Misfortune of Time: Druid's Brooch Series, #6

by Christy Nicholas

  Closing her eyes as the Fae had taught her, Étaín drew the warmth and magic of the spring, long dormant throughout the winter months, up through the loamy soil and into the crocus. The warmth resisted at first, but she encouraged it with song and will. When the warmth finally reached the tiny purple flower, it blossomed with glowing light and a satisfied sigh. Étaín smiled at the wee bloom and entered the roundhouse.

  When Étaín curled in her warm furs once again, she tried to sleep. The climb and the day’s drama had exhausted her, but still, her mind raced relentlessly on tomorrow’s possibilities. Shuffles and coughs came from Odhar’s alcove.

  She rose and coaxed the fire back to life. Odhar had banked it the night before, but she still had some dried herbs from Cathair Chonaill and craved something warm to drink. The sullen heat caressed the small iron pot as the water grew hot.

  Odhar sat next to her and stroked her head. The sweet, loving gesture melted her heart. “Étaín? Did you sleep well?”

  She shook her head gently, loath to dislodge his caress. “I tossed and turned, nervous for today. Would you like chamomile tea?”

  “I would like anything your hands make for me. Come, you’re shivering.” He fetched his second cloak and pulled it tight around her shoulders. “Why are your hands so freezing? It’s warm here in the roundhouse.”

  “I went out for a walk when I couldn’t sleep.”

  He stood abruptly, his eyes wide. “Alone? At night and in the winter, in a strange place? Étaín, whatever possessed you? You might have fallen, been attacked, got lost, frozen, injured…”

  Suddenly annoyed, Étaín flung off the cloak and stood to confront him. “Do you think I’ve never traveled alone? And yes, at night in the winter in a strange place? I can take care of myself! I’ve had to do so more times than you’ve had hot meals!”

  She gasped, and her hands flew to cover her mouth. She’d just yelled at a man. It had been decades since she’d done so, and she held her breath, waiting for the blow.

  He took several steps back at her onslaught and blinked. Then he chuckled and gathered her into his arms. She resisted, stiff-backed, but he wouldn’t let go. “Of course you have, my eldritch darling. I’m a fool, and you’re right to chastise me. In fact, I’m thrilled to see you will argue when you should.”

  She gave in to his hug and returned it with grateful warmth. “I’m so sorry, Odhar. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

  He held her at arms’ length, staring into her eyes. “You are to do exactly that when I deserve it, Étaín. Never fear I would strike you for such honesty. Never, do you hear?”

  He looked so earnest, so sincere, so sweet, she gave in to the overwhelming urge to kiss him. At first, she meant it to be a quick peck, but his lips were soft, and she let it linger. He drew her gently closer to his body, and the sweet kiss became passionate.

  * * *

  Dusk lingered on cold winter mornings. The struggling sunlight wouldn’t burst through the dreary morning clouds for hours. Still, Étaín did not mind the delay. She’d spent the dim morning in Odhar’s loving arms and was deeply grateful for his warmth and gentle affection.

  It had been so many winters since she’d had a lover who cherished her. She’d almost forgotten how breathtaking it was to partner with a man who understood and paid attention to her own body’s needs.

  They lay entangled on his cloak next to the hearth, legs entwined, her head on his chest. His hand stroked her back in lazy circles.

  “Are you thirsty, Étaín?” Odhar glanced at the wineskin on the table, just out of reach.

  With a laugh, she extracted herself and pulled on her léine. She rose and poured them both mugs of small ale. “You needn’t be afraid to ask me for things, Odhar. I’m well happy to keep your household.”

  After drinking half the mug in one swallow, he wiped his mouth of the excess. “I don’t mean to take you for granted, Étaín, Not now, not ever.”

  She had no answer to that, but a shouted greeting outside followed by a knock, interrupted the moment.

  Odhar scrambled to pull on his own clothing while Étaín brushed her hair down with her hands, pulling it back into a rough knot at the base of her neck. She hoped she looked even slightly presentable. She’d have to get used to living next to the chapel and being ready to entertain at a moment’s notice.

  With a glance to ensure Odhar had clothed himself, she opened the door.

  She stared at the old man for several moments before she gasped, put her hands over her mouth, and backed up several steps.

  Odhar stepped into the main room, having just thrown their makeshift bed into the sleeping alcove. “Étaín? Étaín who is it?”

  He halted when he saw the man.

  He had aged much over the last eighteen winters. While he’d always been tall and powerfully built, the barrel-chest had drooped over time, distending into a large belly. His face, though covered in deep lines and wiry gray whiskers, remained recognizable.

  Odhar found his voice after clearing it several times. “Bressel! I never expected to see you in Ceann-Coradh. What brings you here? I just arrived myself. Have you met Étaín? It seems she’s a distant cousin of our own Maelan.”

  Bressel looked from Odhar, who had a pasted smile on his face, to Étaín who still didn’t speak nor move. He raised one eyebrow. “A cousin of Maelan?”

  Étaín forced herself to nod and come forward, her hands out in greeting. Odhar had set the stage, and she must keep the charade going. “Welcome to our home, Bressel, is it? I am told I look a bit like Maelan’s grandmother. I would love to meet her someday. Does she still live in Cluain Mhic Nóis?”

  Bressel narrowed his eyes and did not cover her hands with his. He peered into her eyes, and then flicked a glance back at Odhar and several places around the room.

  “I came searching for Maelan, but it is obvious he is not here.” With one last glare at Odhar, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

  Étaín found it difficult to breathe. The frenzied laughter in her mind burst forth, taking Bressel’s voice as its twisted fingers yanked sanity from the fabric of her memory. She grew woozy, and Odhar helped her to the bench. “He knew. Odhar, he knew! We didn’t fool him in the slightest. Why would he even come here? What will he do, Odhar? He knows!”

  He stroked her back. “Shh, shh, shh. He doesn’t know a thing. He may suspect, but it’s been so long, there is no way he can be certain. The memory is a strange thing, Étaín. It can convince you a lie is real, or truth is false. Time is the great lie to all of us.”

  “He might tell Maelan! He might tell the chief. He might tell everyone. We must leave. We need to go.” She bolted up, rushed to her sleeping alcove and shoved her léinte in her pack.

  Odhar twirled her around and held her by both shoulders. “Étaín, stop! You must be calm. Please. Let’s think this through, and we can avoid panic.”

  She struggled to get free, but his grip remained strong. “Panic? Panic? Odhar, you haven’t seen panic yet. I’ve not even begun to panic!”

  A knock on the door made her jump and distracted Odhar enough that she wrenched away. She immediately grabbed her pack again and thrust a blanket and her wrapped brooch inside. Odhar went to the door.

  She hissed at him. “Odhar, no! Don’t open it!”

  “I must, Étaín. I’m the priest here now. It means people come to see me. It’s my duty to be here for them.”

  For an answer, Étaín dived under the cloak in Odhar’s sleeping alcove, covering herself completely before Odhar opened the door.

  “Maelan! Welcome indeed to our home. Drink of our ale and eat of our bread with the blessings of our Lord.”

  Maelan? Étaín hesitated, torn between her sense of survival, need to remain hidden and her overwhelming urge to see her beloved and long-lost grandson.

  The latter won out.

  She lowered the cloak just a little so she could see the man he’d become.

  “Étaín, do come out of hiding,
it’s only your cousin. Didn’t you say you couldn’t wait to meet him?”

  After lowering the cloak more, she looked at Maelan with proud eyes. He’d grown thick and muscular, a proper warrior. He hadn’t grown tall, but had become powerfully built and stood with confidence. His hair still shone blond, plaited in several long braids as befitted a Gaelic warrior. He had a beard, also braided, and a strong face.

  “Liadan insisted I come. She gave me some tale of a long-lost relative? As far as I knew, my grandmother had no close kin.”

  His voice sounded deep and gruff, but he spoke of his wife with affection. Étaín grinned, as she’d liked Liadan greatly. Her grandson chose his mate well. Better than Étaín had with Airtre.

  She stood and held her hands out, reminding herself to play the part and give away nothing. “You are most welcome, Maelan. I’d never met your grandmother, but am told I resemble her.”

  Maelan stared at Étaín as if he’d seen a spirit. When she approached him with her hands out, he didn’t cover them but continued to stare.

  Liadan came in, panting and sweaty. “Maelan, I told you I’d only be a moment, you should have waited for me! Where are your manners? I know your grandmother taught you better than that.”

  As if his wife’s voice acted as a catalyst, he blushed and hastily complied with the custom, covering Étaín’s hands with his own. “I thank you for your welcome.”

  They all stood awkwardly while Maelan continued to stare at Étaín. Clearing her throat, she turned and pulled out several mugs, pouring each of them some sour ale. Soon Liadan mentioned the weather, and Odhar quickly followed suit.

  Étaín sipped her drink, but found it difficult to swallow. She couldn’t get over how much Maelan had grown. He seemed a complete stranger until he smiled. Then she saw the faint shadow of the bright, merry child he’d been. In a flash, the imp from the past had gone, subsumed into the serious adult.

  The conversation paused, and Étaín realized the woman waited for her to answer. “I’m so sorry, Liadan, I was leagues away. What did you wish to know?”

  Maelan frowned, but Liadan asked, “I just asked where you’d grown up. Maelan here didn’t think his grandmother had any kin.”

  “Oh, we weren’t close, but I’d heard stories of her when I grew up. We lived not far from here.” She took another sip of her ale, trying to remember one of her homes, a place the other Étaín might have lived. “I lived near Gaillimh, in a small fishing village on the coast.”

  Odhar snorted. “I can’t imagine there are too many fishing villages inland.”

  Liadan giggled at that, and Étaín shot Odhar a look both quelling and grateful. Maelan still frowned.

  Suddenly, he slammed his mug on the table. “I don’t believe you.”

  Liadan gasped, and Étaín’s head spun. Odhar patted Maelan on the arm. “No, really, I assure you. She really did live near Gaillimh.”

  Maelan shook his head and stood, pacing several times. “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I don’t believe this,” he waved in Étaín’s direction, “is a relative of my grandmother’s.”

  His expression, so angry and serious, with a furrowed brow and deep frown, reminded Étaín so much of him as a child, she simply stared.

  Odhar laughed. “What a ridiculous thing to say, Maelan! Of course, she is! Do you not remember what your grandmother looked like? There is no man with eyes who can deny the resemblance. They have the same eyes, similar features, even similar builds, though I knew your grandmother when she’d grown much older than this Étaín. I can’t say if the hair is the same, as my Étaín had gray—”

  Maelan spun on the monk, his face suddenly contorted in rage. Étaín saw a flash of Airtre’s temper fly from his eyes. “She is not, and never has been, your Étaín, monk! She married my grandfather, and whatever you did to drive her away, she’d never been yours!”

  Odhar fell backward from the unexpected anger and onslaught. He crashed over the stool and fell on his side with a muffled thump. Étaín instantly knelt beside him. “How dare you, you bullying pup! Odhar is not a young man! You might seriously injure him with your attack! Odhar, are you hurt? Can you stand?”

  Liadan pulled Maelan aside, and they spoke in low murmurs as Étaín pulled Odhar up. He whispered to her, “I’m unhurt, Étaín. I’ll have a sore hip and some bruises, that’s all. I’m not so frail as you think.”

  She hissed, “He had no call for doing that. As if you had anything but my best interests at heart that night!”

  Strong arms grabbed her and spun her around. She found herself staring straight up at an enraged Maelan. “Your best interests? It is you, Grandmother! It is you! Oh, pissmires and spiders, what in the name of our sweet Lord are you?”

  He shoved her away, holding his hands up in a benediction. Liadan grabbed his arm while he crossed himself and Odhar kept Étaín from falling back from the unexpected repudiation.

  If ever she needed to pull upon her magic, now was the time. With great effort, she silenced the bubbling madness and drew on the brooch’s power, and pushed time back as far as she could. She pushed farther than she’d ever tried, and the wave of nausea dropped her to her knees.

  ∞

  Liadan had just pulled Maelan aside, murmuring. Odhar remained on the floor, as Étaín didn’t have the strength to lift him from his fall. “I’m unhurt, Étaín. I’ll have a sore hip and some—”

  “Shush, Odhar. I must take Maelan up to the stone circle, as soon as we can.”

  “The stone circle? The one on the hillside? What in God’s blessed name do you need to do that for?”

  She shook her head. “I can explain later, but it’s too dangerous to delay. Please?”

  He pulled himself to his feet just as Liadan came to help him. “I’m not hurt, Liadan, truly. However, I have need of your help, yours and Maelan. Will you indulge an old man for an hour?”

  She nodded instantly, though Maelan didn’t agree quickly. Still, they got everyone out of the roundhouse in short order. Étaín held tight to her brooch, nestled safely in its wrapping of white silk. She prayed she’d be able to part with it, and that Maelan would take the gift. Étaín didn’t dare to pray for her own survival after the transfer. She couldn’t bear to think of the possibilities.

  Étaín stumbled several times before Odhar slowed down to help her up the hill. Maelan still glowered at the whole situation, but Liadan blocked all his questions. On her part, the young woman appeared both worried and curious about their mission.

  The journey became agony for Étaín. Her nausea hadn’t faded after her use of magic, despite her time in Faerie. Each time she thought it had retreated, it returned with renewed vengeance. What would happen if she needed to use it again if Maelan didn’t take the gift? How much strength would she have to make it right?

  She did her best not to vomit with every step.

  Étaín slipped on some slush, but regained her footing with Liadan’s help. “Thank you, Liadan. I’m afraid I’m unused to such climbs. Gaillimh is a flatter area.”

  “Is it a pretty place? I’ve never seen the sea, and would greatly like to do so.”

  With true affection, Étaín recalled her time by the ocean. “The sea is enchanting and dangerous, and I never tired of watching the graceful waves dance upon the shores.”

  With a quick glance to Odhar and Maelan, climbing many steps ahead of them, Liadan asked, “Where is it we’re going?”

  “Remember you told us of the stone circle on the hill?”

  Liadan nodded. “I do, but what would a priest want with Faerie stones?”

  “All will come clear shortly, Liadan. Don’t worry.”

  “I don’t worry for you or the priest, but Maelan is acting strangely. I’ve never seen him so angry before, especially with a priest.”

  Étaín jumped a small patch of thorny bracken and stumbled as the mud squished when she landed. “Odhar knew Maelan as a child. There’s a lot of history there.”

  “He did tell me th
at part. What about you and his grandmother?”

  They tread on more dangerous ground. Étaín shrugged. “From what I heard, she left one night without a word. I think Maelan had been quite young at the time.”

  “And are you really related to him?”

  Étaín smiled at the younger woman. “I am, and that is the truth, Liadan. I promise you, I’m no charlatan.”

  Liadan took Étaín’s hand and squeezed. “I’m glad for that. I quite like you, and would hate to have to kill you.”

  Étaín laughed, though she didn’t think Liadan joked. Still, they were almost to the stone circle now.

  The shade deepened. It must be already near twilight, short as the winter days were. The sun hadn’t truly shone all day, but the cloud cover now grew menacing, swirling overhead in a slow maelstrom.

  Étaín gazed into the swirling clouds and shivered, pulling her cloak tightly around her shoulders. Odhar and Maelan stood outside the circle.

  “Now what, monk? Why have you brought me to this evil place?”

  Étaín sighed. Evidently, Airtre’s prejudices still lived in their grandson. This would not be an easy task. Odhar looked to her for the next step.

  After stepping forward, she pulled the white silk package from her cloak. “I told you I was related to your grandmother. As a relative, I have something I must give to you and only you.”

  He reached for it, but she pulled it slightly back. “First, we need to perform a small ritual.”

  Maelan narrowed his eyes and flashed a glare at Odhar. “Monk, is this some trick?”

  Odhar shook his head. “This is true, Maelan.”

  Maelan nodded and crossed his arms, but his brow remained furrowed and his mouth set in a thin, small line. “Very well, cousin. Proceed with your ritual.”

  Étaín swallowed and unwrapped the brooch.

  They all gathered to see the exquisite piece of ancient jewelry. The penannular brooch gleamed in a perfect circle except for one small opening, where the attached pin slid through. The surface had been inlaid with both gold and silver shapes of entwined animals in the style of the old illuminated gospels. In addition, four shining pale yellow gems sparkled in the low light.