The Seventh Son

by Ashley York

  Leofrid and Aodh were deep in conversation, standing alongside their seats. They relaxed with refreshments of their own but both turned toward the throng of men coming their way. Sean took a second look when he noticed Godwin paling as the men came toward him. He appeared truly frightened. Hard to lead men into battle when ye are afraid by the mere sight of them.

  “What is this?” Aodh asked.

  “My fight with Gerrit,” Darragh said.

  Aodh put his hand on Darragh’s arm when his son stopped in front of him. “Son, ye dunna need to do this for me. I am proud of ye. Ye’ve nothing to prove to me. I swear it.”

  Darragh’s expression never changed but he bent his head in a show of respect before facing his father. “My thanks for that. I wish to make ye as proud of me as ye were of Malachi. He and I may be different in some ways but we are of the same blood, after all. Yer blood.”

  Sean couldn’t miss the shimmer of tears in Aodh’s eyes. The man struggled for composure before he wrapped his arms about his son in an awkward hug. He resumed his seat next to Leofrid.

  Darragh picked up a long sword and looked it over, a small smile on his lips. He had done quite well with it. A good choice of weapon but he tossed it to the side.

  “Methinks since ye find it necessary to deal unfairly with someone ye fear ye canna beat, I would choose maces for our weapons.”

  Gerrit burst into a smile. “How quickly my young lad forgets. I am a master at the mace and will gladly see ye on yer knees at my feet...” He accepted the mace offered him, a short-handled pike with a spiked iron ball at the end. “...and looking up at me. My favored position for ye if I remember correctly.”

  Darragh shoved his hand through the back of the round shield to secure it to his arm and advanced on Gerrit before he could prepare. The man’s smile surely fanned Darragh’s rage. The well swung mace barely missed Gerrit’s shoulder, the shield coming up at the last minute.

  “Oh, ye’ve learned some new techniques.” Gerrit’s tone indicated his enjoyment.

  Darragh moved back from Gerrit’s swinging mace. The spikes just shy of making contact with his face before the shield went up. Gerrit laughed. Darragh shoved back against him with the stiff wood. Gerrit had a few inches on the blond, but Darragh had passion for the fight. He wanted to see this man defeated. Gerrit’s taunting was only deepening his need to make it happen. Sean was impressed by Darragh’s ability to channel his rage.

  “Mayhap ye can demonstrate what else ye’ve learned when we’re done here.”

  Darragh lunged, feigning left with his shield. Gerrit protected himself, giving Darragh the perfect opening with a swing at the man’s arm. The spikes smacking soundly against his upper arm but his leather protection held firm. Gerrit laughed again.

  Sean had not been convinced Darragh’s attack could be effective if he allowed himself to be distracted by the taunts. Instead, Darragh quickly adjusted the weight to his back foot before charging ahead, pushing Gerrit back again.

  “Oh, ye’ve still more bollocks than brains. Not that I ever complained.” Gerrit was playing him. Allowing him to push him back but his stance was firmly planted. He still held the upper hand.

  “Nae, ye never complain. An arse, human or beast, would do for ye.”

  Gerrit’s face reddened. He charged forward with enough momentum that Darragh stumbled back, barely able to stop himself from falling. Their shields slammed together. The sound of wood on wood splitting the air.

  The men shifted around him but Sean didn’t hear anything that was said. He was intent on Darragh’s skill and realized he truly wanted the man to win. Gerrit deserved to be taken down by him.

  “Ye’ve got him, Darragh.” Sean’s low voice carried. He hoped it would encourage him.

  “Oh, have ye a new lover? He’s a big one!”

  Sean growled. A light touch on his arm and he swung around, ready to land a fist on whoever it was.

  “What is amiss?” Tisa’s face was lined with concern.

  Sean blew out a breath, just noticing Tadhg standing a bit closer to her than usual. Their new intimacy evident in his peaceful expression. “How fare ye?”

  Tadhg smiled. “I’m hopeful.”

  Tisa glanced toward him, so close that he all but surrounded her. Her love for the man no longer hidden before she again faced Sean.

  “Why is Darragh fighting Gerrit?” she asked.

  Tadhg moved in for a better view, past the others circling around, close to Aodh and Leofrid.

  “Darragh had wanted to fight the man from the first. He is just now getting a chance to do that.”

  She nodded, a thoughtful nod, before she turned on him. “He seems quite furious. Are ye certain there is nothing else happening here?”

  Tisa was right, Darragh’s anger was now very apparent on his face. His mask of indifference slipping with his tiredness. Gerrit was pressing him hard, his momentum never letting up. In all fairness, Gerrit had fought far less than Darragh had this afternoon. The man was still fresh.

  “He found the rock Gerrit had used on Tadhg. Darragh wanted to see the wrong righted.”

  Tisa looked into his face but Sean couldn’t guess what she was thinking. He was her husband in word alone. They lived in the same house. Was there some unseen tie between the two of them? Could her husband know of her love for Tadhg?

  Darragh knew of her love for Tadhg and fear tightened Tisa’s chest. Fear that Darragh could be mortally wounded or he could kill this vile man. The latter suited her fine. Gerrit’s arrogance was all consuming. Men stepped aside when he approached, women and men fell at his feet for the smallest amount of attention paid them. What was the attraction this man held? He truly was the devil’s spawn.

  Darragh’s strength was waning. One glance at Aodh convinced her he saw it, too. The man had been battling for hours now, giving his best to every encounter. She hadn’t lied when she told him he was formidable. But there was a limit to how long someone could continue without resting.

  Tisa crossed to stand alongside her father-in-law. He never took his eyes off of his son. Aodh’s body strained with every advance, every lunge, every shove against his son. When Darragh’s shield was ripped from his grasp and he fell to one knee, Aodh stood as if ready to intervene. She prayed he would do so before it was too late. Gerrit backed away, giving Darragh a moment to regain his footing. He bent over his knees trying to catch his breath. Gerrit appeared barely winded. He cocked a brow, his blue eyes bright, and threw his shield to the side as well.

  “Come, my dear Darragh. Do yer best,” Gerrit said, his voice sounding very much like it had in the woods when he’d tried to entice Tisa.

  “Ye impudent dog.” Tisa hissed the words.

  Darragh lunged forward, fisting the mace in both hands, to run the unsuspecting Gerrit back against the post. The wood pressed against his neck, Gerrit’s eyes bulged. Gurgling sounds were the only thing breaking the silence. It was as if the onlookers were afraid to even breathe.

  Tisa’s eyes widened, preparing herself to witness the murder of this man before her very eyes. He was more than deserving. He’d raped her innocent friend. He’d treated her husband cruelly. His own pleasure was all he ever sought and he cared not who got in his way.

  Gerrit’s eyes were closing, his face turning red.

  “I am going to end ye.” Darragh shoved harder, his feet sinking deeper into the mud. No one dared stop him. Even Leofrid refused to announce Darragh the winner and cease this.

  Darragh wanted this man dead and dead he would be.

  A movement beneath Gerrit’s brat and Darragh’s hands went slack. He gasped and fell back, his feet sucked into the mud giving him no chance to escape. The dagger wound opened his side, just below his ribs. Blood flooded his leine and down the hose Tisa had made him.

  She gasped, her heart slamming into her throat, and ran to throw herself alongside her husband. Pulling at his arm, the mace still clutched in his grip. His mouth opening and closing, a rasping sound was all
she could hear.

  “Darragh!”

  He turned his wide eyes to her. There were tears there and her own eyes filled. Poor, poor Darragh.

  “Nae, Darragh!”

  He closed his mouth to swallow then took a shaky breath. “Forgive me, Tisa. I tried to defend yer honor but have failed.”

  “Nae. Ye dinna fail. Ye show me great honor.”

  He reached a hand toward her and she grabbed it, holding it tight against her bosom where her breath was trapped.

  “Love yer Tadhg with yer great passion, sweet little Tisa.”

  His eyes closed. His hand went limp.

  Tisa opened her mouth but no sound came out.

  Aodh kneeled beside her. “Son?”

  He swallowed in great gasps of air in his pain. “Darragh?”

  Tisa heard the deep anguish in that one word and her own heart squeezed. Through blurry eyes, she watched as Aodh snatched up the mace lying uselessly beside his dead son. Swinging it over his head, he stood and approached Gerrit with such speed she would never have thought him capable of. The wide-eyed look of surprise on Gerrit’s face shifted to fear. He clutched at the knife, turning it out toward Aodh who was quickly impaled. He dropped at Gerrit’s feet.

  No one moved.

  No one spoke.

  Tisa broke through her miasma and went to Aodh. She turned him over onto his back, his sightless eyes still wet with his tears for his son. He was dead.

  Gerrit had a death grip on his weapon, his shoulders hunched forward, and his eyes darting back and forth. No longer the smooth seductress, his face was frozen with fear. Leofrid stood but did not speak. Tadhg came forward, standing out of harm’s way.

  “Gerrit, drop the blade.”

  Tisa sat back on her haunches and looked up at the evil man. “Ye’ve done enough, Gerrit. Drop it.”

  “I dinna...I meant...” He rounded his eyes. “I dinna mean to kill anyone.”

  “Then ye’ve failed because ye’ve killed two men.” Tadhg stepped closer. “And one of them is the chieftain here.”

  Leofrid cleared his throat from behind them. “Gerrit, drop the blade and we will decide what to do about this.”

  Tisa rounded on the man, her mouth gaping open. Tadhg was at her side. He touched her arm. “Dunna, Tisa.”

  Gerrit dropped the blade in the mud and kneeled, lowering his head in a show of respect. “My lord, I dinna mean to kill these men.”

  Tadhg grabbed the knife and helped Tisa to stand, backing her away from the groveling man.

  “I ken that, Gerrit. Come forth.” Leofrid had found his voice finally, his commanding tone undeniable. Gerrit did as he was bid.

  Tisa waited between Sean and Tadhg. All eyes were on the leathered man as he approached Leofrid Godwin. He dropped to a knee again. A quiet mumbling started from the back but quickly expanded across the throng of onlookers. The bulging-eyed woman came forward and walked to where Aodh’s body lay. She did not bend down. She did not touch the dead man. She did not cry. She merely looked down.

  “Lilith?” Leofrid spoke to the woman.

  The unreality of the scene pricked Tisa’s mind. The woman who came in for the bedding cloth? The one who held her “virginal blood” in front of all present? That was Aodh’s wife?

  Lilith turned to the man now seated alone in the viewing stand. There were tears sliding down her cheeks but no other visible sign of any feelings at all.

  “What say ye?” Leofrid asked.

  Lilith scanned the onlookers, not stopping until she had looked each one of them in the eye. She barely paused over Tisa but surely she saw Darragh was dead as well. Tisa’s breath hitched.

  “Brian?” Lilith called, her voice strong and clear.

  The man who had sat at the far end of the head table at every meal came forward. He was a good sized man carrying himself as a warrior; his shoulders back, his chest forward, his legs firmly planted. He’d never offered a single word to Tisa. Not in greeting. Not in welcome. When Leofrid arrived, he’d been displaced, sitting with Lilith. The same man Darragh had referred to simply as his father’s brother-in-law. Aodh’s brother-in-law. His wife’s brother. The son of the man Aodh had poisoned.

  Brian went to his sister and took her into his arms. The sound of weeping carried to them and Tisa’s heart lurched with compassion. Darragh lay there on the ground. She wanted to go to him to cover him up but she didn’t move.

  Sean put a gentle arm around Tisa’s shoulders, pulling her tight against his side, and kissed the top of her head. “I ken yer loss, Tisa. I am sorry.”

  She turned her head into him and cried. Never would she have believed she would feel this immense loss. Darragh was dead. Her husband? No. Her friend? Mayhap.

  Brian turned to the onlookers, his sister still clinging to him and crying. “This is the widow of our chieftain, my sister. I choose to take over as rightful chieftain if ye will be behind me.”

  A moment of time, imperceptible beyond the sudden silence, passed and the men were dropping to their knees in a show of acceptance of Brian’s declaration. The many warriors from surrounding clans remained standing, shifting as if unsure what to do. Their allegiance would not be to this clan leader but to their own, most of whom were present.

  Brian bowed his head. “My thanks.”

  Lilith pulled away, wiping her face, to look on those who remained kneeling.

  “Those of ye that have come from other clans,” Brian said, “I ask ye to please leave us in this time of great loss. We will need a time of mourning for our own—”

  “Nae!” Leofrid bellowed. “They are here at my behest! They will remain until I give them leave to go.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  ~

  TADHG COULD FEEL SEAN’S eyes on him as he waited in expectation. He wanted him to step out and Tadhg agreed. He nodded and approached Brian.

  “Brian, my heart goes out to ye at yer loss but I fear Gerrit will go unpunished if the crimes committed here are not seen to without delay.”

  Brian tore his eyes from Leofrid who still stood at his chair, a look of indignation on his face. “Ye are right.”

  Tadhg lowered his voice. “The man has moved closer to Leofrid even now as if to offer a defense.”

  Brian’s eyes darted toward the man to confirm the truth of his words. “And what do ye have in mind?”

  “Gerrit needs to be taken in and treated as any prisoner.”

  Brian looked around as if assessing his clan’s feelings on the subject.

  Tadhg smiled. “Methinks ye will have little discontent among yer own. The man is a miscreant and well they ken it.”

  The man’s chest rose as if breathing for the first time since he’d stepped into the arena, his eyes warm on Tadhg’s face. “And I can count on Clan O’Brien and the great MacNaughton warriors to aid me if trouble results?”

  “In this, ye have my word.”

  Brian squared his shoulders, stepped away from his sister, and turned to face Leofrid full on.

  “Lord Leofrid, I have said my peace. These clans are free to go back to their homes. Support for ye and yer cause have died with Aodh. At the hands of yer own man. And now I will take Gerrit into my keeping until his offenses against our clan can be seen to. Do ye yield?” Brian waited, his face stoic.

  The man was impressive. He surely could have led as his father had always planned.

  Leofrid was just the opposite. His frown spoke of his own lack of skills as he tried to determine the best course. Mayhap he needed a little push in the right direction.

  “Leofrid,” Tadhg said. “Brian is being forthright in his dealing with the situation. Surely yer support here in Eire, if there is any aside from Aodh, will not disappear. This tragedy requires immediate attention. ‘Twould be best for ye to allow Gerrit to be taken—”

  “NAE!” Gerrit bellowed his objection, his eyes remaining on his lord.

  “Silence, Gerrit!” Leofrid said.

  Gerrit quickly lowered his eyes.

&
nbsp; “‘Twas ye who saw fit to murder two men from this clan. Two important men. And this clan, our closest ally, is a clan which I hold in the highest regard.”

  Leofrid’s eyes darted toward Brian, convincing Tadhg of the insincerity of his words. A ploy to win over the new chieftain, nothing more.

  Brian’s expression never altered but he crossed his arms, his feet in a warrior’s stance.

  The outcome mattered not at all to Tadhg. He just needed to see Gerrit arrested and be assured that justice would be done for both the murders and the raping of Caireann.

  Tisa appeared stricken and Tadhg longed to take her in his arms, hold her close while she cried, to help her with this loss. She and Darragh had a special bond. Not one that threatened Tadhg or his love for Tisa, but a bond that Tisa felt the loss of. That was all he needed to know.

  Sean’s expression told Tadhg the man was feeling quite calm. His angst was gone, replaced by absolute peace. Tadhg glanced away to hide his smirk. In Sean’s mind, he must be nearly packed up and headed home to his wife! The rules for their engagement here had been clearly outlined by the O’Brien. They were to do as Aodh commanded. With the death of Aodh, their time here was at an end.

  When Sean turned to Tadhg, he struggled not to smile at Sean’s joyful expression. Murder was a serious business. But a clan being released from any sort of involvement in a scheme they did not agree with was a relief for certain.

  “However ye see fit to deal with the criminal,” Leofrid assured Brian.

  Gerrit remained in his spot even when Brian signaled three men to come forth. “Take him to the prisoner’s hole.”

  And when they tied his hands behind his back and shoved him forward, Gerrit gave no resistance. He accepted the yoke of prisoner better than Tadhg would have expected. The pained expression the man wore when he glanced at the bodies indicated his remorse may be sincere. Regardless, the price for the crimes would be paid.

  The surrounding men were dispersing, picking up their weapons as they went. Tadhg had always assumed that just as his warriors were forced to be here, the others were as well although it was never discussed. That they were being coerced directly by Aodh was becoming apparent. Leofrid’s support for invading England and overtaking the Normans died with Aodh, the man who shared that same lust for power.