Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy)

by Melissa Sasina

  The priestess waited until only she and Odhrán remained in the cottage. She watched him for some time, her thoughts a muddled mess; she was angry at what he had done, thankful he had gotten them safely into the village, curious as to why he had chosen to kiss her, and fearful of what else he may try. And so Shiovra stood there quietly, unsure of exactly where to begin.

  Yet it was Odhrán who spoke first, breaking the heavy silence between them, “You are angry with me, I can see that much in your eyes. Silence was necessary and so I acquired it by the best means possible.”

  Frowning, she took a step closer to him. “You could have covered my mouth with your hand,” she argued in a harsh tone.

  “Ah, that is so, but I doubt covering your mouth with my hand would have been nearly as effective,” he replied with a small smirk twisting the corners of his lips.

  Shiovra faltered, thrown off guard not only by his response, but by the playful smile he offered her. It was the first time she had seen a smile on the Milidh man’s face and she found it both fascinating and unsettling, though she found his humor in the situation infuriating. Narrowing her gaze, she countered, “You ask for my trust, yet you do that.”

  Smile fading, he began to approach her.

  The priestess stiffened, taking a step back.

  Odhrán countered each step until the woman had backed herself against a support post. He stopped a hair’s breath away and leaned towards her. Brushing his lips across Shiovra’s cheek, he whispered firmly in her ear, “I told you that my duty is to protect you, even if that means stealing a taste of your lips anytime that I need you to be silent, priestess.”

  The flush of anger prickled her skin and she brought her hand up swiftly to strike him. To her surprise, her hand did not connect with his face, but was caught gingerly in his hand.

  Odhrán brought her hand up to his lips, kissing her palm before releasing it. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to help prepare the villagers.”

  Flushing a deeper shade of crimson from both embarrassment and anger, Shiovra watched him leave in silence before slowly slumping to the ground. Looking down at her hand, she rubbed the skin where the warmth of his lips had touched. Cursing lightly under her breath, she decided the man was far more dangerous than she had realized.

  * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

  Daire paced beside the hearth fire in the main cottage of Tara. Upon his arrival to the village, he had gone straight to the chieftain and informed him of all that had taken place since his departure; from Shiovra’s capture, to the fall of Caher Dearg and even the betrayal of Gráinne. When he had finished, he turned to face Ainmire.

  “I never did trust Gráinne’s intentions,” muttered Ainmire, looking up from his meal. “Her ambitions and jealousy were far too great. She may pose a stronger threat than Ailill…” Grabbing his cup, he took a long swig of mead. “What of the High Priestess? Did she obtain any injuries during her capture?”

  “A wound to her hand, but with proper care, it will heal well,” answered Daire. He was silent a moment, then asked without any caution, “How can you let her go to Dún Fiáin so easily to seek aid?”

  “If the clan of Dún Fiáin seeks to prove their desire for alliance, then they must promise it to the woman who holds this village in her heart,” replied Ainmire in an even tone, turning back to his meal. “If she journeyed to Dún Fiáin with Odhrán and Kieran as you have stated, then she is in capable hands.”

  “I do not trust him,” growled Daire angrily. “After what that clan has done to us, you just hand Shiovra over to them?! Her mother was killed by the Milidh! How could you promise her to wed one of them, let alone let one of them wander this village so freely?”

  “Why did you not go with her to Dún Fiáin if you worry so greatly?” countered Ainmire with a raised brow.

  Daire said nothing, looking away.

  “In times of war, sometimes your enemy can be your ally.” Ainmire focused his attention on his cup of mead, which he swirled around with a slight gesture of the hand. “The sons of Míl pose a greater threat than one village,” he said after a moment. “The alliance with Dún Fiáin assures that we have one foot in enemy territory.”

  “Can you really be so sure about that?” asked Daire. “How can you be sure that is not their same plan? To get a foothold here so that when the time of war comes, we cannot take action against them due to the alliance?”

  “There is no way of being sure,” said Ainmire with a wry grin, “but that is how war is; alliances forged and broken in a succession of tactical decisions and ploys. All that matters is to be one step ahead of your enemy.”

  Daire crossed his arms. “Basically, we slit their throat before they slit ours?” he muttered, his eyes drifting to the tall figure standing in the shadows behind the chieftain. “Is that how it is, father?”

  Ceallach stepped into the firelight. “Precisely,” he replied in an even tone. “In war, every possibility needs to be considered. By forging an alliance, we place some of our people in enemy hands to serve as our ears. Offering the hand of our High Priestess in marriage further proves the want of peace. Should they choose to later break the alliance, our informants will have already sent word and we shall make the first move.”

  Daire rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I urged Shiovra to abandon Rúnda so she would not have to suffer serving as your pawn. But, fearing that to refuse the union with the Dún Fiáin clan would bring war to Tara, she refused to dissolve the agreement,” he began, shaking his head. “After all that she has been through to assure the safety of this village, after being attacked by Milidh huntsmen and even her own kin…after turning her back on you, Shiovra is still caught within your twisted web!” he growled.

  Ceallach looked at him impassively. “We do what is in the best interests for the clan,” he told him simply. “The priestess could easily turn her back on the promised union, but she has not.” The Fomorii man walked around Daire and paused beside him, his voice low when he spoke again. “The Fomorii are moving. I suggest you return to Shiovra’s side and bring her back to Tara safely.”

  * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

  A dour mood had settled over Ráth Faolchú as the village had begun to prepare for possible battle. For several days the Milidh host continued to hold their position near the entrance of the village. More than once Meara’s men had drawn the enemy scouts away from the hidden walls, keeping Ráth Faolchú safe, but even they knew the ploy would not work forever. The longer the Milidh warriors lingered, the greater the unease among the villagers grew.

  The people of the Ráth spoke quietly, if they even spoke at all. Meals were prepared and eaten long after sunset when there would be little chance of smoke from hearth fires being seen. The once peaceful village had become filled with heavy apprehension.

  On the sixth day, Odhrán climbed the wall and took post watching the enemy camp. Which village the Milidh warriors had come from, which chieftain they answered to, remained unknown to him. Odhrán was certain, though, that the sons of Míl had plans that did not sit well with his own and it was wearing away at his patience.

  Kieran climbed up to join him. “They linger too long,” he said in a hushed voice.

  Odhrán did not look at him when he stated quietly, “You worry they know the village is here and wait us out.”

  Kieran nodded. “In all the years it has been here, not once has this village been found. If there is to be battle, we can easily hold our own, but should any of the enemy survive, this village would not remain hidden for long.”

  “Then we will be sure there are no survivors,” replied Odhrán bluntly. “Daire and Meara should be returning from Tara soon, we need to focus on getting them into the village unnoticed.”

  “A diversion?” suggested Kieran.

  Odhrán glanced at the Neimidh man, a slight grin crossing his lips. “You could say that.”

  * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

  Though progress from Tara had been swift and unhindered, Meara found that she hesitated the cl
oser they neared Ráth Faolchú. Something did not sit right with the Neimidh woman. Coming to a stop, Meara’s eyes narrowed at the woods surrounding them. Listening, she could hear faint voices nearby. Reason would stand that the voices could belong to her men or even the villagers, but she had a feeling that was not the case.

  “What is…” began Daire, abruptly quieting when Meara held her hand up for silence.

  The Neimidh woman signaled to Ainnle, motioning for him to go towards the left while she began moving to the right. Ducking from tree to tree with Daire following, Meara slowly approached the voices. Rounding the bend of a small hill, she brought her arm out to stop Daire.

  A short distance away sat a fairly large camp. Tents had been erected and fires built. Horses stood tethered to trees, nickering and snorting. Several men with lime washed hair sat near the fires and tended to their weapons.

  Meara quickly looked over the men. Should counted twenty-three, but knew there would certainly be more scouting the woods around the camp. Pulling back, she silently spoke to Daire using a series of hand gestures. Their camp is too close to the village gates for us to enter, she told him. We cannot handle that many on our own.

  What do you suggest then? he signed back. Should we circle round to the rear of the village and climb the wall?

  Meara glanced back at the camp before replying to Daire, It would be our best option.

  When shall we do this? questioned Daire.

  Nightfall would be best, replied Meara after a moment of thought. There are most likely Milidh scouts all throughout these woods. Hopefully we have not been spotted already.

  Daire nodded in agreement.

  We need to find Ainnle, gestured Meara.

  * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

  Shiovra lay looking up at the dark thatch roof looming above her for a long while. The longer the Milidh warriors held camp outside the village, the more sleep eluded her. Rolling onto her side, she took a deep breath, the scent of forests, rain, and wood sage invading her senses. A slight frown marred her brow. Wood sage? she thought. Opening her eyes, she sat up slowly to look around. Her eyes fell upon Odhrán as he sat leaning against the wall on the bed near her. His eyes were closed and his chest rose slowly with his steady breathing. Shiovra watched him for a moment in the dim firelight before rising from the bed and walking towards the door. Yet, as she reached for the door, Odhrán’s low voice stayed her movement.

  “Unable to sleep?”

  She paused, hand resting on the door frame. “Aye.” Shiovra glanced over her shoulder at the Milidh man, but his eyes remained closed. “I think some fresh air might help.”

  He shifted, opening his eyes. “I shall walk with you then,” Odhrán told her.

  She shook her head. “I would rather be alone,” she said softly.

  Odhrán was silent a moment, then asked, “Does my presence still frighten you?”

  Shiovra turned to face him. He had asked an honest question, so she would give him an honest answer. “At times, aye.”

  “It seems I will have to work harder on remedying that,” replied the Milidh man in a gentle tone.

  Meeting his gaze firmly, she asked quietly, “May I ask something of you?”

  Odhrán merely looked at her in question.

  “You say it is your duty to protect me, that you want to show me that not all Milidh are alike,” she began, “though some of your actions could be considered contradictory to those words. Prove to me that trusting you will not eventually cost me my life. Prove to me that you can be not only a protector but a companion as well.” Turning away from the man, she paused in the doorway. “Please keep my words in mind.”

  When she heard no further protest, Shiovra stepped from the cottage into the slightly cool night air. The village was dark and quiet, save for the soothing chirps from crickets. She had not gone far when she found Eiladyr sitting on the ground beside one of the hidden doors, head nodding forward slightly as the man fought sleep.

  Shiovra walked over to Eiladyr and crouched down before him. In his state of half-sleep, he had not noticed her approach. Reaching a hand up, she poked him on the forehead and called out softly, “Eiladyr.”

  Snorting, the man’s head shot up suddenly and he looked at her. “Shiovra? You should be sleeping…”

  A smile crossed her lips. “And should you not be awake if you are keeping guard?” she countered.

  “Aye,” Eiladyr chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck.

  Over their heads, the urgent call of a bird sounded.

  Tensing, Shiovra glanced at Eiladyr.

  Lurching to his feet, Eiladyr brought a finger to his lips and began climbing the wall.

  Shiovra straightened slowly, watching as the man effortlessly climbed the wall. In the dim moonlight, she saw another man at the top of the wall. They spoke together in hushed voices while the other man gestured.

  After a moment, Eiladyr climbed back down the wall.

  “What is it?” the priestess asked anxiously as he began walking swiftly towards the cottage they had been sharing.

  “There is a Milidh scout following the wall, though from his movements he appears to be hunting,” Eiladyr told her quickly as he ducked through the door. “Meara and Daire shadow him.”

  Shiovra stepped in behind him to find Odhrán already securing his sword and daggers around his waist.

  “Where are Daire and Meara?” Odhrán asked without looking at them.

  “Southeast side of the wall, slowly moving north,” replied Eiladyr, grabbing an unlit torch and thrusting it into the low burning fire.

  The Milidh man nodded. “Get the archers ready, and wait for my signal,” he told him as he stalked from the cottage.

  Eiladyr pulled the burning torch from the fire and grinned broadly at Shiovra. “Let’s go,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her through the village.

  Kieran waited at the gates with four other men with bows. Dipping strips of cloth in oil, they wrapped it around the shafts of their arrows just behind the head.

  “Odhrán is moving into position,” Eiladyr told Kieran in a low voice.

  Nodding, the Neimidh man gestured to the archers and they lined up, facing the wall. Knocking the arrows ready, they aimed up towards the sky and waited.

  The call of a bird drifted across the wind.

  Eiladyr brought the torch up in front of himself.

  Shiovra could feel a gathering of energies while anticipation weighed heavily in the air.

  Another bird call sounded.

  Taking a breath, Eiladyr slowly released it and the fire stretched out from the torch, licking at the arrows and setting the soaked cloth ablaze.

  Shiovra held her breath as the arrows were knocked loose. She watched as the flicking light soared up to disappear into the night filled trees. Due to the angle and the arch, she knew the arrows would come down straight on top of the enemy camp. Coupled with the darkness of night and cover of the trees, it would be difficult for the Milidh warriors to determine where the arrows had come from.

  After a moment of silence, a din arose from the other side of the wall, quickly followed by the crackling and dim glow of fire. The low note of a battle horn sounded urgently, calling all scouts back to camp. Shiovra could only hope their efforts would not eventually be their downfall.

  * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

  After sounding his signal, Odhrán slipped out the side door and silently wove his way through the trees. Taking careful steps, he made little noise that would announce his presence. Dim light from burning tents cast shadows that shifted and twisted, though they did little to impede his search of Daire, Meara, and Ainnle. Odhrán approached them from behind as the chaos consuming the enemy camp brought a moment of pause to their step.

  Meara was the first to notice his presence, spinning quickly on her heels and thrusting her spear at the Milidh man.

  Odhrán dodged her attack easily, slipping to the side and swiftly bringing his sword up to knock the shaft of her spear aside while
aiming a dagger at Daire’s throat. “Careful,” he warned in a low voice.

  The woman lowered her spear, exhaling in relief.

  Odhrán cast a sidelong glance at Daire, who reluctantly returned his sword to its sheath. “There is no time to waste,” he told them. Looking once more at the enemy camp, he noted that already one fire had been extinguished. “The Milidh warriors will not remain occupied for long.” Turning, Odhrán gestured for them to follow.

  The light from the fires were enough to make them noticeable even in the darkness of the woods. Odhrán knew they would need to be as quick as they were cautious. The more fire brought under control would be more warriors sent out to seek where the attack had come from.

  Approaching the wall of bramble and vines, the Milidh man slipped a hand in. Running his fingers along the wall, he found the door and pushed roughly. Odhrán urged them into the village before stepping through himself and securing the door with a wooden bar. Though he was sure they had not been seen, he was not going to take any chances. Turning, he began making his way towards the front of the village.

  “What is going on?” asked Daire, rushing to keep up with him, Meara and Ainnle following.

  “Exactly what it looks like,” Odhrán replied shortly. “There is a band of Milidh warriors camped outside the village.

  “How long have they been here?” came Meara’s question from behind.

  “A week now. We have done what we can to lure them away when they show too much interest on the wall,” explained Odhrán. “I am sure there will be little sleep tonight on either side after our attack on their camp. Be prepared for anything.”

  * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

  A week passed after the attack on the camp and the Milidh continued to linger, their patrols through the woods increasing greatly. The villagers had grown accustomed to life imprisoned within their own village. There was no more laughter and not even the barest of smiles. Ráth Faolchú had become a village of broken freedom.