Onyx (13 page)

“We wondered w
hat happened te ye,” said Aidan.

Lovell
e rushed forward and threw herself into Aidan’s arms, tears streaming from her eyes.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know my lovemaking would kill him or I never would have done it.”

“Lassie, calm down,” said Aidan, “I dinna understand what ye’re sayin’.”

“I think I do,” said Ian, looking at Onyx lying dead on the floor. Then he started to laugh, and Aidan looked at Onyx and laughed as well.

“What in God’s name is wrong with you two?” she asked, pounding her fists against Aidan’s chest.

“Och, lassie dinna hurt me,” he said, grabbing her fists and holding them in his hands.

Then, to her utter horror, the chieftain and his wife appeared at the entrance to the cave as well.

“What’s all the
dirdom
aboot?” asked the chieftain, entering the cave with his wife right behind him.

“Oh, Clarista, I killed him,” she said, running to the woman who gathered her up in
to her arms like she was her own mother. Clarista looked over to Onyx’s naked body lying on the floor and then turned her face away quickly.

“Husband, go cover his body,” she told him. “I can’t look at him lying there like that.”

The chieftain walked over and stared down at him and just shook his head. “He’s dead all right,” he said, taking the tartan and throwing it over his body as well as his face. “I’ll miss the boy.”

Aidan and Ian just continued to laugh, and Lovell
e could not believe how heartless and insensitive they were being.

“Stop laughing!” she demanded. “There is nothing funny. Onyx saved me from drowning in the lake yesterday and now because of it – because
of me, he’s lost his life instead.”

“Dinna fash yerself,” said Ian. “He’s no’ dead.”

“That’s right,” said Aidan, pulling a wineskin from his belt. He pulled the tartan off of Onyx’s face and emptied the wine over his friend’s head.

“What are you doing?” she screamed, rushing to him and pushing him out of the way.

“It’s alright,” he told her, dropping the wineskin atop Onyx’s chest. “He’ll awake any moment now,” he said, but when nothing happened, his smile slowly faded.

“The
t’s right,” agreed Ian. “Jest give it a moment, and he’ll wake up.”

They both stood there with their arms crossed over their chests, then they just looked at each other and shrugged.

“Ye fools, he canna wake up,” said the chieftain. “He is deid.”

“Did we ferget somethin’?” asked Aidan, scratching his head.

“Och, aye, we did.” Ian walked over, and to Lovelle’s utter shock and surprise, he started kicking his dead friend in the side.

“Stop it,” said Clarista, pushing Ian out of the way and getting to her knees next to Onyx. “That is no way to treat your best friend even if he is dead.”

“He’s no’ deid,” said Aidan. “Is he?”

That was all Lovell
e could take. She rushed to his side and kneeled down next to Onyx, and started smothering him with kisses. “I’m so sorry,” she said over and over again, and laid her head atop his chest.

Then, like a miracle, Onyx gasped for breath and his hand came up and he gripped the back of Lovell
e’s hair tightly. She felt the pain and saw the crazed look in his eyes, but she didn’t care. She was so happy to see him alive that she covered his body with hers, and now she was laughing.

“I thought you were dead,” she said. “Oh, Onyx, I am so happy you are alright. What happened?”

He sat up and blinked and then looked around at the others in the room. He rubbed his wet face and tasted the wine on his hand.

“Who the hell dumped wine on me and was kickin’ me?” he growled
. Aidan and Ian just looked the other way.

“They were trying to bring you back,” said Lovell
e, looking at his friends. “I think. What happened, Onyx?”

“I’ll tell ye aboot it later,” he said, getting up so quickly that his tartan fell off and exposed his nakedness again. Clarista quickly got up and took her husband’s hand. “We’ll meet you back at camp,” she said leading him out the door.

“I thought of somethin’ while I was . . . deid so te speak,” said Onyx walking over to the wall and kneeling, feeling around the rocks piled there. “I used te always sleep here when I wanted te be along. Me mathair knew thet. I think I see somethin’. Come here, Lady Love, I wanna show ye somethin’ I think ye’re goin’ te really like.”

“I dinna think I want te stay and watch this,” said Ian, heading for the door. When he noticed Aidan just standing the
re, he came back and grabbed his friend and pulled him with him. “No threesomes today,” he muttered under his breath.

“We’ll meet ye back at camp,” said Aidan as they exited the cave.

“What is it?” asked Lovelle, hurrying to his side.

He pulled away a few rocks and reached down between them and grabbed something and held it up for her to see. It was a small wooden chest with a curved lid with holes carved in the design at the top. He opened it slowly and looked inside, then smiled and looked up to her.

“What is it?” she asked again, the anticipation within her growing.

“I jest found somethin’,” said Onyx, holding up a leather bound book in one hand. She looked at him, not believing what she was seeing.

“Onyx?” she asked. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Aye, lassie,” he said with a smile. “I jest found yer mathair’s Book of Hours. And now, I can save m
e own mathair from the gallows.”

Chapter 9

Lovelle took the book gingerly into her hands, running her finger over the leather bound cover. So this was the Book of Hours. The book, that is, that held the charms she needed in order to free her mother from her madness.

She flipped it open carefully, and turned a few pages, seeing the beautiful illum
inations and miniatures painted by some monk years ago.

“This is beautiful,” she said, holding it out for Onyx to see
, remembering the vibrant colors from when she was a child. The gold leaf outlined the images of the Virgin Mary, Jesus, and scenes from the Bible, that were painted in colors of red, blue, yellow and shades of green. The prayers were written in black ink, very precise and orderly, the first letter of the page enlarged and ornate with curling vines and animals and images within it.

“What is this book aboot?” asked Onyx, looking over her shoulder curiously.

“It is a Book of Hours, Onyx.” She looked at him, but by his blank expression, she could see he didn’t understand. “This is a book of prayers and devotion. You see,” she said, pointing at a page, “there is a calendar in the front with the important feast days of the saints, and then the book is divided up into prayers for each of the eight prayer sessions of the day, such as matins or vespers or lauds.”

“This sounds as if it belong
s in an abbey,” he said.

“They
do have them in monasteries,” she informed him. “Actually, a lot of the work in these books is done by monks. My mother told me that this was a gift to her from my father. It was in his family for close to the last century. Look at this picture at the beginning of the Gradual Psalms. It is a picture of my mother – the owner of the book. They painted her on the page reading the book and being looked down upon by angels.”

“Yer mathair is in the
book?” His eyes followed her finger as she pointed to the page.

“She used to read to me from this when I was a child. The opening words of the psalm are ‘In my trouble I cried to the Lord: and he heard me.
’ Some of the prayers in here for instance are, the Hours of the Virgin, the Litany, and the Office of the Dead.”

“Office of the De
id? I think I may have te read thet one,” he said with a chuckle. “I can see why it means so much te ye, especially if yer mathair’s picture is painted inside. ’Tis beautiful and valuable. I can also see why me mathair wanted te steal it.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t sell it for coin,” said Lovell
e, flipping through the pages.

“No doubt she liked it too much te part with it
,” he said, shaking his head with a look of disgust upon his face. “Though me mathair could no’ read, so must o’ kept it fer the pictures.”

“It is mostly in Latin,” she told him. “And since the original paintings were done in France, some of it is in French as well.” She looked at Onyx, curious to know if he could read, as it was usually uncommon unless one was of the laity or a noble. “Can you read and write?” she asked him.

He looked to the ground before he answered. “Clarista was the one te teach us all what little we ken. But I am no’ very guid at it. But Storm is skilled in many languages, and he made sure me and me friends knew Gaelic like the back o’ our hands.”

“So you can
read Gaelic?” she asked anxiously, her heart beating faster. She knew the charms were written in Gaelic, and though she was skilled at several languages, this was not one of them.

“I jest tol
d ye thet, lassie. Are ye sayin’ ye dinna believe me?”

“No, not at all,” she said, flipping to the back of the book.
“But there is something in here that I need you to read for me, as I do not know Gaelic.”

“Of course, Lady Love,” he said, taking the book from her and smiling. Until he saw the page and then the smile disappeared. “What is this all aboot?” he asked
, his mouth turning down and his eyes narrowing as he read the words to himself that were painted on the page.

“I was told there are charms written into the book . . . by a Scotsman, I believe. Can you tell me what they say?”

He slammed the book shut and shoved it back into the box, then closed the lid as well. “Get dressed,” he told her. “We’re goin’ back te the camp.”

“But why?” she asked, getting up and following
him over to the fire, where he started kicking dirt on it to put it out. “I want to know what the charms say.”

He stopped and stared at her, and this time though her sense of color was not clear, she could see the intensity of his eyes and it frightened her slightly.

“Those are no’ prayers written inte the book,” he told her. “Those are spells. Works o’ the devil – or a witch.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “I thought they were just – words of wishing to make someone feel better.”

“Ye knew damned well they werena.” He shoved her clothes into her hands and started donning his tartan without his leine since she was wearing it. “Those are the works o’ the devil and ye came te me te read them te ye, becooz ye think I am a demon, jest admit it.”

“Nay, that’s not
true,” she said, pulling the leine over her head and handing it to him. He took it without even looking at her nakedness and this bothered her, after the intimate time they just spent together. She hurriedly pulled on her shift and undergarments, and also her hose, followed by her gown and shoes as well. They were all dry from the fire, thanks to Onyx having made a drying rack with branches sometime during the night. She only wished she had her warm cape, gloves and hat right now.

“Well, if no’, then thet must mean thet yer mathair is a witch, and I am willin’ te bet that ye are too.”

“A witch?” she said with a laugh, wondering if he could have known she had considered possibly dabbling in the arts or trying a spell, though she’d yet to actually do it.

“I’ve been called a demon or th
e devil me entire life, and I dinna like it. And I willna have anything te do with witchery, so dinna ask me te read the charms again.”

“But there may be something in them that can help my mother. Her mind is failing, and I swear I only want to use the spells to bring her back to normal.”

“Dinna ye ken thet charms and spells are considered magic?” He pulled on his boots and laced the cord around them, sitting on a rock as he spoke.

“Well, it’s only magic if one believes in it.” She finished dressing, not happy by this outcome, and also knowing that she now needed someone else to read the charms for her instead.

“Magic may seem like a guid thing at the time, but nothin’ guid can come from using it.”

“So you believe in it then?”

“I dinna ken what I believe,” he said, standing up and strapping on his belt with his weapons attached. “All I ken is thet I willna be a part o’ the works o’ the devil, and I willna be around anyone who is a witch.”

His words cut her to the bone, and her heart dropped in despair. “I won’t lie to you, Onyx, I believe my mother mi
ght be a witch because she paid someone to put those charms in the book. And I’ve also seen and heard her doing some strange things thru the years.”

“I dinna e’en want te hear this blasphemy,” he told her.

“And I don’t know if I’m a witch,” she said. “I don’t think so. But I was hoping to try to use the charms and find out for sure.”

“I told ye, I dinna want te hear it.
And I canna believe that someone like ye would e’en be considering tryin’ witchcraft. I really dinna ken ye at all.”