He flinched again.
“If you desire to take Úna as your wife, I have but one command: you are not to take any lovers, even if it is a privilege of our people. Do you understand?” she demanded. “Do you?”
Daire nodded. “Aye.”
“I will hold you to your word.”
He nodded once more.
Shiovra rubbed her face wearily, standing. “I had never thought you would be such a man,” she muttered. “Midday approaches. Perhaps it is time you face Ainmire.”
Daire stood and looked at the village. “He will be angry.”
A small laugh passed her lips. “Oh, dear cousin, I believe that to be a great understatement.”
He scratched his head. “You think?”
“Oh, very much so.”
Daire chuckled nervously. “Will you come with me?”
Shiovra shook her head. “Not a chance.” Giving the man a shove, she pushed him towards the village. “Go.”
Groaning, the man did as told.
She watched him leave before noticing movement to her left. Turning, she found Odhrán walking into the Sloping Trenches. She hesitated a moment as the Milidh man disappeared from her sight, but then curiosity got the better of her and she slipped into the trenches after him.
Weaving her way through the mounds of earth, gorse bushes, and trees, she thought of the carefree days of her childhood. When she was a child, before her training on Rúnda, she would hide in the trenches and wait for Daire and Mahon to find her. It was a fun game for a time that had not been quite so dangerous. Yet now, over ten years later, the trenches gave off a sad feeling.
“The High Priestess of Tara alone, unguarded, and weaponless.”
Shiovra started, turning quickly and took a step back. Her eyes searched the trees around her for movement. Taking another step back, she bumped into a tree.
Odhrán stepped around a hillock and walked slowly towards her.
She slumped against the tree with a relieved sigh.
The Milidh man closed the distance between them, stopping a mere breath away. Odhrán said nothing for a moment, reaching his hand up to catch a lock of her hair.
Shiovra breath hitched in her throat when his warm fingers brushed lightly against her cheek. Even seemingly innocent touches from the man awakened feelings within her that frightened her.
“What are you doing so far away from the village alone?” he demanded softly.
“I was not alone, entirely,” she countered smoothly, her gaze unwavering as she held his. “Until but a moment or so ago, I was accompanied by Daire. And now…you are here.”
“You were following me,” he corrected, letting the stands of hair slip slowly from his fingers.
“Perhaps,” Shiovra replied.
Odhrán leaned closer, bringing his mouth to her ear. “Why follow a man you do not trust?”
Shiovra closed her eyes. “I trust you.”
The Milidh man paused. “Do you?”
A gasp escaped her lips when his mouth glanced across her neck, sending a wave of warmth flooding through her body. “Aye…”
Odhrán pressed his body hard against hers. “You trust a man who wants nothing more than to steal you away from your intended?” he whispered against her neck.
Shiovra nodded, her breath quickening. She felt his hand on her hip, hot through her clothing. Parting her lips, she opened her eyes and looked up at the leaves above them in a futile attempt to calm the beating of her heart.
His mouth trailed a path a fire along her neck. Pushing aside the neck of her shift, Odhrán placed burning kisses along her shoulder.
A soft moan passed her lips despite her efforts to suppress it.
Odhrán’s other hand slipped into her hair as his mouth found hers.
Closing her eyes, she accepted his hungry kiss. And, when his leg pressed between hers, she gasped in surprise.
He used that opportunity to deepen his kiss.
Shiovra reached her hands up, tentatively placing them on his chest though she did not push him away. Her body trembled with both want and fear. When he pulled away, she leaned breathlessly against the tree.
“You trust a Milidh man like me to remain at your side?” Odhrán asked, bringing his mouth to her neck once again. “A man who does not hesitate to steal a taste of your lips. A man who wants you more than anything?”
“Aye,” Shiovra replied in a steady voice. Straightening, she held his gaze without hesitation. “I trust you will not betray me. I trust you will protect me. I trust that when the time comes for me to fulfill the betrothal you will continue to stay by my side.”
Chuckling, he placed one last kiss upon her temple before releasing her and stepping back. “Very well spoken, priestess,” Odhrán said with a grin. “Though I think it would be best if we return to the village before someone comes looking for us.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Daire could not help but feel greatly intimidated as he stood before Ainmire with Úna at his side. He held the chieftain’s gaze steadily, despite the turmoil of anxiousness tumbling within him. Standing before Ainmire while the chieftain looked them over with a hard gaze, Daire felt like a child awaiting punishment for great mischief.
“When Úna was sent to Tara, it was under the promise that she would remain untouched. Such were the terms of the alliance,” began Ainmire firmly. “What you have willing done, not once or twice, but four times on your word, threatens that very promise.” He leaned forward on the bench, eyes narrowed on Daire. “How do you plan to remedy this?”
“I shall take Úna as my wife,” Daire told the chieftain.
Ainmire rubbed his temple. “Such would be an appropriate course of action,” he replied, his eyes turning to Úna. “What say you, Úna of the Neimidh? Will you agree to become the wife of Daire, despite all his foolhardy actions?”
Úna nodded, her cheeks tinged with a lovely shade of pink. “Aye, my lord,” she answered softly.
Exhaling heavily, Ainmire stated, “A messenger shall be sent with haste to your village, informing your kin of your impending union.” Reaching over to the table, he grabbed his cup and took a long swig. “Do not take this union lightly. The alliance between our two villages is crucial.”
“Aye.”
Ainmire sat the cup down roughly. “Now then, Úna, your duties to the Lady Shiovra will continue to hold,” he said. “But until you are wed to Daire, you are to remain in the priestess’ cottage.”
“Aye, my lord,” replied Úna.
“Daire.”
Flinching, Daire meet the chieftain’s gaze. “Aye?”
Ainmire leaned forward, grinning. “As punishment,” he began, voice touched with humor, “your rounds of the village are tripled for the following fortnight. I hope that you are well rested because you will find little of it these coming days.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
The evening air carried a cool touch as it rustled around Ceallach Neáll as he stood near the gates of the village, looking at the bright colors of sunset splayed wide across the sky. It was always the calmest right before a storm and he could feel a tempest of unimaginable size brewing.
“You are not a man known to worry.”
Ceallach turned at Earnán’s voice, watching as the man approached. “And you are a man who is too perceptive,” replied the Fomorii man, crossing his arms, his gaze returning to the sunset.
Earnán chuckled lightly. “My dear late sister, Deirdre, used to say thus,” he replied, coming to stand beside Ceallach. “You may be a master and hiding your thoughts on your face, but your eyes speak the truth, my friend. What has you, the impassive Ceallach Neáll, uneasy?”
Narrowing his eyes, Ceallach replied, “A dark foretelling.” He fell silent for a long while before speaking again. “Shiovra has seen the death of Ainmire.”
“Perhaps it was nothing more than a nightmare?” suggested Earnán. “The priestess has been through much since her departure from Rúnda, such dreams can come unbidden.”
Ceallach shook his head. “This was no nightmare,” he replied in a low voice. “Shiovra has foreseen the death of Ainmire. And, with the recent betrayal of Gráinne, there is no doubt in my mind that she will have a hand in it.” His jaw tensed as anger burned within him.
Earnán rubbed the back of his neck. “Does Ainmire know?”
“No, and he shall not,” replied Ceallach firmly. “We must move without his knowledge.”
Exhaling, Earnán nodded. “Understood.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
The fall equinox had come upon Tara and with it came the impending union between Daire and Úna. The village was alive with excitement for the festivities. Mead and ale was ready at hand, while a grand feast had been laid out within the Banqueting House.
Shiovra spent most of the day in her cottage with Meara, helping Úna prepare for her marriage to Daire. Weaving together a crown of flowers, Shiovra placed it upon Úna’s unbound hair as the woman sat nervously, hands clenched tightly in her lap. Meara smiled warmly as she caught up Úna’s hand and slipped a bronze bracelet around her wrist.
“Do not fret,” said Meara. “You have already bedded Daire, so the hard part is over.”
A small laugh escaped Úna’s lips.
Meara’s smile stretched and she straightened, placing her hands on her hips. “There, that is much better.”
A soft knock sounded upon the door before a village woman poked her head in. “It is time.”
Shiovra nodded. “Come, Úna,” she said, touching the Neimidh woman’s shoulder.
Úna smiled nervously, nodding as she rose to her feet, her hands fidgeting nervously with the fold of her clothing.
The priestess stepped from the cottage first, followed by Úna and Meara.
Earnán and Naal waited to escort them to the main cottage.
They walked silently along the well worn path to the main cottage. Nearly the entire village had gathered to watch, leaving a narrow path leading Ainmire. The chieftain stood with his hands clasped behind his back, flanked by Mahon and Daire.
As they reached the crest of the hill Shiovra stepped aside, allowing Úna to pass. She nodded reassuringly to the woman as she hesitated.
Ainmire stepped forward. “Úna of the Neimidh, do you come willingly into this union?” he asked.
“Aye, my lord,” Úna replied, face flushed brightly.
The chieftain turned to Daire. “Daire of the Túath clan of Tara, do you come willingly into the union?”
“Aye, my lord,” he replied with a nod.
“People of Tara, bear witness now the bond of marriage sought by both Úna and Daire,” Ainmire stated loudly. Turning back to the man and woman, he ordered, “Join hands.”
As they did so, Shiovra stepped forward and placed her hands on theirs. “Oh, Mother of us all, fair Dana of the Light, Danu of Darkness, whose womb is the earth, who brings us happiness and mirth with every loving touch. Please come to us now and join these two in this sacred rite. Give them your love and light!” Shiovra said. “Oh, Dagda, Father of places wild and free, who brings us pleasure, joy, and mirth. Who is the Sun that shines above, who warms us with His light and love. Who brings us health, prosperity, and changes all is it should be. Please come to us now and join these two in this sacred rite. Give them your love and light!”
She turned to Mahon as he stepped forward, a dagger resting across the palms of his hands. Wrapping her fingers around the dagger’s hilt, Shiovra pointed it at Daire’s chest and said, “Bear witness now, that which they have to declare!”
“I, Daire, do come here of my own free will, to seek partnership of Úna,” Daire declared boldly. “I come with all love, honor, and sincerity, wishing only to become one with her whom I care for. Her life I shall defend before my own. May the dagger be plunged into my heart should I not be sincere in all that I declare. And this I swear in the names of the Dagda and Dana. May they give me strength to keep my vow. So mote it be.”
Shiovra turned the dagger towards Úna, pointing it at the younger woman’s breast.
“I, Úna, do come here of my own free will, to seek partnership of Daire,” she said softly. “I come with all love, honor, and sincerity, wishing only to become one with he whom I love. His life I shall defend before my own. May the dagger be plunged into my heart should I not be sincere in all that I declare and thus I swear in the names of the Dagda and Dana. May they give me strength to keep my vow. So mote it be.”
Shiovra lowered the dagger. “As you give love; so will you receive love. As you give strength, so will you receive strength,” she said. “Together you are one, apart you are nothing. Know that no two people can be exactly alike. No more can any two people fit together, perfect in every way. It is no weakness to admit a wrong; more is it a strength and a sign of learning.”
“Ever love, help, and respect each other, and then know truly that you are one in the eyes of the Dagda and Dana, and all of Éire,” Ainmire told Daire and Úna. “So mote it be.” He held his hand out, two simple bronze bands resting in his palm. “One for each, a sign of the strong alliance and union that has been forged between the two of you,” he said, handing each a ring. After the rings had been placed upon their fingers and a simple kiss was exchanged, Ainmire continued. “Retire now to the cottage and join us later for the festival.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Réalta stood with her back to the fire, arms crossed over her chest. Though Caher Dearg had fallen, she knew he mother was not so easily defeated. Méav would lay in wait, striking at the most opportune time. As for Gráinne, well Gráinne would definitely be a dagger in their backs. “My sister has always lacked the power mother and I hold sway over, so she sought her own means to such,” Réalta remarked. “It is no surprise that she would ally herself with Ailill to gain such power and control.”
“She aims for Tara,” came Ceallach’s voice. “She made that much apparent when she attacked Shiovra in Caher Dearg.”
Réalta turned to the fire, setting her eyes upon the fiery form of her lover. “Most likely she has not returned to her husband in Tréigthe then,” she murmured in thought. “If anything, she has gone to Dún Scáth to place herself in the service of your brother.”
Ceallach was silent a moment. “Then it will be one of the huntsmen under Caillte’s command who will lead the attack,” he said, rubbing his chin. “And with the misshapen ones mucking about, we should expect they will play a hand in the attack.”
Dropping her arms, Réalta circled the fire. “There have been dark whisperings, Ceallach,” she told him, “strange riddles to which I can find no answer. A great storm is brewing; one that I fear may destroy us all. The gathering of the Fomorii, Ailill’s plots of revenge, the unstable peace between the High Chieftains and the sons of Míl…all warn of the fall of the Túath.”
“You foresaw the coming of the Milidh when you were a child,” he reminded. “There was only so much we could do to prevent it.”
“Aye,” she replied, “but there is something more. Something close to kin and clan that strengthens the violent winds.”
Silence greeted her at first and then Ceallach stated, “Shiovra has foreseen Ainmire’s death.”
A moment of pause was brought to Réalta’s step as her heart dropped. There was the answer to the riddles, the strength behind the storm. If Ainmire was to die, if Tara was lost, then everything would begin falling apart. Dropping her arms, she turned her gaze upon the form of Ceallach. “The death of Ainmire will be the beginning of our end. It must not happen…”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Nightfall stretched across Tara and the Banqueting House remained lively with music and merriment. A grand feast was enjoyed and cups filled to the brim with mead. Congratulations had been given to the newly wedded couple, leaving Úna flushing brightly and Daire grinning. Ainmire sat with them at the head table, well into his cups of mead.
Shiovra sat at a table adjoining Ainmire’s, Odhrán at her side. She glanced towards her
cousin, raising her cup to him when he met her gaze. “Health and long life you to the two of you,” she told him with a smile, bringing the cup to her lips and taking a drink.
Daire nodded his thanks before raising his own cup to his lips.
Lowering the cup, she looked down at the dark liquid inside. She was not one for drinking mead and very seldom partook in it. Yet, with the marriage celebration and all the troubles they had faced of late, Shiovra decided to enjoy a cup. The thick liquid was heavily sweetened with honey and filled her with warmth. Smiling to herself, she took another drink.
Glancing at Odhrán, she found he had fallen into deep conversation with Earnán and Ceallach. Shiovra could not hear what they spoke of, the din of the celebration drowning out their hushed tones, but from the expressions on their faces, she knew it must have to do with Ainmire. With a sigh, she stood and began making her way around the table.
She had not gotten far before she found Eiladyr stumbling towards her, cup of mead in hand. And, when she slipped aside to allow him passage, he suddenly slung an arm about her shoulders. Frowning, she looked at him in question, the weight of his arm heavy.
Grinning at her drunkenly, he slurred, “I think drunk…I am! And you…you know what…? This mead…it beats Artis’ winter mead!” Laughing, Eiladyr took a swig of mead.
Shiovra shook her head and sighed. The man had obviously had more than his fair share of drink and would suffer the pains of it come morning, of that she was certain.
“You know…you know what else…?” Eiladyr continued.
“No, but I am afraid you are going to tell me anyway,” replied Shiovra.
He grinned. “Not all my brothers…were bad!” he stated, taking another drink. “I had one brother…who would drink with me. Pity…looks like there is more drink for me then!” Eiladyr burst into a fit of laughter.
Shiovra watched him a moment. Though he laughed as if he had nary a care in the world, she had noticed a touch of sadness to his voice. Grabbing the hand slung over her shoulders, she began to walk with him. “I believe that you have had enough to drink for the night.”
Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) Page 23
