by Mia Pride
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Authors Note
Forsworn Fate
About Mia
The Warrior’s Mission
Warriors of Ériu
Book Three
By Mia Pride
Copyright © 2018 by Mia Pride
The Warrior’s Mission
Published by: Mia Pride
www.miapride.com
https://www.facebook.com/miaprideauthor
Edited by Vicki McGough
Proofread by Bethannee Witczak
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: [email protected]
This book is a historical work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-1985825666
ISBN-10: 198582566X
To all the women who have suffered from some form of violence, neglect, or abuse, physical or emotional. You are not all alone. May you find your inner strength. I’m always hear if you need to talk or need help escaping a bad situation. [email protected]
Love, Mia
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Authors Note
Forsworn Fate
About Mia
Chapter One
80 AD
Rain pelted his head as he tied up his horse to the wooden post outside his family’s home. Darkness had fallen hours before and every bone in his body ached from his journey west, but he should have been used to the elements by now. These scouting missions had become more and more frequent as trouble continued to brew. At two and twenty summers, Flynn Mac Greine was more than used to living in a world full of war and he would do aught for his king, Tuathal. But on this night, when the rain felt more like boulders crashing down on his shoulders, he was more than happy to finally be home from his latest mission. He would report to his king on the morrow. For now, he was certain his mother would have leftover stew for him like she always did.
When he went to open the door to seek comfort from their hearth, his brother came up from behind him, also soaked to the bone and weary from their journey.
“Forget something, brother?” Brennain said, and shoved Flynn’s satchel into his hands.
He was so tired that he had almost left his satchel out all night in the rain. Not that it mattered. The leather sack was already as wet as it could possibly be, as were its contents in most likelihood. “My thanks,” he grumbled, and he slung the satchel over his tired shoulder.
“Mal has been finding more and more clever ways to hide,” Brennain grunted as they walked through the door.
“Aye. And by the time we report to Tuathal that we have located his camp, he will likely have relocated yet again,” Flynn whispered. “I will not stop until the man is dead.”
“Mayhap, but that was not our order.”
“I know this well, Brennain. ‘Tis the only reason I let him live. My arrow could have ended the bastard’s life in the blink of an eye and he deserves it too, for the treatment of his poor daughter.”
Only a few moons ago, a lass named Elwynna had come to their village of Ráth Mór, seeking to warn King Tuathal of her father’s attempts at building an army. She was the kindest of lassies, but she had been ill-used by her father, who allowed his best warriors to take turns with her. Elwynna had been injured during a battle that day, but their healer, Maggie had taken her in and nursed her back to health. Since then, Elwynna had found love and married one of their finest warriors, Àdhamh, who was also Maggie’s brother. All three of them lived together in a small cottage very close to Flynn’s own.
If one thing made Flynn’s blood boil, it was the misuse of women. He had seen it too many times in his life and though the women in his own family were renown across the land as brave and powerful, that was not the case for many other lassies, such as Elwynna. Flynn would like nothing more than to take the life of her pathetic father, who was also the very cause of all these tiresome missions.
“You visit their home often, do you not?” Brennain whispered as they carefully dropped their sodden satchels on the hard-packed earthen floor of their home. His parents were likely asleep, and the brothers never wished to awaken them.
“Nay. I visit when I have business with Àdhamh, ‘tis all.” Flynn scowled at his brother. He knew where his meddlesome brother was going with his question and he had not the patience for another interrogation. Flynn was naturally a private, reserved man and, unlike his brother, he would not sleep with any lass who batted her eyes in his direction. He was a man who sought his relief as needed, but he did not tend to need it as often as his woman-loving brother.
“I believe you visited Maggie on more than one occasion,” his brother prodded. Flynn wanted to box his brother’s ears but they were equally matched in height and size, both being larger than average. Their father, Brocc, was not only one of the largest warriors in the land. He had been king of his own tuath for several years before joining High King Tuathal’s ranks. Everyone knew well enough not to mess with the three Mac Greine men, and Flynn also knew better than to try to best his brother. It would only end up with them both rolling on the floor until they were red in the face, and then their mama would come and box both their ears.
“I sliced my cursed arm open during warrior training and she is the cursed healer of the cursed tuath. Aye, I went to see her… to get stitched up.” He was much too wet and cold to deal with his brother’s prodding observation at the moment.
Brennain snorted in complete disbelief, but blessedly left it alone. So what if Flynn found Maggie’s shiny blonde hair mesmerizing when the sun was at its highest and shone down on it, making it gleam like the wheat in the fields on a breezy day? And so what if her bright blue eyes reminded him of just the way the ocean gleamed on the horizon? So what if her skin was as white as fresh buttermilk, her lips the same shade as the pink roses growing outside in his mother’s garden, and her curves reminded him of… well, his bed, and all the things they could do in it? All right, so he found Maggie to be beyond perfect. It did not mean that he visited her far too often or decided even his smallest wounds required her skilled touch.
Unclasping his cloak, he heard it fall to the floor with a soggy thud just as he pulled his tunic over his head. His trousers clung to him like a second skin and proved much more complicated to remove as he stru
ggled to yank them down his muscular legs. His mother would be angry if he left them in a pile on the floor, as many years of scoldings had taught him. Wringing them out over the hearth fire, he watched the flames pop and hiss as the droplets of water rained down on them.
Draping the garments over a bench, he shot his brother an exhausted look over his shoulder. “I am done. My bed is calling my name. Good night.”
Just as he reached his bed and pulled a warm, dry fur over his bare torso, his brother smirked and began to strip his own clothes off. “Good night, brother. Sweet dreams of Maggie.”
Flynn growled at his brother from across the room and chucked a bar of soap from the table by his bed at his brother’s head. Brennain dodged quickly and the soap landed in the hearth fire. “Arse,” Flynn murmured to his brother.
“Och, Mama made that soap just for you with fine spices. She will have your head.” Flynn stilled. Brennain was right. His mama made the best of soaps and she had gone out of her way to make that one just for him. He would owe her an apology on the morrow. She was the sweetest mama any child could ask for, but raising two rowdy lads had made her half-crazed at times.
“Go to bed,” he huffed. How two grown men could argue like wee lads, he was not sure. They were only one summer apart in age, and both had the black hair of their father and bright green eyes of their mother. Little distinguished the two physically, but their personalities often clashed, Brennain generally being extremely loud and outspoken. Flynn preferred to stand back and observe in silence. ‘Tis what made him one of the very best informants Tuathal had, and that was precisely why Flynn also preferred to keep away from others. People asked too many questions and he knew more than most in this village. It was best to keep it that way.
Turning over in his bed, Flynn closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to drift. As usual, the swirling thoughts in his mind shifted into the form of a beautiful lass with blue eyes and golden hair.
* * * *
“Och, thank the gods you are home safely!” he heard his mother’s shrill cry of delight just before her arms encircled him in a hug. Still abed, he groaned as his mother’s grip tightened like a vise around his chest. “I always fear the worst,” she wailed.
“Let him go, Una. He is a Mac Greine warrior. He is capable of aught and more,” his father, Brocc boomed from the other side of the room. Cracking an eye open, he saw his papa leaning against the wall as he bit into an apple, almost consuming the entire piece of red fruit with one bite. Even at almost fifty years of age, his father was large, fit, and formidable.
“If I want to dote on my sons, I shall,” his wee mama said indignantly, before squeezing the life out of him once more.
“I am fine, Mama. Go torture Brennain instead.”
Brennain laughed from the table as he slurped down a steaming bowl of porridge. “She already did, wee brother. I also told her that you destroyed her soap.”
“Awe… shite,” Flynn murmured as he sat up and ran a hand through his disheveled black hair. “I did do that. My apologies, Mother.”
Waving a hand in the air, she brushed his concerns away. “’Tis all right. I am only glad to see you have returned. I can make more soap, but I cannot make more sons.”
“We can try,” his father suggested, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. She giggled as if they were a newly courting couple and not a married one of over twenty years.
Groaning, Flynn found his trousers and yanked them up his hips quickly, tying the string. His parents never stopped with their love play and it was enough to make a man go mad. He loved his parents, but with his father being a king and his mother being one of the legendary Sisters of Danu who helped save all Ériu two summers ago in the battle that won the High Throne for Tuathal, he and Brennain had grown up with heavy expectations of success. Sometimes all Flynn wanted was a wee wife and a home of his own, but until then, spying for the king was his life’s work and he was the best at it.
Walking over to the cauldron, he grabbed a clay bowl and filled it with hot porridge. Steam rose up and the sweet smell of honey filled the air. He loved how his mother sweetened their porridge with honey. “We must eat quickly and report to the king,” Flynn said around a mouthful of food.
“Aye,” Brennain agreed, standing quickly from the table.
“Did you gather any new information?” their father asked; he finally loosened his grip on his wife.
“Nothing that will be of use. We found his camp, but until Tuathal is ready to gather troops and rid the world of that bastard Mac Rochride, the bastard will only continue to move about the land, gathering more allies as he goes.”
“Tuathal has his reasons for waiting. He has spent his entire life fighting battles… and winning. He knows what he is doing,” his father claimed.
“I know. But until then, ‘tis my responsibility to keep an eye on the man and continue to report back. And every time I do, the man moves again.” It was a frustrating mission, but it was essential, he knew. He only hoped his orders would change into something more fulfilling soon.
“We need to report to the king right away. Let us go now, so we make it to warrior training on time,” Brocc stated, moving toward the door. His sons followed without question. Flynn was more than ready to report to Tuathal and, hopefully, be given more orders. He quite enjoyed the work of an informant. He was naturally quiet and reserved, and years of training had taught him to be stealthy, observant and cautious. He longed for more someday, but as an unmarried man, he was the best person for the task.
The village was already bustling as the people of Ráth Mór set out to do their daily tasks. The ironsmith pounded away in his shop, and the smell of freshly baked bread drifted on the cold wind. The road was still muddy from last night’s downpour and Flynn dodged a fairly large puddle to his left. Though a few clouds floated overhead, the sky was as brilliant a blue as… Maggie’s eyes. He winced at his foolishness. When had he become such a sorry sot? He had bedded enough bonny lassies in his lifetime and none had ever truly stuck in his mind. And yet, aside from small conversations and needing her aid with a few less than severe wounds, Flynn hardly knew the lass.
She was the sister of Àdhamh, he knew that much. They had come to Ériu from Alba after their other sister, Paulene, had been murdered by her cruel husband. Maggie had lived a sheltered life and was quite shy. She also seemed fearful of men, especially larger ones, which included him. He did not ever want to cause her fear, so he found himself torn between seeking her out one day and keeping his distance the next. There was just something about the lass that drove him wild. Unfortunately, he could do naught about it. Nor would he. He was busy serving his king and his missions were dangerous. Every new order put his life at risk and he could never drag a woman, especially one as innocent as Maggie, into his chaos.
Smoke billowed from the tops of pointed thatched roofs as their occupants burned their hearth fires. It was a familiar comfort and one he never took for granted. On any day, he could end up sleeping upon the soggy forest floor with naught but his plaid and cloak for warmth. The comforts of home must be appreciated whenever possible.
“You are quiet this morn, Flynn,” his father commented when they approached the king’s large home.
“He is quiet every day, Pa,” Brennain chortled. “’Tis nothing new.”
“Mayhap not, but I know my son well enough to know that he is stewing on something.”
“Nay,” Flynn shrugged. “’Tis naught. Only wondering about my next mission,” he lied. He would rather be gutted with his own sword than admit he had been comparing Maggie’s eyes to the cursed sky once again.
Speaking of Maggie, her brother Àdhamh was diligently guarding the entrance to the king’s home with a harried expression on his face. His hazel eyes widened with warning when they approached. The sounds of a wee babe crying from within caught Flynn’s ears. “Is something amiss?”
“Aye. King Tuathal and Queen Leannan are distraught. Their wee lad,
Fedlimid, has a fever. My sister and wife are in there now, trying to calm the poor child… and his parents.”
“Is it serious?” Brocc questioned with worry in his voice.
“I cannot possibly know,” Àdhamh shrugged. “I pray not. You may enter; King Tuathal still wishes to speak to you.” Àdhamh stepped aside and pushed the door open.
The hearth fire flickered from the gust of air and the sounds of the wailing child intensified as they slowly walked through the entrance.
“Truly, I believe he is only cutting teeth,” he heard Maggie’s sweet voice say as soon as he entered the home. His gaze immediately raked over her, his heart rate picking up so fast it felt as if he had been kicked in the chest by a horse. “The lad is approaching one summer of age and I can see his wee gums are swollen. Often it can cause discomfort and a wee fever,” Maggie continued while she rummaged in a basket atop the table for an item.
Her golden hair gleamed in the firelight and her purple dress fit her curves perfectly. She had not yet noticed his arrival, which Flynn preferred because it allowed him to silently observe her in her natural state. Most times when Maggie saw him, she shut down, becoming silent and evasive. Flynn believed she feared him and it made his heart ache to think such a thing, but mayhap it was best. The more she avoided him, the easier continuing his secluded life of gathering information about the enemy would remain. He had no time for complicated relationships, and he knew that if Maggie even showed him the slightest bit of favor, he would be lost to her spell.
“Here.” She took a small clay jar with a wax seal out of her basket. “’Tis a tincture of chamomile and lavender. Simply rub it on his gums to help soothe the pain. Also, soaking a clean linen cloth in cold water and applying it to the gums will soothe and numb the swelling. Chewing on something such as a carrot will help the tooth break through the skin. I truly believe this will help wee Fedlimid. If his fever does worsen or you see other signs of illness, please fetch me.”
