by Kristen Cobb
The memory of their kiss flooded over her immediately, assaulting her mind like the crashing waves of an immense storm. She stopped walking. Her body simply refused to move and all she could think about was kissing him. Nothing else in the world mattered.
The rain suddenly began to intensify, enough that it started running down her face as they stood looking into each other’s eyes. Conri’s warm hand still held hers, his touch magically making the rest of the world seem inconsequential. For a moment she thought he might actually kiss her again. Instead he turned away and continued walking toward the castle, pulling her along beside him.
A guard opened the door as they approached. Stepping inside they walked down a long narrow entryway lit by candles burning in blackened iron wall sconces. Another thick wooden door manned by two armed guards stood closed at the other end of the room. Narrow grey stone passageways branched out on either side. She guessed they led to the towers. Conri led her down the dimly lit passageway to the right. Nessa ran her hand along the cool grey stone, feeling the hills and valleys between them. The light of the candle flames fluttered as they passed.
The passage dead-ended at a narrow, winding stairwell constructed of stone. Two guards stood sentry on either side, their large bodies flattened against the walls to allow them passage. She could see the faint glow of candlelight illuminating the stairwell. Rory’s candle maker must be doing quite well for himself. Lighting a structure of this size day and night would be an expensive undertaking.
Part way up the tower stairs Conri’s voice broke the silence. “You have not mentioned the other hostages. If you want to see them we can…”
“No. I only need to see Conor.” Rory had two other hostages besides Conor. One was Donal Cavanagh’s son, technically Dermot’s grandson. Dermot sired Donal with a woman not his chief wife. Donal’s mother would be one of those women in Dermot’s life considered of lesser status than his wife Mor. The other hostage was the son of a man who fostered with Dermot. The practice of fostering had always been common in Ireland. Men would send their sons to be trained by another family, mostly as a way of creating alliances. They created alliances with their daughters through marriage.
Thankfully Conri did not comment further on the subject. Saving Conor, their future king, needed to be her only concern. In truth she was not overly concerned about the treatment Conor would receive as a hostage of the high-king. Someone with his value would undoubtedly be well cared for. It made no sense to do otherwise. Her main purpose for requesting an actual visit was to find out exactly where they were holding him. It would not be easy to extract Conor from this tower. The stairwell was only wide enough for one person to rise or descend at a time, making it easy to defend.
They passed numerous doorways on their climb up the steep winding stairwell. Candlelight from sconces mounted on the wall provided barely enough light to keep from tripping on the uneven stone of the steps that were not even deep enough to accommodate her entire foot. Near the top of the tower, on a small landing, two more men stood sentry, blocking a door barred from the outside. One of the guards removed the thick wooden bar. Conri opened the door then motioned her to enter. Nessa walked past him into a small chamber.
The only light came from a single candle burning on a bedside table. A bed large enough for two people took up most of the room. A small table with two chairs sat in a corner of the room. Conor stood at the end of the bed. The room felt even smaller once Conri entered as well.
She heard Conri close the door behind her. Seeing Conor focused her thoughts back to the task at hand, where they should be. A large man just like his father that is where the similarities ended, Conor was honorable, generous, and fair. He also possessed the best of his father’s qualities, fearless in battle and strong as a bull, everything a good king needed to succeed. She could not let Rory execute him.
“Has it already come to pass?” Conor did not appear pleased to see her, running his hand through shaggy blonde hair that hadn’t been cut recently.
“He had Dublin under siege when I left.” She hated to relay such dreadful news but he deserved to know. His life being the one at stake.
“Go home Nessa. I do not want you involved in this.” Conor looked at Conri. “Get her as far away from this castle as possible.”
Nessa stepped closer to Conor, trying to grasp his hand.
Conor pulled away. “My fate was sealed the day he gave me away as a hostage. You need to accept that. I have.”
Understanding his reaction did not make it hurt any less. Conor knew his father would break the treaty. Seeing her here meant the situation was about to boil over. The defeat she saw in his eyes before he turned away broke her heart. “Do not give up yet. You will be our greatest king someday. You must…”
“No! The only thing I need to do is accept my fate. I am never going to be king. The most likely scenario is that he will blind me. That means plucking my eyes out with a hot poker! Do not tell me what I must do.” Conor spewed all of his frustration and anger onto her. His eyes conveying an immense amount of pain. He ran both hands through his hair making it nearly stand on end, something he always did when worried or upset.
The future held something so much worse for him. At least blinded he would still be alive. Actually killing a hostage was unheard of but she knew it to be the most likely outcome. The chances of her being able to change his fate were incredibly slim. She wanted to hug him as she would have when he was small, to somehow lessen his pain. Unfortunately this situation far surpassed a scraped knee or a jealous boy tormenting him. Conor’s only hope lie in her successfully assassinating Rory O’Connor.
“I am not leaving.” Conor could rail at her all he wanted. She refused to desert him.
Conor’s expression softened. Blue eyes so much like his father’s reminded her of the boy she loved for just a moment. “It is not safe for you here. I do not want you risking your life for me.”
“Fortunately for both of us it is not your decision to make.”
“No, it is Rory’s and he has already said she cannot stay. I will escort her back to Leinster. We leave in the morning.” Conri watched her reaction closely.
Conor looked at Conri. “You will personally make certain she leaves this place?”
“I will.” Conri laid a hand on her shoulder. “We should go.”
She understood it was more command than suggestion. Just the touch of his hand on her shoulder sent a tingle of awareness through her body. Nessa whirled around, pushing Conri’s hand away. “I am not ready to leave.”
“Fortunately for both of us it is not your decision to make.” Conri opened the door, stepping out of the room into the stairwell. He looked away, remaining right outside the open door, giving her a moment to say goodbye.
Nessa fought the urge to argue with Conri. What good would it do? Nothing could be done for Conor at the moment. Conri was her best chance to remain here. Alienating him at this juncture could well be a catastrophic blunder. Turning back to face Conor, knowing she had to walk away, leaving him to face this alone, left her feeling desperate and panicked. For just an instant his eyes revealed a level of despair and fear that reminded her of the little boy she had always protected. Conor quickly hardened his expression, trying to hide his distress. They both knew this would not end well.
There was nothing left to say, no real comfort she could give. Conor would never support her plan to murder Rory, nor his father’s attack of the castle in lieu of honoring the treaty. She desperately wanted to hug him and whisper assurances that everything would be fine, to soothe his fears, but whatever the outcome of this situation things would never be as they were. His father chose to put him in this dire predicament. She could not even imagine the pain a betrayal of that magnitude would cause.
Nessa turned and headed for the door, fighting back tears, when Conor’s voice stopped her.
“Ness.” The tears welling in Conor’s eyes pushed her over the edge.
A river of tears began flooding down her face. She r
an back to Conor, throwing her arms around his neck.
Conor held her so tight it became almost painful. He never said a word, just held on as if he would never see her again. She realized at that moment it was a painful but very real possibility. The trees were still whispering softly of his execution, wailing silently in her mind. Nothing seemed to have changed by her being here. Conor thankfully believed the most likely scenario would be having his eyes plucked out because his father would not honor the treaty. She knew better but had no intention of enlightening him.
Eventually Conor released her. Wiping the tears from her face with the sleeve of her tunic served little purpose. She could not stop more from taking their place, so deep was her own despair at the thought of his death. “I do not want to leave you.”
“Get away from this place and away from my father before he destroys your life too.” Conor sat down on the bed, leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, feet crossed at the ankles. To the casual observer he would appear to be resting peacefully. She could only imagine the emotions swirling around inside of him.
Nessa turned away from Conor, wiping the tears from her face with the sleeve of her tunic again, fighting to get her own emotions under control. Looking up she found Conri watching her. He quickly turned away, giving her a moment of privacy to collect herself. When the tears finally ceased she walked over to the door and into the stairwell. After one last look at Conor she closed the door, following Conri down the steep stone stairs in the flickering candlelight.
He led her to a room lower in the same tower. Opening the door Conri motioned for her to enter. Nessa followed his silent command without argument, stepping into the room. It looked very much like the chamber Conor was being held in only this one had a window opening in the wall covered by a wooden shutter. A bed big enough for two piled with blankets looked warm and inviting after being out in the cold rain all day.
Nessa laid her soggy bag on the floor next to the wooden storage trunk at the end of the bed. “I am not going back to Leinster until I know Conor is safe.”
“I will have someone bring up a tray of food for you.” Conri picked up the wooden bar leaning against the wall then stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
Nessa heard him place the wooden bar into the metal loops on the outside of the door, essentially making her a captive for the night. Tomorrow she was to be escorted out of the castle, practically banished from Connaught. There would be no chance to seduce Rory. Her best, and only, opportunity had apparently been their journey here. A feeling of complete incompetence weighed heavily on her at the moment. She should have remained focused on her task. Instead she spent every free moment lusting after the captain of his guard.
Conri returned the next morning to release her as promised. A hearty meal, a good night’s sleep, and dry clothes did wonders for her morale. She borrowed a man’s tunic from the trunk at the end of the bed to sleep in. Exhaustion gave way to hopelessness yesterday, not so today.
They were currently walking along the dirt road out of the area. She absolutely refused to speak to Conri, dirt and rock being crushed beneath their feet the only sound breaking the awkward silence. The day was unusually warm, the sun shining bright in the sky, which only added to her aggravation. It should be raining to suit her mood.
She intended to come back on her own even if Conri forced her to leave Connaught entirely. She refused to leave Conor alone. He deserved to have someone nearby who cared about him. If stopping the execution proved to be impossible at least she would be here with him. The thought of his head being severed from his neck almost brought tears to her eyes. Desperation threatened to overwhelm her again as it had last night. Fighting off the unwanted emotion Nessa suddenly realized Conri stopped walking. He stood in front of a tiny stone cottage set back from the road.
What it lacked in size it more than made up for in quality. The house boasted a stone shingle roof and superior masonry. A dirt path lined with a thick growth of bushes led to the front door. Large trees, still in full bloom, added to the cover around the house. The cottage blended into the surrounding landscape so well it seemed almost invisible. Conri turned off the road and sauntered up the path without a word of explanation.
“Where are you going?” She followed behind him up the worn path to the cottage.
“Speaking to me now are you?” Conri grinned, keeping his eyes on the door as he knocked.
An old woman answered. She appeared rather frail, small and thin, as if a strong wind could blow her away. Long grey hair flowed loose about her shoulders. The smile that spread across her face actually reached her pale blue eyes. “This must be the young lady you were telling me about. Come in, please.” The woman stepped aside to allow them entry.
Conri motioned for Nessa to enter ahead of him. She looked into his eyes, the question relayed silently but left unanswered. Conri just smiled. He spoke to this woman about her? It must have been last night because they only arrived yesterday. Nessa entered the tiny abode and looked around.
There was one window opening on each wall built into the stone. The wooden shutters were all thrown open, allowing in plenty of sunlight and fresh air. Fresh rushes covered the ground inside the cottage, giving the room a delightful woodsy smell. She was not overly fond of rushes, even the freshly cut variety. All manner of vile things could hide in them. They were however a necessary evil. Dirt floors would soak up water when it rained. Without rushes one had to walk in the mud even while inside.
A well built stone hearth occupied a large portion of one wall. No fire burned in it as the day was unseasonably warm. The stone base of the hearth appeared impeccably clean of any debris from previous fires. An iron grate that looked almost like a stool sat in the center of the hearth. A large iron pot rested on the grate. A smaller iron pot sat on the floor next to the hearth. A second iron grate outside the hearth would function as a place to remove the pots from the fire to cool. Two thick rags sat on the grate to protect ones hands when lifting the hot pot off the fire.
A wooden trestle table and benches occupied the middle of the one room cottage. A bed large enough for two was set against the wall opposite the hearth. The blankets on the bed were neatly arranged and oddly inviting. Something about the cozy atmosphere of the cottage made her want to crawl under those covers and take a nap. A large wooden chest sat at the foot of the bed. Wooden cupboards, taller than the woman herself, covered the wall on both sides of the door. Handholds in the shape of an oval were cut out of each cupboard door.
“Please have a seat.” The old woman sat down at the table in the center of the room.
Conri lowered himself to a bench across from the woman. “Nessa this is Marta. She has agreed to let you stay here for as long as you like.”
About to sit next to him Nessa stood frozen looking down at the man who continually seemed to surprise her. “Is this what you were doing last night? Finding me a place to stay so I could remain here?” Her voice was barely audible, so moved by his gesture speech proved difficult.
Conri looked up at her with those deep brown eyes that always set her heart fluttering. “Marta could use someone to help her around here and you want to remain near the man you love. The arrangement makes perfect sense.”
“The man I love?” She barely forced the words out. Did he believe her in love with him? Handsome, brave and oddly considerate she could admit being insanely attracted to him, but love?
“Conor.” Conri looked away.
He thought she was in love with Conor. Her first instinct, to correct his mistaken assumption, nearly flew from her lips without thinking. Watching him stare sadly into the distance bothered her to the point of being almost physically painful. That scared her most of all. Perhaps it would be best if he continued to believe her in love with Conor. It would be so easy to fall in love with the man sitting before her but that she could not afford to do. Conor’s life and the future of Ireland were at stake.
Nessa resisted the urge to tell hi
m the truth. “Yes, I love him very much.” That was not a lie. She did love Conor, just not the way Conri assumed.
“You risked a great deal coming here to be near him. I hope Conor appreciates how lucky he is. That kind of devotion is rare.” Conri finally looked at her again. The depth of feeling evident in his eyes almost compelled her to confess everything.
Her voice would not seem to work. So many emotions swamped her at once. Possible comments went through her mind but nothing came out of her mouth.
Conri stood up. “I will leave you two alone to get better acquainted.”
Nessa watched Conri walk out the door, closing it softly behind him. She remained standing there, staring at the door long after he left, wanting desperately to go after him. Eventually remembering Marta she turned to find the woman watching her with an enormous grin on her face.
“Worry not my dear, he will be back, sit down, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to eat?”
Nessa sat down at the table, still a bit distracted by the man who just left. Thus far she had been incredibly rude, barely sparing a glance for the kind woman who agreed to share her home with a stranger. “No thank you. I ate before we left the castle. It is more than kind of you to take me in.”
“I would do just about anything for Conri. He goes out of his way to take care of me.” Marta reached out, gently patting her hand. “It is no trouble at all.”
Nessa glanced down at the slightly curled fingers touching hers. She’d seen this before. “How long have your hands been this way?”
Marta pulled her hand back as if embarrassed. “Many years. I am used to the pain but it makes life difficult. They are nearly useless some days.”
“Do they hurt more when it rains?” Nessa felt fairly certain she could create a potion to help the old woman. Although nothing could completely eradicate the disorder it would probably alleviate the swelling and pain enough to make her hands useful again.
Marta rolled her eyes. “Almost unbearable on rainy days.”
