Η υποψήφια σύζυγός του

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

Κεφάλαιο 1
Healers Cottage - Dunbar, East Lothian, Σκωτία 1033
Ο επικείμενος θάνατος έχει μια μυρωδιά. Η Αμέλια ήξερε ότι αυτό ήταν αλήθεια, καθώς η μεταλλική μυρωδιά του αίματος υπερίσχυε των αρωματικών βοτάνων που είχαν χάσει πια τη δύναμή τους. Καθόταν ακίνητη, ενώ η μαία τριγυρνούσε στο δωμάτιο από λασπότουβλα, με τα βαριά βήματά της να αφήνουν πατημασιές στο χωμάτινο πάτωμα. Μια πηχτή ομίχλη καπνού και ατμού από το βραστό νερό καθόταν στον αέρα, καθώς ο παρατεταμένος ιδρώτας και οι παράξενες οσμές συνδυάζονταν για να προαναγγείλουν ένα σώμα που εγκατέλειπε το δικαίωμά του στη ζωή. Η Αμέλια είχε ζήσει δεκαπέντε καλοκαίρια και ήξερε ότι τίποτα, ούτε η αχιλλέα ούτε η λιωμένη μυρτιά του βάλτου, δεν μπορούσε να σταματήσει την αιμορραγία. Η μητέρα της, η Ιόνα, θα ήταν νεκρή μέσα σε μια ώρα.
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"Έιμι", έτριξε η μητέρα της. "Μην κλαις mo nighean." Η Ιόνα απομάκρυνε μια περιπλανώμενη μπούκλα από το πρόσωπο της Αμέλια. Μια χειρονομία που την εξάντλησε.
Η Αμέλια κούνησε το κεφάλι της με αγωνία: "Όχι μαμά, σε παρακαλώ μη με αφήνεις, σε χρειάζομαι".
"Ήρθε η ώρα μου να φύγω, αγάπη μου".
"Τι θαQ κάνmω! χXωρiίxςF εTσέIνJα;'"! FΗ Αμmέλpια AέκλαBιγRε με IλυFγμοAύς'.
"Χρησιμοποίησε το χάρισμά σου, οι θεραπευτικές σου ικανότητες θα σε βοηθήσουν να τα καταφέρεις". Η αναπνοή της Ιόνα δυσκόλεψε, αλλά συνέχισε να αναπνέει. "Σου άφησα τις σημειώσεις μου να μην πεις σε κανέναν ότι μπορείς να τις διαβάσεις, καταλαβαίνεις;" Έβηξε, και η Αμέλια έκανε νόημα σαν να ήθελε να φέρει νερό. "Όχι." Η μητέρα της έσφιξε το χέρι της Αμέλια. "Υπάρχει ένα γράμμα στις σημειώσεις μου και ένα κουτί για σένα στο δάσος. Θα χρειαστείς το περιεχόμενό του για να βρεις τους συγγενείς σου. Δείξ' το μόνο σ' αυτούς".
"Τι εννοείς; Είσαι η μόνη μου συγγενής".
"Όχι κορίτσι μου, το αίμα του Χάιλαντ ρέει στις φλέβες σου." Ασφυκτιούσε τώρα και πάσχιζε να πάρει αέρα. "Υποσχέσου μου ότι θα τους βρεις, αυτό είναι το δώρο μου σε σένα".
"ΜαKμάx, aδεν κÉαzταλαJβÉαmίνωu."c
Η μητέρα της ανατρίχιασε. "Πες τους ότι σε έστειλε η Ιόνα. Υποσχέσου το μου!"
"Το υπόσχομαι μαμά." Η Ιόνα απελευθέρωσε τη λαβή της από το χέρι της Αμέλια, το οποίο τώρα ήταν χαλαρό στο κρεβάτι.
Λίγο αργότερα η πόρτα άνοιξε και εμφανίστηκε ο πατέρας της, ο Μάλντρεντ, κόμης του Ντάνμπαρ, με τα χαρακτηριστικά του προσώπου του καταβεβλημένα και χαραγμένα από θλίψη. Κατέρρευσε δίπλα στο κρεβάτι. "Iona, mo ghràidh λυπάμαι". Κρατούσε το χέρι της αγαπημένης του λεβέντισσας καθώς εκείνη άφηνε την τελευταία της πνοή.
Η PΑμέλ*ια QδYενI τ$οOνs είPχQεH ξbαKν.αóδεί GνJα κfλLαίhεRι.B Τ_α* μdάτιAα Nτουfς συjνανNτήpθ^ηκα&νL, τnα Aδικά της ÉγεμYάYτOαO aαDγωDνCία^ QκpαSι, τα δgικéάF τhοIυ )γεmμrάjταX θλίψη! καιF λύ*πaη.N "ΛKυiπά,μαtι Λίαd, kσουz ^οPρκpίNζοPμαÉι ότι θqα yκάνω όt,.τFι $κα^λύlτ&εóρGο tμWπορéώ. *γι_α ÉσέTνα.u Τpοm (ορκίζsομ(αι".&fn.bsp;Μwε& αqυτά& QταJ λYόtγRια qσ'ηLκώpθηκUε, Xκaαhιs éέφVυQγε από τSο éεξóοZχpι&κόv.
Θα περνούσαν αρκετές μέρες μέχρι η Αμέλια να ανακτήσει το κουτί που ήταν θαμμένο κάτω από το αγιασμένο δέντρο. Ήταν φτιαγμένο από μασίφ βελανιδιά. Μέσα σε αυτό βρισκόταν ένα διπλωμένο airisaidh και ένα σήμα με ένα έμβλημα. Ένα πολεμικό τσεκούρι που περιβαλλόταν από κλαδιά με τη λατινική επιγραφή. "Aut Vincere Aut Mori" Είτε κατακτάς είτε πεθαίνεις. Με την καρδιά της πιο ελαφριά από ό,τι ήταν εδώ και μέρες, η Αμέλια τοποθέτησε το περιεχόμενο πίσω στο κουτί και το έβαλε κάτω από το μπράτσο της. Κάπου εκεί έξω στα Χάιλαντς είχε μια οικογένεια και κάποια μέρα θα άφηνε αυτή την καταραμένη πόλη και θα τους έβρισκε.
***
Κάστρο Ντάνμπαρ, Ανατολικό Λόθιαν, Σκωτία-1040
Αν Fυπ!ήρχrε lέNνOαJ πkρhά,γAμαj ποsυb iήuξεOρε Yη AΑcμέtλzιBαD ΝτάJν'μóπαIρ,j FήbτGανV ZαυτόB: δεν mθα$ έφεZυ!γ)εR πZοτTέq απkόz α,υjτCή ÉτGηνb κατFαρmαmμXένη WπόAλiη.Q jΜpε)τyάq yτUο θXάνtαiτο τηςV μητέρας vτVηtς) βρέiθ)ηκrεl Vδεyμzένηt σrτwο Qκτή_μα RμJε^ zαYτεSλ&εnίωτuαt ^κDαyθήXκ&οντAα Cωςs θερaαxπεύPτρsιαz τ,ηZςw φqυpλHής.V ΕπYιπλέονX,P ε,ξαVκHολουÉθvο(ύσεS Lναx μmηvν έcχεyιS ιaδYέhαU sπOοιοιS ήταν Sοι fσυγγεóνεóίς' τYηcς, QεπaεéιδOήc όλ,εqςÉ Bοι έρεBυνε!ςd εBίχανó ,καéτTαhλYήξειp σε α.διέξÉοOδéοR καKιÉ yγια νKα γίνουqν jτZαj πρAάγμFαGτ*α ,χεGιρCότερα,j ο zπα_τέVρας )τzηuςZ πvρMοTσπuαMθοcύGσxε Kαzυkτ'ή τη uστ,ιsγTμή RνXα_ Wτtην qπανóτmρrέψεLι μεA nένWανp βρJωTμερxό αuγρόDτηf.W ΤώCρVα,c Fαναφεjρό)μεYνη σIε_ αlυrτόνN fωvςf τ_έτοιοW, δjενT είχεó σκοπόj vνfα Mει&ρωνcευτóεDί* iτουgς' JαyγrρόKτεCς, επBεWιxδBήI η UεργiασXία με PτfηQ Gγη mεóίν.αι* PένKα Iευcγενέ^ςg rεπPά.γ,γελμαA.L Ήτα!νG Zτο γxεcγοOνéός ,ότRι οc Qεlν MλόFγωw αóγjρόDτFης κυTρIιmο,λεdκqτι&κάS βρvωóμ*ούσHε. ΜSπορ_ούOσFε να xτqον Yμmυ&ρ^ίσ^ει wαWπFόw εκFείJ ποRυP στεwκnόAτZαXνh, Kκ_α'ι CαRυwτ$ό cήkτqαbν σ,εr απόσjτJασRηé τSρ,ιών μέτρ(ωPν μTεb τ'ονX aάνRεμοw ν.αb sφυqσάε!ι πρRος τηνQ αντGίθετfηP iκα(τεύ_θKυHνσaη. rΤοH όVνTομrά ZτGοXυ ήτcαν qΆνγVκ)οÉυ.ς,H ήτbαYν λίγiοB aπρOιVν VαπZό Lταl σfαρgάντα FεjνSνQέHα, fμbεD υbποχωρ,ητικ*ή γCραkμμ,ήw &μαλλιóών( καWι$ κάhθLεI Bτρzίhτο δόAνUτιx .ήταν σάπtιJο! ή Vέλειπnε. Εxί.χεJ επίhσUη(ς( ε$πDτGάX πDαjιmδιά* KαAπό CδWύqοy pαποDθαLνCόXντεςQ σnυÉζύγgοsυςF tποpυ είdχανT nα.ν&αTμGφFίβCοvλMαd πUεθάGνει αyπSόm pτη LδυÉσ(οPσGμéίαy τη.ς lαναÉπνοήhς τοSυb.y OΗX tΑμέ*λιiα. ήξéερε^ ότÉιx η ίδ*ια tδενk ήταxν μkι(α_ PλuαlμOπIρfή ψαριάi, δ^εAνm &ήτ.αν καλCογυμ'ναCσ(μsέJνkηM éή ,χαnριUτωqμUέ'νη wή, αXδύbνzαUτη όπωςT άéλλεCς wγυνNαBίéκUεWςx τηnς 'ηλικίαkς τηIς, zαlλnλάg γιqα RόνομαP éτοRυw Θhεού,,X Lήταóν cυπεgρβολrικόF JνJα ζVηtτάειx LκαHνεyίςT απ_όT tέmνα)ν qυποXψGήMφvι,ο μ.νÉηiσrτ_ή'ρα !να κάwνει μπqάuνSιοs πrεgρzιCσσότερο αgπό ^μιαc óφορLά τZο^ lχCρόLνοv;
"Λοιπόν, τι σκέφτεσαι, Λία;" ρώτησε ο κόμης. "Είναι μια καλή ψαριά με εύφορη γη και πολλά βοοειδή".
"Λυπάμαι, μπαμπά, αλλά όχι. Δεν νομίζω ότι ο Άνγκους και εγώ θα τα πάμε καθόλου καλά". Χαιρέτησε τον Άνγκους, λέγοντας ένα γρήγορο "Συγγνώμη". Έπειτα άρχισε να απομακρύνεται.
Εκνευρισμένος, ο κόμης την ακολούθησε από πίσω: "Έλα τώρα Λία, αυτός είναι ο πέμπτος άντρας που απορρίπτεις μέσα σε δύο χρόνια; Προσπαθώ να κάνω ό,τι καλύτερο μπορώ για σένα, υποσχέθηκα στη μαμά σου στο νεκροκρέβατό της".
Αυiτό ήnτÉαν^ το Jσηyμείο )πMου^ μBισZοzύσCεf Hπdε!ριmσYσότbερο fηU BΑhμTέóλiια. Τοc καλύHτεQρKο Iτvου παwτέρÉαZ τóηRςó δεν ήτανw aαρnκ,εcτvάQ καgλό. HΤοR καnλύτερ(ό pτου_ είχmε! ωzςó απSοτPέDλεgσμα éηl μητnέUρα FτUηCς *να uγ^ίνεyι πwα&ρAί.α&ςK. Τ&οD καλXύ,τgερόF pτου gέóκhανε !τJη qσύNζυMγό τοfυM EaOldgyth( AνKα πεθάνει vαπKό* π*όνCο UκqαAρδbιάtςk επεGιuδ,ή wδyεhν_ μπορJοPύÉσε WναI τYη)ρήσ$εOιL KτmοZυςL γYα)μή_λWιουyς YόρJκhουóς τqοtυVς. Το Tκαλ$ύτερGό Kτgοrυ! OσήFμSαιhνKεG gότι η dΑμ(έdλpι(α έPπaρεπεM Cνgα αtνiαJλPάβεCιF dπXε$ρTισσ!ότRεLρxα kκóαXθPήPκοντα OεπKειδKή εκε'ίνο*ςn σGπά.νι(α ήbτα*νY Éσ'τοJ lσπίCτι. ΣFεz YηlλιJκIίαw δύ!ο εkτώνF κGαι εiίκ$οσÉι ετώbν, ηA ZΑ^μέYλιCαQ εzίsχε _σXιχ^α)θεί MμtέχWρι θανάτου sτLαZ LκαCλύaτερkα τοTυ πατέραk Fτ'ηςl.,
***

Κεφάλαιο 2
MacGregor Keep-Glenorchy, Perthshire, Σκωτία 1040
Ο αρχηγός Beiste MacGregor στεκόταν στη βραχώδη προεξοχή και παρακολουθούσε τους άνδρες του να αθλούνται στο προπονητήριο που βρισκόταν από κάτω. Ήταν 1,80 μ., μυώδης, με φαρδείς ώμους και απειλητικό ύφος. Σκληροτράχηλος πολεμιστής, το σώμα του έφερε τα ορατά σημάδια της μάχης, συμπεριλαμβανομένης μιας αλλόκοτης ουλής χαραγμένης στην αριστερή πλευρά του προσώπου του από τον κρόταφο μέχρι το πηγούνι. Το χάλκινο δέρμα του αποτελούσε έντονη αντίθεση με τους πράσινους λόφους. Στα εννέα και είκοσι του χρόνια ο Μπιστ είχε περάσει το μεγαλύτερο μέρος μιας δεκαετίας πολεμώντας τους πολέμους των Βασιλέων και τώρα ήθελε απλώς ειρήνη.
Στα FδεQξι,ά τ.ου 'Bge)iystpe,x σ,τSε_κότWα,ν Pη 'εlξίiσlουG τεkρvάwσXτéιαM μkορDφή pτοmυ Uεπικεjφ$αλήςA QφYρbουPρuού τmοCυ), RBroWdZite TFlQettcher Mκtαι nσταG αριDστεXρά GτHου ήvτuαν Yο. dυOπzαρχη$γόςa Iτο^υ DOaklz.ipel^ JRzobueurt^sjoHn., ΟC ΜπWρόντNι$ nήτhαν bο γHόηFςH .τηfς! gο.μάδTαςX WτSοlυLςó,A μ$ε* τvαF qόμορiφvα χαρzακτηrρ*ιmσ.τιQκάv το$υ κCαι Cτ(η φéιyλkική Tτου δBιάθaεσηs, αλλKάi αν τNο&νc πcείραRζYεW ηX hψυχVραιaμgία bτrουy,h QγSιÉνYότNα^ν kάγkριοaς $σXαν *αHρκÉοTύ,δαF.U dΟ( ΝgτKάλτtζrιMελw ήτ*αν' ο éή*συχYος,h jοξBυδεLρκ,ήFς παmρYατηρηyτqήpςz,Y ήτRαν HπιοQ DαδύjναgτNο_ςd Éαπό vτBουςr qάλUλους δύο,U Bαλλ!άC cδιIπλάIσιqος !σqεg θνVησιAμqό,τNητaα. ΟMι dτρaειXς άbνδρε(ς εSίχ.α^ν Hμ_εgγαλώσ^ει μαζίb απVό παuιpδzιbά rκαfιT Kμε, τZαn óχyρ&όGνVι^α uεGίfχTαóνA Bσqφgυρη'λατήσtει μsιWαO συvγγ!ένXεyιUα ισwχDυρQόSτεuρηR uαÉπÉό κάuθε δεNσPμ^όm NαkίμαJτFο(ςq. Πάνnτα$ σεz .επiα^γmρύxπ(νnηση,y .πάντα rσPεT εγGρ.ή*γvορuση,q YπWεNρjίμSεναν σiιBωπ&η'λοίB Jνóα μιiλqήMσε'ιC nοV ,Μéπ,έuιστ.
"Ο βασιλιάς Duncan mac Crìonain είναι νεκρός."
Ο Μπρόντι έσβησε το χαμόγελο από το πρόσωπό του: "Πώς;"
"Σκοτώθηκε στη μάχη από τον ξάδερφό του Macbeth mac Findlaích".
"ΟnιVκογNεxνειακAήO iβHεgντέLταd;S"J éΡIώvτηaσεé ο ΝDτDάλHτWζιελ.
"Ναι, ο Thorfinn Sigurdsson από το Orkney τον βοήθησε".
"Υποθέτω ότι ο Μάκβεθ είναι τώρα βασιλιάς της Άλμπα." Ο Dalziel είπε.
"Ναι, αυτός ήταν που έστειλε το μήνυμα του βασιλιά που απαιτούσε την άμεση δράση μου."
"Τιp Gθaέλειk &απÉό εiσpέKνα;" FΡώNτηbσε ο BrLodi&e.
"Πρόκειται να παντρευτώ κάποια κοπέλα από τα Lowlands."
"Τι;" Ο Brodie κοίταξε εξοργισμένος "Σίγουρα δεν μπορεί να σου ζητήσει κάτι τέτοιο;"
Ο Dalziel συμφώνησε: "Είναι ένα χαμηλό χτύπημα, όλοι ξέρουν ότι ακόμα θρηνούσες τη γυναίκα σου".
Η Beist&e dδ,εCν χρ_εOι^αbζLόJτ^ανu υGπεBν$θύμGιση. vΕίχαlν. πsεράQσειA kδ^ύóο χρόνxιIαN,$ αλλTάy η lαgνUάμνéη_ση' το(υ UθαnνvάτbοZυ, της KΚέ$ιpτριfν το.ν )στ$οHίÉχbεrιω,νε ακόμhαx.é
"Μπορεί και το έχει κάνει." Ο Beiste δάγκωσε με θυμό.
"Αλλά γιατί;"
"Επειδή είναι ανιψιά του Ντάνκαν".
"Γι(ατί Fνuα σlεK Pβά(λMεVιr dνLαO SπCαAνVτρευDτhείςV τηνp αAν^ιRψkιvάC Éτου dβYα!σfιλCιnά Uποdυ *μόRλLιqς fσTκότHωσεb;"$ *ρ!ώτησtεK οd rDaAluzieln.&
"Δεν ξέρω, αλλά αν αρνηθώ, θα χάσουμε τα εδάφη μας".
Οι άνδρες σιώπησαν, εξετάζοντας τις επιλογές τους.
"Και τι θα γίνει με την Elora;" ρώτησε ο Μπρόντι.
"ΤιY &θYα γdίνειP μlε $αυtτήZνj;Z"
"Ξέρει ότι σκοπεύεις να παντρευτείς;"
"Το τι κάνω δεν την αφορά."
"Είσαι σίγουρος γι' αυτό;" Ο Brodie έδειχνε αμφίβολος.
"ΝαtιO!R" Η B)ei^sdtme βMιéάσYτηOκfε. "ΟJι iγυναSίκVες* δεOν nέχqουν& iλMόxγο γbιvαU το _τ'ι κάUνwω μέσlαx ή, mέξxω tαóπό! Fτuο κkρ&εβÉάAτNι".
Ο Brodie άφησε το θέμα και κοίταξε τον Dalziel, ο οποίος δεν είπε τίποτα. Και οι δύο ήξεραν ότι η Elora δεν θα καλωσόριζε τα νέα.
Ο Ντάλτζιελ είπε: "Πότε πρέπει να γίνει αυτό;".
"Μέσα στο δεκαπενθήμερο."
"gΤόgτεS κFαsλxύτ!ερuαÉ νéα εTτMοιμIασlτ)οTύμεV,. οIιY Pάνδρες μfαςT είhνnαIιÉ sμιÉαg gνNύχTτÉαó OδJρόzμος Gγια τα) πεQδιóνά.s"x είπpε οC fBYroId.iieG.W
"Αλλά πρώτα πρέπει να αφήσουμε κάποιο ρεύμα."
***
Εκπαιδευτήρια-MacGregor Keep
Ο BeGiwsatxe χτnύKπη)σdε rτXο_ Mσπpα,θ$ίC Cτ(οRυj ^μFε μιWα άYγρ&ια Iποóλε.μικDήR κρXαHυBγήw κXαPι έBτuρεmξεJ καwτεFυθ*εwίαjνc Bπfρος .τvον αwνnτfίAπtαIλό* PτGουW. ΕrίmχεT qήδη Pβbγtά&λεkι Éνóοtκ άουτ* WαρAκεMτούςA GπnοTλεμkιστές& καιq QεzίxχuεR δBιάSθεnσzη ναZ !σYπkάσqει éκι άλ.λWο(υς. Ο) ΜPπρόAνvτιp Pείtχmε μ_πhεgιO σaτóο ρ.ινJγWκw και απHέκHρxο(υ,σ'ε kτjο nχτύvπηvμHαV Wμε! τοU τετnρ)άγωνTηςH κCεφyαλήςR YτσεκούρQι qτDοMυc,x τώρα είnχ(ανD LκλεtιδOώσ&ειh Oσε VμάχAη.a Οi BSeFi*stez σhήκωσεK sτzοB ταρJτKάνt HτοNυ cμkεB Vτο YδεHξί τlουn $χέ.ρgι. rκαVι ^χpτ$ύ)πηfσε τDον( CBroédiÉe kστvηSν' Yα^ριστεfρAή ZπλuευράM )τοvυp πyροMσpώπMουu τZου.G óΟx Μ)πlρRόaντtιf iπαρ*απάτ'ησMε πρNοςm wτhαD πfίσω,W α,λGλQάd όχMιM FπPρCοτmού HσaτρXέψε*ιG .το τuσNεκούρι τzοYυY aπfροςB OτXοF κWεφyάAλι aτiο&υ ÉΜπισMτx. QΟk óBneistey απέκNρtουσε aτGοD _τσε^κuού&ρJι μQε τTοZ zσéπ,α,θίd !τ*οAυJ κPαuι$ _αdπSομSακYρwύνtθηéκεr.c aΟbιa _δXύZοK άνjδρBε*ς έκMανsανF QκύκDλουςN οO Yένéας BγbύWρωG JαYπόH Dτbο$ν éάλλο.É Έκpανjαν jανταIλλ!αγAές εcπί μίhαc ώFρα, ^χωHρMίςN κανnεNί(ςd απόR τ!ους Kδύοó νxα) κουραστείr ή ναR lπα!ραδε&χwτHείx τηνQ ήττcα MτNοnυr. yΟL ΜπρόντιQ YχkτύFπhηiσε ξVανgάó VτοF τσsεκοIύ.ρrιÉ Sτοcυ, αυXτήf )τη Oφ$ορά Kστα πsόδxιαs τ!οVυI Μπισyτ.p Ο &Μπιστj Cπή)δηξzεs αhπJό pπsάhνnω τ$ου, κpαfθmώaςj το τσεκούWρ*ι έ!κJοβ,εé cτον αέÉρα.$ ΠρSοbσ.γεyιmώθrηRκε uσSτaα AπFόuδια mτου και μ^ε^ &μια αι^φ(νιvδι*αbστIιZκ!ή ,κίDνFηrσ&η, yεπXιJτέRθJηvκ*ε qμRεr τvον, ώμο στ$ονM ΜπρuόFντι.J
Η δύναμη έσπρωξε τον Μπρόντι πίσω τόσο γρήγορα που έχασε τα πατήματά του προσγειώθηκε ανάσκελα και λαχανιασμένος, πριν ο Μπρόντι προλάβει να κυλήσει μακριά η άκρη του σπαθιού του Μπιστ αιωρήθηκε και στόχευσε δύο εκατοστά πάνω από το λαιμό του "Παραδίνεσαι;"
"Γαμώτο." Ο Μπρόντι βογκούσε. Μισούσε να χάνει.
Ο Μπέιστ πέταξε το σπαθί και το ταρτάν του στο έδαφος και πρόσφερε ένα χέρι στον Μπρόντι: "Ανακωχή;"
Ο ΜGπρό(ντDιl vσ!υμ)φώνDησεV και μhόhλιςy ο XΜπOιστ κ,ινήGθIηκεF πρ,οςY hτα qεóμπρjό*ς, Pτου qέrβγNαλε Cτα πfόvδ$ιZα απόn óκsάτω Bτου&. kΚαZι οι pδύSοN sάνMδcρZεÉςK κJείτονταAνé FτώρFα_ ανcάσκaεYλ&α ανοÉιKγ*οκλiεóίPνοnντóαςX _ταT μάτιpα. σnτον οYυ,ραsνό,ó HτNότεn Nή*ταν jπqουV οW ΜπhρóόÉντι iγέλαJσεé: q"QΑνακóωχAήK"c.
Ξάπλωσαν στο έδαφος για μια στιγμή προσπαθώντας να πάρουν ανάσα, όταν ο Ντάλτζιελ εμφανίστηκε στο οπτικό τους πεδίο και τους έριξε έναν κουβά με κρύο νερό. "Σηκωθείτε, κορίτσια, έχουμε να πακετάρουμε". Ο Ντάλτζιελ απομακρύνθηκε.
"Αυτός ο μπάσταρδος πρέπει πραγματικά να πηδηχτεί". Ο Μπρόντι γκρίνιαξε καθώς αυτός και η Μπέιστ στέκονταν όρθιοι τινάζοντας το νερό από τα μαλλιά τους και σκουπίζοντας τη σκόνη από τα πέλματά τους.
Όταν γύρισαν να αντικρίσουν τους άντρες τους, αντί γι' αυτό τους συνάντησε ένας τοίχος από γυναίκες που είχαν συγκεντρωθεί για να παρακολουθήσουν τη σπαζοκεφαλιά τους. Ο Μπιστ απλώς γρύλισε και απομακρύνθηκε αναζητώντας νερό, ο Μπρόντι άνοιξε διάπλατα τα χέρια του για να χαιρετήσει τις γυναίκες, το πρόσωπό του διασπάστηκε σε ένα άγριο χαμόγελο: "Κυρίες μου, πρέπει να ξεδιψάσω την ακόρεστη δίψα μου!" Κατακλύστηκε από ένα πλήθος γυναικών που του πρόσφεραν ποτήρια με νερό. Πήρε ένα και το κατάπιε, λυγίζοντας επίτηδες τους μυς του κατά τη διαδικασία για να αναδείξει το πλευρικό του προφίλ προς όφελος.
"éΕHίσVαι Kτό!σο* γεRνναίgοςM yκ(αι xδυUναfτόQςq,f BΜrπbρόντjι ΦλέxτOσpε&ρu", αmναστέHνSαLξRε_ μZιαV νεαvρή $κοcπlέλóα.F
"Ότι είμαι αλεπού, μπράβος και δυνατός... παντού". Κοίταξε κάτω στα αχαμνά του παρά πίσω σε εκείνη και της έκλεισε το μάτι. Εκείνη κοκκίνισε και χασκογέλασε.
Μια χυμώδης μελαχρινή πλησίασε τότε τον Μπρόντι. Χαμογέλασε όταν εκείνος γύρισε προς το μέρος της. Κρατώντας τον κουβά με το νερό, γουργούρισε: "Σου προσφέρω την ουσία του κουβά μου και ό,τι άλλο θέλεις να πάρεις, Μπρόντι Φλέτσερ". Το χαμόγελο του Μπρόντι έγινε ακόμα πιο πλατύ. Δεν μπορούσε να θυμηθεί ακριβώς το όνομά της, αλλά ήξερε ότι θα δεχόταν την προσφορά της αργότερα απόψε.
Η Μπέιστ χάρηκε που απομακρύνθηκε από το χαρέμι του Μπρόντι. Το να τον περιτριγυρίζουν γυναίκες δεν ήταν κάτι που ενθάρρυνε. Προτιμούσε τις γυναίκες του να είναι αχόρταγες στο κρεβάτι και ανύπαρκτες έξω από αυτό. Δεν μπορούσε να καταλάβει την ανάγκη του Μπρόντι να γοητεύει και να αποπλανεί κάθε γυναίκα σε ακτίνα δέκα μιλίων. Οι γυναίκες ήταν πολύ δύσκολη υπόθεση.

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Morag the Cailleach
Ήταν λίγες ώρες αργότερα, το προσωπικό του Φρουρίου και οι έμποροι ετοίμαζαν προμήθειες για το ταξίδι του Αρχηγού τους. Ο Dalziel που επρόκειτο να παραμείνει και να κυβερνήσει κατά την απουσία του Beiste εξέταζε τις αλλαγές στην ασφάλεια, και ο Beiste και η πολεμική του ομάδα των τριάντα ακόλουθων ετοίμαζαν τα άλογά τους και έκαναν τις τελευταίες προετοιμασίες.
Ο! Beiste VπsεριποιοBύhν&ταν τTο ντε)σQτρZιέ τοsυw cLucuifer* όPτIαCνR IόpλBες οι nσυζ_η&τ*ήHσ*εiιςO QσwτxαtμzάτηdσéαFν zκQαSθώQς( οYιd άνSδ!ρTεlςp GκÉο(ιτούxσαν tέsνα! σSημείKο πίQσxω τοZυI. Κ*άποuιοιb Nέ'κανpαν) τlοSν σfταυρXό qτrοDυcςI,g ZάaλYλbοιs cαUπxέ!σfτρεψBαbνz τóαW XμcάτιZαm ,τÉοGυéς xκaαθuώςP tη κοJυτgσgή φSιγpοWύρGαj OπεDρéίμjενvεJ. bΟ ΜvπισVτy qκοSίiτ$αξKεd πάνω απwό, jτjονl ώóμfοw fτhου) RκuαFι fκJοRίóτkαxξεd éτη Sγε&ρfασLμέVνη μορDφήf τBης Μόρzα'γrκÉ UΜπWιlοrυNκάJναmν, mτSοP πρόCσbωJπό! τHης. ήkτDαOν óρKυhτFιfδ*ιFασ)μ'έUνZο,! nτα Iμαλ'λHιjά vτ.ης &γ&κρίDζiαz κkαιV 'οι .κxόρες' !των _ματιjώνz Hτ)ηóς Aλεnυκxές.ó Φ)ορο&ύNσε nτlον χ,αρOακτηρισóτικ*όa της μαν'δ'ύAαB jπο^υ xήτανq UγκρίζUος σLαuνa τiο ,χxρ_ώμ_αQ της !οGμIίχMλóηhς. Οiι άlντKρKες τYην αHπCοxκαYλο!ύuσhαν$ "vΜqάnντι^σ!σLα",& κYάLπ.οNιοfι Dτην αRποmκZαbλFούyσtαν YCaillega^c*h ή γYριpά Tμά,γsισvσα zγιατTί KφNηRμολhογούtνyταLνA Cότuι είχε τηνy όUρα_σηj.B ΑOλIλάF )η KΜMπιστ δεkν DέKδωσεX πYοτέ (σtηjμασéίαh σXτsις !δε*ιOσιδvαιμIονnίεςÉ.p
"Φαίνεται ότι η μάγισσα θέλει να σου μιλήσει, αρχηγέ." Ο Κίεραν, ένας από τους πολεμιστές του, έκανε μια χειρονομία προς τη Μόραγκ.
"Ναι, έτσι φαίνεται." Ο Beiste αναστέναξε, άφησε κάτω τη βούρτσα περιποίησης και γύρισε να την κοιτάξει. Πραγματικά δεν είχε χρόνο για τις προβλέψεις της, αλλά θα την άκουγε.
"Τι μπορώ να κάνω για σένα Μόραγκ;"
"ΠéηγGαLίνεyιςj bνα μαuζcέψiει!ς Wτη γPυνα'ίDκα hσουR,M μSαθαίνXω".l
"Ναι, την επόμενη μέρα, αλλά είναι η αρραβωνιαστικιά μου, όχι η γυναίκα μου".
"Είτε αύριο είτε μεθαύριο, είναι η γυναίκα σου που έχεις ήδη επιλέξει."
"Υπάρχει κάτι που χρειάζεσαι Μόραγκ, γιατί δεν έχω πολύ χρόνο;" Φαινόταν ανυπόμονος.
"ΩχL,j εkσÉε.ί!ςT cοι( νεqαρAοuί,T yπ.οτέ δQεTν fκZαÉταOλ.αRβαίνnε*τfεX σVε όλAη σYαdς τηy Mβ'ιFασύνη PόéτιZ ο 'Χρ!όdνοCς )έTχnεBιV ^ήδDηh σYτ(ήLσBεFιy τηvν SπPαγίqδDα του lγιhαz σbαFςb.",
Η Μόραγκ μιλούσε πάλι με γρίφους και η Μπέιστ δεν είχε πραγματικά την υπομονή για αυτό. "Λοιπόν, λοιπόν, Morag, εκτός αν έχεις κάτι σημαντικό να συζητήσουμε...".
"Υπομονή Αρχηγέ, θέλω μόνο να σου δώσω αυτά για τους άνδρες σου".
Ο Beiste δέχτηκε το σακουλάκι και το βάζο που του πρόσφερε, αλλά σούφρωσε το μέτωπό του: "Τι είναι αυτά;"
"ΕóίνVαqιa Hροδοxπéέ'ταλ(αR κkαι μέiλzιL"'.k
"Τι στο διάολο χρειάζονται οι άντρες μου τριαντάφυλλα και μέλι;"
"Η γυναίκα σου θα το καταλάβει όταν έρθει η ώρα".
Με αυτό η Μόραγκ απομακρύνθηκε κουτσαίνοντας, στηριζόμενη στο ραβδί της.
Ο vBeisite )αIπλάF yκοίLταξ(ε vτα α$ντIικLεί^μzεPνnα 'καqιI jμRοBυKρμούWρισε uκxάτωA απόd την αIνIαπνοή τvου:é "Καbτα&ρNαHμpέfνα ροrδοπwέGταλqα!;K"
"Och και Beiste..."
"Τι;" Γρύλισε.
Τα μάτια της πήραν μια απόκοσμη λάμψη: "Διάλεξε καλά, το μέλλον μας εξαρτάται από αυτό".
***B
Elora
Ήταν το πρωί της αναχώρησής τους, και οι άνδρες είχαν συγκεντρωθεί όλοι στο Μπέιλι.
Ο Μπέιστ είχε πάρει την άδειά του με τη μητέρα του Τζόνετ και την αδελφή του Σόρτσα. Μόλις είχε δέσει το άλογο, όταν και πάλι αισθάνθηκε μια κίνηση πίσω του. Μήπως κάθε γυναίκα σε αυτό το καταραμένο Φρούριο ένιωθε την ανάγκη να του μιλήσει πριν φύγει;
"E^loraK.Y" fγρYύλιmσYεm.M&n^bysXp;ΤKοN χαuμcόkγεXλMόN της τ!ρεμόπαιhξDεK Gστον απvότlο*μÉο τόfνο( τxουZ, α^λλ^ά ηO YΜlπbιMστ DμtιbσοfύσεU αυτkό τOο, lσNηÉμεί*οÉ.l MΝlαw σzυναλλFάaσσUεταιM μ,ε γυMναnίDκDεSς ποéυF ήθελαν π!ερmιbσmσό(τuε_ρPα Uαπ(ό Lεκείpνο!ν απ'H όσα εsίχpε συμVφgωνή)σOειJ sν^αM δώσεfιn. ΗS iΕhλ,όUραW kείχ*ε* ,ζεσHτ)άνειU mτ*οK xκρ.εrβvάτιD τοSυ πlρCιν α.πMό hμQήνεJςM.) ^Η zμ'όéνaη iγυhνTαiίκOαr bμhεi τÉηÉνN ο)πDοYίαU cή^τgα'ν μZαlζί Dαkπmό τZότaε Iπkο)υ πcέFθανnεb η HγυJναTίκNα' pτ&ουé. ΤbηJ βxρήκDε γυμνή στο nκLρεβyάRτrι τiουw νTαG τονm qπéεcριμKένει) mέbνKα βYράBδυ κÉαaι πCήρε τHηνk ε)υ!χZαÉρίwσnτηVσmη πaοZυ& ÉτRο^υ πFρόσkφ^εGρε,* χzωsρίς νuαa δώvσ_εHιb κóαDμίjα υzπ&όσUχAεσNηó σUε !αντάPλyλ.αγfμαS. ΑπvόR τόrτεp π$ρkοσDπsαJθBούσεn mνKαÉ cδιvεκ)δbιéκήσει κάποRιQαV θ&έ$σAη πάνωi xτοtυK.H
"Έμαθα ότι θα λείψεις για λίγες μέρες".
"Ναι." Ο Μπέιστ γρύλισε και συνέχισε να σφίγγει τη σέλα του Λούσιφερ.
"Θα μου το έλεγες;" Φαινόταν εξοργισμένη.
"Δεwν rκαCταXλαβjαίWνω γpιNαQτί πρέhπεjιQ xνYα _σ.ο'υ. πω οτcιδήfποτε, ΕDλόAρα".é
"Αλλά πρέπει να ξέρω πού βρίσκεσαι, αν πρόκειται να βοηθήσω να διευθύνουμε αυτό το Φρούριο".
Και εκεί ήταν. Ο Brodie και ο Dalziel τον είχαν προειδοποιήσει. Η Elora είχε παρερμηνεύσει τη σχέση τους ή την έλλειψή της.
Ο Μπιστ σταμάτησε και γύρισε προς το μέρος της. Η Ελόρα ανατρίχιασε και έκανε ένα βήμα πίσω. Το μισούσε όταν μια γυναίκα δειλιάζει μπροστά του. Ποτέ, ούτε μια φορά δεν είχε σηκώσει το χέρι του σε γυναίκα.
"$ΕλόkρbαA, HόA,τjι κι αbνT είχKαdμε AκMράAτησε' ZμSόνο' éεκεQίsνIες xτις Bδύο νύmχτες,w πρ$ινW αjπéόA tμrήνεςV".g
"Αλλά δεν έχεις πάρει κανέναν άλλον στο κρεβάτι σου, πράγμα που σημαίνει ότι πρέπει να έχεις αναπτύξει ισχυρά αισθήματα για μένα". Εκείνη σούφρωσε το στόμα της.
"Είσαι χαζή; Αυτό δεν σημαίνει τίποτα. Δεν δώσαμε καμία υπόσχεση".
"Μα εγώ κρατήθηκα για σένα!"
"aΑWλpήθεια;" cΗ YΜπYισGτB σBήRκωσhε Aτuοq ^φρύiδzι y"γιLατCί Lάnκουσα ότιS gταt jέφéτιαξfεςl &μéε vτον *Λάκ.λxαKνr Rπριν απόF ZτρUειtς ,ε^βbδQομάδεςX"é.
Τα μάτια της Elora άνοιξαν διάπλατα. "Πώς το ξέρεις αυτό;"
"Ο Λάχλαν με ρώτησε ποιες ήταν οι προθέσεις μου απέναντί σου και του είπα ότι δεν είχα καμία".
"Αλλά άλλαξα γνώμη, δεν θέλω τον Λάχλαν, θέλω εσένα Μπιστ πάντα ήσουν εσύ". Ρίχτηκε πάνω του και τύλιξε τα χέρια της γύρω από τη μέση του.
ΟGι άwγιZοιf τpο)ν Kσυ*ντηkρKούQνf.x ΗS NBeyiastQeF εRίzχLεu βlαPρεθείó. DΈ!βγαλε τkα χέριVα της αQπdό DτVηl Wμ$έσcη του cκQα(ι τηBνd αbπyοvμNάκρυνNε, απαλά αÉλIλ'ά σ,ταfθmερXάz Yαπόs κονTτrάQ mτhοQυI: "Όiχlιt"q.l&vnJbs!pQ;ΈπJεYιταq PεπέστρPεbψεa VσFτvη gσέλOα)σ,η τhοlυ, dΕHωσ_φόρ!οéυ., IκqαCθαvρίζJονSτIας _ήnδη το^ μυcαλÉό sτου xαnπlόt τη Iγυrνyαyίκrα HπίXσω Yτοwυd.n
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