Whenever-kobo (9 page)

I tried to remember the rules of effective speaking and Austin’s advice came back to me. Promise them something good. “On this notable day, you start the path to great riches. A united Ireland will roar with wealth. Ireland will be known as the Celtic Tiger.”

Their murmurs sounded confused now. The nobleman on the end stared at my bare arms and calves with rude intensity, making me want to cover up. He said, “Tiger?”

Oh. They all looked bewildered. Did ancient Ireland have tigers? Did modern Ireland?

“Who are you?” The shaggy guy moved his stare to my ankles. “Where are you from? Who gives you leave to speak?”

I didn’t answer and Callum stayed silent too. I hoped he was okay, that he hadn’t passed out due to our impossible reality.

King Mael lifted his head. Dark eyes moved over me, narrowing in his commanding face. They held intelligence and a spark of approval. “What may I provide you? Are you of the Cétchathach? My line? The
an ceann is gá
? C
eann a bhfuil ag taisteal trí na haoiseanna
?”

Somehow I understood the Irish question. “I’m not your family. But they sent me. They sent me to tell these lords about their future. Ireland will have strength and prosperity with you as their ruler.” Not exactly true, but fitting enough.

The thirteen noblemen shifted and glanced at each other as if for answers. They ranged in age. A few had grey hair, two seemed as young as me, and the others fell somewhere in the middle. No one spoke, but they had questions and none of them seemed to realize how rude it was to gawk.

The dark warlord stepped forward. He spoke in a somber voice through his shaggy beard. “Kill the King. Kill the wizard. Bring me the witch.”

The priest clasped his hands together and prayed for our salvation. I’d seen last rites given on TV. The priest was giving us last rites. Group last rites. I gasped on a breath and said a prayer of my own.

King Mael rose and turned to face the noblemen. He drew his sword, pointing it at the dark man. “Who stands with Hud? Who stands with me, with a united Ireland?”

The other twelve drew their swords and pointed them at us. The dull grey iron hovered in the air below eyes filled with glittery malice.

This felt real and hostile and dangerous. Peace balanced on the blade of a single sword between us and the betrayers. Waves of nausea floated through me.

Callum stepped down from the pulpit. The late afternoon sunlight shined through the arched windows, surrounding him in a glow.

“No,” I said, my voice low. “Talk to them.”

Unarmed, Callum kept walking.

Half the betrayers turned to face the new threat. The other half focused on King Mael.

Callum’s gaze passed over the King and rested on each man in the semicircle. He widened his stance and still stood taller than the others. There was only one of him, but his physique was intimidating: broad shoulders, muscular arms, athletic build.

Holy hot epic warrior
. My breath caught.

“Am I too late to witness my cousin’s coronation?” Callum asked. His Irish accent lost its lyrical quality and his words held bite.

“Let me reason with them,” I said.

Callum didn’t look at me.

King Mael said, “Welcome, cousin. These noblemen from the far reaches of Ireland were about to offer their fealty to our house, the house of Cétchathach.”

Chill bumps rose on my arms, not only with the cold, but from fear that this day might have the same ending as history, only with two extra bodies: mine and Callum’s. A tragic trinity. I choked back a sob. Wasn’t that what Ireland was known for? Their trinities? Their tragedies?

King Mael handed the sword to Callum and withdrew a knife from his belt.

Callum swept the weapon from left to right and the large emerald in its hilt flashed in the candlelight. “On your knees.”

I fought the urge to kneel myself. He needed to talk to these guys not wave a sword around, not incite more violence.

Four of the noblemen knelt. Six remained where they were. Four charged.

I covered my mouth and backed up. “No.”

Callum swung the flat end of the sword at the nearest man’s temple, the sound a dull thump. The man dropped and his weapon hit the floor, clattering on the stones. The speed at which Callum had taken him out made the other three hesitate, but Callum didn’t wait for them to reconsider. He kicked the fallen weapon toward the King.

King Mael put one foot on the blade, but didn’t move from his position. He stood tall and proud as his champion fought for him.

I searched for a way to help and not be captured or speared myself. Pleading for them to stop seemed useless at this point. The clang of steel on metal pierced the chill air along with the men’s grunts and curses. The whole fight, as unbelievable as it was, escalated. Callum whirled and ducked. He struck out with his sword and his feet. It looked like karate tossed in with Krav Maga. Twisting, spinning, he had far superior skills than the challengers. He didn’t even use the sword like it was meant to be used: pointy end first. He used the flat end and hit weak points: temples, kidneys, arteries. He used a combination of anatomical knowledge, mixed martial arts and medieval weaponry.

As I watched, I made a vow to take Mom up on a self-defense class when I got home. I’d shaken her suggestion off, but now I wished I’d listened. I grabbed a heavy gold jug from the corner and lugged it down the steps, until I stood between Callum and the King. I didn’t want to get in Callum’s way, but maybe I could refrain from being taken hostage. It didn’t appear as if I’d need it though.

Despite the betrayers’ advantage in numbers, the remaining three fell fast; their moans echoing through the church. The remaining men stared at Callum as if he had supernatural powers. The speed and efficiency with which he’d dispatched the first guys had been as astonishing as the violence. Their expressions held shock and resentment but their shoulders drooped and they laid their swords in front of them.

More men poured through the doorway. They carried the cold with them, along with weapons. Axes, maces, knives. More men than we could begin to fight. My hands shook under the weight of the jug, and I let it rest on the floor of the chapel. “Callum, come back to me,” I said. “Bring the sword.” The phrase used to time travel rolled through my mind. We had to get out. “Hurry.”

The first newcomer took a knee and held out his weapon on open palms. He lowered his head. “King Mael. I pledge my fealty. My allegiance. My all.” One by one, the newcomers kneeled and repeated a version of the words in a kind of verbal loyalty wave.

The late-arriving supporters had ensured King Mael’s ascent to the high throne of Ireland. My shoulders sagged and I put my hand on my heart. We were safe for now.

The semicircle of warlords bowed their heads to King Mael, continuing the wave of allegiance though they spoke their support with bitter reluctance.

The priest came forward, his body shaking hard enough that the fabric on his robes wavered, casting candlelit shadows on the floor. He made the sign of the cross, gave a blessing to the room and thanked God. Next, he lifted a gold bejeweled circle high. His wrinkled hands steadied.

King Mael dropped to his knees. He kneeled on a marble stone, facing the priest.

The priest lowered the crown until it rested on the King’s fair head. “God save the King.”

The men repeated, “God save the King.”

***

The late-arriving soldiers escorted the warlords outside. Two had to be carried. The priest trailed after them, chanting prayers in Latin. I easily translated the words, though the only languages I’d taken at Trallwyn had been Spanish and French. And while those were romance languages derived from Latin, my ease of understanding these guys was something else, something magical.

Their departure left the newly crowned king, Callum, and me alone inside the church.

Callum motioned from the King’s sword to the altar. He bowed his head. “We’d return now.”

I nodded and moved on wobbly legs to the center of the pulpit. I held out my hand to Callum, too freaked to think beyond this moment. He placed his palm on mine. Warm. Secure.

Callum tilted his head to me. “What were you going to do with the jug?”

“Don’t worry about it.” King Mael made no ceremonial gesture, no move to the altar. I touched the vein on the inside of Callum’s wrist and whispered, “Does it have to be the current heir for this century or can you send us home?”

King Mael heard me. He raised his fair eyebrows and assessed us with his gaze. “’Tis the King’s right. I know of travelers but I’ve not seen them. I’d have you stay and apprise me of your world. That will end your debt and allow you to travel.” He glanced over our hands, and then tilted his head at me. “You’re a warrior?”

Callum snorted. “She’s a girl. She grabbed a jug as if we needed a drink.”

I shook my hand free and put my hands on my hips. I met Callum’s dark blue gaze. Because I was staring at him so intently, I saw the almost imperceptible shake of his head.

I turned to King Mael, “I delayed things until Callum, the
male
warrior, acted.” I let my gaze flick to the door, thinking of the men leaving and wondered why the priest had gone with them. I feared he was now giving out more group last rites.

“Your family sent you to learn from me?” King Mael asked.

Callum shook his head. “We’ve aided you and ensured your crown. Release us from our traveler’s vow.” His Irish accent sounded the same but his words had taken on a dated cadence, but again, I followed it easily.

“As your king, I’d hear your story first.”

My king? Uh no. But, now was not the time to explain to him about America, the revolution and democracy. I tempered my words and thought to fudge the truth. “You know everything. I needed to delay everyone until Callum made his move. Then we were supposed to return. Time to go.”

“You and I are not family?” King Mael asked.

“No, as I said, I’m Hayley McLaren.”

“McLaren? Scottish? Irish?”

I opened my mouth to say Scottish descent, but Callum spoke first. “She’s Irish.”

King Mael nodded. “You knew the tale of my coronation? So you’re from the future? Not the past? They speak of me?”

King Mael seemed to be taking our crazy arrival with a scientific fascination and he wasn’t slow. Nor was he jumping to help us leave. I wanted my bag of pretzels and a coach class seat home to Trallwyn, Texas. And chocolate. And to see my family.

The entry door thumped closed. The wind howled a protest at being barred entry to the church. I knew I shouldn’t ask, but I couldn’t stop myself. I nodded toward the yard. “Where are you taking them?”

King Mael tilted his chin. “We’d not be so low as to kill inside a church. Only the high kings of Ireland may be buried here beneath the church or on the mound of Tara. Our kings’ rest will not be tainted by the likes of those men.”

Callum put his mouth to my ear. “It’s how my father found DNA to prove our claim. He discovered the crypt.”

King Mael’s gaze narrowed and Callum straightened.

I rubbed my chin and fought tiredness. I fought the desire to push for going home and sought the strength to try and prevent death. “Don’t you have dungeons? Show people where traitors end up. Show mercy.”

King Mael’s forest-green eyes hardened. “Their troops would rally to their rescue. They must die.”

Everything in me stilled. This felt real and I wanted no part of it. I thought from my Irish trivia that they did more medieval ransoms than killings. I held my hands out, palms up. “You’ll make martyrs. Show the people their neighbors will prosper and benefit, not die.”

“And will they prosper?”

“Sure. Secure your borders. Open trade.”

“That a girl knows of such things.” King Mael shook his head in wonder. “What’s to stop them from turning on me again when I offer mercy?” He said the word
mercy
with disdain, as if it were a weakness instead of a strength.

I gestured around the interior and rubbed my arms against the chill. Fragile silk was not made for an Irish winter, at least, not one without central heating. At least the chill kept me awake. I searched for a persuasive suggestion. “Make them swear loyalty in public. Invite all the land to your coronation. Have them kneel in front of all your people. Get ransom money.” I recognized the dated phrasing of my words but went with it because he seemed to understand me.

“Ransom’s good.” King Mael nodded. “And then when they betray me, their execution will be just in all eyes.”

I countered, “Or, you could win them over. Make them your allies. Like Lincoln said, ‘The way to get rid of an enemy is to make him your friend,’ or something like that.”

King Mael snorted. “Win over petty nobles with great riches? How do they benefit from bending to my will?”

“Offer them what they want.” I tried to think of how enemies banded together and came up with a
common enemy
. “Tell them of the invaders attacking their borders. Not just the Viking raids, but invaders who will come and stay and rule like the Normans.”

“Is that what happens?” King Mael asked. “The bastard Normans try and rise again?” The sun reflected off his crown for a moment and the image was so surreal I couldn’t answer. I hadn’t realized the Normans had already been here. Did I have the dates wrong?

Callum ran a hand over his face and crossed his arms over his chest. He widened his eyes at me and turned to the King. “Foreign rule and crop failures. It’s what always happens. Now, let us go. Lend us the sword so that I may say the words.”

“When I know what you know.” King Mael’s tone held finality. “Until then, a great celebration to honor the coronation will take place tomorrow. You will stay and enjoy it. Both of you. As my guests.”

I stifled a protest. Callum blew out a breath and nodded.

“All will kneel before me.” King Mael joined us on the pulpit and clamped a hand on Callum’s shoulder in one of those tacit guy gestures of thanks. Then he said, “Escort Lady Hayley McLaren to the castle, while I tell my nobility about their new accommodations. Take her through the catacombs, past the bones of our ancestors who surely have lent support to us this day.”