Ceallach moved to stand quietly beside the priestess. “Their cries will be heard all across Éire,” the Fomorii man said after a prolonged silence. “All shall know of Ainmire’s death and morn.”
Shiovra nodded, biting her lip. “There is naught I can do for Ainmire now,” she replied after a moment. “His spirit has passed through the Cave of Cruachan and he now resides in Tir na n’Og.” She turned to the Fomorii man, meeting his pale eyes. “I have failed in my duty as High Priestess. I could not keep one man alive. What more, this village has suffered greatly.”
“You did all that was within your power, just as we have,” the man told her calmly. “Réalta herself could not even prevent what happened here today, though she would have tried just as we did. Do not blame yourself for Ainmire’s death. Instead look to what is more important now: protecting Tara and her people.”
Shiovra regarded the man quietly. Their parting on Rúnda had not been a pleasant one. She remained wary of what lay hiding behind his impassive eyes. Though, at that moment, the priestess believed she had finally seen a bit of who he really was. “What do we do now, Ceallach Neáll?” she continued, meeting his eyes.
“We fight,” he replied simply.
Shiovra could see a fire burning in his eyes she had never seen before. Nodding, she agreed. “Aye. We fight.” Turning, she approached Odhrán, who stood waiting with her horse. Searching his face, she saw great anger but did not back down under the intensity of his gaze. Instead she held her ground.
Odhrán watched her for a moment, and then exhaled. “What you did was dangerous,” he told her with restrained anger. “Not only did you leave Tara, but you did it alone, leaving Eiladyr behind. What have you have to say about that?”
She held his gaze firmly and replied, “I did what I had to. If you had let me come, then Ainmire might be alive. I will sit by idle no longer. I will fight alongside you, whether or not you approve. This is my battle too.”
Abruptly, Odhrán pulled her to him, crushing her against his body. “Then you better be prepared,” he whispered into her hair, lips brushing her neck, “because the actions you take, the battles you fight, will set the fate of Tara and her people.”
Her breath caught in her throat. There was an underlying heat beneath the harshness of his tone and it sent a rush of desire through her. His words were a dangerous challenge that she was more than willing to meet. And, as Odhrán released her and helped her mount her horse, Shiovra looked down at his with a daring smile. “Oh, I am prepared,” she told him. “Very much prepared.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
As midday approached, Tara was within their grasp, the Fomorii fog no longer present. As the companions made their way through the village, the grief on their faces was apparent. The villagers left their tasks and followed them to the main cottage. Mahon waited at the cottage door, Eiladyr and Naal standing at his side. The remains of the vines Shiovra had called upon the bind the door lay scattered at their feet. While Mahon’s face was filled with relief to see the priestess, Eiladyr’s gaze was bright with fury.
Bringing her horse to a stop, Shiovra dismounted and turned to face the villagers. She saw grief, worry, anticipation, and even confusion.
Ceallach stepped forward. “Tara has suffered a grave loss,” he began, his deep voice loud and clear. “Ainmire has been lost. Tara is without a chieftain. By the time word of his death spreads through Éire, winter will be upon us. Men will be unable to journey here for the Stone of Destiny till the coming of spring. Till then, we will need someone to serve in Ainmire’s steed.” Ceallach paused. “It is by my decision that Mahon serve as acting chieftain until the Stone of Destiny speaks.”
A soft murmur rose from the villagers.
“Will we be safe?” questioned one.
Shiovra made to speak, but was interrupted by Earnán.
“Tara will remain safe,” he told them. “With winter approaching and Ainmire’s death, Ailill will most likely leave us alone for the time being. Anything else we can handle easily.”
“What of Méav?”
“Méav has no desire for Tara,” Ceallach said. “She has long turned her back on this village. It is Gráinne who poses a threat. With the aid we have received from Dún Fiáin and Ráth Faolchú along with the added swords of Meara’s men, Tara will remain safely guarded for the winter. Rest assured, we are safe.”
After further reassuring from Earnán’s part, the villagers began to disperse.
Mahon turned to Shiovra. “Just what were you thinking?!” he demanded, pulling his sister aside by her elbow. “Not only did you leave Tara and go after them in the middle of the night, unarmed, but you left Eiladyr here! Trapped within the cottage, nonetheless!” He gestured to the man then shook his head. “It took us most of the night the cut the vines down and open the door!”
Shiovra glanced at Eiladyr, meeting his dark glare with a challenging one of her own. “The battle is mine to fight as well,” she said, turning back to her brother. “I will not sit aside again.”
Mahon opened his mouth to speak, but Odhrán stepped forward and touched his shoulder.
“May I speak with the priestess for a moment?” Odhrán asked.
Nodding, Mahon released her. “We will talk again later.”
Offering her brother a tight smile, Shiovra followed Odhrán away from the cottage. It took her a moment to notice he led her to the tiny cottage that served as her own. Following him inside, he closed the door behind her and secured it.
Shiovra paused beside her bed, trying to adjust to the darkness. In the dim light filtering through the cracks of the wicker-work door, she saw Odhrán placing wood in the empty hearth. Before long, a small fire was brought to life. Silence hung heavily around them as Shiovra watched Odhrán tend to the fire.
Once the flames grew in strength, he straightened and approached her. Reaching a hand up, he touched her cheek, his fingers gliding down her skin. “As I said before, what you did was dangerous,” he said in a low voice. Odhrán pressed his body against hers, backing her up against a support post.
She wet her lips as memories of their coupling flooded her mind and body. Every touch, every kiss, was fresh in her mind. “I would do it again,” she replied, closing her eyes.
He brought his mouth to her neck, trailing kisses lightly across her skin. “You could have gotten hurt,” Odhrán growled, bringing his possessively hands to her hips and running them along her sides, across her breasts and back again.
His hands were hot through her clothing and a shiver raced delightfully through her. “But I did not get injured, did I?” she countered breathlessly. It was a dangerous game they played, but she could not bring herself to stop. What should have never happened in the first place, what should not happen again, was beginning to consume her uncontrollably. Pinned between his body and the post, Shiovra gasped as he pressed even closer.
Odhrán gathered up the length of her shift till it pooled around her waist. “No, you did not,” he told her, his hands making quick work of his belt and breeches. “But if you ever do something so foolish again, I might not be so kind.” Bringing his hands to her thighs, he roughly hoisted her up and thrust into her without warning, covering her mouth with own.
Shiovra’s soft cry was drowned in the intensity of his kiss and she wrapped her arms around his neck. There was not as much pain as before and it faded quickly.
“All that matters now is that you are safe,” he murmured, breaking the kiss, “and you are here with me.” Odhrán moved slowly at first, his thrusts becoming quicker and harder as the want increased.
The priestess clung to him tightly, her breathing and heartbeat keeping rhythm with his movements. Shiovra gasped as the desire and heat built up in her body, threatening to devour her completely. “Odhrán…” His name came as a moan through her lips. “Odhrán…” Repeating it over and over, she felt a sudden exhilarating sensation rush through her body, one that left her trembling afterward.
Odhrán brought
his mouth back to hers, kissing her deeply as he gave a violent thrust and a groan was ripped from his throat.
Shiovra’s heart continued to race as she reeled from the effects of their coupling. Resting her head against his neck, she could feel the pulse of his release within her.
He remained still for a while, keeping their bodies joined as their heavy breathing mingled with the crackling of the fire. After a long while, Odhrán shifted and set her back on her feet, though he did not release her. Leaning his head down, he trailed gentle kisses across her cheeks, her eyelids, even her nose. “You will always be mine, no matter the promise to Dún Fiáin’s chieftain,” he murmured when his lips reached her neck.
Nodding, Shiovra could only breathe a content, “Aye.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Tara deeply mourned the loss of its chieftain. Flowers were placed before the entrance of the Mound of Hostages for a full week, even though Ainmire was not buried within. A heavy, somber silence settled over the villagers and the keening of the bean sidhe lingered, carried by the wind. Gray clouds filled the sky, officially announcing the coming of winter.
Shiovra made her way through the High fort and found Mahon standing before the Stone of Destiny. She considered him a moment, watching as he touched the stone and was greeted with silence. His relieved sigh did not go unnoticed by the priestess.
Mahon dropped his hand. “No reaction,” he breathed. Turning, he found his sister watching him. “The Stone of Destiny does not choose me as chieftain. In a way, I am greatly relieved,” Mahon told her. “I would not want to be chieftain. I would be terrible at it. I hope that spring comes soon, so that Tara will have a new chieftain.”
“Perhaps one will be found,” she told him softly. “Yet, if the Stone of Destiny does not react to those who come to it, then we must face the realization that Tara has been lost to us. I want these battles to end the same as you, Mahon. Perhaps now is the time.”
He nodded and remained silent for some time, staring blankly at the standing stone.
“Lady Shiovra?” came a tentative voice.
Shiovra turned to see Úna approaching her, pale and hand resting on her stomach. “Úna? Are you not well?” she queried. “Is there something wrong?”
Úna’s eyes flickered briefly to Mahon, then back to Shiovra. “Might I speak to you…alone?”
The priestess nodded. “Aye,” she replied, “of course. Follow me.” She nodded to her brother, then turned and made her way back to the main cottage. Shiovra looked to be sure they were along before gesturing for the woman to sit. “What is the matter?” she asked, taking a seat across from her.
Úna flushed crimson and glanced away. “I am with child.”
Shiovra could not say she was surprised. She had been woken many a night during her stay in the main cottage to Daire and Úna coupling. “For how long?”
Úna sighed. “It was conceived before Lughnasadh, of that I am certain,” she said softly. “So, for a few moons now?”
“Does Daire know?” pressed Shiovra.
Úna closed her eyes and shook her head. “No. I have not told him. I…I am afraid to.” She brought her gaze up to meet Shiovra’s. “What should I do?”
“First you should tell Daire. My dear cousin deserves to know that he is to become a father,” Shiovra told her. “He is your husband and should not be left to discover on his own. Secondly, you need to seek out a skilled midwife. She will be of great help during your pregnancy as well as birthing of the child.”
Úna sighed. “Aye, my lady.”
Shiovra smiled. “Fear not,” she said soothingly. “Daire will be accepting of this child, his child. He is your husband, your lover. He will be proud.”
She smiled, hope flashing in her eyes. “Do you believe so?”
Shiovra smiled. “Of course,” she reassured the Neimidh woman, hoping deep in her heart that the words she spoke were true.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Odhrán sat within the main cottage, watching Shiovra sleeping peacefully. A smile touched his lips as he reached a hand out to gently caress her cheek. He quite enjoyed touching the woman, relishing the softness of her skin. Odhrán knew he should take caution. Though their coupling would have to remain hidden, he was not about to stop. He had made the priestess his and she would remain that way. Turning, Odhrán grabbed his cloak and secured it about his shoulders. With one last glance at the priestess, he left the cottage.
Quietly, he made his way to the Stone of Destiny and stood before it.
The silvery light of the moon and the soft mist gave the stone a shimmering glow.
He found it odd that one slab of granite could determine a man’s fate. Taking a step forward, Odhrán brought his hand up to touch it.
At first nothing happened, as he would have expected but, before he could pull his hand away, the cool stone vibrated beneath his touch, pulsing, and a resounding rumble shook the ground beneath his feet.
Hastily dropping his hand, Odhrán took a step back.
The stone had reacted to him.
Odhrán’s eyes narrowed darkly.
Twice more he touched it and twice more the stone reacted.
“It is you.”
Odhrán turned quickly to face Ceallach Neáll.
Ceallach approached him, pale eyes glowing in the darkness. “The Stone of Destiny has chosen you,” he said, and undertone of surprise in his voice.
Odhrán remained silent for a while, looking intently at the stone. “No,” told the Fomorii man firmly. “No one needs to know.”
“You plan to leave Tara without a chieftain?” asked Ceallach, voice even.
“If need be,” replied Odhrán coldly.
The Fomorii man arched a brow.
Odhrán crossed his arms. “I highly doubt that Réalta Dubh foresaw the stone choosing me,” he continued. “I have no desire to become chieftain of Tara. No one needs to know of this.”
A frown crossed Ceallach’s face. “You will allow Tara to fall?” he demanded in a hushed tone. “Without a chieftain, the Milidh will gain control!”
“I am Milidh,” replied Odhrán darkly, “or have you so easily forgotten?” He held his wrist up, the blue woad markings standing out in the moonlight. “You would have me a Milidh druid play chieftain to Tara?”
The Fomorii man snorted. “I am well aware of what you are and what your purpose is,” stated Ceallach. “But does the priestess to whom you have grown so close?”
Odhrán’s eyes flashed dangerously. In one swift movement, he pulled a dagger from his belt and, pushing the man against the Stone of Destiny, brought the edge of the blade to Ceallach’s throat. “I will not allow you to betray her trust of me,” growled Odhrán in warning, eyes narrowed on the man. “Shiovra needs not know. No one needs know. Is that understood, Ceallach Neáll?”
Ceallach remained coldly silent, both anger and surprise shifting through his eyes.
Pressing the blade harder against his skin, Odhrán said, “Do not force me to repeat myself.”
“No one shall know of whom the stone spoke,” came the stoic response.
Odhrán stood still a moment, judging if the man spoke the truth before lowering his dagger and taking a step back. “We have an understanding, then?”
“That we do. You are a dangerous man, Odhrán of Dún Fiáin,” Ceallach said, rubbing his throat where a thin line marred the skin where the edge of the dagger had been pressed.
A slight smile tugged at Odhrán’s lips as he replied, “I survive.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Daire stood in complete shock. His eyes shifted nervously between his wife, who blushed profusely and refused to meet his gaze, to his own cousin who grinned mischievously at him. His mind reeled as he struggled in vain to comprehend what had just been told to him. “What…what did you just say?” Daire stammered.
Úna flinched visibly and her blush deepened. “I…am with child,” she repeated quietly.
Daire stood frozen a moment, then sat do
wn roughly. “With child…?” he murmured. “I am going to be a father?”
She nodded. “Eithne shall be my midwife. She has birthed children before and has assured me she shall guide me well,” Úna said softly, eyes focused intently in her hands. Hesitantly, she brought her gaze up to meet Daire’s. “Are…are you displeased with me?”
Surprised by her words, he shook his head quickly. “Of course not,” he told her reassuringly. “How could I be angry with you? You bear our child.”
Úna watched him with uncertainty in her eyes.
Daire frowned at her reaction and rose to his feet. Walking to her, he wrapped his arms around her tightly. “I assure you, I am not displeased.”
Her face lit up brightly under his reassurance.
“Your kin should know of this,” Daire continued. “Find Mahon and he shall send a most reliable messenger to your clan to announce the tidings.”
Úna nodded and pulled herself from Daire’s embrace. With a hastily whispered word of thanks to Shiovra, the maid fled the cottage smiling.
Shiovra grinned and turned to Daire. “So you are to be a father, Daire,” she said softly.
Daire nodded and he exhaled loudly. “So it appears…” he murmured, scratching his head. “It is just…such a surprise.”
“Surprise?” Shiovra asked with a laugh. “What did you expect to come from coupling with Úna? A child is only natural.”
Groaning, Daire rubbed his face. “I did not mean it quite that way…” he muttered. “It is just that…”
A frown crossed the priestess’ face. “What is troubling you then, Daire?” she queried.
“I am happy to be a father, but, at times, when war looms, I fear the worst may happen. I have no desire to see Úna follow Deirdre’s fate. I am part of the clan. They would use her to get to us and I do not want to see that happen…” He looked away, unable to meet his cousin’s gaze.
Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) Page 27
