Galvin studied at the floor. “I am not worthy to advise the king on such matters.”
Of course he wasn’t. What had Dunlaing been thinking to spill his innermost thoughts to this man? “Galvin, did ye happen to see this young woman whose god-given talents Ardan covets?”
Galvin raised his eyes. “I saw only Ardan. He spoke to no one but the Others, and he slept in the forest under a hawthorn.”
Dunlaing snapped the spy a look. “A hawthorn, was it?” “Aye. As I said, he converses with the Otherworld and he stayed close all night. I observed him until sunrise. I could have stayed with him, but since the king said this was an urgent matter… ”
“Aye. Ye did well, Galvin. I’ll see to it that yer rewarded. Keep yer eyes and ears open and if ye hear that Brigid resides anywhere in my kingdom, inform me at once.”
Galvin bowed and slipped out of the chamber.
Dunlaing opened the window shutters wide and shooed away the servants who had come to investigate the chatter. Ardan would not know of the king’s suspicions until Dunlaing was sure. But if Ardan could not be trusted, where would Dunlaing find proper guidance? The council Ardan had brought to the castle had returned to the woods. Dunlaing would send for them and probe for information without mentioning Ardan’s name. There was one man in particular he should speak to – that mysterious bard, that poet who had followed Brigid at Ardan’s request. Surely he had more to tell.
Dunlaing stayed at the window until the sky dawned pink and clear and stretched forever. Dunlaing stared at its emerging blueness, wondering where one should look when pleading with the god whom the king of Munster called the Creator of all.
Morning rays lit his face and made his beard itch. All the spiritual advice he’d ever received had told him the sun was central to life. Dunlaing stepped fully into the warm morning beams bathing the limestone floor of his sleeping chamber. “God of Patrick and Brigid, if ye hear me, endow me with wisdom in this matter.”
Chapter 27
“Teach me your way, O LORD; lead me in a straight path because of my oppressors.”
Psalm 27:11
Ardan woke with great anticipation. Never before had he been so invigorated by a sacrificial ritual. He rubbed his hands through his hair and glanced around. He’d fallen asleep under a thick bush, staying for the most part dry while the rest of the woods were damp and dappled with sunlight. He recalled the previous evening’s sacrifice and remembered that he still needed to retrieve his druid sickle.
Ardan retraced his steps toward the stream. The smell of the dead horse was unmistakable, as were the calls of scavenger birds. The royal horse lay on the bank with most of its internal organs spilled. Ardan had offered the animal’s heart to the Others – he remembered that. But he’d taken a vessel of mead into his woodland shelter and the beverage had caused the evening’s events to grow fuzzy in his mind. He tapped his forehead. Ah, the sickle. That’s what he’d come for.
Ardan’s head ached from over imbibing. The dead animal’s stench made his stomach turn. Now where was that sickle? He searched up and down the carcass, shoving the animal into the river to examine the ground underneath. The sickle was gone, stolen. Why had he been so careless?
Ardan looked toward the rocks where he hoped Brigid was still sleeping. He’d worry about the sickle later.
Brigid’s naps outside the cave had not brought much rest. The ground was hard and ravens preferred to perch there. They tried to convince her to leave and she’d finally relented. She had wanted to curl up next to Bram for the night, but he insisted she stay away, wishing to stay hidden when Ardan returned. So she slept next to the fire ring until the morning light filled the cave’s opening.
She glanced at the druid’s sleeping spot and found him awake. “Shall I find breakfast?”
He whispered from his dark corner. “Nay, Ardan approaches.”
She frowned. “He’ll hear yer breathing anyway. While not come out and take nourishment? He’ll not harm ye.”
“I do not fear the druid Ardan. I seek only to listen to what he will not say in my presence. I want him to speak freely to ye, I do. And… I do not desire food.”
Brigid held her hand over her mouth. Bram was nearing death’s door and she wished it wasn’t so. He was such a dear friend, and one who did not yet know Christ as Savior.
Rocks plummeted down the side of the cliff. This time Ardan would not arrive unannounced. They heard him coming.
“Hello, Brigid?” Ardan called from somewhere outside.
Bram whispered, “Go now. And give his words careful thought, Brigid.”
She crept to the edge of the rock shelf. Ardan, dressed in a common black cloak, climbed up.
She called down to him. “Why don’t ye go round to the side of the hill and approach that way? Would be much easier.”
He wasn’t far away, his face sweating and red, his arms taut, grasping first one rock and then another. “Would it be now?” He tilted his head back and laughed. “I wanted to come the quickest way possible. Yer anxious ’bout yer mother now, aren’t ye?”
Brigid folded her legs underneath her and curled up to wait. He drew himself up to the shelf and plopped down on the dusty ledge, drawing in air. A raven tried to light on his shoulder then thought better and flapped away.
Ardan pulled a sheepskin water bag from his belt and gulped from it. “That was a more difficult climb than I thought. I should have circled back and approached from the other side like I did before. Yer a smart one, Brigid of Ireland.” His dark eyes smiled, giving her a chill.
She kept focused. “My mother.”
“That’s why I’m here, to talk about the terms of her release.”
Brigid scooted back as far as she dared. “A ransom? I have no silver, no gold.”
He laughed again, tossing his faded black hair against the wind. “I do not seek riches, lass. ’Tis an agreement I’m after.” “Ye want me to become yer apprentice, like Troya. Well, I cannot… ”
“Silence!” He held his hand in front of her face. The man who had only moments ago laughed like a child had become oppressively frightening.
Seeing her fear, Ardan drew his frown up and softened his demeanor. Shape-shifting – the ability of people or gods to transform themselves from one entity into another – Ardan’s rapid mood changes were the closest Brigid had seen to such a thing.
“Shall we move to the fire ring and share a bit of bread?”
Bram!
Ardan stood up, and she tugged lightly on his cloak. “I prefer to stay outside, in the warm sun.”
“Very well.” He grunted, pulled a piece of flat oat bread from his pocket and offered her a portion.
She wanted to refuse – it carried the faint aroma of cabbage – but she dared not insult him. She nibbled in silence as he attempted to retell the kidnapping of her mother in a more favorable light.
Ardan wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “I tried to stop the men, but they were drunk. I accompanied them to assure Brocca’s safety. I promise ye, Brigid, no harm has come to her.”
“Where is she, then?”
He swallowed his bread and held up a finger. His nails were rimmed in red – blood. She bit the inside of her cheek. Please, God, don’t let it be so.
He noticed her staring and plunged his hand into the folds of his cloak. “I cannot tell ye, not yet. I have an order here from King Dunlaing.”
“What kind of order?”
Ardan pulled a rolled-up parchment from underneath his cloak. He smiled as he read. “Be it known that from this day forward, Brigid of the Cell of the Oak… ”
“I can read.” She snatched it from his hands.
They stared at each other for a moment. She was just as surprised as he was, and swallowed hard. “I mean, I’d like to see for myself, if ye don’t mind.”
Ardan tipped his chin forward.
She read silently, her mouth dropping open. “Is this to say that I cannot invite others to my Lord’s table?”
He jerked his head. She realized he didn’t understand.
“I mean, this seems to say that I can no longer ask anyone in all of Ireland to accept Christ as Savior nor perform any miracles in his name.”
“Aye, that’s what it says. Sealed with Dunlaing’s mark.” He pointed to the waxy seal.
She continued reading, and then looked up at the druid. “And if I disregard this order, I am to become a slave again?”
“Aye, that’s what it says.”
“Why would Dunlaing order this?”
Ardan stood up as though he were leaving.
“Wait.” Stunned, Brigid struggled to her feet. “Ye said ye wanted an agreement. Is there more?”
“There is.”
“Please, sit. Tell me.”
“I will offer ye something in return, Brigid.” “My mother.”
He smiled again. “Simple proposition, really. If ye do not wish to yield yer powers to me… ”
“And I won’t, Ardan. I can’t.”
He cleared his throat. “If ye do not wish to do that, then there is another way to get yer mother back. Just agree not to do the things Dunlaing forbids and I will return her.”
Brigid opened her mouth. She wanted to agree, to feel her mother’s arms around her again. But no sound escaped her lips.
“Think on this, Brigid. I will return at sunset.”
Ardan left, and Brigid hurried to Bram’s side. “Ye heard?” “Aye, I heard everything.”
She escorted him to the smoky fire. “Oh, Bram. I know that to you this seems like a simple choice to make.”
“Ye know how it seems to me, do ye?” He held his fingers over the fire.
“Well, I know ’tis not simple at all. I am the Lord’s servant, but I would be required not to ask anyone to come to him. There are so few followers of Christ in Ireland. How can I turn my back on what I was destined to do?”
Bram pointed to the cooking pot at the fire ring and Brigid poured him some tea. He sipped slowly. “’Tis true that yer destiny was foretold before yer birth. Yer to be either a blessing or curse to Ireland. The time has come for ye to choose the path.” He pulled himself to his feet. “And ’tis time I left ye to yer thinking.”
“Nay, Bram. Please, don’t go! I have no choices. I’m helpless.” She wanted to pull on his arm but feared she’d cause him to lose his balance. She watched as he crept out of the cave.
He called over his shoulder. “Do not let Ardan convince ye there’s only one answer. There’s always the choice of doing what’s right. And when ye follow that path, it always leads to good. Make him keep his word.”
“Don’t go, Bram!” Tears dripped from her chin. She dashed to his side.
“I must go. Duty calls and a druid must travel. Ye know this.”
She wept freely into his sleeve. “Nay, wait. If I make this agreement, I can never… ”
Bram pulled away and didn’t turn back. He wandered around the trees on the sloping side of the cliff until Brigid could no longer see him through her tears.
Oh, God, what do I do now?
No one answered. She was alone, dreading the arrival of the dipping sun.
All day Brigid waited, but the king’s druid did not return. She prayed, pleading with God. Her sobs exhausted her, driving her into a fitful sleep. In her dreams, she heard Bram’s voice. “Doing what’s right always leads to good. Hold Ardan to the agreement.”
She awoke with a start. The fire was nearly extinguished. She smelled smoke – a blazing fire. Ardan’s torch? She strained her eyes in the dark cave.
A flicker of light glowed from the entrance. She heard the druid’s voice. “I must have yer answer, Brigid.”
The fog of sleep clouded her head. Was she still dreaming? Had Bram actually encouraged her to accept Ardan’s demands?
She rubbed her eyes. “Ardan?”
She heard the shuffle of his robe and the clanking of his gold adornments. “Aye, ’tis me.” The torch grew closer.
“Yer answer?”
“It will be as ye said.” The words grated her throat like grains of sand.
Chapter 28
“Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.”
Philippians 4:5
Brigid traveled back to the Cell of the Oak with the eerie feeling that someone was watching her. Ardan indeed was watching, or would be, though she knew not when or where. He’d promised to observe her, or send someone who would. Odd that while once she’d felt horribly alone, now she felt more exposed and examined than when she was a slave. She had to be diligent. If she passed the test, her mother would be freed.
A gathering of ravens, sparrows, and finches frolicked in the trees above her head. Brigid was reminded of the Scripture promise that God, who cares for the wild birds, the creatures with no worry, will most certainly care for those he loves. Had she betrayed him?
She barely recognized the settlement when she arrived. In her absence, her followers had rebuilt the large house. Not only that, she counted four other structures: a barn, a blacksmith shed, and two other storage buildings. Tears streamed freely down her face. While she had taken leave of them, her brothers and sisters had continued their work.
“Sister Brigid!” Fiona, one of the faithful – a girl who desired to devote her life to the Lord’s work – met her. What would she think of the changes Brigid would have to live by?
The lass, younger than Brigid, slipped her arms around Brigid’s neck. “Have ye found yer mother?”
Brigid stiffened. “Nay, but I have received assurance that she will return soon.”
Fiona stepped back. “That’s wonderful. Ye’ve worked a ransom?”
“Aye, a deal has been made.” Brigid tilted her head to peer around the lass. “Ye’ve done a wonderful job here.”
Fiona took Brigid’s hand. “Let me show ye.”
They explored the grounds, a handful of women joining them, praising God for Brigid’s return.
Brigid searched their faces. “Cook?”
Fiona pulled her aside. “She’s returned to Glasgleann, but she said to send for her when ye came back. Did ye not send word that she should go?”
Brian. She’d forgotten she told him that. “Aye, that’s right. Is all well with her, Fiona?” “As I hear, it is.”
“Good. Then there’s no need to send for her. She’s got her family to care for.”
Brigid’s hands were shaking. Perspiration coated her collar, and she itched as though an army of lice populated her undergarments. A bath would revive her and also provide the solitude she’d come to crave. “I must bathe.”
Fiona tipped her head. “Of course. I’ll fetch fresh clothes and meet ye at the spring. Ye’ll be pleased to know that the pagan statues have been removed, just like ye asked.”
The others drifted back to their chores. Brigid cherished the solitude. She dipped a toe into the spring. Chilly, but Brigid needed some kind of discomfort, a penance, for making a deal with the evil Ardan.
She shed her clothes and stepped into the pool. When her shoulders sank under the water, the cold shock made her suck in her breath. Her fingers and toes were numb. She ducked completely under and opened her eyes. Blue and green shapes fluttered at the surface. Someone was standing over her. She emerged and spat water from her lips.
“Oh, Fiona, ’tis you!” She slapped her hand on her chest to calm her thumping heart.
“Aye. I told ye I’d meet ye here. Truly, Sister Brigid, I believe yer time in solitude has made ye jumpy as a toad.” She handed Brigid a thick sheep wool towel.
Brigid accepted the fleece and climbed out of the spring. Fiona gasped. “Brigid, yer undergarment!”
She’d forgotten to leave it on. “I’m sorry, Fiona. I suppose I grew accustomed to being alone.” She snatched the clothing Fiona had brought and slipped behind a pine to dress.
Brigid peered through tree branches to keep her eye on the lass. Fiona held her hand over her mouth and pretended to stare at the ground. She’d pr
obably never seen a naked body before and was sorely offended. Brigid would need to do more penance for that mistake.
Brigid called to her. “Fiona, there is much the sisters should know. There may be strangers about.”
Fiona shrugged her black-cloaked shoulders. “Aye, Sister Brigid, there have been many people stopping by to seek Christ’s charity. And some have even converted.”
Brigid emerged wearing a white mantle and scarf. “Fiona, why did ye bring me white?”
The lass wore a colorless dress beneath her cloak, but Brigid’s garment was much more exquisite, plain but better woven and bleached to the color of summer clouds.
Fiona smiled and her cheeks flushed like wild rose petals. “I made it myself, Sister. ’Tis the color of a druid cloak, but made for our Christian spiritual leader. All the others approved. I hope it is acceptable.”
Feeling humbled, and not nearly worthy enough to be called a leader, Brigid remembered her vows at the shore. She had pledged to uphold Patrick’s teachings, and more importantly, Christ’s teachings. She once was filled with desire to reach all the pagans she could for Christ, and now she felt like a failure.
“Oh, Fiona, I fear I can never be a leader. I failed to convert my dearest friend, and now I must go about my work without speaking God’s words or delivering miracles. Is such a thing possible?”
Fiona half-smiled. “Oh, Sister Brigid. Ye’ve just been away far too long. Ye need rest.” She gathered up the dirty clothing and held onto Brigid’s elbow, guiding her to the main house. “There’s a room where ye won’t be disturbed.”
Brigid stopped. “Just one thing, Fiona.”
The girl blinked her dark eyelashes. “Of course.”
“I expect there will be spies, coming to check to see if I’ve paid the ransom. Tell the others. Warn them not to talk about me to anyone.”
Fiona cocked her head in a way that suggested that Brigid’s words were nonsense to her. Brigid wouldn’t blame Fiona if she thought her leader was mad. First she’d absentmindedly exposed her nakedness, and then she rambled about strangers. But this matter was too important to have the lass believe she’d lost her mind. “’Tis important, child. Promise me.”
Brigid of Ireland (Daughters of Ireland Book 1) Page 26
