Untamed {Mature Reading}

Chapter XXII

It was becoming a familiar recurrence for Bianca - sleepless nights. She was growing accustomed to the way she would toss and turn among the furs of her bedding as her mind whirled and worked. It would seem that both the Laird and the prophecy now occupied most, if not all of her time. 

Could she love him? Even if he stole her away?

Bianca sighed into the night. How could she love anyone when she had a duty to the gods? A task that she must fulfill?  There would be no point in concerning herself with childish notions of romance when she had bigger problems. 

Still, the priestess allowed herself to indulge in the fantasy, even for a moment. She imagined what it would feel like to be the source of his laughter, to see his blue eyes crinkle with mirth. Of what his bear-like would feel like to hold her own small one. Bianca could not help but wonder what it would feel like to be held by Callum, to have his strong arms encircle her and protect her. She would not walk in fear if he was by her side. 

But all too soon such fantasies ended and Bianca's mind turned back to more real matters. The prophecy was not yet fulfilled. She had been broken in her body, but her mind and heart were still whole. 

A darkness was in the castle. But what? Who? Her attacker? Bianca's hands involuntarily fisted into the furs at the thought of having to face the faceless creature again. But perhaps there was a greater darkness. Perhaps they all were all connected, perhaps not. 

Her eyes squeezed shut and a soft groan left her parted lips. The image of her homeland etched onto parchment lingered in her mind. What had been written there? She cursed herself for not knowing the written language but vowed to ask in the morning. 

Content with such a plan, Bianca finally bid herself to sleep, knowing that she would only have a few hours before the castle became alive once more for the second day of the tournament. 

Eyes closing, she once again allowed herself the indulgence of girlish notions of strong, able hands holding her - of a Lord of the Underworld claiming his Goddess of Spring. 

***

As predicted, what little sleep that had claimed her did little to ease the wariness from her bones. Easing out of the bed, Bianca rubbed at her tired eyes, promising to get a better sleep that night. She moved to pour some water into a basin, splashing the chilled water onto her face as a means to wake herself up and scrub the sleep from her eyes. 

She changed into a simple dress, knotting her curls back carelessly. A part of her had wanted to look beautiful, like a lady, but such fantasies were for herself alone. In the light of day, Bianca had to forget about her strange wanting for Callum as she faced the hard facts - he was to be married to Rosalind and she was a priestess. She was never meant to marry or to know such love. What would be the use in trying to deny the truth?

Easing out of her room, she wove her way around a few stay Scots who lay sprawled in the many hallways, some still cradling their tankards and goblets from the night before. Their sleeping bodies were like a litter of ale-soaked trail of breadcrumbs to the Great Hall. 

Moira spotted Bianca girls, the former girl waving at the latter with a cheerful grin that seemed out of place among the many ho seemed to be staring rather glumly into their plates. Bianca approached her table, smiling in thanks when Moira moved a little to offer her some room to sit. 

"Most of them got carried away last night," Moira explained in a hushed tone as she poured Bianca some tea, passing it over. "Say their head's are a wee bit sore, ye ken?" 

The priestess nodded, taking a sip. "Not you? I did not see you at the feast last night." She paused, arching a brow. "Or Stephen." 

She watched as a flare of crimson rose up into Moira's cheeks. "No, we weren't."