by Brit Darby
Camber examined it, holding it closer to the candle’s flame, so light reflected through its facets. “’Tis said the finest emeralds have a deep blue flame within them,” he said. “Look, Nora.”
She leaned closer, the spark of blue fire clear in the stone’s depths. “How did you know that, Cam?”
“Beginner’s alchemy.” His eyes twinkled as he laid the cross back down, but his serious side emerged again with a deep sigh. “I believe the emerald is real enough, though whether some legendary gem is unknown. The truth may never be uncovered. Yet, we must be cautious; we can trust no one with this knowledge.”
Alianor nodded agreement.
“After evening prayers, I mentioned to Father Glaisne I had heard a legend about a great emerald of Ireland,” Camber said. “Imagine my surprise when he not only knew of it, but he claimed the stone came to light at St. Galls, almost three hundred years ago by a monk called Brother Donal.”
Donal. The name stirred her memory and Alianor recalled Felicity’s tales at Wolf Haven. “Go on.”
“Well, Father Glaisne told me Brother Donal’s story and how the stone came unto him. He was one of the illustrators who recorded history for the early Church. The details are known because he wrote about them, and some of those manuscripts survived.”
“At St. Galls?” Alianor exclaimed hopefully.
Camber shook his head. “Nay, unfortunately Brother Donal’s works were sent to Rome long ago, and are housed amidst other Vatican treasures. But the collective memory of any religious order is a long one, passed down over centuries, and this is how the monks here still know the story of the Jewel of Knowledge today.”
“Do they know what happened to it?”
“Well, once the emerald came into the possession of the Church, the monks saw fit to encase it in this cross. Brother Donal died in the Year of Our Lord 957, and, unfortunately, the trail ends there and nobody knows exactly where or to whom the cross went. Everything thereafter is rumor and speculation.”
Alianor thought back to the legend. Felicity’s version filled in many of the blanks, yet still fit with the monk’s written accounts. Was it possible this could all be true? Could the stone in this cross really be Seòd Fios?
Sensing her despair, Camber placed his hand over hers and said, “I pray God sends us guidance, Nora.”
She nodded, but she could not help but think perhaps God had washed his hands of this muddle long ago. It fell to them to see the stone kept safe.
THE NEXT MORNING THEY prepared to resume their journey. Alianor insisted Cam wear the cross tucked beneath his robes. She reasoned he could better protect it. It also seemed less likely that anyone would question why a monk wore a cross, though they might well wonder at his having one of great value.
Walking beside Camber to fetch their horses, Alianor asked, “So, once we arrive in Leinster, where do we go?”
“We go to Cill Dara, the Church of the Oak. ’Twas established centuries ago by St. Brigid herself, and the dual abbeys still serve as sanctuaries. I can reside with the monks at the Black Abbey. I know the abbess of the White Abbey there by reputation, and she will take you in until we hear from The Marshal.”
Alianor agreed. “I suppose that’s the wisest course. At least we can hope de Lacy will not forge sacred walls.” The King, however, was another matter. He neither respected nor feared the Church, and she couldn’t bear bringing more trouble upon Camber than she already had.
As if reading her mind, Camber looked at her. “Don’t fret, Nora, it’s all right. Trust in God. He will protect us as he has all these years.”
She nodded, looking into those blue eyes so like her own. She wished she had his unwavering faith, but in her view, they had only each other now.
Chapter Twenty-four
NIALL WATCHED IN HELPLESS frustration as Liam tossed a few things into the center of an old tunic — extra clothing, his spare dagger, and other basic items for traveling hard and fast. Liam tied the tunic at the corners and slung it over one shoulder. On his way out, he grabbed a burlap sack with some bread, cheese and a bit of fruit.
Niall trailed his nephew out of the abbey to the stables, trying to appeal to the wee bit of sanity he prayed must lurk there somewhere. “You’re acting the fool, Uilleam.”
Liam started saddling a different horse, a black mare. Biorra snorted from his stall as if disapproving of his master’s choice. With a glance at Niall, Liam said, “Take care of Biorra. He picked up a thorn in his back right hoof yesterday. I got it out, but the hoof is sore. He should be fine in a few days.”
Niall nodded. “Of course. But be reasonable, leaving Wolf Haven means certain death. You’re a wanted man.”
“Nobody knows it better than me, Niall.”
“Best you wait, lad; you did not get enough sleep last night. You fell asleep an’ dozed a’fore the fire, not even in a proper bed.”
“I’ve slept worse, and on harder ground.”
Niall chafed with anxiety and a touch of anger, but the determination he saw in Liam stilled any harsh retort he might have made. Instead he sighed. Turrean whined at his feet. He bent and scratched the wolfhound behind the ears. “There must be good reason why they left without word, Liam.”
“Perhaps. I’m not sure which annoys me more — that they left without warning, or that they slipped through our defenses without notice.” Liam cinched the saddle, waited for the horse to exhale, and cinched it tighter still. “I cannot stay here and do nothing. I must find Alianor and reason with her, for given chance the King will punish her for my transgressions if de Lacy does not first.”
“So write a letter, lad. Carve your confession on a bloody tree. But to leave, when you know most of Eire hunts you for the bounty — it makes no sense.”
“Makes more sense than you’d think. Nobody’s expecting me to roam about with the writ of outlawry on my head. Hell, not even the King himself knows what I look like should our paths cross. I won’t see her suffer for my folly, Niall. It isn’t right and you, of all people, know it.”
Niall frowned. Liam’s argument made irrational sense to any man with a chivalrous nature. “You may postpone the King’s retaliation a bit, but what of de Lacy? Likely the Norman bastard already sent a missive to the King. He’ll poison your path long a’fore you can do any good.”
“A chance I must take.”
Niall let out an exasperated breath. “Odds are you won’t find her easily, Liam. She wouldn’t return to England an’ face the man who sent her as bride to de Lacy, would she? More likely she an’ her brother have gone into hiding.”
“Aye, Alianor would be a fool to return to Lackland’s court.”
“Seems pointless to run off not knowing where to look.”
Frustrated, Liam smacked a balled fist into the palm of his other hand. “Damme. What were they thinking, sneaking off in the middle of the night? Without even a goodbye.” His accusing glare fell on Turrean next. “And why the bloody hell didn’t you alert me?”
The dog yawned. Liam cursed.
Niall pondered. Having spoken with Felicity, he could guess Alianor’s reasoning for her abrupt and secret departure. He had weasled a bit of information out of Felicity, but he sensed she was not telling all she knew. The secrets the woman harbored were hers to tell, and he knew better than to press the matter further. “I think Alianor felt she was placing us all in danger by staying. An’ maybe the colleen was right.”
Liam made an impatient gesture. “We’ve evaded English and Irish kings for over a decade; we don’t need to hide behind a woman’s skirts now.”
“Don’t be so hard on Alianor, lad. She has a kind heart.”
“Aye, too kind.”
“Did you ne’er reason her problems are her own? You don’t have to get involved.”
Liam folded his arms and scowled at Niall. “Like Alianor didn’t have to get involved when she came back and saved our mangy hides from the sea. Is this how we repay her? Abandon her to de Lacy’s evil intentions and
the King’s wrath?”
Chastened, Niall nodded. “’Twas our arses she saved, lad. You’re right. I should be going with you. We’ll start by going south, to Leinster.”
“Leinster? Why there?”
Niall looked uncomfortable. “Could be where they are going.”
Liam didn’t ask how his uncle knew their destination. “Fine. I will head south. Alone. You’re needed here, Niall.”
Niall’s stony stare told Liam he would not be swayed. “Damme it, man,” Liam swore in frustration. “My foolishness before nearly got us killed. I’ll not risk others’ lives again.”
A flush of anger reddened Niall’s face. “Seems to me, Uilleam, we’ve risked getting killed many times o’er the years. An’ we’ve always stood together.”
“Aye. But most likely,” Liam said, and they both knew the truth of his words, “I’ll not be walking away from this fight. There must be a leader — someone has to keep Wolf Haven safe.”
“It should be you who stays. None other will do, lad — you’re the Emerald Prince.”
Liam laughed bitterly. “Don’t tell me you’re beginning to believe those faerytales Felicity weaves to entertain the children. How can I be this prince of legend? I’ve nothing to offer, even to this lot of lawless folk. What chance do I have of uniting Connacht? I’m nothing but O’Connor’s bastard, and his true heirs will make certain I never rise above that title. The whole notion — well, it’s rubbish and you shouldn’t pay it any heed.”
Niall’s lips twitched. “Sounds like you’ve turned cynical, Liam. ’Tis wrong to doubt your heritage.”
“Not my heritage — the convenient myth behind it.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
Liam felt Turrean brush against his legs, and he bent and slapped the dog’s withers with affection. “True enough, Uncle.”
Turrean pushed a cold nose into his hand, demanding attention, and he laughed. “Now look, here’s a better leader for us by far.”
Niall smiled. “She has more common sense than you.”
Liam chuckled and did not deny it. “It seems I’ve had no sense at all lately — seems I lost it the first time I laid eyes on her.”
“Well,” Niall drawled, “she is a beautiful colleen.”
“Aye, Alianor is lovely, but it goes deeper than mere lust. It’s like something beyond my control is …”
Liam hesitated, realizing how strange his words sounded.
“Felicity claims fate is sweeping you both toward your destinies. She says you must trust in its guidance.”
Liam shrugged. “I don’t know what guides me, fate or worse luck, but I do know I have to go after Alianor. And — this time I must go alone. This journey is mine to make, Niall.”
“Perhaps,” Niall placed his hand on Liam’s shoulder and squeezed, “you are not as cynical as I feared.”
Liam started to mount but noticed the water pouch normally hanging from his saddle was missing. He remembered filling it earlier, but must have left it lying on his bed. He went back into the abbey to check, and found it where he’d tossed it. As he swooped it up, a glint of metal caught his eye.
His breath caught in his throat when he saw the plain gold band resting upon his pillow, small enough for a lady’s hand — Alianor’s hand. With shaking fingers he picked up the ring, and by the light streaming in through the window read the simple inscription carved upon it: Yours Onli.
How it came there he knew not, but he felt a wrenching pain in his gut. Had she come to him last night to say goodbye after all? When she did not find him, had she left this sign to tell him she had been here?
Why her wedding ring, of all things? He understood the importance of this simple gold band to Alianor; the last claim Walter Coventry had upon her in this earthly realm. The impact of her gesture struck Liam — she had left it behind for him to find, and with it, he knew, lay her heart.
THE NEXT TIME ALIANOR awoke from the dream, she was no longer confused and frightened by the images flashing in her mind. Instead, her half-hidden memories from childhood blossomed, and she remembered how she and Camber ended up with English parents.
Trust — you must trust it will all come in its own time.
She recalled the words spoken to her when she had dreamed of Turrean, not the wolfhound, but the faery who came to her at the sacred place of Rath. It was true, and now her mind saw her home in vivid detail — the small cottage near the Irish coast, and a fishing boat piled high with nets. A man, her natural father, came and went from the sea, while she and Cam were tended by a silver-haired woman who sang sweet Gaelic lullabies.
The family led a simple but happy life, monotony kept at bay by occasional trips into the nearby village or excursions in the fishing skiff. Sometimes they sailed around the point or joined other families in a larger carrack going to the main island where they visited relatives and traded for goods.
During one outing, half a dozen families set sail together on the carrack. Everyone was excited and in high spirits. The men laughed as they fished, and boosted the children onto their shoulders to see the deilf leaping and chasing the waves. Sunlight gleamed over the blue waters as the fish ran, but when a cloud crossed the sun the dolphins vanished.
Without warning, a fierce storm swept in from the west, lashing their little ship with massive waves. Even now, Alianor could almost feel the vessel pitching on the rising swells, and icy sea water swirling around her ankles as it had that day.
Her mother clutched Camber, and she heard his frightened wails over the gale engulfing them in its howling fury. Alianor tried to bail water as her father and the others did. She was too little to help much, yet she was big enough to understand their frantic efforts.
The ship shuddered and groaned beneath the tempest, and despite all their efforts, the water rose higher. Alianor crawled into her mother’s lap and clung to her like a lifeline. She remembered her mother kissing her damp head and whispering a prayer as she pulled some things from the traveling purse looped around her waist: first, a cloth poppet for Camber, and then, a golden cross for her.
Alianor had seen the cross before, but not often, for her mother guarded it like a rare treasure. The old stories surfaced in her mind, not mere children’s fables to entertain her and Cam, but tales of their heritage. Her mother looped the heavy chain around her small neck. Alianor touched her mother’s face, unable to tell the tears from the rain, not understanding the gesture yet sensing something bad was happening. Suddenly her mother screamed. “’n aire!”
The warning came too late. A huge standing wave hit the carrick broadside, and her father and most of the other men were swept over the side. The remaining passengers were hurled about the deck like feathers blowing on the wind. Only her mother’s fierce determination allowed her to keep hold of the two children.
Alianor had only a dim grasp of death or what it meant, but she clung to her mother with equal ferocity. “Mamaidh, mamaidh!”
The shrieking storm tore the cries from her lips and her mother from her arms. The ship lurched with a human-like groan, her hull shattering as coastal rocks battered and splintered her frame. When Alianor spotted her mother again, she was on the far side, weakly clinging to the mast. She watched her mother crawl up the listing deck, foot by foot in the maelstrom, with Camber clinging to her back.
Most of the passengers had disappeared, swept into the angry turmoil of the sea, but something kept Alianor’s mother from surrendering to its icy embrace. She collapsed beside her daughter and handed Camber to her.
Her body broken and bleeding, she told Alianor to take her little brother and climb up on the forecastle. “Ailinn! Téann tú …” Her mother pushed her towards the mast with a frantic gesture. Higher, you must go higher.
Alianor’s whimper of protest was silenced by a stern yet loving command. With difficulty, she managed to half carry, half drag Camber to the higher deck. Her exhausted, injured mother remained where she lay.
Another wave smashed the fr
actured vessel, and when Alianor looked down again the lower deck was not only empty, but submerged. The two children teetered alone upon the forecastle. Camber sobbed into his sister’s shoulder. Alianor’s instincts screamed at her — they must go higher. Much higher.
She spied the foremast with its tiny one-man crow’s nest, and the rigging lashed in place by the lookout. Her icy hands lifted Camber onto her back as she had seen her mother do, and the toddler clung like a little crab, choking her, the chain around her neck digging painfully into her flesh.
Alianor started her shaky ascent on the twisting, swinging rope ladder, taking each blow with her own body when they slammed against the mast. Camber shrieked in one ear and the wind in the other.
Like a living thing, the squall seemed determined to seize them, drag them back down. Alianor’s last memory was crawling into the crow’s nest, her strength gone as she curled into a ball with her brother held tight in her arms. She was numb, too weary to even cry.
Alianor drew a shaky breath as the visions faded back to its place and time. All these years the nightmare had haunted her in bits and pieces, never surfacing with understandable detail, until now. It was as if she had waited for the right time. For the time when she could accept the truth of her heritage, when she could remember her real parents and their deaths without shattering her mind.
With a sigh, Alianor rose from the bed, the floor cold on her bare feet. Sleep eluded her even in this quiet haven at Cill Dara’s White Abbey. With dawn yet a few hours away, she found the tinder box and lit a single candle. Looking around her simple room, Alianor was reminded of Wolf Haven’s abbey. Same stone walls, plain pallet. Instead of love-in-a-mist, however, a crude wooden crucifix was the only decoration here.
The nuns of Cill Dara were gentle souls and the abbess Mother Clare seemed brusque but kind. No questions were asked of her, but Alianor was expected to assist in preparing meals, tending animals, gardening and other chores. All this she gladly did. Work kept her mind off darker thoughts and bittersweet memories.
