayla’s stunned assistant, Hugh, came on the line, Gawain told the man to get her to the phone. When he heard the Sorceress’ voice, he said, “I have the people you want in the Highlands. We’re at Troda’s warren in the northeast. Get here quickly or all you’ll have left to deal with is bodies.” He ended the transmission before Shayla could even respond. Then he slipped the phone into his pocket, picked up the gun again and leaned against one of the cars to wait. His gaze never left the motley bunch before him.
“Please,” he silently begged. “One of you give me an excuse... ”

Chapter Fourteen

The sound of vehicles behind him and the startled looks on the faces of his captives heralded the Sorceress’ arrival. It had taken the better part of the night for her to get to their location, but he hadn’t moved, nor had he allowed the others to do so. He watched as the lights from the oncoming vehicles illuminated their faces. Portia was as pale as chalk. Her gaze drifted toward him and the look he received was full of sorrow. Possibly guilt. But after everything he’d been through and all that his dead friends had suffered, he felt his anger would never dissipate. That his art had been used in this travesty made him curse the very day he was born. But nothing mattered except revenge.
The sensation of a powerful presence drifted toward him. Without turning his head Gawain knew who was there. “Here are your arsonists, murdering butchers and thieves, Sorceress. They say the deaths in the fire were an accident, but I don’t care. Do with them what you will. I only ask that I be present when judgment is pronounced,” he announced loudly.
Then he placed the gun on the hood of one of the cars and walked toward one of the small outcrops of rock that dotted the hillsides. There, he stood and let the wind blow around him. He felt it lift his hair from his shoulders. It was as if the elements tried to scour away the hate and anger he felt. Gawain turned into the wind and roared out his rage.
Shayla stood and watched as the elements responded to the Druid warrior’s victory cry. In ancient times, this would have signaled the end of a great battle. She feared that with all the battles Gawain had fought, this might be the very one that could finally destroy him. She turned her attention to the betrayers. While their behavior and carelessness for the rest of the Order astounded and angered her, she could pity them because the rest of the Order would forever revile their names. Their fear had driven them to reckless abandon.
“He’s beaten several of them to a bloody pulp, Sorceress.” Lore, the Fairy Leader, approached and glanced at the man on the rock. “Goddess! As much as I wanted to see them punished... I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s like a hostage scene in the dugout behind the warren. Gawain hit them with everything he had. They’re alive, but they all have concussions.”
“So mote it be,” Shayla murmured. “Have your men gather them up. We’ll take them back to the Shire. Have this warren destroyed. I want nothing left. Not even a shard of wood. Is that clear?”
“As you wish, Sorceress.” Lore bowed his head and set his men to the tasks.
Shayla walked the short distance to where Gawain stood. “Come home, Gawain. There are those back at the Shire who think you allied yourself with the traitors. I’ll call ahead and have Hugh gather everyone in the great clearing. I’ll order him to explain everything to the rest of the Order and there’ll be an end to this once and for all. Everyone will know about the fire and these conspirators’ part in it. The entire truth will be known.”
Gawain turned quickly. “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks about me. Just so long as I get to see them burn!” He pointed toward Troda and his small band of thieves.
Shayla stood completely still as he stalked away from her. The man’s rage was a horrible thing to feel. It burned her senses as he passed by.
“Maybe you were right, my man. Perhaps I should have left you on these moors those many months ago. Dying might have been easier on you than living with the hate you’ll never let go.”
He was too far away to hear her murmured words and she closed her eyes and sighed. Lecturing him about leaving the punishment to her was pointless. Gawain had already beaten most of them and would forever live with what he’d done. And one day it would hit him hard. He’d become as obsessed with what he’d wanted as they had. And his anger would drive away all those who cared for and loved him. Including Wren. That was why there had always been a Sorceress, to take the pain and guilt from the rest of the Order by passing judgment herself. On very rare occasions, previous women holding her position had to send their people out to kill. Because they had done so to protect other innocent lives from certain death, the Goddess would absolve them from blame and they could live with what they had done. Times had changed. There was no need for that now, not when she had magic greater than her predecessors had wielded and she had more technology to protect her people. Still, it was on her own head to one day take the consequences reserved for her by the Goddess. This was why the choice to punish never came easily. She knew the price to be paid for having done so. By usurping her role in this matter, becoming the judge of others, Gawain had condemned himself to torment. But that was the way of it now. He would find no respite. Shayla shook her head in sadness and slowly turned away from the hills. It was time to lead this sad procession back to their sacred forest.
۞  ۞  ۞
By the time they arrived back, Shayla knew Hugh had assembled the Order and told its members everything. From the moment their group entered the sacred forest, she sensed a great difference. Sorrow, pain, anger and hatred filtered through the air and weighed heavily on her keen senses. Even forgiveness and sadness for the fate of the betrayers was in the very wind. To keep balance and restore a sense of justice, she had to act quickly to bring about some peace. Troda and his group had answered all her questions on the long drive back. They easily gave up the account numbers, knowing that whatever she did to them would be less severe if they cooperated. There were no excuses they could make, so they offered none. Gawain had maintained a stony silence.
“Lore, take anyone not needing medical attention to the dungeon. The others are to be locked in the infirmary with guards.”
“What difference will it make, Sorceress? Troda and his cutthroats will be put to death soon enough,” Gawain snarled.
Ignoring Gawain’s hateful outburst, Lore bowed his head and took his captives away.
Gawain watched as the other Fairies unloaded the betrayers and hauled them toward the castle. Never to be spoken of again. Such was the fate of murderers and traitors.
Shayla took a deep breath before addressing him. “Go to one of the castle rooms and stay there, Gawain. I’ll come to you later,” Shayla commanded.
He glared at her. “You’ll not keep me from seeing judgment, Shayla. I demand the right, as a victim and their hunter, to be present.”
She nodded and sadly wondered where the man she once knew had gone. The man who loved life, his family, art and all those in the Order was now in the grip of insatiable vengeance. “I’ll allow it. But judgment won’t take place this night. It has been a long drive. The families of those who lost loved ones will be summoned. They should have the right to view judgment as well.”
Gawain nodded in approval. “Good. I’ll await your presence.” He started to walk away.
“One moment.”
At her summons, he immediately stopped. “Yes?”
“Wren is in the castle. You should speak with her.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing him search for the proper words. “I‑I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ve just brought her grandfather to you for judgment.”
“That’s exactly why you should have left this thing to me,” Shayla bitterly pointed out. “That’s why you should have come to me with your suspicions in the first place.”
“There wasn’t time. I had to go with them or lose them altogether. They planned on leaving the country.”
“I haven’t been Sorceress all these years without knowing how to deal with situations like this, Gawain. And while I can appreciate that you’ve saved the Order, in time you may wish that the revenge you wear like a righteous banner had been rendered by one other than you. Go now!”
Gawain walked toward the castle. It was over. There should have been a feeling of finality in the act, but his heart still ached for vengeance. He pushed the heavy oak door of the castle so hard that it flew open and slammed against the inside wall. He drew himself up short when Wren walked into the foyer and stood gazing at him. Her expression was one of shock mixed with pity and great sadness. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he waited to hear what she’d say.
“You’ve the anger of a warrior on your face. Which of them did you beat the worst?” she asked softly.
“I didn’t lay a hand on your grandfather, Wren.”
She nodded. “I see.”
“You know I wasn’t with them. You had to have known that all along.”
“I knew. And I was frightened for you.”
She moved closer and Gawain gazed down into her sad, golden eyes. Something told him he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear.
“There were a great many who believed you didn’t betray us. Now everyone knows. But even though you don’t have the heart of a traitor, you’re so full of anger and hate that I don’t think I can be near you. I can feel the fury you carry. It’s like some malignant thing waiting to eat at anyone who comes near you.”
“How am I supposed to feel, Wren? They killed people whose lives were my responsibility. Am I supposed to forgive and forget?”
“You were supposed to go to the Sorceress and let her decide what to do. I could see you defending yourself, if it came to that. But I don’t think that’s the way the capture happened. Was it?”
Gawain dropped his head back and snorted in disbelief. “What I did was nothing compared to what Shayla will do.” He clenched his left fist. “And now the cries of my friends won’t echo in my head every time I think of them.”
Gawain’s words were so harsh and so hatefully spoken that they took Wren aback. Where was the gentle, loving warrior who had held her so close and stroked her as if she were treasured? His words had been tender and soothing. The love they’d shared so wonderful and sweet. She felt none of it in him now.
When Shayla had sent word that he’d almost beaten to death most of Troda’s group, Wren hadn’t wanted to believe it. If he had said it was in self-defense, it would have made a difference. But the man who stood before her had a heart of ice. His expression, bearing, stance and his very feelings all gave him away. Even if her grandfather and the others deserved the judgment to come, such things were never done in anger but sorrow. They were never events to revel in or for retaliation. They were always sad episodes where beings of the Order closed their doors and windows. No words were spoken for a full twenty-four hours and the children were taken to the deepest part of the forest so they wouldn’t sense their parents’ dismay. In the few times such massive punishment had been necessary, the situation was always one of deep pain for everyone involved. It was more so now because those to be judged had betrayed them all. They were their own kind, not outsiders or enemies.
Wren had been in the clearing when everyone had been told. Even the families of those who had died in the fire were horrified. They could have cried out for and sought revenge as Gawain did, but they chose to seek the healing spirit of the Goddess instead. They’d gone deep into the woods to be by themselves, to console themselves in the cleanliness of nature and its wonders.
Tears clouded her vision. “You want death and revenge. I don’t know you anymore. I’ve lost you, Gawain.”
Gawain stared over her head. When she walked away, part of him wanted to go after her, but hate and his internal justification for what he’d done kept him from doing so. He let her go and slowly mounted the stairs.
Gawain picked a room he’d used many times. It was the same one he’d had right after the fire. There was a kind of justice in coming back to it as an avenger instead of a victim. When he turned and looked into the mirror, he stepped back in shocked disbelief. “No wonder Wren was in such a state,” he murmured. Blood had spattered onto his face from when he’d hit his victims so hard. It was on his arms and his clothing. Shrugging away his ghastly appearance as a necessity, Gawain went to the bathroom showered and donned a large robe left hanging in the closet. He summoned one of Shayla’s staff to clean his clothing and waited. When a knock came on the door, he turned away from the lit fireplace in surprise. Shayla Gallagher rarely knocked on the doors and this incident wasn’t one where she’d show such etiquette.
“Come in.”
Markham and Taurus entered the room. Markham took a deep breath and quickly embraced Gawain. “Have you any idea what you put us through? We thought you might be dead!”
“I’m sorry, Dad, but it couldn’t be helped. I had no time to let anyone know what was happening and I was constantly watched.”
“It’s all over the woods that you almost killed those men,” Taurus said as he eyed his brother in stricken awe.
“I beat up some murderers!” he responded.
Taurus and Markham glanced at each other. Neither spoke.
“What is this? Am I to be treated like some kind of savage by everyone?” Gawain held up his one hand in a questioning gesture.
“I-I just never wanted to see you have to resort to such a thing, son. It’s different if the fighting is for sport or defense, but doing so out of revenge and hate...  It isn’t our way. You know our traditions and laws.”
“Our traditions and laws be damned! They didn’t help when that fire started.” Again, Gawain’s outburst was met with silence.
Markham turned to Taurus. “Could you wait in the hall? I’d like to speak with Gawain alone. It has been a long, hard trip for him.”
Taurus nodded and left.
“All right. What’s up?” Gawain asked as he watched his father’s face closely.
“What you just said... ”
“Yes?”
“You sound like the very people you hunted down, Gawain. That’s not our way,” he softly reprimanded. “I saw Wren outside. She was crying as if her heart had been broken in two. I’m as angry as you about what was done by Troda and the others, but you have to let it go. Let the anger leave you, Gawain.”
“I-I didn’t mean...  I guess I didn’t mean to say...  That is...  Bloody damn!” he stammered.
Markham hugged him fiercely. “I’m glad you’re back. Let the Sorceress do her job and put your hatred away. Then come home to us as you used to be, not as you are now.”
Gawain watched as his father left. He hadn’t really expected them to understand, but this was a turn of events that astounded him. He began to think, but his mind always came back to the night of the fire and all the suffering caused because of it. He could still see no wrong in what he had done.
When the cowering staff brought him fresh clothing, Gawain had yet more reason to think. They told him his other clothing was ruined from so much blood and profusely apologized that they hadn’t been able to save it. Their behavior mystified him. Why would anyone be afraid of him? He was careful what he said to the staff and thanked them for the new clothes. It was a way to assuage their fears. Many of the Sorceress’ household staff weren’t warriors and perhaps they didn’t understand that the Order had almost been destroyed.
Exhausted but unable to sleep, he watched as the sun rose. Still, the Sorceress didn’t come to him. No matter. His chore was finished. Soon, he’d be able to get back to life as he knew it. First he’d find Wren and explain to her what had happened. She was in shock because of her grandfather’s actions. That was certainly to be expected. But she’d need comforting and he was the one to whom she should turn for it. Gawain knew she loved him and he’d make bloody sure she knew he loved her in return. Their nights would be sweet and long.
Once he’d made peace with Wren, he would get back to his duties and make sure the finances were restored. When that was done, life could assume the normalcy he desperately needed. A life with Wren by his side was all he wanted.
The door opened and Gawain smiled as he turned to greet the Sorceress. The entry was more what he expected. No knock, just there.
She looked him over. “The staff tells me they found you suitable clothing. That black leather certainly suits you.”
“I’ve thanked them, but they acted as though I was riding on the back of the Banshee herself.”
“Perhaps there’s a reason. Didn’t you know you have a reputation as a harbinger of vengeance?”
Gawain shook his head in impatience. “I did what I had to. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”
“I haven’t come here to quarrel with you, Gawain.”
“What then? What else can you ask of me?”
“Portia.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “What has Portia to do with anything? Her fate is sealed.”
“She’s asking to see you.”
Gawain blew out an impatient breath. “I will. When you put her to the stake.”
Shayla shook her head. “How cold you’ve become. No wonder Wren doesn’t want to see you again.”
“What?”
Shayla took an object from the pocket of her robe. “Wren asked me to give you this. We found it the night you went off with Portia and the others, as I’m sure you meant us to.”
Gawain stared down at the lovely piece of Celestite the Sorceress handed him. It sparkled in the firelight, but it still refused to cast that unearthly glow it had once held. Of course, the Sorceress had no way of knowing that. As far as he knew, the episode was a secret between him and Wren.
“And you might as well know that Portia managed to put your name on the accounts.” Shayla continued. “She told me she did this by phone, while you were hiding out in the Highlands. Apparently, she either meant for you to look as though you really were one of the betrayers or she really believed you were with them. It doesn’t matter now. We have all the account numbers, so our financial situation is resolved.”
Gawain stared down at the Celestite, barely aware of what she’d just said. His mind was stuck on her revelation that Wren didn’t want to see him again. “Why did Wren say she didn’t want to see me? Is it because I brought back Troda for you to judge?”
“You poor fool! It has nothing to do with Troda. It’s because you’re very close to becoming the same thing Portia, Troda and the other renegades are. True, they must be punished, but they truly didn’t know you and the others were working late that night. You, on the other hand, decided to extract justice, beat people at will and now demand to see them burn like kindling. It’s one thing to seek justice, Gawain. Vengeance isn’t the same. Wren has the heart of a Brownie. She’s one of the Humble People. Your behavior goes against their gentle teachings. And as leader of her kind, she has to be careful about the company she keeps.”
“When did Wren become leader of her people?” Gawain asked in wonder.
“Didn’t you see the marks on her face? She fought Wyckem for leadership of her people when he challenged her for the right and she won. It might interest you to know that she also fought for your honor.”
Gawain closed his eyes and gripped the Celestite hard in his left palm. “Where is she?”
“Gone. She’ll be in the crowd when Troda is punished, but she’ll leave again as soon as it’s over.”
“Please, Shayla, tell me where she is.”
“I can’t. As a leader, I must respect her wishes in these things.”
He blew out a breath in frustration. “Since when have you not done exactly as you please?” He waited for an answer. When Shayla simply stared at him with one eyebrow raised, Gawain finally got the message. It didn’t please her to tell him where Wren was.
“You’ve been summoned. Go to Portia. It’s her last wish and I’ve granted it.”
Gawain clenched his jaw, slid the Celestite into his pocket and headed for the dungeon. He’d find Wren on his own. As he made his way down the stairs and into the pits of the building, it annoyed him no end that the guards gave him a great deal of distance. Those who should be watched were in the dungeons behind locked doors. He was certainly no threat.
When he found the row of cells which had been left in their original, medieval condition, Gawain located the one holding Portia. He bid the guard open the ancient oak door to let him in. It often amazed him the Sorceress hadn’t renovated all the old dungeon space. This was the only occasion he’d ever known her to use these rooms.
He walked into the dimly lit cell and saw Portia huddled on a cot on the far side of the room. She wore the traditional white robes of her Druid ancestors. The robes were the last thing she’d ever put on. When the woman looked up, her green eyes were calm but very sad.
“You asked to see me?”
“Yes,” she quietly replied. “Will you sit with me for a while?”
He was about to refuse when Portia patted the cot next to her and cast him a piteous expression. He sighed and did as she asked.
“I wanted to tell you how sorry I was. The Sorceress tells me that I greatly exaggerated the extent to which we’ve had past troubles. You know, almost being discovered. She showed me some of the history as written down by the previous Sorceresses. It seems that during World War II our kind had to hide in basements and caves all over Europe. In some countries, the Order also used bombed-out buildings to escape the occupying soldiers’ notice and keep hidden. And there have been other times in history that things have been much worse. I... I suppose if I’d read my history better, I wouldn’t be in my present circumstance. It was just that I was so sure things were about to come tumbling down for the Order.”
“What do you want me to say, Portia?”
“I guess I wanted you to accept my apology. I’ve offered it to Shayla and she has accepted. Of course, she’ll still have to do her duty.” Portia swallowed hard and tried not to think of what was to come. “I’ve offered my apologies to the families of those who were burned in the fire. I’m told that Troda and the others have, too, although Shayla wants us separated so we won’t use our collective powers to try to escape. But that won’t happen. I’ve accepted what’s to come and I think the others have as well.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry for you, but you knew the rules.”
“Yes, I did. I gambled and lost.” She paused. “Anyhow, I think Troda really started all this for that little granddaughter of his. He wanted to make sure she got to safety if Shayla ever lost control of the Order.”
That angered Gawain, but he held his thoughts for the moment. “Is that all you wanted to say to me?”
Portia pushed her hair back. “You’ve become very cold-blooded about all this, haven’t you? Even Shayla will give us a potion so we won’t feel the flames of the fire. At least, that’s the way it’s always been traditionally done.”
“Why did you ask to see me, Portia?”
Ignoring his question, Portia said, “You loved me once. Didn’t you?”
“That was a long time ago.” He looked down at the hook on his right hand.
Portia put her palm to one of his cheeks. “Don’t go on being angry, Gawain. I’m not. We got caught and we’re ready to pay for our actions. What we did to those people in the Loft was unforgivable and shooting you was worse. But we panicked. I don’t expect you to understand, but we just screwed up. No matter what we did, things just went from bad to worse. Through it all, I still cared about you and always will.”
“I’m sorry for you, Portia. That’s all the consideration I can muster at the moment. As for caring for you... I don’t know what might have been. I only know what is.”
“Just say you can forgive me. I don’t want you to go through life wishing you’d said something kind to us in the end. Put this behind you, Gawain.”
“You’ll be given more consideration than was shown to those in the Loft. That’s about the only comfort I have to give.”
“I’m sorry for you, Gawain. I made some unholy mistakes. But I have to go to the Goddess with a clear conscience. That’s why I’ve written out my apologies and why I asked to see you in person. But if you won’t listen, if you can’t ever admit that you’ve made some bad mistakes, too... ”
He stood angrily. “My mistakes have never cost someone else their life!”
“Not forgiving will cost you worse. It’ll cost you your heart and soul. And you did savagely beat those men the Sorceress should have judged. What about their families? Think what they’re going through. They have to watch their beaten sons be punished. I’m not even sure if they’ll be healed enough to stand up and take it like men.”
“Are you through?”
She sadly nodded and looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “Goodbye, Gawain. Go with peace in your heart, if you can find it. I’m still sorry and I still care about you. I care about Wren, too. For whatever that’s worth. Don’t chase her away with your hate. Please, don’t do that.”
He turned his back on her and walked into the hallway. The guard slammed the heavy door closed behind him. “Where is Troda?”
“In the cell at the end of the hall,” the guard replied.
“I want to see him, too.”
When the guard opened the door, Troda sat smoking a pipe and reading a book. “Well, I didn’t expect company on my last night on Earth. What brings the Craftsman to my humble abode?”
Gawain sensed no rancor or anger in Troda, but genuine surprise. “I want to know what all this was really about. Portia said something about you planning this entire scheme for Wren’s sake. I don’t want you to put all this on Wren, old man. It isn’t fair.”
“I’d like to tell you what you want to hear, Gawain, but I did do it for Wren. I hoped she’d accept Wyckem as her mate and that Wyck might be the Brownie Leader someday. And if things ever went bad for the Order, I’d send for them and my people. We’d all be secure, even if I had to risk my life in making sure it was so. The world just isn’t safe for any of us anymore.”
“Don’t you ever tell Wren what you just told me. If she knew you came up with this plot for her sake it would tear her apart.”
“She already knows, my boy. I had to tell her the truth. Going to the Goddess and all that, you see.”
“Don’t you give a damn how this will leave her feeling? She’ll think all this death and destruction was caused because of some errant, obsessive need for her safety.”
“I had to do what I thought was right, Gawain. And the Goddess will sort it out. I’ve given my apologies for what happened in the fire. That was something I truly do regret. No harm was meant to come to anyone. We just took the money to reestablish ourselves in a safe spot. That’s all that was meant to happen. The Order still had this sacred forest.” He circled his pipe to indicate the land encompassing him. “It, as well as Shayla’s new holdings in the United States, could produce food for the Order. I truly felt we’d all be better off. The way we felt, none of us was doing the Order any good. I’m caught now and I’ll pay. But maybe Wren will be all right. She’s very strong. Stronger than you know. Still, in whatever world the Goddess places me, I’ll worry about her. She’s my granddaughter to the end. And this world is so unsafe. I fear the Order won’t be here someday soon.” He tapped the tobacco out of his pipe. “And speaking of errant obsessions, isn’t that what kept you after us? Isn’t that why you attacked those men, leaving them unconscious and without giving them a chance to make their peace with the Order and themselves?”
Gawain ignored his last comment. “The Order will be here forever. As long as men like you don’t decide what’s best for us.” Gawain turned and walked away. The guard opened the door to let him leave.
“Though misdirected, I believe you’re a good man, Gawain. I’ll put in a word for you with the Goddess,” Troda called after him.
Gawain stormed away in anger. Troda still believed what he’d done was right. He had to find Wren and be with her. How must she feel knowing her grandfather would die soon and that all this was supposedly because of her? It would be horrific for her to watch the deaths as leader of her people. More than anything else, Gawain had to be with her when the fire was lit. Just to hold her and lend what strength and love he could.
He made his way through the forest. In anticipation of the approaching judgment the next day, men and women went about their work silently. Already, the somber occasion had the creatures of the Shire within its grip.
Gawain eventually found himself in front of his family’s cottage. His brothers stood by the fence in front. They should have been performing their guard duties or whatever task had been assigned to them. Instead, they looked back toward the porch. His father stood there in what appeared to be an urgent conversation with a man who was vaguely familiar.
As Gawain looked on, he knew he had seen the man with his father before. He couldn’t quite place where. When his brothers saw him, they stepped forward and offered greetings and hugs. It took a few moments to understand the depth of concern they’d had for him. It was as his father said. His entire family had been worried and Gawain felt guilt that he hadn’t been able to tell them his plans. There simply hadn’t been time to let anyone know why he’d disappeared with Troda and the others.
Once they had ascertained he was all right and fired off a few simultaneous questions his father hadn’t already answered, Taurus said, “We knew you weren’t a traitor, Gawain. Though we had to fight off a few people to prove it.”
“What are talking about?” Gawain glanced at his brothers’ faces and knew they were carefully masking their emotions.
“We just had a few problems with people thinking you had led the traitors, but then Shayla and Hugh explained everything to us. There were a great many apologies, I can tell you.”
“So that’s why Shayla didn’t want to do the explaining herself,” Gawain said. “She didn’t want a full riot when I showed up and everyone still thought I’d run off with Troda, Portia and the other men.”
“Exactly,” Taurus agreed. “When we heard how the deaths in the fire were connected with the thefts, there was more than one person wanting to get their hands on the traitors. Even though we were told the deaths were accidents, Troda and the others let everyone, including you, think that kiln explosion was due to your negligence. I wanted to get my own hands around someone’s throat myself, but we’ve got that out of our systems now. We’re just glad you’re all right.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell any of you what had happened, but Father and I were ordered not to say anything.”
“It’s all right,” Taurus said as the rest of his brothers closed protectively around Gawain. “As I said, everything was explained to us. Thank the Goddess it’s almost over. Except for that,” Taurus added and nodded toward the man still on the porch with their father.
Gawain broke away from his brothers and made his way to his father. His intent had been to find Wren. Hoping his father or family might have heard where she was, he’d made his way home. It seemed yet another melodrama was opening up before him. All of it had to do, he surmised, with his infiltration into Troda’s group. He wondered if his part in the scheme would ever come to an end.
When Markham saw Gawain, he gave an imperceptible shake of his head. Gawain took that as a message to leave. But if the man on the porch wanted to see him, then his appearance was well-timed. It was time his family quit fighting his battles for him.
“I came to see you,” the stranger on the porch said to Gawain.
“I’m here,” Gawain said, noting the man’s confusion and painful expression.
Markham shook his head and backed away. He obviously hadn’t wanted Gawain to talk to the man.
“One of the men with Troda, his name was Reese. I’m his father,” the man revealed.
Gawain took a deep breath and steeled himself for the inevitable question. There was utter sorrow in the man’s face and his body seemed to slump in weariness. “Yes?”
“My son’s actions have dishonored my family. I just came to ask... did he... did Reese tell you he was sorry at all? I mean, did he ever even offer an apology or say anything remorseful when you were together?”
Gawain swallowed hard and tried to remember. His attention had been on beating the crap out of this man’s son, not on what he might have said. “Your son and I didn’t have a chance to speak all that much.” This was the best he could do for a father about to watch his son accept punishment.
The man nodded. “I hope what happens to him will be quick. Not painful. There’s... there’s been so much pain lately.” He broke into tears and backed away.
Gawain slowly shook his head and said no more.
Satisfied with the only answer he could get, the man bowed his head. “Thank you, O’Malley. I just had to know. Reese won’t see me or his mother and I just wanted to know if he ever said he was sorry.”
Gawain and his family watched the man walk away. Sorrow seemed to follow each step Reese’s father took.
When he was no longer in sight, Markham turned to Gawain and said, “I’d rather have saved you that. He’s a coworker of mine. I think he was grasping at anything to redeem his son.”
The same way his own family had fought to redeem his name when everyone had believed him a murdering traitor. “I don’t think Reese was evil, just misled. He made a huge mistake and will pay for it.” And it suddenly occurred to Gawain that most of the other men had been in that same position. There was no telling what Portia and Troda had told them. The two main conspirators had probably painted a picture of impending doom so horrifying that the men saw few options, especially since they seemed so easily led to begin with. Gawain slumped against a porch column.
“Revenge isn’t so sweet anymore, is it, son?”
“No.” A sudden, horrible revelation hit him. “I don’t think the people in the Loft would have wanted me to have hated as I have. Not for their sakes.”
“So, what now? What’s your plan of action?”
Gawain rallied at his father’s challenge. “First, I want to find Wren. I need to see her. Do you know where she might be?”
“She was staying here. In your old room. But she left as soon as you came back. None of us knows where she went. She just kissed your mother and sister goodbye and walked out.”
Gawain tilted his head in confusion. “Why was she here?”
“She needed to be near those who were supporting you. Half the forest thought you were a traitor, too.”
“So it seems,” Gawain muttered and looked toward his brothers. They still stood by the fence, but within earshot. “I’m sorry all of you had to fight for me.”
“That’s what makes us a family,” Markham reminded him. “Before you go looking for Wren, however, come inside and talk to your mother and sister. They need to see you.”
Gawain followed his father inside the cottage. His brothers trudged in behind them. What followed was a tearful reunion. He hadn’t been gone that long, but what had transpired in his absence was shocking and sad. How much more so for Wren? She had no one now. Seeking love and support where she could, the woman he desired had come to his family and found what she needed here. And Gawain loved his parents and siblings even more, because they had taken her in. He decided to stay the night with them. Tired to the bone, he still sat up and talked through most of it and he began to feel like himself again. The hate and anger began to diminish. The sadness of what he’d done slowly took the place of those other emotions. And he knew, as the Sorceress had said, that he truly would live with his actions for the rest of his life. There was a bitter hole in his heart that would never mend.

Chapter Fifteen

The following morning dawned gray, cold and misty. It was a perfect day for a judgment. The previous night, Markham had asked the surrounding forest guards to keep a lookout for Wren, but no one had seen or heard anything of her. Presumably, she’d be gathering her people and they were deep in that part of the forest occupied by the Goblins. Gawain waited, knowing she really didn’t want to see him. His anger and rage had driven her away. But he vowed to get her back. Something good had to come of all this or what was the point in believing in good at all?
On this day, tradition dictated that he remain with his family and stay away from those people whose family members were to be judged. All he could think of was how alone Wren would be. Strong or not, she needed someone and that person to stand by her should be him. When it finally came time to enter that part of the forest known as the great clearing and witness the judgment, Gawain went with his family. The men all wore the black leather clothing of their warrior ancestors, while the women wore Druid robes of dark blue. In his pocket, he carried the small piece of Celestite. It was more precious to him than any art he’d ever created. It linked him with Wren and he hoped it would one day lead him to forgiveness from the Goddess.
As he silently stood with his brothers and viewed the pyres of timber before them, Gawain felt as if his heart was bleeding. All the judgments he’d ever seen had consisted of a beating or a less permanent means to address a grievance. He could feel his brothers’ agitation. Not so many days ago, they had thought he’d end up on one of those piles of wood and he knew he had so very much to make up for to so many. His vengeance had hurt them all. He should have let the Sorceress find the betrayers herself. All he’d had to do was make some plausible excuse, leave Portia’s room that night and let Shayla know what was happening. In hindsight, there were several options Gawain now knew he could have taken, but his fury had kept his mind from accepting any plan but the one he’d bitterly pursued. It didn’t seem to matter now that the men he’d beaten would have ended up next to Troda, Portia, Robb and Lowan anyhow. He had taken it upon himself to be their judge when the Sorceress, as the Goddess’ representative on Earth, should have done so.
A drum, known in Gaelic as bodhran, began to beat slowly. Gawain’s body stiffened at the sound. He saw those who were about to be judged being led forward. Following them was the Sorceress, followed by her staff. They all wore Druid robes of midnight blue. The fine mist still fell over the crowd, but the wood was very dry and would light quickly.
The drumming stopped as the men and one woman about to be judged stood before their individual funeral pyres. A small figure came from behind Shayla and stood before the Sorceress. There was a flurry of robes as Shayla, the smaller figure and some of her staff consulted. As Gawain understood the ceremony, this wasn’t what was supposed to happen.
When Shayla and those conversing all turned toward him and walked across the clearing, his heart fell. What mistake had he made now? Would it ever end? Next to him, his brothers stiffened. To keep them from blundering into something the Sorceress would punish them for, he walked forward. The small figure next to Shayla walked toward him and dropped the hood of her robe back. It was Lysson, the girl whose parents had died in the fire. She held out her small hand and Gawain took it.
“Please,” she begged, “Portia has asked you for forgiveness. She’s asked me to forgive her for her part in killing my parents. I’ve given it to her. Won’t you, Gawain?”
Completely confused by this turn of events, Gawain stood there, speechless.
“I blamed you for my parents’ deaths and that wasn’t right. When I went to the Sorceress and told her what I’d done, she said I should apologize to you. She told me you’d forgive me.” Lysson paused and looked up into his face. “Will you, Gawain? Will you forgive those horrible things I said to you? I don’t hate you. And I don’t want to see you dead.”
The tears in her eyes and the catch in her voice almost broke his heart. He’d long ago forgotten that outcry of emotion. She was just a little girl. She had no business being at a judgment.
Gawain quickly hugged her to him. “What are you doing here, Lysson? Of course you have my forgiveness, little one. You don’t even need to ask. That’s all forgotten.” He wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs.
“Then if you forgive Portia the way you’ve forgiven me, I can leave and I’ll know everything will be all right,” she said.
Still befuddled, Gawain was having a hard time seeing how his and Lysson’s long-ago exchange had any thing to do with Portia. “Honey, I don’t understand what you want from me.”
“The Sorceress says you’re full of revenge and that it’s wrong to feel that way, just as it was wrong for me to feel that way about you. Please, Gawain. The Goddess is supposed to be forgiving. I felt so bad when you ran to the moors and almost died. It was that same night when I said those horrible things to you. You could have d‑died and I’d have never said I was sorry. I would have felt guilty for the rest of my life.” Lysson stopped to take some sobbing breaths and clung to Gawain as she did so. “Last night, Portia told me she was sorry for starting the fire that killed my parents. I forgave her. Now I know everything will be all right. Can’t you forgive her, too? Then maybe this will all be over,” she sobbed brokenly.
“Lysson, it’s all right, sweetheart.” Gawain knelt, held her and rocked the girl, finally understanding. In her mind, if everyone forgave everyone else, then this whole thing wasn’t so horrifying. Gawain couldn’t refuse her. If saying the words would make her world right, there was no reason to say no. “All right, honey. Anything you want. I’ll forgive Portia.”
Lysson kept sobbing as he gently pushed her into the arms of a robed figure nearby. He stood, turned and made his way to Portia’s funeral pyre. He walked up the steps to where she was tied. “I just promised that little girl that I’d forgive you. I don’t know what it will do for you, Portia, but Lysson desperately needs to see me do it.”
Portia tearfully nodded. “I didn’t know she’d do this, Gawain. I swear. It just broke my heart that there wouldn’t be forgiveness all around. Everyone but you has given it.”
That was something he hadn’t known. “All right. I forgive you, Portia. Go to the Goddess and know... ” His voice broke and something in his chest tore open. He tried to keep the pain, sorrow and broken dreams of the past from entering his consciousness, but it was all there.
“It’s okay, now. You’ll be all right, Gawain.” Portia smiled sadly. “May the Goddess be good to you. Have a good life. Go find Wren and make her understand.”
Gawain looked at her and then he leaned forward and kissed her lips very gently. “Good-bye, Portia. Has the Sorceress given you something?”
Portia nodded. “I won’t feel anything. I’m already woozy. By the time the fire is lit, I’ll be unconscious.”
He nodded and slowly backed away. Her beautiful green eyes were free of any pain. And Gawain remembered a time when they had been happy together. A time when they had been lovers and friends. When he reached the bottom step of her pyre, he gazed at her one more time. Portia’s eyes glazed over and her head began to droop. The painless potion Shayla had given her was working. Her heart would stop very soon.
As he approached Lysson, the girl ran forward, hugged him hard and then she was led away by an adult.
From across the clearing, Wren watched the exchange. She couldn’t hear the words spoken. Clearly, some momentous event had altered Gawain’s demeanor. She caught the sheen of tears in his eyes. And his family gathered around him. Before her, Troda stood and struggled for breath before unconsciousness took him. It was only the Sorceress’ good heart that allowed him to be administered the potion. Shayla’s previous predecessor would never have allowed the use of a drug to diminish the pain of the fire. Then the torches were lit and hooded figures moved forward to light the pyres.
“I love you, Wren. Always remember that,” Troda called out, breaking the tradition of silence.
From her section of the woods, Wren responded, “I will, Grandfather. May the Goddess be with you in the next life.”
When the cloaked Druids holding the torches moved toward each of the pyres, a strange thing happened. Wren felt a bone-chilling coldness seep through her Brownie robe and the wind in the tops of the trees began to blow. Instead of lighting the fire as they were supposed to and burning those judged just as they’d accidentally burned their victims, the Druids turned toward Shayla and held their torches aloft. She saw the Sorceress raise her hands toward the heavens and heard every syllable of her amplified voice.
Shayla concentrated harder than she ever had in her life. The spell wasn’t one she was used to casting, but it must work. She’d only let the ceremony go this far so that all in the Order would know that killing, betraying, hatred and vengeance had to be stopped. To that end, she spoke.
“Hear me fire, wind, air and water. Hear me all those present and take heart from these words. Those before you will not die this day, but be reborn into another life.”
From where he stood, Gawain could see a thick mist forming at the far end of the clearing that had nothing to do with any ordinary weather phenomenon. It glowed an eerie blue and seeped from under bushes, ferns and wild flowers. It crept slowly forward, toward the pyres where those judged had been tied.
Shayla spoke again. “So that you may all know there are other ways besides killing, other ways besides stealing and betrayal, other ways besides wrath and deception to conquer any problem, I offer this... hope.” The eerie mist she’d summoned now curled around and up the individual pyres where Troda and his group were tied.
Wren gasped when she saw the flames of the Druids’ torches change from bright orange to blue. She was shaking so hard that she couldn’t move or speak, even if tradition would have allowed such a thing.
“So you will know there is always another choice and that death is not a solution but an ending from which no man, woman or magical being may ever withdraw once that decision is made... I give you life!”
The force with which the word was spoken almost knocked Wren to her knees.
Gawain felt as if some unseen entity had pushed him very hard, he was barely able to remain standing.
Slowly, Wren saw the mist encompass those on the pyres and completely cover them. As if some lightning storm were silently taking place within the mist, she saw small flashes of blue-white within the opaque substance. Then, just as it had come, the mist began to retreat to the woods. Wren didn’t remember breathing or moving, just staring.
Gawain felt as if some part of what the Sorceress had said had been directed at him. He fought tears of frustration. He couldn’t bring his dead friends back, no matter what he’d done. And the people on the pyres had only been afraid. Afraid of an outside world that had once sent six million of their own kind to die in fires, just like the ones he’d wanted to see burn. Shame hit him in the gut like a rock. He fell to his knees and openly wept.
Shayla finally lowered her hands when the mist had completely disappeared. “Remove the restraints from those who were judged. Let them go with those to whom I’ve assigned them, never to know their families again.”
Gawain was finally able to stand. His family rushed toward him as confused and frightened as he’d been. He took several deep breaths as he watched the torchbearers put out their lights which were now orange again. They proceeded up the ramps where the judged were standing and untied them. Troda, Portia and the others were not dead. They were quite alive and looking around them in wonder and awe. The expression on their faces was as if they’d just awakened. When the torchbearers spoke to them, he couldn’t hear the words, but their response was one of childlike confusion.
“Their memories have been taken from them,” Shayla said. “They will never remember their families or their lives. They are as children again, waiting to be taught and loved. And their kin will know only the grief of a gentle parting, not complete loss.”
Gawain whirled around when her voice sounded from right behind him. “H‑how?” he softly asked.
“I am the most powerful of my kind, Gawain. But to use power unwisely is worse than having none at all,” she quietly replied and watched as Troda, Portia and the others were led in a befuddled state down to the ground and off toward their new homes. “We need every one of us alive and working. We need forgiveness and to understand that killing offers no solution. We’d be no better than those in the outside world if we cannot rise above some of their behavior. And when that world comes encroaching on our bowers and glens, when it finds us out and seeks to learn who and what we are, we should offer an example. They must know, by the way we live and how we treat ourselves, that there’s a better way to exist. They have to know we mean them no harm. And in our lives and our behavior, they will find a kinder, gentler way.”
“Y-you never wanted to kill them at all,” he whispered.
“I’ve sent people away and banned them. I’ve locked them in dungeons and made them work harder to instill in them some kind of remorse for their actions. I wouldn’t have taken these people’s memories if I could have found some other punishment where they’d change their minds and rethink their attitudes. But theirs was a dangerous preoccupation with fear that couldn’t be rationally expunged. I couldn’t let it fester in them and spread to others, nor could I go without making an example of them. I had to conceive of something that would warn others of the folly of distrust of all outsiders, yet choose a punishment that was above simple killing. Any fool can do that. It’s so very easy nowadays. Sadly, that’s why so many do it.”
Gawain was finally humbled. “I was one of them,” he muttered. “I wanted to kill.”
“But living with that knowledge is your punishment, Gawain. I regret there’s more to come for you. But take heed and see that the lesson doesn’t go amiss.” She slowly walked away as the crowd, silently parted and bowed their heads as she passed.
Gawain felt as if something had crawled inside him and scoured out the rage. But even with what the Sorceress had just said, he could still hear his friends crying out for help on that long ago night of the fire. That memory would never leave him. He absently walked around the clearing, keeping silent as tradition dictated. That was when he saw Wren.
Wren looked up into his cobalt eyes and sensed his sorrow. But too much had happened. The time for them was over. Happy to know her grandfather wasn’t dead, even though he would never know her or his own people again, she had to be content. However, the harsh ordeal wasn’t completely over for those left behind. She couldn’t wipe away the memories of the deaths from the fire or Gawain’s hate and rage. That he was capable of such a vengeance hurt her beyond belief, even though she understood why he’d done what he’d done. Now she had to lead her people back into their place of honor and undo what Troda had done to them. She had no time for herself and even if she did, she knew she could never make peace with Gawain. Her nature was one of peace and kindness and his was that of a warrior.
She pushed back the hood of her traveling cape, stood on tiptoe and kissed Gawain gently. Then they shared a silent hug that was warm and bittersweet and then they parted. If her heart wasn’t already broken by her grandfather’s behavior, it shattered as she walked away.
Gawain stood rooted to the spot. He saw Wyckem put his hand on Wren’s shoulder and follow her into the woods with the rest of the Brownies. He remained there until long after they’d left. His brothers finally led him away. Aside from the night of the fire, this was the hardest day of his life. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He knew Wren was lost to him forever. If Wyckem was still with her after losing a challenge fight, the two of them had made their peace and would probably be handfasted, just as old Troda had wanted. This was the last, bitter cost for his revenge.
۞  ۞  ۞
It was six months later and none of his family’s coaxing could bring a smile back to Gawain’s face. The wounds he’d heaped, both upon himself and them, were too fresh and painful. He found solace in his work, though he preferred to do this alone. When he made his rounds of the other artisans, the rooms or outside areas in which they worked became deathly silent. There was a time when people were glad to see him. Gawain knew that a reputation about his ferocity had grown, but what had he expected? He was paying the price for his vengeful deeds. It didn’t matter that many members of the Order had wanted the betrayers dead as well. He was the one who’d actually taken their punishment into his own control. He was the one who hadn’t gone to the Sorceress with his suspicions and he was the person who’d been begged by a child, in front of the entire Order, to forgive. He’d had to be cajoled into doing this even when everyone thought those on the pyres would be burned alive. He’d almost been forced into saying the simple words, “I forgive you.” He’d lost his friends and he’d lost the woman he loved. What was left but work and his family?
His wounded heart would never heal, but he wasn’t about to let his family suffer more on his account. So each day that followed the horrible night of the judgment was a supreme act of self-control. He never raised his voice to his workers or uttered a single word of reprimand, even when such actions would have been justified. He took one day at a time and tried to show those around him the monster he’d become had died, along with the conspirators’ memories.
His work became quite poignant. There were carvings in wood that evoked feelings of pain and self-condemnation. Used to being one-handed now, the pottery he created was strikingly dark and eerie. Through it all, he kept his mind off Wren and what he might have had if his desire for revenge had not come between them. He often dreamed of her at night and his artwork slowly became less dark and more representative of lovers parting.
His current piece was just such a work. Picking up a polishing cloth, Gawain closed his eyes and silently thanked the Goddess and the spirits of the forest for the wood he used. This was a tradition he’d always, as a Druid, faithfully followed. But the Goddess didn’t seem to hear his prayers, no matter how earnestly they were made. Still, he said the words. Maybe one day the Goddess of light and love would forgive his anger, hatred and need for retribution.
He put the polishing cloth to the wood and rubbed the art until it gleamed in the firelight. From gnarled oak, he’d carved the figures of two lovers attempting to embrace. But some unseen force kept them forever apart. Their faces were featureless except for two tiny crystal tears placed upon one cheek of each figure. Their arms reached, fingers almost touching. Gawain stepped back to view the piece. As an afterthought, he reached into his pocket and placed his Celestite between the two figures. It lay at their feet and fit perfectly into an indentation there. He hadn’t consciously added the hollow space for the stone, but it rested well between the two surreal figures.
“That’s as lovely a carving as you’ve ever done, Gawain.”
He slowly turned to see the Sorceress standing in the cottage doorway. He waited as she walked forward and examined the artwork. “You can add it to the other pieces for sale in London.”
“No.” Shayla waved her hand in denial. “Not this one. I think I’d like to keep it, if you don’t mind.”
Gawain nodded in silent acceptance. The money Portia and the others had stolen had been recovered and it was a huge sum. It had taken many weeks, but the Order’s finances were well on their way to being as solid as they’d ever been. For that, he was thankful.
Shayla looked up into Gawain’s face and noted the sadness there. “You don’t need to work so hard now. As you’ve given leave to the other workers to be with their families, you should do the same. Why is it that you’re driving yourself as if tomorrow might not come?”
He shrugged. “It keeps my mind off things.”
She nodded in understanding. “You know, I’ve thought a great deal about all that’s happened. It seems that I should have known the Loft was burned to cover the theft of all that art. But I wouldn’t let myself believe our own people were capable of such a thing, even though all the signs were there.”
Gawain quickly turned away and tossed his polishing cloth onto a workbench. “I’d rather not talk about any of that, Shayla. It’s over.”
“We’re all still feeling the pain of it, Gawain. You aren’t alone. Even I have had to seek the solace of the Goddess’ arms and it helps greatly to do so. Have you tried going to her?”
“No,” he lied with his back still turned toward the Sorceress.
“You should. There’s wisdom and healing in nature. Seek your respite in the woods. Go there and ask the Goddess to help you.” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We’re here. Your family and all of us want to help you. What you’ve been through was terrible. Let it be at an end. Go to the forest tonight and seek peace.”
He didn’t turn as the Sorceress of the Ancients made her way out of the work cottage. Deep within his aching heart, something in her voice struck a chord of need. He desperately wanted peace of some kind. The feelings he’d had after the fire that killed his friends and cost him his arm were at such odds to the man he had once been. If he could just smile or laugh again, perhaps something of that man would return. He could never regain Wren’s love, but he could ask for some peace for her as well. She deserved it. She had done nothing to warrant the horror of watching her own grandfather mount a funeral pyre, then have his entire life taken away in a blue mist. When she had needed him the most, he had failed her miserably. When he should have been holding her close, his need for revenge and his anger had driven her away.
He caressed the carved lovers the Sorceress had just admired. He hadn’t consciously begun the piece to represent himself and Wren, their separation and final loss of love, but it was a work in wood to show the world how his heart and soul ached because of the loss.
“Wren,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry. If I had been stronger inside, where it counted, maybe you and I could have made a life together.”
Having uttered those words, Gawain picked up the Celestite and headed into the cold night. If the Goddess refused this one plea, he’d trouble her no more. He had been given no sign, up to this point, which would indicate his behavior had been forgiven. Not even when Portia had shown forgiveness. Perhaps his transgressions had been greater than Portia’s. Greater even than Troda’s and the other conspirators combined, for he had hunted in rage. There was no justice in his actions.
He made his way deep into the sacred forest where there was an old, moss-covered altar that was seldom used. There were Celtic markings on its sides and Gawain hoped the ancient symbols would aid his cause. As he knelt before the altar and placed the Celestite on its marble top, a stillness came over the area. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.
“Goddess of all things, please forgive me, I beg you. I stalked others in anger and couldn’t find it in my heart to forgive. I drove from me the only woman I shall ever love. I have no right to ask anything else for myself, but I would ask that you help and heal Wren. She is in no way to blame for the tragedies which befell us. And please, blessed Goddess, watch over those who died in that terrible fire so many months ago. Be with their families. Let those lives I judged in rage and retribution be remembered for the good they did, not the sorrow they caused. I ask you... I beg you... please forgive me.”
Gawain couldn’t go on. His voice broke just as the last piece of his heart shattered. For some time he lay across the altar and wept. He had lost himself and didn’t know the man who had taken the place of the Craftsman.
It took some time for him to push himself away from the altar. The small piece of Celestite remained as cold and untouched as it had been for months. He left it where it lay, a sad reminder of the token of faith it was once meant to be.
۞  ۞  ۞
Wren smiled when she saw the front entrance to Dunnemore Castle. Lady Anna Dunnemore was gifting her entire estate to her closest adjoining neighbor and dearest friend, Shayla Gallagher. Unknown to Lady Anna, that friend was the Sorceress of the Ancients and protector of a forest full of mythic beings. Even stranger, Lady Anna had anonymously purchased the very same door Gawain had worked so hard to create. It hung, as a magnificent tribute to his art, in the front of Dunnemore Castle itself and Wren couldn’t wait to find Gawain, tell him of these events and show him that his creation would forever remain a part of the Order. When the Sorceress had summoned her from Scotland, she had no idea all these wonders had taken place and Wren’s heart, once saddened by the pain of loss, now soared with happiness. This meant a new beginning. The added land would double the size of the Order’s holdings and make it much more difficult for the outside world to encroach upon their hiding places.
She pulled up the brown hood of her traveling cape and raced through the forest. Overhead, the moon glowed an almost pure winter blue and a huge barn owl soared through the night sky, hooting loudly as she made her way to the adjoining forest of the Order. Wren knew what she was seeing was no coincidence. The Goddess was giving her these signs for a purpose. She also knew there would be no problem finding Gawain. She simply followed the flight of the owl. When it landed on the roof of his small work cottage, Wren knew she was home.
۞  ۞  ۞
Gawain sat before a small fireplace, staring absently at the flames. His left hand rubbed his throbbing right forearm. That old pain seemed to be the only sense left to him. A deep emptiness had chased away all other feelings and emotions. When the door burst open, he could scarcely believe Wren stood there. She paused and then ran toward him. He opened his arms and she threw herself into his embrace. For a long moment, Gawain thought he was dreaming. That his mind was playing one last cruel joke before leaving him forever. Then he heard her sweet voice.
“Gawain, I’ve missed you so very much,” she sobbed. “H-hold me close.”
All thoughts of pain fled and he held her so tightly that it was as if they were one being. “I don’t know why you’ve come back, but I won’t ever let you go again, little Brownie. You are really here, aren’t you?” he choked out.
She nodded, kissed him hard and then broke the contact to look up into his shocked eyes. “I had to get my head and my heart together, Gawain. There were so many bad things I wanted to get over. After a while, I knew there had to be an end to it and then the Sorceress has told me how much pain you’ve been in. I couldn’t bear to hear about it. For days now, all I’ve wanted to do is get back to England and hold you all night long. Just keep you warm and never let you go. That’s why I’ve traveled day and night to get here.”
Gawain sighed in relief. She hadn’t handfasted with Wyckem. Wren wouldn’t be here seeking him if that was so. He buried his head in her golden brown hair and hung on as if his next breath could only be drawn if she were very near. “When did you arrive? There’s so much I want to say to you. How sorry I am and how much I love... ”
She stopped him by leaning slightly away and placing her fingers over his full lips. “I love you, too. Just keep that in mind and we’ll be all right.”
Gawain tried to blink back the tears in his eyes. He lowered his mouth to hers and heard the faint cry of an owl. It seemed to be winging its way into the distant trees. He quickly looped his left arm under her legs and carried Wren up the stairs. Without pausing, he laid her on his bed and pulled her close. “I need you, Wren. Whether you’ve come as a dream or you’re real, I’m not sure. But I can’t let you go again. I won’t! I thought the Goddess had deserted me. That everything I’ve done was too horrible to forgive.”
Wren placed her hands on his cheeks. “Gawain, I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. For all these months I haven’t contacted you or sent any word at all. But my heart had to let me know when the time was right. I had to get my people together and give us all time to heal.”
“How could you want me after the way I’ve acted? My anger almost destroyed everything I’ve ever cared about or believed in. I felt I’d lost myself. That I had become a brutal stranger.”
She vehemently shook her head in denial. “I came to know that the man I fell in love with would return. And he has. I can see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice. Everything is in the past, love. It’s all over.” She buried her head against his shoulder and clung to him.
“Wren, I’m so sorry about everything. Your grandfather, all the killing.” He couldn’t say it enough.
“Let it go, my love. Please let it go. We can begin again. The Goddess wants us to be together. She always has. That was the real reason for the vision we shared.”
He nodded as understanding finally took hold. “You were the moon. Your tranquil light was leading me to be better than I was. Leading me to a place of safety and peace. But I was never as wise as the owl in our vision, Wren. I strayed from my calling as the Craftsman. What I became wasn’t the real me.”
“We’re both wiser now and together, there isn’t anything we can’t do.”
“That’s how I’ve always felt when you were near. It was as if I was in a state of complete peace. As though I could create and inspire others to do so again. I want that back. Just as I always want you with me,” he softly murmured and leaned into her embrace.
Finally, words failed them. Wren pushed his thick hair back and began to undress. Gawain let her remove his clothing as well and they made slow and deliberate love for the rest of the night. There was poetry in their movements and complete fulfillment when he joined his body with hers. When she cried out in absolute release, he held back and loved her over and over again. Her warm softness filled his soul and senses. The pain that had been so much a part of his life was replaced with joy.
It took a great deal of control, but he refrained from taking his own pleasure until Wren was fully sated and lying in his arms. He wanted her warm, safe and her eyes full of golden fire meant only for him. When her well kissed lips smiled up at him, he was lost forever. As he watched her drift to a land of dreams, Gawain whispered his thanks to the Goddess. His pleas hadn’t been ignored. The Goddess, in her own time, had answered them.
Hours later, Wren lay sleeping upon his chest. His love-clouded gaze was drawn to a blue glow on the windowsill. Through a partially opened window, a cool breeze lifted the curtains aside and he knew what the glowing object was. How did the Celestite get back to his cottage, from the forest altar? It was a mystery he’d probably never solve, but it was there. And it was radiantly shining. Just as it had the night he and Wren had shared their vision. Now he had another. As if in a trance, he closed his eyes, wrapped his arms more tightly around Wren and saw long wonderful days with a cottage full of children. The sorrow was gone and laughter and love had taken its place. Though times would come when he would remember that horrible part of his life, Wren would be there to love him through the memories with the peace only a small, lovely Brownie Leader could give. Each day he’d fight to be worthy of that peace and love. With Wren by his side and her love lighting the future, he would truly be the Craftsman.
۞  ۞  ۞
“That set of doors looks magnificent. Don’t you think?” Lady Anna Dunnemore addressed the woman beside her.
“They’re a product of true genius. A tribute to their creator and his vision,” Shayla responded. She tilted her head to give the artwork a more critical look. “The doors belong here. It was quite amusing to learn you purchased them. But why all the secrecy? Why not let the press and the artist know you were the buyer?”
“Given the fact that I’m signing over all my lands and entire estate to you, I didn’t want members of the media crawling all over the place. They’d have surely done so had someone with my name and reputation purchased such a work of art, especially since the artist is the great DeForest.”
Shayla attempted to hide her smile and act as though she didn’t know what was about to unfold. “My good woman, whatever are you talking about?”
Quite unlike the lady she was, Anna snorted rudely. “Don’t play games with me, Shayla Gallagher. We both know exactly what I’m speaking of. I know the man who made those doors is one of your people, though I don’t know his real name and never have. It wouldn’t do to have newspeople carousing around my estate, poking their noses into my business just as I’m signing everything over to you.”
Shayla feigned an expression of complete innocence.
“Stop it!” Anna commanded. “I know you’re the leader of those magical creatures I saw when I was just a little girl. They used to visit this estate often. Then, when I got older, they stopped coming. I doubt they were supposed to be here speaking with me, but I was a lonely child and they were quite kind to me, especially after I lost my father and brothers in the war.”
She turned and proudly lifted her chin. “While some might think I’m a crazy old woman, I know what I saw was real and I’ve long since figured out that those Fairies came from the adjoining woods—the woods now under your control, on behalf of the Earl of Glen Rowan. Now tell me I’m insane.”
Shayla raised her eyebrows in astonishment and pursed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud. “I believe, as the saying goes, you have us! But I was almost certain you’ve known something for some time. Your correspondence about placing your land and deeds in my control was quite suspicious.”
Anna smirked. “Bet that completely shocked you. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall.”
“All right, Lady Dunnemore, all pretenses now aside. Neither of us is fooling the other any longer.” Shayla paused and then asked, “Why? Why are you giving us this land? How have you known about us so long? And why have you never told another living soul?”
“I’ve already told you a bit of it. I happened across some wandering Fairies when I was quite young. In exchange for my secrecy about their existence, they visited me often and told me about your Order. Their friendship meant the world to a little girl who was so alone in the world. I’ve never forgotten it. Of course, you weren’t their leader at the time. Someone else was and I was given to understand that person would never be as understanding as I believe you to be. So, there you have it. I want those creatures safe in the world. I want them to always know there will be a place for them and that no one will ever harm them here. I’ve thought about it and my mind is quite made up.”
Touched, amazed and humbled, Shayla slowly nodded her head. “Then, in return, I’ll give you a gift few in the world have ever known.”
Anna raised her hand and waved it in denial. “I want nothing except the promise to take care of the land. See to it that no one builds a parking lot or one or those horrid little mini-malls on it. These forests are thousands of years old. It’s said that Robin Hood and some of his band once hid in them. I want them to remain as they were in my youth, lovely and timeless. I want none of the ancient oaks cut or the streams polluted.”
“A gift of such love and selflessness must be rewarded, Lady Dunnemore. Even though you are signing over the lands now, you will live here as long as you wish. Also, I will allow those creatures you once visited with to come back into your life. Your years of keeping our existence a secret are further proof that some outsiders can be trusted. While I’ve allowed a few outsiders within our ranks, I want my people to know that people such as yourself will tolerate them.”
Anna swallowed hard. “Though my health has greatly improved lately, I haven’t an eternity left to me. If you were to allow... that is, if I could just see them again, it would mean the world to me.”
Shayla nodded her head and smiled. “Then you shall. But your staff will have to be sent away and mine will take their place. Will that be a problem?”
Anna smiled brilliantly. “I’ll make arrangements for my staff to have letters of recommendation. They’ll all be placed with jobs better than the ones they now have. That will keep them from asking questions.”
“I shouldn’t think that will be a problem. Signing over an estate to a new owner would usually mean a turnover in staff.”
“There is just one thing,” Anna added as she lightly tapped her cheek with an index finger. “My personal assistant would have to stay. She has nowhere to go and not much hope of finding another situation soon. And if I’m to live here as you suggest, I’ll need her.”
“That’s out of the question, Lady Dunnemore.”
“Please, I think we’re past the point of using titles. Unless, of course, you’d like to share your real title with me?”
“I’m known as the Sorceress of the Ancients or Sorceress. But just call me Shayla.”
“Good. I’ll just be Anna. I rather like that.” Anna clasped her hands together and grinned.
“On the subject of your personal assistant, you will have to send this person away,” Shayla insisted.
“Please, let me tell you about her. Once you know the story, you might feel differently. I specifically chose her to stay with me because of her past.”
Shayla took a deep breath and nodded. She was prepared to hear Anna out, but she would deny the request.
Over an hour later, however, her mind began to change and an idea bounced through her brain. “You and I must talk some more on this subject. I’ll need to do a complete background check on this assistant of yours and... ” She stopped speaking as her idea took wings and flew.
“What is it, Shayla? You look as though you’re plotting something.”
“Hmmmm, I am. But only if what you’ve told me about this woman is correct.”
“It is, I can assure you. But run your own background checks to be absolutely certain. And let me in on the plan. I do so love hatching things up!” Anna grinned mischievously.
“Of course, my friend. If everything checks out, I’ll need your help. But I think the perfect person to oversee your lands is a creature you’ve never seen before.”
“Oh, tell me, Shayla. Please do.”
“I think...  Yeeeeees,” Shayla drawled out. “The leader of the Satyrs should fit the bill quite well.” She rubbed her hands together in delight. After living through such depressing times of late, this situation promised to be a great deal more uplifting. These thousands of acres of land must be prepared for the Order’s residents and there was no one better suited for the task than the leader of the Satyrs. He had an uncanny ability with landscape design and horticultural matters.
“A real live Satyr? Right in these forests?” Anna asked breathlessly.
Shayla laughed. “That’s right, my dear. And I can’t wait to get started. This should be one of the most interesting circumstances I’ve ever dealt with.”