Chapter 9
T he morning began as expected after riding more in a day than she had this past year. Though the bed had been welcome, climbing back into the saddle had not. Every bump was a reminder that joining Darien had been a difficult decision in more ways than one.
Her mother. The reputation she claimed not to care about, though it still weighed on her nonetheless. The dangers ahead. Her attraction to the earl’s son.
And her backside. She could not forget her tender backside.
Reaching up with one gloved hand, Liana pulled her cloak tighter. The day had begun as cloudy and gray and had not improved. The wind picked up in a way that, if Liana had not known any better, would signal a storm was coming. She considered calling ahead to Darien, the heavily wooded trail narrow enough for only one, when he slowed to a stop, as if he’d heard her mind.
Turning, he pointed to the west. “A storm. One we would not wish to be caught in.”
“What do we do?” she asked. Since they’d left the inn, they’d passed no shelter.
“We will not make it to the abbey. Can you ride through the woods?”
“Aye,” she said, wondering why such a thing might be difficult. She found out not much later as Liana followed Darien off the path. Fighting off branches and ducking twice, lest she be hit with an errant one, she could hardly see Darien in front of her. The wind, no longer hinting at a storm but warning of an impending one, blew Liana’s hood from her head more than once.
Liana was so intent on staying atop her mount, it was only when the decrepit cottage appeared directly in front of her that she understood their destination. They’d arrived just in time. As the first drops of rain came down, Darien dismounted and held his arm out to her.
“Go inside and stay dry,” he said. “I will see to the horses.”
She had no time for a response as those few drops of rain suddenly became a deluge. Without delay, she pushed open the door and stepped into an obviously very abandoned small space. Old wooden furniture was covered in dust and cobwebs. The fireplace, large but cold, put off a musty smell in the air. The owner was well read; dusty books were scattered everywhere. Light that filtered through small windows, along with the sudden crack of thunder, lent to the cottage’s eerie, nostalgic atmosphere.
There was something about this place . . .
Closing her eyes, Liana allowed the cottage’s energy to flow into her. Blocking out the sights and smells, she instead felt the peace and calm this place brought with it. After a few moments, Liana opened her eyes and, spying an old rag, she went about dusting off the low wooden bench in front of the hearth. Its intricate carvings were at odds with the rest of the cottage’s simple furnishings. After dusting the bench and wooden chairs, she picked up a few old blankets she found, took them as far away from the fireplace as possible, and shook them out.
Warming with her work, Liana took off her cloak and laid it on one of the cleared chairs just as Darien burst through the front door with two saddlebags. Rushing to take hers, she apologized. “I could have brought this with me inside. I did not even think to aid you but ran for cover,” she said as Darien laid his own large bag down.
He was soaked.
“What sort of knight would I be to allow a woman to get wet while carrying your bag?”
“I am not that sort of woman,” Liana said as Darien took off his very wet cloak.
“What sort?” he asked as she opened the leather bag, looking for her pouch.
“The sort that must be tended to.” Finding the pouch, she then took out the necessary dried herbs, oils, and a flint stone. Back in the bag, she found and pulled out the small bowl and pestle. Heading back toward the fireplace, she placed the bowl on one of the cleared-off chairs and mixed the herbs with flammable properties with a few drops of oil. Sensing Darien behind her, watching her work, Liana struck the flint against the side of her stone bowl and used the spark to catch her herb mixture aflame.
Liana had already spotted the dried wood stacked inside the hearth—as if someone had been preparing to light a fire before abandoning the cottage—so she took the ground herbs to the hearth and scattered the crushed herbs atop the wood. The fragrant dust settled into the cracks like tinder waiting to ignite.
With no doubt it would work, having done this many, many times, she waited.
When the wood caught fire, she turned toward Darien and laughed at his expression.
“I have never seen a fire started in such a manner. What is that?” he asked of the empty bowl. She assumed he meant the herbs that had been inside it.
“If I shared all of my secrets, you’d have no need for me any longer.”
Darien’s eyes hooded slightly. “You wish for me to have need of you?”
If he were any other man, Liana would think he flirted with her. But this was the Earl of Ellswood’s son. He did not flirt with women such as her.
“Would you have my honest answer?”
Darien moved toward the fire, removing his boots. Though his cloak had kept him mostly dry, his leather boots appeared soaked through.
“Always.”
“If your family had no need of us, we would live much more modestly than we do now. We have had many amenities, like a tutor, that other healers do not dream of enjoying. And though living with my mother is not always ideal, our cottage is three times larger than most in the village. So aye, I do wish for you to have need of me.”
Sitting on the bench she’d cleared off, Darien patted the seat beside him.
She sat, though not too close, and basked in the warmth of the fire she’d started. They were warm, and mostly dry, and for that Liana was thankful. She and her mother had seen too many succumb to the elements, beyond the scope of their healing abilities, for her to ever take as much for granted.
“You are no ordinary healer, Liana. Surely you realize as much?”
“My skills serve little purpose to most. I would be hung for a witch as soon as I was asked for a reading. Surely you realize as much?” She said it teasingly, even though her words were true.
“Perhaps we should change that.”
“How?”
“By teaching those in Ely you are not to be feared but revered.”
“Revered.” She laughed. “That is not a day I shall see in my lifetime.”
The way he looked at her told Liana at least one person disagreed. It was as if...she shrugged off the thought. When his eyes dipped between her breasts, not for the first time, Liana knew the reason.
“What do you know of it?” she asked.
He looked up. “Apologies. I did not mean to?—”
“None are necessary. I usually cover it with a scarf of some sort but see little reason to hide the mark from you.”
“I know nothing of it,” he said. “My father tells me little of you or your mother beyond the readings. He has always said, when ’tis my time to learn, I will do so of my own accord.”
The fire crackled, taking their attention. The herbs she used gave off a pleasant scent, masking the musky one of the cottage.
“It has always been so, the secretive nature of my family’s bond to yours. The mark represents a series of interwoven runes. Its crescent moon and small star represent hidden knowledge or destiny. It is a marking of the Seer’s Lineage, passed down through generations of my family, each given a unique variation of its homage to Lunaria, the moon goddess and patron of seers.”
“Did it hurt? Receiving it?”
“A bit, aye.”
Liana looked down to the symbol between her breasts. As she’d done many times, she touched it with her fingertip. “It is both a protection...” She looked up. “And a curse.”
Darien, confused, cocked his head to the side. “How so?”
For a moment, she forgot to answer. His features in the waning light were so much softer than during the day. His jaw no longer tightened. His gaze no longer scoured the landscape for threats. Even when they spoke while riding, Darien was always on alert, ever the warrior.
Here, though, he was . . . just a man.
“It is a protection,” she said. “Symbolizing my connection to the moon, which amplifies my ability to see beyond the physical realm during certain phases.”
“And a curse?”
Her hand dropped. Liana looked into the fire, remembering. “It also binds me to my family’s destiny. Every woman bearing it is fated to confront a moment of sacrifice.”
Staring at the flames, she heard the mother’s wail in her ears. So many years ago, but she could still see the fisherman’s wife’s apron, covered in blood from the fish she’d gutted.
“Liana?”
His voice startled her, so lost Liana was in her memory. When she looked at him, Liana did not attempt to hide the tears swimming in her eyes. He, more than any, should know the reason Liana had so readily followed him on this journey.
“I’d not been reading runes for more than two summers when the vision came to me. I was so untrained, I could not discern exactly where, and certainly not when, but I knew it was the fisherman’s daughter. She was standing on the dock, waiting for him, her red hair as vivid in my mind as it had been in real life.”
“No.”
He knew already, of course. All of Ely had mourned the child.
“Aye. I told my mother, but she dismissed it. Said I was not yet properly trained and telling the girl’s parents would only worry them.”
Darien closed his eyes and dropped his chin. She kept talking.
“She never forgave herself for the girl’s drowning. And neither did I, knowing I could have warned her parents without my mother’s blessing.” Liana’s voice was heavy with the burden she’d carried for so many years. “That vision—my first real one—is why I follow you now. When I doubt a vision, I remind myself that fate doesn’t wait for us to be ready. It just happens, and we have to be brave enough to see it.”
“You cannot think her death was your fault.”
Liana sighed. “The runes do not lie.”
“But your mother?—”
“Believes, as her mother did before her, in caution. She says often we have as much an ability to ruin lives as to save them. That is the burden of our abilities.”
She looked into his eyes. Neither said anything more, and for a moment, she thought he might move toward her. Might even kiss her. But the moment passed, and a loud crackle from the fire prompted Darien to rise and put another log on it.
“This cottage was owned by a healer,” he said. “A woman by the name of Serena.”
Ahhh, that explained the peace she’d felt when they first entered.
“I’d never met her, but heard the name whispered when traveling through these parts. After she died, none claimed this place. It became as you see it now.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Nay, though I knew its general direction. Most...”
He stopped abruptly. His back still toward her, Liana couldn’t see his face.
“Darien?”
Turning, reluctant, he remained silent.
“Most?” she asked. “What had you planned to say?”
“Most avoid this road. The cottage is said to be inhabited by her spirit still, which is why it remains untouched.”
Ahhh. She understood his hesitancy. “Do you believe that to be true?”
His silence was her answer.
As he’d done, she patted the bench beside her. “People fear what they do not understand. Come. I will explain Serena to you.”
“You know of her?” he asked, surprised.
“Aye, I knew of her.”
Darien sat beside her once again, though a bit closer than before.
“But there is naught to fear. Her spirit—if it lingers—does not seek harm. She was a woman of healing, if you’ll remember. And helped many people, if my mother’s stories were true.”
“Tell me.”
Smiling, Liana grabbed a pouch beside the one that contained the herbs. She stood, reached for a blanket that he just noticed was free of dust—Liana had been busy while he tended to the horses—and laid it on the floor beside the bench, then sat, facing it.
“I will show you instead.”