"Be at ease, dearest. He is a simple priest, not an evil man.

You will probably never come in contact with him after you and William are wed. He may look rough and unseemly, but there is no reason for you to fear him. William will be a good protector. Rest easy now. Do not worry." Wendall turned to the door, his daughter's fears set aside as he thought of the many preparations he must make for the up coming nuptials.

"Aye, Father." Tempest answered meekly, but somehow she knew there would be no easy rest for her.

Under the huge old oak, the golden dragon dreamed. His wounds continued to heal, but still, he did not wake. His form shimmered and faded, then slowly changed....

Sardon di Mercia felt a pain deep in his belly, then a pounding began behind his glowing black eyes. As he gazed into the blood-red crystal, he saw tiny golden flakes coruscating through the sphere....

The two figures gazed intently into the cloudy crystal ball.

Three forms seemed to dance within the misty confines of the sphere.

"If we are caught...." The woman spoke softly.

"We will not be caught," the man replied absently. "There has been no great ripple in the time continuum. Who ever pays attention to us anyway...."

EIGHT.

Tempest woke early the next morning. She had spent a restless night and felt an ache deep in her chest. For some inexplicable reason, she suffered a profound melancholy, as if her world had overnight been changed from a bright summer's day to stygian darkness.

Dreams had come in flashes throughout the night. She could not remember what she had dreamt but knew she had heard a voice calling her name, a strong voice, somehow made weak by unbearable pain. In that voice had been a warning, a plea.

Frustrated, she rose from her bed and walked to the window.

The sun was just peeking over the treetops in a golden morning greeting, and she watched the spectacle until day arrived.

The promise of a warm fall day did not quiet her mental agitation; as always, she thought of her brother, Tristan. His love and concern would brighten her day and wash away the night fears; she hurriedly dressed and headed for the stables.

An early riser, he would be busy caring for his beloved horses.

She moved quietly through the cavernous dining hall, out the tall oak double doors, and was soon in the stables calling to him.

"Tris, I am so frightened," she cried as soon as she saw him come out of a nearby stall.

"Tempest? What is it? Is it Christiana again? What has she done this time?" He hurried to her.

"They want me to marry that knight who came to our castle yesterday. He is old, Tris and he has a daughter my age." She flung herself into his strong arms and hugged him tightly. "I know not what to do," she continued. "I wanted it to be a

marriage for love, not for reasons of state."

"But you must wed eventually," said Tristan quietly. "I have heard that William Mirabelle is a G.o.dly man, Tempest.

He may be old, but he will be a gentle husband."

"I do not desire a 'G.o.dly man' Tris. They call me Dragon Witch. Remember?"

"Aye, there is that." Tristan smiled broadly. "Somehow I cannot picture you wed to a G.o.dly man."

She giggled. "I could run away, but Father would find me and I do not even want to imagine how Mother would react."

She paused a moment, thinking. "I could go to a convent and take vows."

"Little sister," Tristan laughed loudly, "you just said they call you Dragon Witch. Do you think they would ever let you in a convent? Mayhap together we can change Father's mind about this marriage. We can tell him you are not yet ready to wed."

"Nay, I have tried that. You know how Father can be when he has set his mind. He likes William Mirabelle and thinks he is doing what is best for me. 'Tis just..." A shudder ran through her.

Tristan still held his sister in his arms and became concerned when he felt her shudder. He knew Tempest better than anyone and knew she was deeply frightened.

"Is there more that you have not told me? Has this man hurt you or threatened you in any way?" He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face so he could look into her eyes. He could read fear there and deep unhappiness. "I will kill him!"

The words exploded from him and hung in the air between them. "Tell me what this man has done to you. I shall make him pay with his miserable life."

He released her abruptly and turned to the open stable doors, intent upon redeeming his beloved sister's honor.

"Nay, Tris. Wait." Tempest grabbed his arm. "He has done nothing wrong. He is a knight, Tris. You just told me he is a G.o.dly man."

"Then why do I see fear in your eyes?"

"I..." Tempest could not tell him the true reason for her

fear.

Sardon di Mercia.

Even now, with the man nowhere in sight, she could feel his dark spirit pulling her, could feel his repulsive gaze as his soulless eyes burned into hers. She swallowed hard and tried to speak. "I..." But she could not even say the man's name as her stomach knotted. She sensed the evilness in Sardon di Mercia and feared for her brother's life were he to try to oppose the vile man just to protect her.

"Tempest," urged Tristan, looking at her pale face, "tell me what you fear so."

"Nay," she whispered. "I cannot."

"Tristan?" Wendall called from outside the stable doors.

"Father!" exclaimed Tempest. "I do not want to see him.

Do not tell him I am here. Please, Tris." She ran to hide in the nearest stall which housed Daemon, her father's favorite, a huge, coal-black stallion with a temper to match his name.

Tristan smiled as he went to see what his father wanted.

Daemon was a handful for everyone and mean as a snake, but was always gentle with the diminutive Tempest. He knew his sister would be safe in her hiding spot. Mayhap, he thought, she will get comfort from the brute. She and the stallion were alike in many ways. Both trusted few people; both gave their love sparingly but unconditionally and neither ever forgot cruel treatment. If handled with love and gentleness, both the pet.i.te maiden and the mighty stallion were forever friends.

Tempest soon grew impatient with waiting for Tristan. She gave Daemon a loving farewell pat on his silky black neck, then quietly slipped from the stall and out of the stable. The huge old oak was her destination. But, as she tried to slip out the postern door, Christiana caught her.

"Curse you, girl," she hissed at Tempest. "I knew you would try to sneak off today. Well, you are fairly caught now, and you will meet with your intended. The wedding date will be set, and I will be free of you once and for all."

She grasped Tempest's arm and hauled her roughly across the courtyard and up the back stairs to her chambers.

"Now dress." Christiana pointed to a pale blue tunic laying

on Tempest's bed beside a darker blue surcoat. "I had those made especially for today. I want you to wear your hair down to show your youth and innocence." She shoved her daughter toward the bed.

"I shall wear my new chemise today." Tempest sighed, knowing it would be useless to fight her mother's wishes.

Tempest opened the lid to her clothing chest at the foot of her bed and looked inside, but could not find the lovely gift Miriam had given her.

"Will you stop dawdling?" Christiana tapped her foot impatiently. "Get a chemise and get dressed. Time is pa.s.sing, and I want to make a good impression on Count Mirabelle.

Being late is not acceptable. Now hurry!"

"The beautiful chemise that Miriam made for my birthday is gone," wailed Tempest unhappily. "I put it in here for safekeeping."

"I am wearing it." Christiana smirked. "'Tis much too good for a child like you. I had to have it redone in several places.

You are much too fat, Tempest. Besides, what makes you think you deserve something so elegant?"

"'Twas a gift, Mother, a special gift from Miriam who loves me, which is more than I can say for you." Tempest was beyond anger as she advanced slowly upon her mother. "I want it back."

"Never," spat Christiana. "Beautiful clothes do not belong on fat, ugly women."

"You are a wicked, selfish woman, Mother, and I despise you."

"Not half as much as I despise you!" Christiana slapped Tempest hard across the cheek. The blow echoed into the quiet of the room, shocking them both.

Tempest looked at Christiana for a long, tense moment. She wanted to strike. Oh, how she wished she could just one time return some of Christiana's wickedness. It would feel so good.

But she knew the action would probably send Christiana into one of her black rages. Tempest simply did not want to have to see such violence yet another time. She turned and began dressing.

Neither woman spoke, and Tempest still carried a faint red

mark on her cheek as she entered the huge dining hall to meet her betrothed.

Fortunately for Christiana, Wendall Sanct Joliet never noticed the condition of his beloved daughter's face. If William Mirabelle noticed, he did not remark upon it.

The morning meal went smoothly. Tempest did not speak a word to her mother but was on her best behavior for her father's sake. She found William Mirabelle's daughter, Marisa, to be a sweet and charming young lady with whom she could probably become friends. They spoke at great length about herbs and healing techniques, and Tempest discovered Marisa's great love for horses.

"Meet me later this afternoon at the stables," Tempest said, envisioning a meeting between Marisa and Tristan. "We have a new Arabian mare that Father just purchased. I think you will like her."

"I am afraid my daughter is terribly spoiled," William said as he joined the conversation. "She owns so many horses that we have had to enlarge our stables just this spring for the third time in as many years. But then, if it makes her happy I cannot complain...too much," he added with a laugh.

In that moment, Tempest decided to try harder to get to appreciate William Mirabelle. Mayhap, she decided, life at his castle would not be so terrible after all. She would miss her father, but Tristan would be there, and she would be far away from Christiana. She turned to speak to William, and her eyes were instantly drawn to the man standing behind him.

Sardon di Mercia.

Cold chills raced up and down her spine as she looked into the man's dead black eyes. The icy, twin pools seemed to pull her into their depths, and she began to see tiny red flames flickering toward her.

"Little witch." The weak whisper again seemed to slip into her mind. "Dream a golden dragon..." The whisper faded and was gone.

Tempest quickly closed her eyes. Her mind filled with the image of the huge gold dragon as she had last seen him, spiraling towards the heavens, the sunlight turning his scales to molten

rivers of gold, a chiaroscuro ballet of gentle strength and majestic power.

When she again opened her eyes, they glowed with newfound strength. Deep within her eyes, tiny flecks of gold glittered like the sun hitting new-fallen snow on a cold winter's day.

Sardon di Mercia gave her a quick nod of his head, acknowledging what had just pa.s.sed between them, turned, and left the huge dining hall I have won this round, thought Tempest. But what am I battling, and why?

"Excellent!" the man exclaimed as he clapped his hands gleefully. "'Tis there, and they have found it."

"Did you doubt it?" the woman questioned. "She is only a mortal after all. You gave me this task, and you know I never fail once I set my mind."

"I bow to your powers, my dear." He smiled tenderly at her. "Did I not tell you this would be much more interesting than chess?"

NINE.

Life at Castle Windhaven had settled back to normal during the past month. As Tempest hurried out through the tall, wooden castle gates, she breathed a sigh of relief. William and his party had left for Far Reaches and life could return to normal.

"I am finally free," she exclaimed as she looked around, enjoying the crisp autumn air. Drawing her heavy woolen cloak closer, she walked into the ancient forest. She gazed at the slate-gray skies. A winter storm was coming. There would be snow on the ground before Winter Solstice.