Celtic Stars (Celtic Steel Book 4) (5 page)

She saw the looks, heard the murmuring and knew what was thought of her. Kurt assured her that all would be alright, but she wasn’t yet convinced. She still feared for her safety, and nightmares overtook her at night. Sleep was nearly impossible, except when Kurt was there, and that had to be in secret. Only her guard knew and she had a sneaking suspicion that wouldn’t last long.  Kurt said that healing was possible and Daenal may have been the one person in the world that could help her with that. But, now she was gone, perhaps dead, lord knows what had happened to her after the dragon got her in its clutches.

She grasped each side of the face of her dearest friend and pulled him close to her mouth. “I will always love ye, Kurt,” she whispered into his mouth as she kissed him, “ye are a gift from the gods.”

“I’m not sure the church would agree with ye,” he chuckled in response. “I must get,” he added, rising from the straw mattress in the corner of the cottage and donning his over cloak. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Until then, yer guard is here. Don’t’ go anawhere unless ye have to and don’t go alone if ye must go.”

She nodded in agreement, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.  “I shall miss ye,” she added, smiling up at him and clutching the wine bottle tightly in her fist. “Can I finish this in yer absence Kurt?”

“But, of course, love,” he said, before kneeling down to kiss the top of her forehead. Turning towards the cottage door, he grabbed his knapsack and slung it over his shoulder before signaling her guard to permit him leave.  In just a moment, he was gone, into the night, leaving her to contemplate all of the plans they had made for the future – together. And she truly hoped they would have one. She knew she had a future, she was assured of that when the visitor cursed her to immortality. She just wasn’t sure if she would share it with anyone who could love her.

F
IVE

Burke Territory

“But where on earth are we going?” asked Naelyn, gripping tightly to the lanthorn thrust in her hand by the garish looking guard. She followed him down past the stables, past the brook and towards the north clearing through knee high brush,  stony ground, and mire.  Losing her footing, she slipped and would have toppled forward had the man not grabbed her by the elbow, stabilizing her gait. “I was to meet with Lord Easal and bring the scrolls,” she continued. “Lord Easal will be verra angry I'm, I do …”

“Hold yer tongue, milady,” came the stern reply. “Lord Easal has requested yer assistance and will be meeting us
there
,” he stuttered in broken Gaelic.

“
There
?” Naelyn asked. “Where is
there
?”

He eyed her curiously, looking her up and down and around with puzzlement. As if he wondered himself what on earth he was bringing her
there
for. She was just a might of a lass. Barely five feet tall, tiny really, with light, long blonde hair, crystal gray eyes, and wrists the size of a twig. He couldn’t imagine why Easal would want her there himself.

“To the catacombs,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

“The catacombs,” she whispered in fear, before turning around and running as fast as her little legs would carry her.  She managed to make it approximately ten yards before her chaperone realized she wasn’t following him any longer.  It was dark and she needed the lanthorn for sight, but she also knew it would give away her position. Quickly, she blew it out and tossed it as far to her right as she could, it landed without much of a thud.

She stood perfectly still for a moment and let her heart beat catch up with her mind.  Gazing straight up at the full moon, she took several deep breaths, all the while hearing the sound of heavy boot steps behind her from the right. She knew she had a good ten seconds before the man would catch up with her. She also knew she would not rot in the catacombs, nor would she become a surrogate mother to Easal’s devil child. She had no choice but to escape this man, and she had to be smart about how she did it.

Pulling off her cloak, she threw it to her left. She threw her boots as well, one to the front and the other to the back of her; and quickly climbed the nearest tree she could find.  She was an expert climber; something that had become necessary as a child. Drunken men who follow little girls into the woods cannot climb trees, and they have little patience for waiting them out either. The morning would find her alone in the tree and mayhap then she could escape Easal for good, mayhap she could find refuge in O’Malley Lands as well.

As she finally settled in on a thick limb about ten feet up, she realized she was not alone in the tree. Her heartbeat quickened and she began to sweat. Her pulse pounded in her ears and her hands began to shake with the reality of her situation.

“Milady,” the rough male voice sounded below her. “I’ve no intention of spending the entire night here at the foot of this tree. “I intend to take ye to the catacombs where ye have been summoned by Lord Easal.”

She gasped for breath as the hissing sound grew louder. The snake had taken up her scent and was slowly making its way in her direction.

“I’d rather suffer this venom than spend me last days in the catacombs,” she whispered as loudly as she could.

“Milady,” the Lord requests yer presence in the catacombs to assist with an unusual matter that he believes you may be – uh - suited towards.”

“What?” she asked. “I am not to become a prisoner?”

“Nay.”

“I don’t believe ye,” she replied. “Why are ye chasing me then?”

“Milady, ‘tis a full moon. The dearg-due are out, the wolves are a 'howling and you are my charge,” he said with the most unusual accent she had ever heard. “If’n you would but remain stationed there and breathe only if necessary, I think I can impale that serpent with my arrow.”

He was right, she really didn’t want to become dinner for wolves or worse yet, be drained of all her blood by some she-devil dearg' du. But, the most obvious current problem was the serpent.

The serpent
, she remembered. It was now just inches from her, she watched as its glowing yellow eyes floated atop the tree limb in her direction. Slowly it inched its way towards her, never looking away. It was almost hypnotizing the way it locked gazes with her as if it was preparing to be her, to become her somehow.  She breathed in slowly and exhaled even more slowly.

“Aye,” she moaned, a small verbal acknowledgment that she was indeed at the mercy of the soldier, and whatever her fate, she no longer had control of what became of her.

She had heard the arrow before she saw it strike. A clean whirling sound, a “whoosh”, and in a flash the arrow pierced the neck of the rising serpent and sent it plummeting off of the tree limb and onto the woodland floor below her. Thank the gods, he was a good shot. She let out a breath of air and slumped against a tree, wiping the pent up tears with the back of her right hand.

“Do I need to come up there and get you?” he asked abrasively.

“Nay,” she said quietly. “I just need a moment, please,” she begged. “I won’t run, I promise. “Pray tell me,” she asked the soldier, “what exactly awaits me at the catacombs?”

She could tell from his lack of immediate response and the aggravated sigh he let out that he wasn’t too keen on talking about it. He reached up his hand towards her in beckoning.  “We must be off now,” he said, more gently than anything that had escaped his pursed mouth so far. “Let’s go lass.”

As she made her way down the face of the tree, she almost imagined she saw fear and pity in his eyes. She couldn’t be sure, but it was the closest thing to sympathy she had ever encountered in her life. What on earth had Easal opened the catacombs for? They had been closed for nearly two hundred years since before the slave trade ended, since before the Romans came, before the Church even.

“Please, tell me,” she begged as she climbed into the arms of the sentry. “Wouldn’t ye want to know?”

“I reckon as much,” he replied as he set her down gently on the damp leaves. “Here,” he added shoving her boots in her hands, “Put these on.”

“I’ve no idea what ye call it,” he said in broken Gaelic. “The word, I’ve no confidence I have the right word,” he added reluctantly.

Roman
, he was Roman. That’s why she could barely understand him. A hired soldier for Easal since most of the Burke clan had taken up refuge in O’Malley lands. “It?” she asked. “It’s an
it
then?”

“Aye,” he replied and nodded at the same time.

“Is it a relic?” she asked, hoping Easal had finally located the Nexus he had been searching for and with it, he would soon be leaving.

“Nay,” he replied.

“Is it a scroll? A writing perhaps? On the wall?”

“Nay,” he replied, scratching his beard and looking puzzled.

“Hmm,” he moaned. “Tis alive.”

Dear god she thought to herself, there are more of them! Another Easal or Eaton, a creature from another time and place like the mad monster who held her captive. “Another, Easal?” she gasped.

“Nay, milady,” he signed. “’Tis, uh – well – uh – ‘tis
il drago
.”

“Drago?” she muttered. “Drago? What on earth? Il drago?” she asked turning her head up at the giant of a man before her. “Il drago?”

Clearly aggravated, the century bade her to move forward. Quickly he retrieved the lantern and had it lit. “We must go now.”

“Wait, I need to know, please,” she begged. “What am I walking into?”

“Il Drago,” he repeated, clearly aggravated. “Il Drago,” He said it again as he spread his arms up and wide and made flying gestures before crouching down before her and blowing his breath out slowly. “Il Drago.”

“A dragon?” she gasped disbelievingly. “A dragon?”

“Ah – dragon,” he repeated, clearly proud of himself. “Aye, a dragon,” he said turning around to face her, but she was gone. “Naelyn,” he called softly. He turned right and she wasn’t there, he turned left and she wasn’t there either. He made a circle with the lanthorn, but she was gone. She had vanished into thin air! He widened his circle, swinging the lanthorn back and forth to spray light forward in the tall brush, but she was nowhere to be found.  In the distance, he heard a shrill cry that made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight on end.

‘Il Drago,” he repeated as he fell to the forest floor in terror, “Il Drago.”

***

He stroked her cheek and ran his adolescent fingers through the mane of long hair that rested in his lap. She had plainly exhausted all of her resources. Thank God they made it to the tree in time. Outside their makeshift shelter, Braeden could hear the wind whistling through the trees and the sounds of the forest creatures settling in for the night. An occasional howl reminded him to be ever on the watch. But it wasn’t the wolves that frightened him most. It wasn’t even the legendary dearg-due, the beautiful night creatures that would drain you of your blood before you could raise your broadsword. No. It was the thought that what he had done had been successful.

Had he managed to summon an actual dragon? Was that even possible? Would it serve him because he called it or would it kill him as soon as look at him? Would they ever be safe again and had he put the one person on this earth that he loved the most in danger? Would Orla ever be safe again?

He was tired of the battle that waged between the O’Malley and Burke clans. He was tired of hearing about it, tired of fearing for it and tired of preparing for it. It needed to end, for good, and soon. Hopefully a handful of dragons, under his command, could end it once and for all. At least that had been his plan. Now that he thought about it, how on earth would anyone control a dragon? Had he literally unleashed hell on earth? Would Patrick and Darina find it in their hearts to forgive him? Or would they fall victim to his latest adolescent whim?

Braeden knew that in just a few short summers, he would take up the mantle of Lord of the O’Malley clan. This was his rightful place, being the eldest son of the late Lord and younger brother to Darina. He just wanted to make sure when he sat in that position, there was no more Easal McCallister to worry about. He needed to make sure there was no witch - Odetta Burke - posing problems with her plotting and scheming. He needed to make certain that Orla would finally agree to be his, body and soul, and sit next to him in the council chamber, as his wife.

She stirred, ever so softly for a brief moment in his lap. A quiet little moan that reminded him he was all male slipped from her lips  before she let out a deep sigh and surrendered to a shallow sleep. How long would he have to wait to make her his?

S
IX

O’Malley Territory

Council Chambers

“Riann?” gasped Darina. She rose from her seat next to Patrick and stared directly in front of her, towards the dead center of the council chamber table where a peregrine falcon closely resembling her own, Riann, sat perfectly still.  Fanai, her hound, growled and picked up his ears in confusion.

The Falcon didn’t move. Sitting motionless on the table, it stared intently back into the terrified eyes of Darina O’Malley. “Riann?” she questioned again, searching the faces of those with her in the chamber for some sort of explanation.

“Darina,” spoke Airard softly. “This is not Riann. This is Gemma.”

“Gemma?” gasped Darina covering her mouth in disbelief.  There were Gemma’s clothes lying in a puddle on the floor next to her seat at the table, there was a terrible noise and a flash of bright light and then suddenly, there was this falcon. It looked just like Riann. But that couldn’t be, Riann was in her quarters, next to the stables where she was cared for until Darina would hunt, or practice, until she called for her.
Her
Riann.