A Year & a Day

By Virginia Henley Bantam Doubleday Dell Copyright 1998

One

Submerged up to her breasts in the forest pool, the flame-haired girl shivered deliciously at the feel of the icy water on her skin. She had waited all winter for this first spring dip. Jane Leslie had a wild, untamed streak like the forest creatures with whom she was able to communicate. Because she had this special gift, animals trusted her and came to her hand without fear. Jane had been playing with a river otter that had been swimming beside her, making her dizzy with his somersaults and acrobatics. She had bidden him to cease his antics and now he lay on the bank, slumbering in the spring sunshine.

Suddenly she raised her head, feeling the hair on the nape of her neck rise up the way an animal's hackles do when danger is nigh. Moving only her eyes, she gazed about the leafy bower, trying to identify what had disturbed the perfect tranquility of nature's paradise.

Though she saw nothing, Jane was completely aware of his presence, lurking just beyond the green foliage of the lacy branches. Her ears strained for the least rustle of leaf or murmur of breath, and when she heard nothing, she knew he was a master of stealth. Breathing deeply, she inhaled the smell of the water, the perfume of the first wild iris, the aroma of the forest, and the tang of the sea beyond. Then her nostrils quivered as she caught his male scent. No, she had not been mistaken; he was watching her bathe!

Green eyes gazed through the canopy of leaves, silently observing the bather. He had traveled far and, tired and thirsty, had come to the pool to drink. Now he stared unblinking, as if mesmerized. He licked his lips, his appetite whetted for the tender

female flesh that would slake a suddenly aroused hunger. Never taking his eyes from the girl, he moved his weight so that it was more comfortably distributed, as he crouched and waited for her to come out of the water.

The maid lowered her lashes to her cheeks, hiding the excitement she was feeling. Pretending to be unaware of his presence, she dipped her hands into the pool, lifted her arms high, then allowed the water to trickle down her neck and shoulders. Could she tempt him from his hiding place? She had powers that others did not possess. Softly, she began to hum a haunting melody and moved imperceptibly closer to the edge of the pool. Although she appeared calm on the outside, inside her thoughts were in turmoil as her curiosity, excitement, and anticipation soared higher and higher.

Irresistibly drawn by her siren song, he moved forward too on heavily muscled legs. Unblinking, he avidly watched every movement of the small female's body. He marked her for his prey, knowing she could not escape him. She was his for the taking. He raised his proud head, curbing his impatience, as he waited to make his move.

As he emerged through the canopy, Jane's lashes flew up in utter amazement and she found herself staring into the fiercest green eyes she had ever encountered. She had imagined her intruder to be a fox or mayhap a stag; never in her wildest dreams had she imagined encountering a lynx!

Jane was terrified, both for herself and for the sleeping otter. The lynx would devour the sleek creature unless she did something quickly. Bravely, she jumped from the water and tried to scare it away, but the large lynx was not the least bit intimidated. It ignored the otter, focusing its full attention on Jane, and began to pad toward her as if stalking its prey.

Jane gasped in fear and began to run for her life. Her power was the only thing that could save her.

As she ran, Jane reached for the Celtic touchstone that hung around her neck and she sent up a desperate plea to the goddess Brigantia.

She glanced over her shoulder and realized there would be no divine intervention; in hot pursuit, the lynx was almost upon her. A ragged scream was torn from her throat as her foot caught in a wild bistort vine and she tumbled to the forest floor. The powerful animal loomed over her and with one huge padded paw, rolled her over onto her back.

Jane screamed and closed her eyes to shut out the fearsome vision of the lynx. Her dread was so acute her limbs trembled uncontrollably and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She sucked in a great shuddering breath as she felt the lynx sniff her hair. Then, incredibly, she felt his tongue come out to lick her cheek. Dear God, like all felines, was he toying with his prey before he devoured her?

Her eyes flew open in alarm and she stared into the fierce green orbs. His tongue came out again to lick her ear and she sensed for the first time that he was being gentle with her. With tremendous relief, Jane somehow knew he would not harm her.

With her heart still hammering wildly, she gazed up in awe at the sheer magnificence of the creature. His pelt was tawny, the fur about his face and ears was tufted, framing his head with a silvery mane. The wildcat's fur looked soft as thistledown and his huge padded paws hinted at the sheer power he possessed. Jane knew she had no control over him; he was the one in command. He was fearless and fierce, predatory and proud, wild and free.

His tongue moved down her neck to her collarbone and Jane became acutely aware of her nakedness as he began to lick her breasts. As his tongue curled over her nipple, its rough texture sent a frisson of sensation that rippled down inside her belly. Now pleasure mingled with her fear and she experienced a strange excitement unlike any she'd ever felt before that went deep to her core.

The lynx tongued and licked, moving down over her rib cage until she felt wet, warm swirls upon her bare belly. The pleasurable feeling that this aroused in her was so intense that Jane closed her eyes as a low moan escaped her lips.

There was a sudden rustle on the floor of the forest as a hare darted through the trees. The lynx instantly loped after it, disappearing as quickly as he had arrived. Jane took in a ragged breath and lifted her touchstone on its leather thong so she could look into the face of Brigantia. She wondered if the Goddess of Inspiration had sent the hare as an intermediary. Hares were tricksters with powers to effect transformation and control destiny.

As she walked unsteadily back to where her clothes lay, she was completely perplexed by her strange encounter. It occurred to her that it might be an omen, but of what, she had no idea. Her heart still fluttered wildly as she pulled on her woolen gown and stockings. Slowly, the atmosphere around the forest pool reverted to the way it had been before the intruder had arrived. The birds and the dragonflies once again swooped low over the water, and the red squirrels ventured back down the trunks of the oak trees. A turtle stuck his head out of the water and slowly made his way to her feet.

Jane slipped on her leather shoes and headed back to Dumfries Castle where her father, Jock Leslie, was the steward. Dumfries was one of the great border strongholds in the Annandale region of Scotland.

Jane was the youngest of ten children whose mother had died while giving birth to her. She had been raised by her maternal grandmother, Megotta, a fiercely blood-proud Celt. When her daughter had wed Jock Leslie, Megotta had been outraged that she was pledging herself to a man who was not a pure Celt, so she had been doubly determined to instill the Celtic traditions in her grandchildren. Jane, who had seven brothers and two sisters, was Megotta's favorite. She had been born with the gift of healing, which her grandmother believed had been bestowed on her by the ancient Celtic goddesses. Her grandmother hoped she would also develop the giftof second sight, which Jane experienced upon occasion.

When she arrived home, the door of the stone dwelling stood ajar and Jane could clearly hear her two married sisters

arguing with her grandmother. Jane's cheeks turned rosy as she realized she was the subject of their disagreement.

She knew her sisters resented her because their father and grandmother treated her as if she were special, allowing her the freedom to explore the forests and care for the animals. But what she did not realize was how jealous they were because she was more beautiful than they were, with her flaming red hair and voluptuous, agile body.

"Ye two can stop yer meddling. Jane is destined for greater things than marriage, and in any case she's far too young," Megotta said firmly.

"Too young?" Mary cried. "I had three bairns by the time I was her age." She placed her hands upon her mounded belly, which held her sixth child in as many years.

"Her wildness is unnatural, she must make an effort to overcome it," Kate asserted. "Folk whisper about her. She's never even been courted, poor wee mite. The men think she's more witch than woman and you're to blame; filling her head with Celtic superstitious nonsense!"

"Ye should take pride in yer Celtic heritage! Nothing is more important than blood!"

"Nothing except bein' handfasted and catching a husband," Mary asserted. "Father will have to pay bride money before any will look at her."

Although Jane got along easily with animals, she was sometimes uncomfortable around people.

She knew that because of her strange powers she was different from other people; she was not at all interested in such matters as finding a husband, having babies, and establishing a home, which occupied the thoughts of most other young women. Although Jane seethed with passionate feelings, she tried to keep her emotions to herself because of the whispers and the laughter that were often directed at her.

She hid her hurt by pretending not to care that many of the village folk found her odd.

Today, however, she could not control her feelings. As she

stepped through the doorway, she confronted her sisters. "I don't want a husband! I prefer to live here with father and Megotta."

Her sisters turned to her, looking shocked. Both were married to cattle herders and had their own stone and wattle homes outside the castle walls. Suddenly, they began to laugh. "She hasna the faintest idea of what she's missing," Kate told Mary.

"I think we'd better enlighten her about what goes on between a man and a lass," Mary told Kate.

"Ye're shameless, the pair of ye!" Megotta cried.

Jane blushed as she stood her ground against her sisters. "It's all right, Megotta. I'm quite aware of what goes on between a man and a woman; I'm simply not interested. I find men extremely—" Jane did not say
terrifying
, because her sisters would likely laugh all the harder. "Coarse," she finished. Jane had never told anyone that she had once been attacked by a man, a fugitive who had been hiding in the forest.

The way he had torn her clothes and touched her body had made it plain that he'd intended to have his way with her. She had managed to fight him off with the knife she carried for cutting herbs, but the assault had left her with an indelible fear of strange men.

"And men are no' the only ones who can be coarse," their grandmother asserted. "Take yerselves off home, lest yer fine husbands give ye a good beating fer not getting their dinners on time."

The sisters shrugged; beatings were an accepted part of marriage.

Jane's dreams were different from those of other young women. Megotta had taught her the things that the ancient Celtic priestesses had practiced, and she wanted to dedicate her life to distilling herbal cures and to healing the people and animals of Dumfries.

Jane's youngest brother, Keith, hurriedly entered the cottage. He was the youngest male Leslie, the only one unmarried and still living at home. A groom at the castle stables, Keith loved

horses and was an expert in their care and grooming. "I have a mare that foaled twins. One is healthy, but I'll lose the other unless ye come, Jane."

Without a word Jane followed her brother to Dumfries' vast stables. He was her favorite brother, a seventh son who was psychic. The two youngest Leslies had a special bond.

Jane went into the box stall where the mare was nuzzling her newborn, helping it to find her teat.

Another foal, extremely small, lay in the straw, seemingly abandoned. A tiny tremor was the only sign of life that Jane saw as she knelt before the newborn. She had learned that touch was equally as important as nourishment where survival was concerned.

Jane placed her hands on the foal's neck and, rubbing with long, smooth strokes, began her magic.

Soft, soothing words accompanied her ministrations, coaxing, praising, petting the little animal with voice and hands. She rubbed its back and its belly and its spindly legs, then began again at its muzzle and neck.

Gradually, the motion of her hands changed. Her strokes shortened as she dug her fingers into its coat and curried it as its mother's rough tongue would have done if it had shown more signs of life.

"Today at the pool I encountered a lynx."

Keith heard the excitement in her voice. "Were ye not afraid?"