The Emerald Isle

by Angela Elwell Hunt

  The eager affection coming from him confused and warmed her at the same time. She looked away, trying to think of a snappy riposte, but for once in her life words failed her.

  “I have never met a woman like you,” he said simply, his gaze as soft as a caress. “And I have decided to observe the honorable rites in my land and yours in order to win your hand. If you will have me, Cahira o’ the Connors, I will pledge my heart to your service this very day.”

  Cahira took a quick breath of utter astonishment. She had expected polite words, perhaps a bit more idle flattery and foolish flirtation, but never had she expected him to come so directly to the point. “Are you saying,” she swallowed, “that you would like to marry me?”

  “I would wed you this very day if my lord and your father would approve.” In a burst of earnestness, he took her hand and pressed her palm to his chest. She caught her breath. Even beneath the fabric of his surcoat and mail, she could feel his heart pounding. Indeed, his entire body felt as taut as a bowstring.

  What to do? Her emotions were bobbing and spinning like flotsam caught in the rushing river, and her mind, usually so logical and certain, wavered between extremes. She fancied him—aye, she might even love him, for in the space of hours he had unlocked her heart and soul. But he was a Norman, and such brutal men had not been seen in Éireann since the Norsemen invaded so long ago. Not even the Vikings would kill good cattle for sport.

  “We are in my country,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she looked up at him, “and my father would never approve of my marriage to a Norman. This morning he found evidence of cruel mischief in our pasture. More than a dozen of our cattle are dead, and he believes Norman swords slaughtered the beasts.”

  Colton’s face went blank with shock. “Has he proof of this?”

  “He needs none. No Irishman, particularly one of Connacht, would harm his cattle, for we all profit and suffer according to the fate of the king. My father lends cattle to others of his family; they repay him over time. ’Twould make no sense for any of our people to kill the cattle.”

  Colton’s empty look slowly filled into a bewildered expression of hurt. “You can’t believe I had anything to do with it.”

  The question hung in the air between them, shimmering like the reflection from the river. Cahira searched her heart, then searched Colton’s face and found no trace of deception there. “From what I am knowing of you, sir,” she answered, hoping that the yearning in his face was not quite so apparent in her own, “you could not do such a thing. But my father does not know you, and at the moment he is not disposed to meet any Normans, be they friend or foe.”

  His eyes shone moist, and his voice went suddenly husky. “Does this mean you no longer wish to see me?”

  Cahira bit her lip. She had come to one of those places, like a fork in the trail, where she must choose to follow her heart or her mind. Following her mind meant the approval of her parents, a loveless marriage with Rian, the steady suffocation of her heart under the heavy mantle of royal leadership. She had been the unwilling daughter of a king; soon she would be the unwilling wife of another one. If she did what she was expected to do.

  But if she followed her heart, Colton would walk with her. Though he was a Norman, and overconfident in his own way, such things could be forgiven in so exceptional a man. The road ahead would be uncertain, possibly hard, but what was life, if not a series of difficult choices? “Be happy while you’re living, for you’re a long time dead,” she murmured.

  “What?”

  “Something Murchadh once told me.” She took a step toward him, involuntarily impelled by her own eagerness. “I could never wish to be rid of you. My father the king will do as kings must, but I am a free woman. Last night my mother told me to follow my heart. That is what I intend to do.”

  His hands closed around hers in a warm and comforting grip. “Tell me what you require, Lady, and I shall do it. I cannot disavow my oath of service to my master, but my heart is unfettered and free. I would gladly surrender it to you.”

  Cahira smiled as a wave of peace and satisfaction washed over her. “Meet me here every day for a week, so I may know your love is constant. If you keep this part of our bargain, and if in seven days we still feel the blessing of God upon this union, then on the seventh day I’ll go with you to find a priest, where we shall vow our lives to one another forever.” She lifted her gaze and found her mirror in his eyes. “Then you shall possess my hand and heart, Sir Colton, for as long as we both shall live.”

  The lines of heartsickness and worry immediately lifted from his face. He clasped her hand tighter, then pulled her to him, his kiss sending the pit of her stomach into a wild swirl.

  “Fear nothing,” he whispered as he held her, trembling, in his arms. “I’ll see to everything. If I have to find the guilty butchers and drag them before your father with an apology and bags of gold, I’ll do it. But our people will remain at peace, and we will be married seven days hence.”

  Cahira closed her eyes and nodded, secure in his arms and in his promise.

  The dried grass made a crisp slicking sound against the horses’ legs as Colton and Oswald rode back to Athlone. Though Oswald had done nothing but grumble about his empty stomach ever since leaving the river, Colton could not keep a grin from his face. By heaven, the woman was remarkable! Fearing her father’s retribution, she had insisted that Colton ride around Rathcroghan rather than return her to her father’s gates. “I would rather walk than see you struck down,” she had whispered as they parted. “Do what you can to find the men who slaughtered the cattle. When guilt is assigned, my father’s anger will be assuaged. He is a fair man, and he cannot deny your suit if you have done him a service.”

  After one final embrace, Colton mounted and spurred his horse with renewed purpose. Though he hadn’t wanted to implicate his own comrades in the crime Cahira described, he knew any one of Lord Richard’s knights might have been guilty of the cattle slaughter. His men had grown restless in days past, and the tournament had done little to slake their thirst for activity. Pastoral, verdant Ireland did not have much to offer knights of tempestuous blood, and Lord Richard had warned his men not to trifle with Connacht’s womenfolk…

  But the wasteful slaughter of another man’s meat could not be excused. He himself would find the guilty parties and bring their misdeeds to Richard’s attention. Once Lord Richard had paid restitution to the king of Connacht, the breach would be healed—and Colton would be free to call upon the king o’ the Connors.

  “I don’t understand.” Oswald’s reproachful words spurred Colton out of his reverie. “There are women aplenty in Philip’s settlement, maids just as comely as that firebrand. Why must we ride for an hour to seek out a single red-haired vixen?”

  “There are none like her anywhere.” Colton smiled in the calm strength of knowledge. “I am not surprised she is a king’s daughter. Each time I meet her, I am more surprised by the strength of her will and character. She fears nothing, Oswald! Can you name a single maiden in England or Normandy with such fierce courage?”

  Oswald frowned, a shadow of mockery in his expression. “You should think twice, my friend. Doesn’t the Holy Book teach us that a man cannot take fire to his bosom without being burned? If ambition is your motive, you’d be far better off courting one of de Burgo’s daughters. He is more likely to win control of this land than the O’Connors are likely to keep it. You must look to the future, Colton, and pay no heed to the pretty green eyes fluttering before you.”

  “I’m not interested in ambition.”

  Oswald snorted. “You are a fool then. Marriage should be made for gain, not love. If you love the wench, keep her as your mistress. But give your hand and your worldly goods—which aren’t yet considerable, I should remind you—to a woman who will bring a dowry of her own. This Irish wench, princess though she may be, will soon be bereft of all her lands and titles. Lord Richard is only waiting for the right moment to assert his claim.”

&nb
sp; “My marriage will have nothing to do with Lord Richard’s affairs.”

  “But your lord’s affairs are yours as well.” Oswald’s dark eyes flashed a warning. “He is your sworn master, so you are beholden to him in all things. Have you considered whether he will give his permission for this marriage?”

  Colton considered the question. He had always felt secure in Richard’s favor. In fact, he was fairly certain his lord valued him above all other knights. And he need not worry about offending Richard by not courting one of his two daughters, for Richard was ambitious and would want his daughters to marry noblemen, not mere knights.

  Colton smiled as another thought came to him. His lord might even rejoice in the thought of an unequal marriage of Irish princess and Norman knight. The situation might seem unnatural to him, but its very existence would imply that the daughter of an Irish king deserved no better than marriage to a mere knight.

  The idea did not do justice to Cahira or her position, but Richard de Burgo would approve it.

  “His lordship will of a certainty give me his permission to marry Cahira,” Colton answered, his voice grim. “He would love to see Felim O’Connor’s daughter living in a little house behind his castle.”

  “Aye? Do you think, then, that your lady’s father will give his blessing?” Oswald snapped the question like a whip. “Think, man! What if our lord decides to hold your bride hostage to win her father’s capitulation? You say you are not interested in our lord’s ambitions, but you’d be a fool to ignore them. Our lord Richard would be overjoyed for you to take this Irish king’s daughter, for your love will condemn her people.”

  Struck by the harsh truth in Oswald’s observation, Colton fell silent and remained so for the duration of the journey to Athlone.

  Cahira had always thought time was like a waterfall, flowing constantly, steadily, and easily from an abundant source. After meeting Colton, however, time flowed in fits and spurts. Rare moments spent with Colton left her thirsting for more, while the hours she spent working and worrying at Rathcroghan seemed a flood of emptiness.

  True to his word, Colton came to the river every day, always accompanied by Oswald. In order to avoid impropriety, Cahira bade Sorcha accompany her, but first swore the maid to secrecy. While Cahira and Colton walked along the river’s edge, the Norman knight and the nervous maid sat silently in a forced and uneasy peace, bound to this conspiracy by duty, friendship, and mutual distrust.

  Cahira’s heart had nearly pounded its way out of her chest on the second day when Colton shared his uneasy thoughts about their marriage, and only his quick assurance of his commitment to it slowed her racing pulse. “I will marry you no matter what the cost,” he vowed, “but I fear this wedding not be easily accomplished. If an English priest marries us at Athlone, your father will be disadvantaged. But if by some miracle we are married at Rathcroghan with your father’s permission and blessing, Lord Richard will feel I have conspired with the enemy. He would be well within his rights to order my execution, for I would have violated my oath of allegiance to him.”

  He spoke with only slight hesitation, and only the tightening of the muscles in his throat betrayed his deep emotion. Cahira listened and understood the full implication of his words, but took comfort in his presence at the river. If he had doubts, he had only to remain at Athlone, and she would know he had counted the cost—and found the price too great.

  On the third day, Colton arrived at the river even before Cahira. She saw his and Oswald’s horses by the river and urged her own horse to hurry, then pulled up beside her startled knight and flashed him a smile. “Feel like a ride?” she asked, leaning forward on her horse’s broad back. “There’s a place I’d like to show you.”

  Though Oswald’s smile drooped into hanging jowls of displeasure, Colton caught his horse’s reins and mounted without a word of protest. Nudging her gelding’s ribs with her soft leather slippers, Cahira led the way northward along the riverbank, pulling her horse to the side of the trail so Colton could ride abreast.

  The midday September sun rode proudly in a cloud-scribbled sky, turning the smooth river the color of tarnished silver. The horses seemed to anticipate the joy of the journey. They danced beside the glassy river, their heads held high and tails whipping through the air.

  Colton sent her a congratulatory smile. “May I compliment you, Lady, on your skill with a horse. I don’t know many men who could sit a beast without a saddle, yet you ride as if you had been born to it.”

  “In a way, I have,” Cahira answered, grinning at him. “’Tis not our way to encumber a beast with all that nonsense.” She jerked her chin toward the wooden saddle on Colton’s destrier. “If you would sit on him without that heavy boat, I’m thinking the horse would have a better sense of what you want him to do.”

  Colton’s gaze slid rapidly over her form, taking in the sight of her exposed ankles, then he smiled again, beaming approval. “I know no other way to ride, Lady, but I’d be a fool to suggest that you ride in any other way. So lead on, and take me to this place. Is it far?”

  “A good distance,” Cahira answered, glancing back just long enough to see that Oswald and Sorcha still followed behind them. Both rode with absent, distracted expressions, as if mentally fleeing to another place and time. Cahira closed her eyes, wishing that Sorcha would make the effort to be a little more pleasant. Though the maid seemed to appreciate Colton’s qualities, she cared very little for his comrade.

  “Then we shall have time to talk.” Colton tugged his mount to the left, bringing him closer to Cahira’s side. “That was my thought.”

  They rode in silence for a few moments, each content to be with the other. To their left lay the forest filled with gray and blue-green shadows and the quiet murmur of the wind through the trees. To their right lay the river, embroidered by tufts of wildflowers and skirted by thick shrubs.

  Sighing in perfect happiness, Cahira breathed in the tangy scents of clover, fresh water, and warm mud. She loved this land and wanted desperately for Colton to love it too. Though she would be willing to follow him anywhere, she could not imagine leaving her home.

  “’Tis beautiful here,” he said, shifting in the saddle to look toward the low horizon where the land began on the other side of the river. “A truly marvelous island. No wonder Lord Richard loves it so.”

  “He may love it till the end of time, but loving will not give him the right to claim it.” She gripped her reins more tightly. “We have to talk about this, Colton. If we marry, peace will not automatically come to our people. My father will be furious, and your lord will still covet this land for himself.”

  “I know.” He pulled back on his reins, slowing his horse to a walking pace more suitable for conversation. “I have been thinking, and I feel I should go to your father. I have no reason to fear him; I have done nothing to earn his ire. I am a man of honor, as is he. Let me go to him and ask for your hand.”

  “No.” Cahira shook her head in dismay. “If he were just any father, there would be no problem, but he is a king. And so he will not speak as my father, but as my king. And his answer would be no.”

  “It is precisely because he is a king that I should go.” Colton turned in the saddle to face her. “His position requires that I humble myself before him. You are not just any woman; you are a daughter of the king.”

  “No!” Trying to disguise her annoyance, Cahira pasted on a thin smile. “My father inherited his position after I was born. I was not born into a king’s house, nor do I wish to marry in one.”

  Colton looked at her, his eyes bright with speculation, his smile half sly with understanding. “One would almost think you were ashamed of your position.”

  “I’m not ashamed.” Heat rose from her neckline and flooded her face, giving lie to her words. “I would have to care before I could be ashamed. Truth to tell, I care nothing for this business of being a king—or the daughter of one.”

  “’Tis a great honor to be the daughter of a king.”
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  “’Tis stuff and nonsense. People expect you to be special, but I am an ordinary woman. I want only to be like everyone else.”

  “Come now.” His words were heavy with rebuke. “You can’t expect me to believe that. Would an ordinary woman dress like a man to best Lord Richard’s archers? Would an ordinary woman offer herself to stand as a human target? Would an ordinary woman slip away from her father’s fortress to go riding with one of the enemy?”

  “That’s quite enough,” she retorted, a heavy dose of sarcasm in her own voice. “All right, so I’m different. But I would be different even if I were the daughter of Felim the man, not Felim the king. It’s”—she flung out her hand, as if trying to pull the right word out of the air—“it’s the position I despise. I love my father, but I don’t want to be known as a king’s daughter. I don’t want to be set apart from other people, don’t you see? If you’re thinking I want to be fussed over, then you’re not knowing me at all, Sir Colton.”

  “I know you well enough.” He looked at her with lazy laughter in his eyes. “And I know enough of the world to realize that if you don’t have the confidence to live your position publicly, you don’t really have a position at all. You see, before I took my test of knighthood, I was a lowly squire. I worked in the garrison and served the other knights. But even as a squire I could tell knights from ordinary men even when they were dressed alike in simple tunics. How? By their attitudes. Sworn knights are confident of their position, for they’ve earned it and fought for it. Another man might pretend, but he would wilt in a time of trouble.”

  She threw him a quick frown, then looked away to consider his statement. Why were the Normans so conscious of position? In their world everyone had a place on the social ladder, and a man could not be judged until he had learned his place and studied how to keep to it. And what position did she have? None, really. She hadn’t fought for anything. Everything had been handed to her.