Free Sorceress by Lisa Jackson Page A

eyes . . . a longing to be redeemed? Had she imagined it?
    And what of Carrick’s well-honed skills as a huntsman? Could her husband not see that there was no better man to track and protect her sister? In his ruthlessness, Carrick was strong and able; he would not abandon his mission until he had won.
    And that was the sort of steely determination Morwenna needed to ensure her sister’s well-being. Despite her husband’s fury, Morwenna held fast to her conviction that she had done the right thing in hiring Carrick.
    Clenching her fists beneath the coverlet, she stared into the darkness and imagined her sister’s pale face and fiery red hair. “Godspeed, Bryanna,” she whispered. “Godspeed.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    B ryanna had tried. Oh, by the gods, she’d tried. She had kept at her work, practicing her runes and spells at night, wondering if they worked, for she saw no evidence of magick at her hand. Each day she rode ever northward toward the mountains, looking for some landmark, for anything she would recognize on the bit of deer hide.
    And all the while she’d felt that she was being followed.
    As surely as if she’d seen a dark presence, she’d sensed someone watching her. She told herself that she was being silly, falling victim to her own worries of riding alone. And yet, she couldn’t stop the hairs from rising on the back of her neck when she’d caught a glimpse of shadow on sunlight.
    She’d come upon polecats, even surprised a fox chasing a hare through the bracken, but this was more than a simple forest creature on the hunt. Whatever it was that followed her was deeply malevolent, intrinsically evil; she felt the vibrations of sin deep in her heart when she sensed his presence.
    ’Tis Arawn, riding upon his pale horse with his white hounds accompanying him, she told herself. He is coming for you, for your soul. Be wary.
    Now, as she sat at the fire, holding her cloak tight around herself, she felt not only hunger but despair. Her ears and eyes strained as she stared into the gloom, searching for a glimpse of the beast of darkness.
    But she saw nothing.
    “Think not on it,” she whispered, trying to bolster her wavering confidence. Shivering, she rubbed her arms, then unsheathed the dagger. ’Twas not much of a weapon, but it would have to do.
    She trained her eyes on the fire, where golden flames licked a mossy log and smoke rose to the heavens. Where was the enlightenment? The knowledge that would elevate her consciousness so that she could heal the sick, predict the future, or cast and lift curses?
    She was torn, her faith stretched and thin. As a child she had been raised to believe in the Christ, the son of God. She’d spent hours upon her knees on the cold stones of the chapel. She’d learned to fear Satan, ready to tempt the most pious of souls.
    But also Isa had taught her of another way, one that did not dismiss the Christ child, but did stray from the teachings of the church. Isa’s faith was a wonderful blend of magick and spells, visions and healing. Her faith had room for all the gods and goddesses of the old ones. Morrigu, the Supreme Goddess of all, was always at Isa’s side and she prayed to her.
    As a child, Bryanna had melded the two, believing a bit of one and sewing it into the fabric of the other, learning from Father Barton at Penbrooke, and Isa, as well.
    And now Bryanna feared that she had made a horrible mistake.
    She could not possibly be a sorceress. Her faith was not strong enough. She was too weak. The old nursemaid had been wrong about her.
    “Isa!” Bryanna railed in frustration, and from the stillness her voice echoed back at her, mocking her despair. “For the love of Morrigu, talk to me.”
    When she heard nothing, she stared at the crumpled piece of doeskin in her fist. This map, if that was what it was, made no sense whatsoever. She tossed down the doeskin and nearly spat upon it. What did it matter what the map said if she couldn’t read it?
    “And you know