Chapter Thirty-Nine

Save me. Deliver me.

Did she lie in the pit, still? Nay, for they had dragged her out. She recalled most vividly the trip along the corridors and stone steps, her feet dragging, battered so severely when she reached the end of the journey she could barely stand.

The end of the journey. The crowded room, and howling voices. The cruel, avid faces.

Her mother’s face. Silver eyes like her own, and a rush of warmth and strength.

Of magic.

And Malcolm had been there, by some bright miracle. More strength, and a sense of belonging so deep it claimed her very spirit.

But she’d left something vital behind. Her mother’s magic. And her own?

Now she burned—not with flame but fever—and her throat ached fit to burst. She needed to search within, to find…that which she’d sought all her life long.

A voice, Malcolm’s voice, poured into her ears, into her mind. We will wed, aye.

Wed—she and Malcolm.

There will be children, ah, such braw children.

Something within her stirred and quickened. A hint of magic arose at the core of her being, whispered to her just like Malcolm’s voice.

And you and I—ah, the love we will share…

She drew a breath, fighting against the pain. Light exploded in her mind, and she could see it all—a trail of days and nights, laughter, warmth and enchantment. Permission to be the woman she truly was.

Suddenly she wanted it all—the beauty and the braw strength of it, the look in Malcolm’s dark eyes. Her magic, a spring run nearly dry, welled up within her.

She felt a touch on her brow. Not Malcolm’s—nay, not his. She opened her eyes and saw her mother kneeling at her side.

Gladness erupted inside her and, catching like a contagion, appeared also in Bellrose’s eyes. “Mother. You are here—you did no’ die.”

“I canna’ die, Daughter. Did I no’ tell you I would be everywhere? In the air, fire, water, and stone—most of all in you, and those children you will bear your knight. But this—this is but a wisp of enchantment. A final spell for you.” Bellrose smiled. “Call your magic to you. I ken fine you can. Even before you were, you were a witch. I bid you live your life for him—and for me.”

“I am so glad I was able to meet you. I—”

If Bellrose had ever been there, she had now gone. Tansy found herself gazing instead into Malcolm’s eyes; his hand and not her mother’s lay on her brow. But the love—aye, the love was the same.

****

One year later

“’Tis a girl. Born lusty and hollering, with a shock of black hair to rival her mother’s. I am a blessed man.”

“So you are.” Mercien clapped Malcolm on the back. “All is well wi’ Tansy, then?”

Malcolm grinned. “Catha says she swore terrible oaths the whole time, enough to rend the air, muttered spells and, at the end, spoke to someone who was no’ there.” Though Malcolm had a fairly good idea who that might have been. “But she’s fit as can be.”

“Go to her,” Mercien bade. He had barely a month to wait for the birth of his and Catha’s first child—an event even more miraculous, given Mercien’s injuries, than that which had just taken place. He burned with sympathy.

Malcolm did not need telling twice. He sprinted up the stairs to the chamber, where he found the midwife, who gave him a big smile, just clearing off. Catha passed him next, bestowing an embrace in passing, and in the room Malcolm beheld…

A scene of pure enchantment. Tansy, her hair wild and tangled, lay propped against the pillows in the bed, a tiny bundle at her breast. She looked bright-eyed and victorious, the very essence of woman.

Her silver gaze lifted to embrace him. “Come, see. Only look what you and I ha’ done.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked in wonder. The bundle had black hair, a red, wrinkled face, and tiny fisted hands.

“Another miracle,” he breathed.

“Och, aye.” Tansy passed her hand over the bairn’s face; Malcolm thought he saw a glitter of light pass between. She looked at him again, a challenge. “You are no’ disappointed she’s not a lad?”

“I am no’ disappointed,” Malcolm replied, heartfelt.

“The next one will be a lad, I do so promise.” Tansy lifted her chin. “The first needed to be a lass, you understand.”

“Aye?”

“Och, aye—’tis a sacred trust. She and I will work hard, learn and spin magic together. This time, there will be no parting.”

Malcolm, who rarely wept, felt tears gather in his eyes. “I’ve no need, have I, to ask her name?”

Two tears ran down Tansy’s proud face. She shook her head. “None at all, my braw knight. I would ha’ you meet your daughter, Bellrose.”

Malcolm held out his finger; the bairn clasped it with her tiny hand. A tingle of magic traveled up his arm, and he smiled. “I do believe my life just got much more interesting. Welcome back, wee Bellrose.” He bent his head to whisper, “And thank you.”