Celtic Storms (6 page)

Thankfully Adreana had offered to see to meals for Airard each night in exchange for use of the hearth. Adreana was the eldest servant still working for the Laird and had been widowed almost fourteen summers. Her daughters had left MacCahan lands many seasons before after marrying into neighboring clans. Adreana had maintained a keen interest in Airard for some time and taken this as her opportunity to showcase her skills in the kitchens. Airard was fond of her company and appreciated the meals, and especially of not having to spend his evenings alone. Patrick had teased him relentlessly since the uproar in the forge but Airard seemed not to care.

“Airard,” bellowed Patrick as he wrapped his fist against the side of Airard’s cottage. “Airard,” he shouted again.
I certainly hope he can hear me over this rain.

Patrick pushed the door a crack and peaked inside, the smell of roast duckling rose to meet him. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Airard at the table breaking bread and filling Adreana’s mug.

“Patrick, do come in my son,” he said as he rose to greet him. “Let me take your cloak.” Airard helped Patrick remove his dripping cloak and Adreana hung it on a peg near the hearth so that it would dry.“Won’t you join us?” asked Airard motioning to the table.

“I do no wi-wi-wish to intrude Airard,” replied Patrick. “Nonsense,” stated Adreana. “Let me fetch you some food.” Patrick gave Airard a knowing grin as Airard blushed and waved him off.

“I cannot believe it continues to storm,” Airard stated loudly attempting to take Patrick’s mind off his teasing. The sound of the fire splitting and food being dished briefly disguised the incessant patter of rain hitting the roof. In the corner near Airard’s straw bed, Patrick could see a pail which caught the rain slipping through a crack in the thatched roof.

“I will see to the r-re-repairs tomorrow,” stated Patrick, matter-of-factly. “Nonsense,” retorted Airard, “you have more pressing matters to attend to.”

Adreana returned to the table with a metal trencher piled high with vegetables and roast duck. “It smells wo-wond-wonderful,” said Patrick giving her an appreciative nod.

“I must be off now Airard,” Adreana stated. “But I will return tomorrow evening with your meal and I will be back at the forge in the morn to gather the linens.”

“You shouldn’t venture out in this rain alone my lady,” said Airard. “Why don’t you let Patrick attend you to the keep?”

“Nonsense,” replied Adreana. “Besides, I am meeting Conri at the stables to assist with the new foal. He will see to my safe return.”

Patrick and Airard sat in silence for several minutes after Adreana had left. They had finished their meal and cleared their dinner before reclining beside the fire. “Patrick, tell me what your father said.”

“The sh-shor-short of it is that I am to be married in nearly a fort night. I am to take Bra-Brae-Braeden with me to O’Malley lands. I am betrothed to the deceased Laird O’Malley’s el-el-eldest daughter, Dar-Dari-Darina – I think it was.”

“O’Malley lands. I have heard tale of them. They are one of the wealthiest of clans, Patrick,” stated Airard.

“Aye,” replied Patrick. “’Tis so.”

“I see,” stated Airard. “And what of Braeden?”

“I am to con-cont-continue his fostering at O’Malley castle,” stated Patrick as he picked the mud from his boots.

“And – you are alright with this?” queried Airard.

“Aye,” said Patrick. “I am very fond of hi-him.”

“Well then, what of this marriage?” questioned Airard with a raised brows.

“I haven’t any s-s-say in the matter,” retorted Patrick.

“But of course you do Patrick. Laird MacCahan is a just and reasonable man. I’m certain he would not force you if you did not wish.”

“It is j-ju-just as well with me. I never th-thought to marry myself. But it seems the joining means a gr-gre-great deal to my father and our clan,” replied Patrick.

“How so?”

“There is a considerable do-dow-dowry; and – the O’Malleys mean to con-construct a shipping port here and to pro-provide a vessel for my father.”

“Of course. I can see your father’s motivations.” Airard rose and stood to place a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Tell me son, what worries you the most?”

Patrick paused a moment in thought before responding. “I am f-f-fully trained as a blacksmith. I am ca-capable as a soldier. I can see to Br-Braeden’s rearing.”

“But?”

“Bbbb-but,” stammered Patrick. “I know little of w-women. I have not the ca-capa-capacity to please a w-w-wife.”

MacCahan Castle – Great Hall

“Patrick, I will be leaving for O’Malley lands shortly,” spoke Ruarc over the morning meal in the great hall. Patrick’s father nodded his approval from his seat at the high table.

“Deasum and Carbry will accompany you and Braeden on the road back and are bringing along two wagons for your things. Aengus is staying here for the time being, to begin construction on the piers.”

Patrick grunted his approval and continued to eat grinning as he heard the familiar sound of Braeden snoring. He had fallen asleep on the bench next to Patrick, not accustomed to rising so early. The sun had not yet broken over the horizon.

“Patrick, can you be ready to leave in a few hours?” asked Ruarc.

“I b-b-believe so,” replied Patrick. “I have only a few more things to gather and I w-w-wish to say goodbye to Airard.”

“Do you think that Braeden will be able to sleep in the wagon?” Ruarc inquired as he chuckled.

“I think Braeden is able to sl-sleep through damn near anything,” laughed Patrick as the sound of Braeden’s snoring grew even louder.

Ruarc continued, “Riding alone, I should be able to arrive at the castle within at least three nights. I would guess your group should arrive within five to six nights at best, seeing you are bringing your belongings and you travel with Braeden.”

Patrick set his mug down and scratched his head, nearly pulling the wisps of hair he had tied at the base of his neck from their hold
. I certainly hope it doesn’t take longer than that – and that these infernal rains will stop. If we can’t get through this mud, I’m not sure our belongings will make the trip.

As if he understood his son’s concerns, Breacan MacCahan interjected. “Patrick, I have instructed the men to pack tools for your trip and some extra wheels in the carts so that if you meet with any thick mud or rocks, you won’t be stuck - you can continue your journey. You needn’t worry about the carts.”

“And,” he continued, “We have fashioned the coverings over the wagons, so that the rain at least will not soak you through. Your belongings will have some measure of covering, and the food is stored in clay pots that Glenia sealed for your journey.”

“Thank you, f-f-father,” replied Patrick. Turning to Ruarc, he inquired, “On your journey here, did it r-r-rain much?”

“Nay, we only encountered the weather when we arrived in MacCahan territory.”

Thanks be. I do not think I can abide anymore storms. I feel like a drowned fish as it is. An entire day without drenching rain would be a blessing.

“Is there anything else along the jo-jou-journey we should keep watch for?” he asked Ruarc.

“Nay, except for the Burke lands,” stated Ruarc. “But there is truly not much to worry about there either as long as you travel along the border and do it at night. They are woefully unprepared at night. Each of the other clans is aware of our quest and should cause you no ill. They will, of course, expect some coin for passage however,” said Ruarc as he tilted his head towards Breacan.

“I see,” interrupted Breacan. “Patrick I am sending you with plenty of resources; you needn’t worry in that regard. “Carbry has been given charge of the coin being sent with you.”

“Aye,” laughed Carbry, “let me think where I put it,” he said as he tugged at his beard with a menacing smile on his face. “Ah – there it ‘tis” he said as he patted the satchel which was snuggly wrapped about his chest and laid just under his
bliaud
.

Ruarc drank the last remaining drops from his mug, finished off a final piece of bread and rose to gather his things. “My horse should be ready just about now. I must be off.”

“Ru-Ruarc,” interrupted Patrick. “I would like to have a w-wor-word. That is – I shall like to sp-sp-speak to you before you go, if you will?”

“Of course Patrick, let us walk,” stated Ruarc, and the men headed out of the great hall and through the castle doors towards the path to the stables.

A flash of lightening in the morning sky was an instant reminder of the persistent storms that had surrounded the MacCahan keep for weeks. It hadn’t yet begun to rain, but no doubt it would resume soon and Patrick needed to get moving before the ground again became saturated.

As they walked towards the stables, Patrick inquired. “Ruarc – what ma-ma-manner of woman may I ask is Da-Darina”?

“Darina is my niece, Patrick. She is the eldest daughter of Dallin and my sister, Anya. Both Dallin and Anya are deceased.”

Patrick nodded his sympathies as Ruarc continued. “Darina is seventeen summers. She is by far one of the most unique lasses I have ever known. She possesses her father’s keen intellect and her mother’s beauty.” Ruarc hesitated before saying, “She will make a fine wife, Patrick, she will.”

“B-but,” inquired Patrick, realizing something was being left unsaid.

“She has yet to grieve her parent’s death Patrick. She has instead made herself her sister’s keepers. At some point, I fear, the grief will come upon her and it will be difficult for her to hold back.”

“I see,” replied Patrick. “She is young, I am tw-tw-twenty-six summers; will she view me as an o-ol-old man?”

“I doubt that will be an issue,” laughed Ruarc. “As long as you can keep up with her,” he chuckled.

What is THAT supposed to mean? I’ve never had a problem keeping up with anyone.
Patrick’s face grew red instantly, from anger and humiliation.

“While I re-realize I am not whole,” grunted Patrick raising both his voice and his right hand, “I am no weakling.”

“Hold on, hold on Patrick,” smiled Ruarc. “I did not mean to imply you are lacking in any way, at least in no way that is relevant.”

Patrick let out a long audible sigh at Ruarc’s words.

“Patrick,” Ruarc continued shaking his head, “Darina is terribly quick witted. She has a sharp tongue and she is a fiercely competent opponent when it comes to the games. She is well skilled in archery and handy with a sword and axe. She is also a very fine hunter – and the best falconer I know; and she enjoys sparring more than any lad I have ever trained.”

Patrick gasped and sneered in confusion.
A lass? Skilled with a sword? And she is permitted to spar?

Ruarc gave Patrick a knowing look. “Our ways are not your ways Patrick. All the women in O’Malley territory are trained to defend themselves. Our lands are situated on the coast near the shipping lanes and we have all manner of merchants and visitors at any given time. It was only fitting that we ensure the safety of all of our clan.”

“I see,” replied Patrick, nodding his understanding.

“So,” hesitated Ruarc. “So long as you can enjoy a contest, I see no reason you and Darina shall not get along finely.”

“As long as I’m wi-wil-willing to spar with her?” Patrick asked mockingly. “Nay,” replied Ruarc, “so long as you are willing to indulge her competitiveness.”

“I see,” laughed Patrick. “And – what else of her Ruarc?”

“Let’s see, hmmm, what else should you know?” teased Ruarc, stroking his wiry beard. “Ah – she looks just like me!”

Patrick’s face grew white as snow as he examined Ruarc head to toe. Ruarc was a man of slight stature, rotund with frizzy red hair and a course beard that fell to his chest. He barely met Patrick at his chest.

At the sight of Patrick’s face, Ruarc let out a howl and clutched his sides as he bent over - he was laughing so hard. “You should see your face, my boy,” belted Ruarc. “I jest with ye, I jest; I swear it is so!”

Patrick let out a cold, deep breath and the color returned to his face. “Thank the gods, Darina looks just like her dear mother. She has long golden red hair and crystal green eyes. She is tall for a lass, comes nigh to your chin Patrick, I would say.” Patrick raised a suddenly interested eyebrow waiting for more.

“I
am
her Uncle, you know?” Ruarc stated guarding Patrick’s reaction. “She is shapely though and has caught the eyes of many a suitor. You shan’t be disappointed – Patrick. She is a beautiful one.”

“Thank you, I just h-ho-hope she finds me suitable.”

“After the way I have watched the lasses croon after you the past few days, I should say she won’t have an issue,” replied Ruarc. Patrick blushed, unsure if he had heard Ruarc correctly or not.

“Well, my son, I must be off,” said Ruarc as he grabbed hold of his horse and prepared to mount.

“W-wait a moment,” said Patrick. “Before you go, I have something, a g-gi – a present for Darina, if you don’t m-m-mind.”

Patrick handed him a blue velvet pouch which was laced with exquisite gold ribbon. “I wish for her to ha-ha-have this.”

“May I?” inquired Ruarc, gesturing towards the ties. “Of course,” Patrick said. Ruarc carefully untied the gold ribbon and opened the pouch. Inside the lush velvet lay an intricately detailed golden hair pin inlaid with rubies and sapphires. Attached on either side of the hair pin were lengths of blue ribbon intertwined with gold silken strands.

Ruarc gasped. “Patrick, wherever did you find such a priceless treasure?”

“‘Twas my
mathair’s
,” replied Patrick. “Darina should have it n-no-now, as my betrothed.”

“She will love it,” came Ruarc’s reply as he wrapped the pouch closed and placed it securely in his satchel.

“I am off now,” said Ruarc as he mounted his horse and turned to leave. The sound of thunder echoed in the distance and the sun began to rise.

“Godspeed,” said Patrick, “and a safe journey to you.”

O’Malley lands - Roundhouse Quarters