Celtic Shores (8 page)

Darina, don’t ye see it? Ye are divine. Ye are beautiful. Ye are whole. Ye are perfect. Ye are angelic. Ye are “
mine
.”

Unable to tear her gaze from his, she deliberately moved her head and shoulders back, relinquishing her claim to the few small inches that previously separated them until they were at least a foot apart. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and clasped them in his lap in front of him, unyielding in his refusal to look away.

Her image in his eyes grew smaller as she moved further away from him. Her silhouette still draped in golden light; her perspective changed and now she could see all of him, not just his eyes, but his forehead, his face, his shoulders, and chest even. A spasm of warmth shot through her again, a testament that he had grasped her hands in his own.

“D’rina, come b-back t-to me,” he said softly, lightly stroking the top of her hand with his own.

Mesmerized by his voice, she smiled and searched his eyes again. She squinted lightly and tightened her grip on his hands.
It hurts me eyes.
Suddenly realizing that Patrick was engulfed in the same cascading golden light, she gasped and broke free of his hands to touch his face. Static electricity shot through the tip of her hand and landed on his cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” she said out loud, caressing the pink spot on his face where her finger was meant to land, still unable to unlock their gaze.

“I’m n-not,” he replied as he guided her hand to the side of his cheek, rubbing his face in her palm. “I’m n-not,” he repeated, unlocking their gaze as he guided them to lay down into the soft shelter of the pallet he made from his cloak.

Burke Territory

“What did ye see, Orla?” asked Shanleigh from behind the bushes, mere steps from the monastery entrance. Soaked to the bone from the rains, her voice shook and her hands followed suit. At least a dozen people passed by the sanctuary of their brush in the past few minutes, and thank the gods no one saw them.

“Hush, be quiet else Easal or Rufus hear us,” Orla replied as she released the small opening in the brush held apart by her hands. She sat back down on the cold ground beside her friend and stared out into the night.

“Well, are ye gonna tell me what is going on or shall I go knock on the door and see if Naelyn is inside?” threatened Shanleigh. A thunder clap rolled overhead and both girls jumped, startled at the sound.

“Well, they took a young boy downstairs,” whispered Orla, who was obviously discomfited at the events that played out in front of her. Pushing her wet hair behind her ear, Orla’s hand shook as she spoke.

“Downstairs?” asked Shanleigh. “What downstairs? There is no downstairs.”

“Aye. ‘Tis what I thought too but I was wrong. They dragged him around back past the gardens, opened a door in the ground and disappeared. There was some yelling and then they came back up without him.”

Orla scooted a few paces over and took to her feet again, crouching down to avoid detection. Having extinguished the lanthorn before coming near to the monastery, she felt her way in the dark until they reached a small path that led to the front entrance.

“And just where do ye think ye are going now?” whispered Shanleigh. “Yer mam will have yer hide if she finds out we are here, and I know me da won’t take kindly to Odetta’s wrath if I’m caught with ye.”

“I intend to find out what is going on. Stay close and follow me, there is a window on the east side of the chapel that looks into the altar room; mayhap we can see what all this fuss is about.”

“Oh no, I’m not budging. I will stay right here, thank ye verra much,” she said as she grabbed ahold of a mask and covered her head with her cloak. “If I’m caught, they will think I’m just another worshipper. Ye best put on a mask as well,” she said as she handed another to Orla.

“Verra well,” Orla replied as she tip-toed towards the window opening. “I’ll be right back. Now, don’t ye move.”

The moon was high in the sky and it was near to midnight. Almost time for the sacred rites to be performed and the monastery was already bustling with activity. There were people going in and out, bringing in wine; and baskets of food and fish were stacking up against the far table in the back of the hall.

Knowing there wasn’t much to see except a room full of masked partygoers, Orla decided to venture around to the back side of the monastery. There she heard her mother’s voice and stopped to position herself for a look-see.

“Call him,” said a voice that Orla did not recognize. “Call him now, or I will take
ye
as my tribute.”

“Please Eaton,” responded Odetta. “There is no need to do this, I promise ye I can have what ye seek within a fortnight.”

“Nonsense,” replied the sinister male voice, “It is apparent I must do this meself and I have need of a host. Call him now, or I will show myself to everyone in the hall. Is that what you wish?”

Just then, a piece of thatched roof broke away above Orla and landed squarely on the top of her head. She froze in terror. She did not know who was speaking with her mother, but she could tell her mother was scared, and nothing frightened Odetta Burke.

From behind the linen window dressing she could see the shadowy outlines of two people. One was her mam, of that she was sure. The other, she wasn’t sure was a person at all. It spoke, but its voice was like the echo of the wind in a cave, deep, loud and foreboding. It was so tall its head touched the rafters and it was twice the size of any normal man she had ever seen. And…it scared the hell out of Odetta.

“Please Eaton, not Easal. Let me call for Rufus, surely he will do.”

“He willno’!” shouted the shadow, so loudly it shook the building. “Easal is the captain of the guards, I need him to accomplish what I will. Now get him!”

“What on earth is going on?” whispered Shanleigh into Orla’s ear from behind her. Frightened by Shanleigh’s sudden appearance, Orla lost her footing on the cornerstone she was standing on and toppled head-first into the stony wall, cutting her forehead in the process.

“By the saints Shanleigh, ye scared the skin off me,” Orla cried, grabbing Shanleigh by the shoulder with one hand and covering her mouth with her other hand, as she dragged her backwards around the corner to the other side of the monastery wall.

“What was that?” the sinister voice echoed out the window into the night. “Someone was out there,” it demanded.

“Of course someone was out there,” Odetta replied. “We are gathering for our service this eve, there are people everywhere. My coven awaits me in the altar room. We have a service to attend to. There are far too many people and too much activity for ye to go unnoticed, me Lord.”

“Bring me Easal—have him here, in this chamber, when ye are finished with yer rituals this evening,” it shouted. “I’ll have my host then.”

“What was that?” asked Shanleigh through chattered teeth. Visibly shaken, Shanleigh broke into uncontrollable tears behind Orla and made to pass out.

“Oh no ye don’t,” said Orla as she shook her friend to revive her. “Now, listen to me,” she said, placing her hands on either side of Shanleigh’s horror-filled face. “Are ye listening?”

Shanleigh nodded.

“Go back to the brush and find the lanthorn. Take it to our cave near the docks, ye know the one?” she asked.

Shanleigh nodded again.

“Get to the cave, light a fire and wait for me there. Make sure no one follows ye, ye ken?” she asked.

Shanleigh nodded a third time.

“Leave me the baskets and the masks, except for yers. No matter what happens, don’t take off yer mask. Now go!” Orla commanded.

***

Kyra ate the last bit of bread from her bowl and rose from the table in the great hall to greet her father. Vynae’s potion worked its magic and her stomach was no longer tied up in knots, waiting to explode. She still felt a might squeamish, but a hearty meal was serving its purpose, and she felt the color coming back in her face.

“Are ye feeling better, luv?” asked Ruarc as he reached to hug his only daughter.

“Aye, Father, I am much better indeed,” she replied as she wiped the crumbs from the corner of her mouth. “A good meal and I am good as new.”

“Ye think it was that swim ye took in the river that gave ye the vapors?” he asked tugging at his beard and mentally castrating Payton MacCahan at the same time, for pushing her into the water.

“Nay, and don’t ye go bothering that poor boy, Da. He had no idea who I was and I’m sure he feels a wee bit senseless after that stunt he pulled. Ye yerself didn’t recognize me the first time ye saw me in my chainmail. Besides, he is family now, ye need to let it rest.”

“Ye sound more like yer mam every day, Kyra,” said Ruarc.

“Now don’t say that Da. I’ll never hear the end of it if ye say that to mam,” Kyra chuckled as she rose to leave.

“Now where do ye think ye are going lass?” asked her Uncle Rory, just as he was sitting down across from her to eat.

“I have me rounds now,” she replied. “It’s me turn on the battlements, to watch the north-facing gates.

“Nay. It isn’t.”

“It isn’t?” she asked in surprise. “I’m fairly certain it is,” she countered.

“I spoke with Murchadh,” said Ruarc. “And, we agreed that you are to rest, for at least the next fortnight. There will be no more chainmail for ye for a while. And, I want ye to stay off the horses, Kyra. No riding for now.”

“Why am I being punished?” she growled.

“I knew she would say that. I told you she would say that, Ruarc,” Rory admonished, shaking his head in disbelief between bites. “She is the most bull-headed female I have ever come to know.”

Ruarc smiled and replied, “She gets that from her Uncle Rory.”

O’Malley Territory

Darina lay comfortably on the soft ground beside Patrick, searching the stars for answers, but none came. There was nothing to explain the deep connection she had with Patrick, a man she had known only a few days; or the near spiritual moment they shared together under the canopy of the night sky. Nothing logical anyway.

Darina, what troubles ye?

“
I’m not sure if it is this bond we seem to have that bothers me, or the possibility that it will no’ last,” she replied, and rolled over to lay her head atop his chest, to listen to his heartbeat. She lazily draped a leg over his and rooted her head into the crevice under his arm.

He caught his breath and reached for her, grasping her hand in his. “There is n-no re-reason to f-fear we will l-lose our connection, D’rina,” he spoke calmly to her.
Nothing will break our bond, except our own free will.

She sat up to look him in the eye. “What do ye mean, Patrick?”

Well, I mean that ye can choose to disconnect from me; and I can choose to disconnect from ye.

“Why would I do that?” she asked.

Well, I would hope that ye would’na, but I’m sure there could be reasons ye might want to. And there may be reasons for me to do the same as well.

Give me an example,
she demanded, clearly irritated.

Patrick chuckled and sat up beside her.
Suppose I have a secret I want to keep from ye?

A secret ye want to keep from me,
she pushed back, her ire clearly rising.

Aye, a secret,
he countered.
Suppose I have purchased a gift as a surprise for ye. Then mayhap, I would need to close up that part of me memory from ye, just until it’s no longer a secret, ye ken?

“
I get yer point,” she replied. “So ye can choose what to reveal to me when ye want?”

Aye. I can.

And what about me?
she asked
. Am I just supposed to be an open well of information for ye? Can I no’ have any secrets of me own?

Of course ye can, Darina. In time, ye will grow more comfortable with yer gift. It will come to ye, with practice. I will na always search yer mind. I respect ye lass. I know ye have need of private thoughts.

“And just what am I thinking right now?” she asked aloud.

Patrick drew her closer to him in a tight hug, wrapping his arms around her and placing his cheek on hers as if to whisper in her ear.
I’m having trouble hearing ye, let me try harder,
he pressed, before placing his forehead on hers and looking her in the eyes.

“Well?” she whispered coyly. “Have ye guessed?” she ventured.

“N-not quite,” he whispered back as he stroked the side of her face with the palm of his hand.
I’ve one more trick though,
he said.

“Really, and what would that be?” she asked breathlessly.

“T-this,” he said, before bringing his mouth down upon hers so gently she almost didn’t realize they had touched. He grasped the nape of her neck with his right hand and touched her temple with his left, holding her as if she would break.

“Patrick,” she whispered into his mouth.

Shhhhhhh,
he replied with his mind.
I’m working here. I almost have it.

“Patrick,” she whispered again, tapping him on the shoulder this time. He continued to ignore her and tightened his grip on her bringing her closer to him, tipping her head to the side. “D’rina,” he groaned before parting her lips with his tongue, seeking entry. She responded in kind and suckled his bottom lip before pushing him away from her.

What’s wrong,
he asked.

“Patrick, we are not alone,” she replied.

Patrick grew wide-eyed and alert before immediately jumping to his feet. Never, had he ever, been snuck up on in his entire life. Where were the sentries he posted on either side of the ridge? Was it they that interrupted them?

Darina smiled and pointed behind him as she stood to take her place at his side, grabbing his hand for support.

Patrick, who is that,
she asked unafraid.

“I am Covar.” The ridge echoed and Darina raised her hands to cover her ears. Not twenty paces in front of them, stood the most magnificent being she had ever seen or could ever imagine. Nearly eight feet tall with long blond hair the color of golden wheat, Covar was a specimen indeed.

“Patrick, so good to see ye again my friend,” said the being. Covered only at the waist, his well-defined form rivaled that of any Greek god she ever read about. Light shone from his crystal-blue eyes and tiny orbs of light swarmed around him like bees to honey.

Covar, it’s been too long,
Patrick replied with his mind, but Darina heard him as well.
This is Darina O’Malley, me bride.

Darina, can ye hear me?
asked the being to her mind. Darina turned for instruction from Patrick, who nodded.

“Aye, I can hear ye fine, me Lord,” she stated audibly as she bowed before him, unsure how one behaves in front of a god.

Covar roared with laughter and doubled over clutching his side. “I am not a god,” he said out loud, continuing his chuckles and sending the tiny orbs of light spinning away from his upper body. Patrick joined the laughter and wrapped his arms around Darina’s waist to hold her tight against him.

The orbs came closer to her and she could hear the faint sound of chatter, like an insect passing her ears. She swatted them as they passed by, sending Covar into more fits of laughter.

“Is this who ye wanted me to meet?” she asked Patrick hesitantly, still swatting at the now swarming orbs.

Aye, me luv. Covar and I have been friends for many years now.

“How did he get here?” she asked.

I came here a long time ago. I have walked yer lands for many years,
Covar replied.

“No,” she said. “How did ye get
here
? This instance, how did ye know where to come?” she asked.

Smart one there,
Covar said and motioned for them to join him sitting in the grass.

“What is that?” shouted Darina as she swatted an orb away for the second time. But it kept coming back like a reticent fly.

Darina, look closely. Do you see it?
asked Patrick.

Darina sat still for what seemed like minutes, closely examining the still moving orb of light. “By the stars!” she gasped. “Am I dreaming?”

Nay. Ye are not dreaming Darina.

I can’t believe it, Patrick.
He smiled and gripped her hand lightly.
It’s daoine sidhe. I didn’t believe they were real.

***

Mavis finished off a third goblet of wine and handed the empty vessel back to Britta. Certain it would take more than three goblets to see her fully ripe, she reached forward to indicate her desire for more. Britta, however, would have none of it.

“Ye might wish to slow down there, lass. I’ve need for ye to explain to Gemma just exactly what happened that caused us to find ye floating belly up in the sea,” said Britta.

“Aye. Won’t ye have some of this fish as well as some bread?” added Liath, the tallest of the seal women who welcomed Mavis into their modest cottage on the island. “’Twill settle yer stomach a bit.”

Mavis accepted the trencher of fish and bread that Naeyd handed her, and straightened her posture as she sat on the bench at the table prepared for their late evening meal. Liath finished braiding Mavis’ long black hair and wrapped a cloak about her shoulders to make sure she didn’t catch a chill. The cooking fire was stoked and the smell of burning peat moss permeated their small abode from the center of the chamber.

“How long do ye suppose before Incha is back with Gemma?” Mavis ventured. “’Tis extremely important I speak with Patrick, I mean Laird MacCahan, I mean Lord O’Malley, the new Laird…Lord, or whatever you call him…Patrick! I must speak to Patrick at once!” she grumbled.

A skirmish overhead alerted Mavis that something was happening on the roof. Before she could contemplate further, Naeyd excused herself and walked outside, before returning with Incha and a beautiful older woman whom Mavis could only assume was Gemma.

“Mavis,” said Incha calmly, “this is Gemma, Ruire of our Isle.”

The regal looking woman strode forward from the door and took Mavis by the hand, lightly stroking her palm. “Mavis, I’ve been advised that ye came upon some calamity of late? Is that correct?” she asked.

“Aye,” replied Mavis. “These, uh, lasses here assisted me after I was left to the sea by me captors.” Mavis hesitated in offering any further information than necessary, not wishing to disclose the true identity of her saviors.

“I see,” said Gemma, nodding to Liath. “Please tell me everything ye can.”

Mavis rose from her perch at the bench and walked toward the hearth clenching her hands in her skirts. “I mean no disrespect, Gemma, but who are ye and why should I trust ye to get word to Patrick? Why can I no’ simply speak with the Lord myself?”

Gemma remained steadfast in her position just inside the cottage entry way. “And who are ye that I should make ye an audience with our new Laird?” she retorted, clearly offended.

Incha stood between them and laid a calm hand on each of their shoulders. “Listen, something terrible has happened and Mavis, as far as I can tell, ye need our help. Gemma, Mavis bares no ill will towards our new Lord, I’m sure of it. Do you ken?”

“And just how would I know that?” asked Gemma.

“Because I came here with Patrick,” said Mavis. “I’m from MacCahan territory. I came with Patrick and his charge, the boy, Braeden. He is the one that has been taken.”

Gemma’s face showed obvious surprise and she bid the women to sit at the table. Naeyd filled six goblets of wine and set them before each of them before Mavis broke down in tears.

“What is the nature of yer relationship with our Lord…Patrick?” questioned Gemma.

“What is the nature of yer relationship with the O’Malley’s?” Mavis spat back.

“’Tis a fair question,” said Incha, placing a hand on Gemma’s forearm, hoping to fend off a disagreement between two obviously bull-headed women.

“I am the Ruire of O’Malley Isle. The Island of Women,” stated Gemma, matter-of-factly. “That simply means that I am responsible for overseeing the day-to-day affairs of the women and children who reside here. I take care of their needs. They come to me for counsel and guidance; and I represent their interests with the O’Malley clan as a member of the O’Malley High Council. I answer to no one save the Lord of O’Malley clan himself. That person now is Patrick MacCahan-O’Malley.”

“I see,” replied Mavis skeptically.

“No one from this island will take an audience with the Lord, before going through me. It is how it is done here,” explained Gemma.

Mavis looked at all the women about the table but uttered not a word. She took a long drink of her wine, set the goblet back down upon the wooden trestle table, and stared into the room as if she had lost all her faculties.

Incha spoke, “Naeyd, how much wine have ye given her?”

Naeyd shrugged her shoulders and shook her head as if she didn’t know how to answer. She mentally counted the empty wine bottles sitting atop the meat counter near the hearth and winced.

Mavis stood up, “My relationship with Patrick…I mean…Lord O’Malley,” she said tipping her head in the direction of Gemma, “is that of a servant.”

Gemma nodded her understanding and bade her to continue with a wave of her hand.

“I was purchased at the slave auctions in Burke territory many years ago.”

Liath gasped and interjected, “I thought all the slave auctions were closed years ago,” she whispered to Gemma.

“Go on,” said Incha.

“I recently lost me babe, and was needed to nurse an orphaned infant child. The group of mon had need of a nurse to care for the boy who was going to foster in MacCahan territory. I have been a dutiful and loyal household servant to the MacCahan’s for many years. I am not a slave.”

“But ye said ye were purchased?” asked Liath.

“Aye, I was,” said Mavis. “They gave me me freedom from the first moment they took me from the slave auctions. I am fairly compensated for me work as a nurse and tutor to the boy, Braeden. Patrick is…well…he is like me brathair. That would be the best way to describe our
relationship
,” she added, visibly staring at Gemma, a challenge to her earlier insinuation. “There is no impropriety, if that is what ye were hinting at, me lady.”