Maire (39 page)

“I
meant
no real harm to him, Finead.” Morlach’s explanation
was as weak as it was hasty. “But his disobedience demanded a good scare at the least.”

“May I speak, King Diarhmott?”

All gazes shifted to Father Tomás.

“Aye. Perhaps you can lend some sense to this murky cloud which has befallen us.”

“But your majesty—”

Diarhmott cut Morlach off. “Even a condemned man is allowed his say. Speak, priest.”

Tomás straightened his bent shoulders and smiled benevolently at Cromthal. “This man came to me covered with festering sores. Under my care, and with God’s grace, they vanished without trace.”

“You’d believe a
murderer
above one of your chief druids?” Morlach challenged.

“This priest has more the look of an intended victim than a murderer, your majesty,” Rowan offered. “As does my nephew.”

Garret looked as though a wild cat had torn into him with all four sets of claws.

Although it was evident it did not set well with him, Diarhmott could not help but agree. “Will you swear in the name of your god that you speak the truth, priest?”

“I so swear, for it was only by God’s providence that I am here to do so—I was there when Brude was slain.”

“Morlach’s men slayed Brude.” Cromthal nodded sharply at Brona. “She was there as well, with the Christian’s amulet. It was Morlach himself who branded Gleannmara’s druid with it. I saw it with my own eyes. I’d been gathering wood in the forest and had no choice, outnumbered as I was, but to watch Rathcoe’s brigands work their evil on Brude and the priest.”

Father Tomás took up the story. “They beat me senseless and when they thought me dead, they dropped my body into the lake, but Cromthal pulled me out in time. As we came to Gleannmara, we found another victim of Morlach’s evil on the side of the road near the Sacred Grove.”

The last thread of Morlach’s composure broke. “You swore he was dead, daughter!”

“’Twas
your
concoction I gave him, master. I believed it would work, even though he got away,” Brona countered in defiance. “Do not blame me for
your
failure.”

Daughter?
Rowan looked at Brona in disbelief. He’d heard rumor of children being abandoned by women who’d unwillingly born the druid’s offspring from a dark seduction. What better watchman could there be than one’s own kin?

“’Twas her intent to kill me, to be sure.” Garret struggled to his feet. “She invited me for a picnic and then drugged the wine. In midst of her seduction, she turned into a wild hag, tryin’ to slash my throat with her knife.” The young man swayed against his father. “And when I knocked it from her hand, she came at me with her teeth and claws. ’Twas God’s mercy and nothin’ less that gave me the strength and wit to escape before I lost consciousness.”

Enraged, Morlach turned on the girl at his side. “I
never
fail, wench!” Before the stunned listeners or Brona herself knew what he was about, the druid plunged a dagger into her heart. Her eyes grew round and kindled with a curse that died on her lips.

“And are ye blind to
that
as well, your majesty?” Lorcan challenged, holding the bulk of Garret’s weight on his arm.

Rumbles of discontent and doubt swept over the crowd. Diarhmott had at last heard and seen enough. “Guards, seize Rathcoe.”

It was only natural for the guards and warriors to hesitate. The master druid’s reputation was formidable. Seizing the advantage, Morlach moved like lightning to where Rowan stood, still bound by chains. In the druid’s raised hand was the dagger, with Brona’s blood still dripping from it. No one moved to stop the man—all watched as though immobilized by some wretched spell.

His hasty prayer of thanksgiving for his deliverance cut
short by the sudden vicious attack, Rowan managed to dodge the knife on the first pass, but the chains hobbling his ankles tripped him. Dirt ground into his face as he struck the earth. Rolling over, he spat grit from his teeth as Morlach turned on him again. Weapon raised, the druid lunged forward, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by something in the fire, just beyond Rowan’s head.

“Come, druid, taste the metal of my spear!”

Maire? Against all his instincts, Rowan took his gaze off Morlach, craning his neck to see the warrior queen leap through the fire like an avenging angel. Somehow shielded from the hungry tongues of flame, she landed clear of the blaze, lighting on the ground as though winged, the spear of one of her guards brandished in her hands. A snarl on her lips, Maire was as impervious to Rowan as he was to his former assailant. Fearing he might distract the queen, Rowan lay still, shifting his gaze back to their enemy. What he saw sent rivulets of ice up his spine, despite the singeing heat of the fire.

With a sinister smile, Morlach began to wave his arms in swirls, as if he drew art on thin air. From the ball of one foot to the other, he pranced, turning his back to Maire, his dark robe swirling playfully about his sandaled feet. The crowd closest to them, backed away from the druid’s strange dance, but it was the only movement allowed by the spell he cast in a singsong voice. Then he pivoted.

The movement was so fast, Rowan scarcely had time to speak. “Maire, the dagger—!”

But the warrior queen had been trained in a dance of her own, and that training came to the fore with equal speed. Maire deflected the crooked blade flying at her with the stem of the spear, as though batting a shuttlecock, and growled with the feral delight settling in her eyes. Or was it the reflection of flames leaping in them?

“I’ll skewer your heart, druid, and roast it over yon fire.”

“Wait, Maire! Let him face the justice he deserves.”

Her eyes still on Morlach, she argued with Rowan. “I want to see his black, brackish blood run!”

As Rowan struggled to his feet, Declan broke through the rattled line of guards to help him. “Best listen to the man, Maire. His God has certainly worked beyond all circumstance to see justice done. Ye’ve seen and heard the accounts.”

“Thou shalt not kill, Queen Maire,” Morlach taunted, a diabolical undertone infecting his voice. With his back to the fire, he swirled his hard cloak, spreading it so that he looked twice his size. “’Tis the law of the god you accepted… or haven’t you
really
accepted him?”

“It’s true, Maire,” Rowan said softly, stepping up to her side. “Give me the spear and leave justice to God’s law.”

“Did you ever wonder who betrayed your parents, Maire…whose soldiers failed to back up Gleannmara’s forces on the battlefield?”

Maire flinched. Rowan could almost see the anger and anguish racing to her mind to stomp out reason. If either won the race, there would be no stopping her.
Father God, help her.

“No! Brude would have told me,” she said, clearly unconvinced of her words.

“Unless he feared you would try to avenge them against me. Even your old druid knew you were no match for my power,” Morlach taunted. “Nor, it seems, was he.”

“Y… you
caused Maeve and Rhian’s death?” Diarhmott sputtered. “We knew there was a traitor among us but—I not only lost two of my bravest warriors, but nearly the battle as well because of your greed. By all the gods, men, I order you to seize him!”

The discomfited solders surrounded the druid, closing in with wary reluctance. To escape, Morlach would have to go through them, Maire, or the fire breathing at his back. Each was as dangerous and deadly as the other.

Father, help us. I can’t stop her without hurting her.
Rowan’s prayer filled the eternity that froze the scene before Maire shattered it.

“Don’t filthy your hands,” she countered. “He admits to murdering all I hold dear save one and he nearly succeeded in that.” Her fingers tightened, knuckles bloodless, refusing to let the weapon go.

“Leave it to justice, Maire. He
wants
you to kill him,” Rowan warned her, trying to be still while Declan tried a key in the lock on the chains.

Conflicting emotions tore at her face, telling of the two wills battling for control of the woman: blood thirst versus submission.

The chains fell to the ground from Rowan’s hands with a loud chink. “Maire…” He spoke softly, firmly, stepping toward her. “I know the feeling of betrayal, I know the hunger for revenge, for blood, but what good is law, if you change it to suit your own needs. That smacks of Morlach’s reason, not yours.”

“The
law
was nearly your death,” she argued, teeth gritted, wavering still.

“The law may be wrong sometimes, little queen, but God’s judgment awaits eternal and true for all, saint and sinner alike.”

Finead joined the drama, well aware that the tide was no longer under his sway. “His fellow druids will deal with Morlach, Queen Maire. The druid who spills the blood of another will have no mercy, for he has slain knowledge. To willfully destroy knowledge is forbidden above all things.”

Morlach cocked his head and stuck out his lower lip. “But oh, the damage I can do with my powers until justice is met.” Without warning, he threw up both of his hands and the fire behind him danced higher and higher, as though in response. “First, I will curse the unborn child you carry.”

Child?
The surprising word with all its implications battered Rowan’s conviction with the surge of an angry, protective tide.
Heavenly Father, she is with child?
He fought the urge to snatch away Maire’s spear and finish the man on the spot.
God has brought us safe thus far, He will not fail us now.

But he knew that Maire’s communication with the Almighty was impeded by her newness to the faith. She’d had a lifetime of hearing of druid’s power and only a few months of God’s love. The darting look of panic she gave Rowan ran him through—and echoed his own panic that he’d not be able to stop her.

“God has let no harm come to us yet, muirnait. Why doubt His power now?” Rowan insisted gently. “Hand me the spear.”

“But he threatened our—your—my—”

Morlach began to chant again with strange words, part Latin, part the native tongue, but it was his tone, rather than the little Rowan could make out, that carried the sharpest threat.

“He can do nothing, Maire.” Rowan put his hand on her arm, ready to fight her again if he had to, to save her and their baby. “Morlach is a helpless charlatan. Don’t sink to his level. Let Finead and the Brehon decided his fate. He taunts you to make you a murderer too, to make the mother of Gleannmara’s heir a murderer.”

The meat of his words were enough to turn his knees to water, yet Rowan stood strong. Mother of Gleannmara’s heir—a son, perhaps? “Kill him, and he wins. You will have broken God’s law.”

Maire lifted her glittering gaze to meet his. Emotions warred; confusion reigned; her voice shook. “And our baby?”

“Is safe in God’s hands, Maire. He can protect it better than we can.”

Her grip slackened on the weapon. Carefully Rowan eased it from her hands. Once they’d given it up, they began to tremble.

“The light shows him for what he is, muirnait, a frightened, desperate soul drowning in his own darkness.”

After a moment, Maire nodded and went willingly into Rowan’s arms. Relieved, he drew her out of the way.

“Take the man and be done with it,” he ordered curtly.

“Gleannmara need not fear his like.”

Declan, who was now armed courtesy of a nearby guard, summoned the men of Gleannmara to take the unarmed druid. “Come men. Gleannmara is under the one God’s protection. This serpent of darkness can no longer harm us.”

The Drumkilly, the Cairthan, the Muirdach and their septs and subsepts moved as one to follow their king’s order. They had seen Rowan’s God at work and no longer feared the druid’s magic.

It was Morlach’s turn to know fear.

His battle experience had acquainted Rowan with the sight of fear. It had a way of drying up perspiration and turning the skin cold on the most scorching of days. Its stench was unmistakable, particularly when amplified by the hot breath of the fire nipping at the druid’s back. Morlach had backed away from the circling men until one step more and his clothing would be consumed. The druid’s snarl, his darting eyes…all were those of a cornered, desperate beast.

And desperation provoked insane reaction.

“Maire, Queen of Gleannmara!”

Maire stiffened in Rowan’s embrace, unable to tear her attention from the fiend who called her name.

“I waited a lifetime for you to grow up. I can wait another.”

“Seize him!” Rowan commanded, tightening his arms to quell the tremor that ran through the woman in his arms. “He babbles—”

Morlach threw up his cloak like a bird about to take flight. With a heinous laugh, he suddenly fell back into the roaring fire. “Remember me, queen!”

The same fire consuming the man’s clothing added volume to his shrill taunt. It seemed to echo from Sheol’s darkest depths. Maire clung to Rowan as though she might be drawn into the consuming, rasping abyss. The smell of burning hair surrounded them, its billowing breath driving all back. Grasping her belly, Maire leaned over and retched to no avail.

Behind them, the fragile framework of logs that had been laid to take Rowan’s life collapsed under the weight of the one who masterminded the treachery. A shower of sparks rose, filling the air, the hot
whoosh
driving the sparks up, breaking the trance that held all spellbound. Confusion ensued as everyone scattered beyond harm’s way.

Fearing for the safety of his wife and the child she carried, Rowan swept Maire up in his arms and ran from the macabre aftermath, toward the gate to the inner rath. Once inside the compound, he stopped to catch his breath, not so certain his own stomach was not about to rebel. Unless his knees betrayed him first.

But he was safe. Maire was safe. Their unborn child was safe. Gleannmara’s earthen-work inner wall, with its newly restored stockade, stood like a fortress of security against the chaos on the other side, the chaos that was behind them, at least for now. God had given him the strength and courage he needed to face the enemy and his death, but not one heartbeat more. Rowan leaned against the stockade.