Pagan Fire Read Free Page B

forced him to his knees. “Remember this feeling,” she said. “The desire for revenge can rage as hot as the desire for a woman. But do not let one interfere with the other.”
    He looked up at her, puzzled.
    She laughed again. “For now, do not fret over what I say. You will have time enough to ponder the meaning of my words.” She leaned over him and dangled a full breast above his lips. He took it in his mouth like a ripe peach and suckled. Morrigu wrapped her fingers in his black hair and pulled his head tighter against her bosom. “Sweet Dylan,” she moaned, “you shall have all that you wish from me. Tonight, I will teach you the magic of love. Tomorrow, I will set you forth on your quest for vengeance.”

Chapter Two
    The iron chapel bells clanged loudly, proclaiming time for Matins. Maere pushed herself up and out of the bed. Her bare feet landed on the cold stone floor without a sound. Yawning, she stretched and rubbed her eyes. It seemed as if she’d only just fallen back to sleep after that terrible dream. She shivered, feeling the eyes still upon her.
    “Oh, Mama, I wish you were here,” Maere whispered as she sat back down on the cot. She hugged her arms around her, tears filling her eyes. Sweet Mary, but it’d been such a long time since she’d even thought of her mother. Too long, she realized. She searched her memory for anything she could hold onto – eyes that smiled, the curve of a cheekbone. Did her mother smell of the cooking fire or of sage and lavender and heather? Did she look like her, with dark copper hair and freckles across her nose?
    Try as she might, she couldn’t recall much except the remnants of a warm smile and comforting hug. Maere rubbed her eyes again. Why did those cursed Vikings come to their land, wreaking death and destruction? And why did it have to be her family who was struck so brutally, leaving her orphaned and alone?
    If only she could remember, perhaps she could begin to understand what happened that night when her mother and father were murdered. But even now, with nearly ten years passed, she only knew of their fate at the hands of the Northmen because Abbess Magrethe had told her it was so. She sighed and hung her head. Her mind was blank to what life was like before coming to St. Columba’s. Abbess said it was because of the shock of witnessing such an evil act. Maere had prayed many a night, until she was hoarse, asking the Virgin for intercession. Maere so wanted the memories to return. Still, her pleas went unanswered.
    Maere thought she recalled an uncle, but wasn’t sure it was a true remembering, or the result of Abbess mentioning him from time to time over the years. Magrethe said Eugis was a kind man who had taken her in when Mama and Papa were killed. Being unmarried, he had thought it best that Maere receive her education at the convent. He had promised to return for her when she turned eighteen, that she might be married.
    In her heart of hearts, Maere secretly hoped that in the span of the years she’d been here he’d forgotten about her and would let her be. Then she’d be free to take her vows and join the sisters as one of them. They were all dear to her and, in truth, the only family she had ever known. She sighed again. Or, at the very least, the only one she could remember.
    “Sweet Jesus,” she prayed as she stood and pulled on the rough tan habit of the novitiate, “Please guide me that I may know what to do.” With a long tired breath, she fastened her black mantle over her shoulders with a simple silver clasp. Then she braided her long hair into a single plait.
    A sharp rap sounded at the door and sent her thoughts scattering. “Maere? You’ll be late!”
    “Yes, sister. I’m almost ready,” she called back. She arranged a short veil on her head. As she readied to leave the room, Maere paused at the door, the conversation with Magrethe the night before on her mind. Could it be that what the older woman said was true? Could