Read Online Isle of Mull 03 - To Love a Warrior by Lily Baldwin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lily Baldwin
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with Nellore at her side to clean and maintain the small hut. She loved its fanciful round door. She turned to look at Garik, suddenly filled with longing to tell him the truth: there was no witch, but the words remained trapped by her conscience. It was not her secret to tell.
“We have similar legends on the Orkney Islands,” he said while he turned his horse around.
“Do ye now. I would love to hear about your home,” she said.
“We have the most fearsome creatures of all, the Finmen. The stories always begin the same way. ‘Beware the Finman.’ They used to terrify me as a child,” he said, chuckling.
“What exactly is a Finman?” she asked.
“Finmen are magical creatures, not unlike men in appearance, although much stronger and taller with hollow eyes and sorrowful auras. They sail in phantom boats that require no oar or sail. They compel their vessels forward with their minds. And sorry is the fisherman who unknowingly drifts into Finmen waters.”
“What torment does the Finman make?” she asked.
“He wreaks havoc on human ships. Chances are he will send the fisherman barreling toward jagged rocks or into an approaching storm. Needless to say, the fisherman is unlikely to make shore again.”
“A chilling tale, indeed. Are there others?” she asked eagerly.
He laughed, enjoying her delight. “Is there more than one star in the sky?” he said. “Telling stories is what we do best on the Orkney Islands. The winters are much longer with scant daylight. After yule the sun does not rise until mid-morning and it sinks below the horizon well before the evening meal. That is when we come together and tell stories and play music.”
“It sounds grand,” she said.
“It is.” Then he added softly, “so are you.”
Nellore blushed and was quiet for several moments, and then she asked, “Is that how ye view the witch—as a legend like the Finmen?”
“Don’t you?” he replied.
“What do ye make of her hut?”
He smiled, “Ah, yes, the witch’s hut with the snake fang door. Well, mayhap the hut did once belong to a woman who some believed to be a witch, but for all we know her bones have long since been polished by the birds and sea air, lying at peace on her pallet where she died.”
A shudder coursed through her. He had just described Bridget’s fate had Ronan not witnessed her rare beauty in the woods on that fateful day long ago. Without Ronan and his love, Bridget would have spent the long years of her life alone.
“You trembled,” he said while pulling her closer. “You have not to fear, Nellore. I promise you, the Witch of Dervaig is only the stuff of legend.”
“Trust me when I say, Garik, that I do not fear the witch.”
They rode on and she listened transfixed while he continued telling tales of the Orkney Islands. He smiled often and spoke fondly of his family.
“Why did ye not go home? When the king gave ye leave, that is. Why come back to Mull?” she asked.
“I could not have told you when we first set out on our return only that I felt compelled.” Then he reached out and stroked her cheek. “Though now I understand.”
She turned away as pink once more colored her cheeks, but then she turned back to face him and held his gaze. He loved her display of both candor and innocence. He lost himself in the majesty of her green eyes.
“We should be heading back,” she said. “I still have berries to pick, and ye’ve nothing to show for your hunt.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, smiling as he tightened his hold on her waist. “I’ve a confession to make, Nellore. I was not hunting. I followed you.”
“You followed me ? But why?”
“I saw you crossing the moors, and I could not tear my eyes away, but you kept on walking, and because I still wished to see you, I followed.”
“Oh,” she said, looking away, but then she turned and looked him square in the eye. “I’m glad ye did.”
He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I
“We have similar legends on the Orkney Islands,” he said while he turned his horse around.
“Do ye now. I would love to hear about your home,” she said.
“We have the most fearsome creatures of all, the Finmen. The stories always begin the same way. ‘Beware the Finman.’ They used to terrify me as a child,” he said, chuckling.
“What exactly is a Finman?” she asked.
“Finmen are magical creatures, not unlike men in appearance, although much stronger and taller with hollow eyes and sorrowful auras. They sail in phantom boats that require no oar or sail. They compel their vessels forward with their minds. And sorry is the fisherman who unknowingly drifts into Finmen waters.”
“What torment does the Finman make?” she asked.
“He wreaks havoc on human ships. Chances are he will send the fisherman barreling toward jagged rocks or into an approaching storm. Needless to say, the fisherman is unlikely to make shore again.”
“A chilling tale, indeed. Are there others?” she asked eagerly.
He laughed, enjoying her delight. “Is there more than one star in the sky?” he said. “Telling stories is what we do best on the Orkney Islands. The winters are much longer with scant daylight. After yule the sun does not rise until mid-morning and it sinks below the horizon well before the evening meal. That is when we come together and tell stories and play music.”
“It sounds grand,” she said.
“It is.” Then he added softly, “so are you.”
Nellore blushed and was quiet for several moments, and then she asked, “Is that how ye view the witch—as a legend like the Finmen?”
“Don’t you?” he replied.
“What do ye make of her hut?”
He smiled, “Ah, yes, the witch’s hut with the snake fang door. Well, mayhap the hut did once belong to a woman who some believed to be a witch, but for all we know her bones have long since been polished by the birds and sea air, lying at peace on her pallet where she died.”
A shudder coursed through her. He had just described Bridget’s fate had Ronan not witnessed her rare beauty in the woods on that fateful day long ago. Without Ronan and his love, Bridget would have spent the long years of her life alone.
“You trembled,” he said while pulling her closer. “You have not to fear, Nellore. I promise you, the Witch of Dervaig is only the stuff of legend.”
“Trust me when I say, Garik, that I do not fear the witch.”
They rode on and she listened transfixed while he continued telling tales of the Orkney Islands. He smiled often and spoke fondly of his family.
“Why did ye not go home? When the king gave ye leave, that is. Why come back to Mull?” she asked.
“I could not have told you when we first set out on our return only that I felt compelled.” Then he reached out and stroked her cheek. “Though now I understand.”
She turned away as pink once more colored her cheeks, but then she turned back to face him and held his gaze. He loved her display of both candor and innocence. He lost himself in the majesty of her green eyes.
“We should be heading back,” she said. “I still have berries to pick, and ye’ve nothing to show for your hunt.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, smiling as he tightened his hold on her waist. “I’ve a confession to make, Nellore. I was not hunting. I followed you.”
“You followed me ? But why?”
“I saw you crossing the moors, and I could not tear my eyes away, but you kept on walking, and because I still wished to see you, I followed.”
“Oh,” she said, looking away, but then she turned and looked him square in the eye. “I’m glad ye did.”
He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I
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