Forsworn Fate (Sisters of Danu)

by Mia Pride

  Abigael stifled a laugh and pursed her lips, clearly trying to obey her daughter’s command.

  Ceara glared at her mother, knowing the time would come when they would need to speak of it. “All right. Say what you must,” Ceara groaned and covered her reddening face. Her head was pounding. She wasn’t sure if it was from the mead or embarrassment about being caught in an inappropriate embrace with Garreth by her own mother. She would like to blame her actions on the sweet mead, but any drink-induced haze had been swiftly erased the moment Garreth broke Aaron’s nose and carried her away like a brute, though she secretly reveled in his envious display. Something had come over her when Garreth pressed his lips to hers, some force much too great to deny or resist, but nay, it had not been the mead.

  “Tis about time,” Abigael nodded firmly and walked over to the fire to warm her hands.

  “Tis about time? Is that all you have to say?” Ceara questioned. “I am not marrying him, Mama. Not on the morrow. Not ever.”

  Abigael nodded, as if knowing that would be Ceara’s next statement.

  “You pick the worst times to become silent, Mama.”

  Abigael looked over her shoulder at Ceara and shrugged, “Tis only because I know what I know.”

  Ceara grumbled and paced the room. “I dislike it when you speak in riddles.”

  “I know that you will marry Garreth,” Abigael spoke plainly this time, making sure Ceara could accuse her of no riddles.

  “The only way I will marry him, is if I am forced to. And I know you would never do such a thing to me.” Ceara crossed her arms and glared at her mother. “How many lassies has he kissed today, Mama? Three?”

  “I am not certain, Ceara. I only witnessed the one kiss,” Abigael quirked her brow knowingly in Ceara’s direction and her daughter blushed wildly again.

  “Mama. This morning he went off with Mary. Tonight, I caught him holding Hannah quite close. Next thing I know, he is breaking Aaron’s nose, carrying me off, pinning me to the floor, and...and...” Ceara’s voice trailed off, not willing to speak further of what happened. “Those are not the actions of a man ready to marry. He is only doing so because he is honor bound and jealous of Aaron’s attentions. I will not be the unwanted wife.”

  “Och, Ceara!” Abigael groaned in annoyance. “That man just kissed you like it may be his last kiss ever!”

  “Because it very well may be!” Ceara shouted. Suddenly, the true danger of the situation sank in. “By the gods, Mama! The men are out there fighting for their lives! What if they never come back again?” She felt a chill run up her spine, a sense of foreboding. Someone would die tonight, she knew it. “Mama. You have The Sight. Can you not sense death as I do?”

  Abigael sighed and paced. “Aye, I do sense it, child. But whose death, I cannot know.”

  Ceara looked around the room and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Though it was quite warm in the house with the hearth fire raging and the smoke slowly escaping out the top of the thatched roof, she felt a chill in her bones. “I cannot stay here.” She shook her head and walked over to the door, ready to raise the wooden bar.

  “Nay, mo leanbh! You must stay!” her mother ran over and grabbed Ceara’s hand before she could leave.

  “If I stay, it is as if I am awaiting Garreth after a battle, as if he is returning to me. I am not his to return to. I do not wish to misguide him. This is not my home and will never be. I am leaving.” Not waiting for her mother’s reply, Ceara shrugged her mother off and lifted the bar, creaking the door open and scanning into the darkness. There was no sign of movement, but her home was on the other side of the village. She knew it was not safe to leave on her own, but it was not safe to stay here either. When Garreth arrived, she would not be waiting.

  “Ceara,” Abigael pleaded. “You must stay. He will find you when he arrives, even at our home. Only, then he will be angry.”

  Ceara chortled. “Let him be angry. I am not his wife. I need not obey him. Are you coming?”

  Her mother mumbled something about having no choice and followed Ceara out into the cold darkness of night. They sprinted silently along the path leading to their home, keeping to the shadows and stopping in front of a round shaped house now and then to check for enemy warriors.

  The stars twinkled brightly in the inky black sky above and the moon glowed dimly, lighting their way to safety. All was silent. It appeared as though the warriors of Coraindt and Iverni had met the warriors of Erdini far enough away from the village, stopping them before they could invade. Ceara imagined every able-bodied man out beyond the gates fighting to protect the lives of all women and children silently huddled within their homes.

  A flash of Garreth out there, fighting to the death to keep her safe and expecting to find her awaiting him when he arrived flooded her mind and guilt stopped her in her silent tracks. “What is it?” Abigael questioned.

  “Let us go back,” Ceara whispered. They were still closer to King Connor’s home than their own, so it made sense to turn around. Without arguing, Abigael nodded and a faint smile of relief ghosted over her lips as Ceara guided them back.

  They entered the house safely and Ceara breathed a slight sigh of relief. She did not want to admit that she had been frightened out in the night, knowing men fought with swords and spears just outside the gates. She also did not want to admit that the thought of Garreth coming back home, to her, not Mary or Hannah, made her heart quiver in her chest. He had asked her to stay. He had promised to marry her.

  Perhaps he would court her and prove to her he was loyal, that he could stay true and not chase the skirts of other lassies. When he arrived home safely, she would reason with him, meet him in the middle. She would not marry him on the morrow, but perhaps in the next few moons if their courtship proved promising.

  “What made you turn around?” Abigael asked as she barred the door again and turned to Ceara.

  “Guilt,” Ceara shrugged.

  “Nothing more?” her mother questioned.

  “Nay. Nothing more. I only imagined him out there, risking his life for us, and coming back to an empty home. It seemed cruel. I will not marry him on the morrow, but I cannot be cruel.”

  Abigael nodded, accepting Ceara’s answer. “Let us try and rest. Men will have injuries when this night is over. We will need our strength to help them.”

  Ceara sighed but nodded in agreement. Her mother was right. Ceara gathered a handful of plush, wool-stuffed cushions from around the hearth and laid her head down, staring at the flickering fire. She sent a silent prayer up to the gods to protect Garreth, King Doran, King Connor, and all the men. The warmth of the fire and the comfort of the cushions helped to lull Ceara into a deep sleep filled with hazy images of a man with shoulder length blonde hair, intense hazel eyes, and a beard that seared her skin with its sweet coarseness.

  A HARSH BANGING ON the door had Ceara jumping to attention on her feet. She felt dizzy, being pulled out of such an intense sleep, but the pounding was frantic.

  “Who is there?” she heard her mother’s stern voice respond. Was it a warrior from Erdini, come to pillage or ravish?

  “Tis Garreth and Doran! Open up!” Ceara let out a long breath, relief flooding her to hear his voice and know they were alive. Ceara moved to the door, lifted the bar, and swung it open. Her heart froze in her chest and she forgot how to breathe. Garreth, the man who had kissed her so sweetly only hours before, was now soaked in so much blood the tunic she knew to be white was now a sickly shade of red and his beige trousers were shredded and stained with a mixture of mud, grass, blood, and something slimy that she dared not try to guess.

  By the gods, was this all his blood? Panic consumed her mind and chills invaded her body. She wanted to collapse with fright but knew she had to tend to him and stay strong when he needed her most. She prayed the gods would give her the strength she would require and that any wounds he sustained were not fatal.

  Gasping at the blood covering Garreth, she clutched at him and drag
ged him inside to warm by the fire. “Garreth! Are you all right?” She patted his chest, then his arms, thighs, and calves, searching for a wound site. He groaned in pain as she touched his hip. More blood pooled on his trousers and she knew a wound must be under the fabric.

  Without hesitation, she loosened his trouser string to lower them away from his hips and hissed when she saw the angry bleeding gash trailing horizontally from his pelvic bone, over his hip, and ending close to his rear. “Lie down,” she tried to guide him down onto his side so she could tend to him, but he shoved her away with a firm shake of his head.

  “He is dead. King Connor is dead.” Garreth crumpled to the ground, not seeming to care about his injury as he mourned the loss of his father. “The Erdini chieftain took him down. He is gone.” His voice broke on a sob and Ceara plopped down next to him, silently rubbing his back, unsure of what to do.

  “Oh, Garreth. I am so sorry,” she whispered, feeling her own tears start to fall. Doran walked up to her mother and silently embraced her. Ceara stared at them a moment, longing for such a connection to another human. Love and tenderness radiated off them in pulsing waves.

  Ceara looked back at Garreth, who stared unblinkingly into the fire. “Let me clean your wound, Garreth,” she whispered softly, leaning into him to offer support. He nodded his consent, but stayed silent.

  “Ceara, I will leave you to tend him. Doran and I must check the other men for injuries.” Ceara stopped and stared at her mother. She was being left alone with Garreth? Now was not the time to be defiant nor protest. She nodded and stood up to get the healing herbs and clean linen cloths from the basket her mother always kept on hand.

  Abigael and Doran walked over to Garreth and kneeled next to him. “We are very sorry, Garreth. Your father was a brave chieftain. He died defending us. He will be honored by the gods and by his people.” Garreth swallowed audibly but did not look up. With frowns on their faces, Doran and Abigael left Ceara to take care of this man, alone. He was injured, grieving, covered in blood, and seemingly unaware of her presence.

  She sat down next to him, deciding words were not necessary. His trousers were loose, but he was still sitting and she could not tend to the wound until he laid down and pulled the fabric away. She swallowed hard and touched his arm. Looking up at her, she flinched at the broken look in his eyes and the blood splattered on his face. “Lie down, Garreth,” she whispered. She lightly pushed on his shoulder to encourage him to move and he did so with a grimace and a groan.

  As he lay on his non-injured side, she slightly pulled his trousers farther down his injured hip. It was a clean gash, clearly caused by the slash of a sword. Thanks be to the gods that it was not worse. But it needed to be cleaned. She had never truly inherited her mother’s abilities as a healer, but she knew which salves in the basket were meant for wounds, and which herbal remedies were meant for infection, in case one occurred. She did not know what they contained and scolded herself for her worthlessness in that regard, but at least she knew how to use them.

  Pulling a clean linen square from the basket, she dropped it in the cauldron of boiling water and let it sit for a few moments before pulling it out with an iron rod. Steam rose off the hot linen and she waited a moment before she grabbed it, flinching at the burning of her palms as she wrung out the hot water. She was no good at this. Still she knew it was clean and would reduce his chance of fever. Laying the now warm, wet cloth on the wound, she squeezed clean water over the dirty cut and he winced at the sting. She winced as he did, almost feeling his pain. “Sorry,” she murmured as she gently wiped away the water and dirt.

  Now that the wound was clean, she could see that it was relatively shallow and had already stopped bleeding. Thanks be to the gods. Taking out a container of salve, she opened the jar and crinkled her nose at its bitter odor. Scooping a little onto her fingers, she gently dabbed it over the wound site, once again thanking the gods—this time that he did not require stitches. She was terrible at stitches. She vowed to pay more attention to her mother’s trade in the future.

  Pulling out a long, thin piece of linen, she wrapped it tightly around his waist, feeling him jump slightly when she had to reach underneath him to grab the other end of the fabric, but he barely moved. “Tis done,” she said softly, looking at him to see if he had even heard her.

  His eyes found hers and the sorrow within his gaze gutted her. “Here,” she said as she took another wet cloth and delicately wiped the dirt and dried blood from his face, once again revealing his heart-stopping features.

  He smiled softly and she noticed how his eyes crinkled playfully at the corners. “My thanks, Ceara,” he breathed through his grief and pain. “You will make a fine wife.”

  His words made her feel dizzy. She was not trying to prove her worth as a wife, only doing the decent thing. “Someday,” she shrugged casually and began to stand, wanting to escape the topic of their marriage.

  He reached out with rather quick reflexes for an injured man, wrapping his large calloused hand around her wrist. “On the morrow,” he corrected sternly.

  Silence fell over the room for only a moment, but it felt like an eternity as Ceara battled her many emotions. She could not marry this man on the morrow! And yet, how could she say so just now, with him broken both emotionally and physically? She reminded herself that her refusal should not upset him. After all, he was only marrying her out of duty, not because he held any tender affection for her. “Garreth, I do not think that—”

  “On. The. Morrow,” he tugged her down next to him by the fire and he winced at the pain in his side, yet he held firm.

  She came down on her knees and almost fell over him, but she caught herself just in time with her arms braced on the floor on either side of his chest. Their eyes locked, their mouths only inches from one another. Pulling back quickly, she sat upright and sighed. “Why, Garreth? Can you tell me why? Why now? After we have been promised for so long? Have you tired of all the other lassies suddenly within a few hours?”

  “Aye,” he growled. She pursed her lips, not expecting such a blunt, straight forward answer. It made no sense and she refused to accept it, but also did not want to upset him further.

  “I was thinking, I know our parents wish us to marry,” she flinched and frowned at the reminder of his father, but Garreth just stared at her, waiting for her to finish speaking. “But, perhaps we can court first? Take time to know one another?” she asked hesitantly, as calmly as possible, certain he could have no objections. She was not asking to break the agreement anymore, simply asking for more time. It was a reasonable request.

  “Nay.”

  “Nay?” her voice rose along with her irritation. Gods help her, she was trying to be patient with him in his time of sorrow, but he was being unreasonable. “Why ever not?”

  “On...the...morrow!” he ground out. She bristled. He was being boorish again.

  “Not until you give me a good reason. Why so sudden? Just this morn you told me you wished to sample other lassies before you became a...what was it you said? Prisoner?” She was baffled. Truly, the man made no sense.

  Garreth narrowed his eyes at her and scrolled his gaze down her body. Shivers ran up her spine at his intense scrutiny and she was certain he was thinking about earlier that night. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. How could she have succumbed to his touch so easily? In the heat of the moment, his possessive, jealous rage had somehow inflamed her. She relished the power she had over him in that moment. But now that the tension had somewhat decreased, she could not understand his sudden jealousy and the way he publicly claimed her. It had taken her by surprise as he swept her off her feet. Now, she only felt irritation at his insistence that they marry. Then, it hit her like the weight of a sword’s hilt upon the head. He only insisted now because they had been caught together.

  “Garreth, if this is some misguided honor because we were caught together, there truly is nay need. I am a grown woman. You have been caught kissing many lassies and never on
ce insisted on marrying one of them.”

  “I was not already promised to them,” he responded gruffly. He struggled to sit up but she gently put pressure on his shoulder, easing him back down.

  “You need rest, Garreth.” She propped cushions up around his body, then walked over to a wooden bench and grabbed a wool blanket. She could attempt to get him into his bed, but he was dead weight at this point. It was best to leave him where he was. She could make sure he was warm and comfortable near the hearth.

  Placing the blanket over his shoulders, she instinctively leaned in to kiss his cheek and then pulled away quickly. Why had she done that? “I won’t sleep tonight until you promise to marry me on the morrow.” His low, tired voice froze her movements. He would be asleep soon. His eyes were heavy. He was exhausted. She could refuse to respond and knew very well he would fall asleep anyway, but she felt sorry for him in the moment.

  “We will talk in the morn.” She would leave it at that. They were not marrying on the morrow.

  “Say it,” he pushed, his eyes fluttering shut. Before she could think of what to say, his eyes slid closed and his body relaxed. Garreth’s breathing evened out as his bare chest rose and fell rhythmically. She took a moment to truly examine his hard body. His upper arms were bigger than her thighs. He was a wall of rippling muscle from his neck down to his hips, with light sprinklings of soft hair across his chest. She could not see any lower, but she knew the rest of him must be just as impressive. But large muscles and a handsome face did not mean he would make her a decent husband.

  “Nay,” she whispered to herself. “I will not marry you, Garreth.” Laying on another pile of cushions on the other side of the hearth, she curled up into a warm, protective ball and let the sounds of the crackling fire carry her into the world of dreams.

  Chapter 5

  GARRETH awoke on the floor of his home, the cold earth below seeping into his bones. He made to move, but stopped short as a sharp stab of pain radiated through his side. His wound. The battle. His father’s death. It all came slamming into him like a wave of ice cold water washing over his body. He would find the Erdini chieftain, Aonghus Ó Néill, and seek his vengeance for the slaying of his father.