A Woman of Courage

by Marlow Kelly

  “No, I’ll do it myself. I need to question her.” This might be the last time he had an opportunity to touch her, be near her, talk to her, and he wouldn’t let it slip away because decency suggested another woman attend her. “Are the horses ready?” Connell asked, knowing Fianna would not settle until her people were found, and he wanted to see for himself what kind of damage this new enemy had inflicted.

  “Are we really going to help the Byrne?” Quinn shook his head.

  “Of course. Why not?”

  “Seamus will haunt you till the day you die. You know how your father felt about Finn Byrne and his cheating ways. Your father claimed old man Byrne lied when he assured us Fianna would make a good wife. He refused to pay her bride price. He said she was weak, cowardly, worthless, and she should be tied to a stone, and dropped in the river.”

  Connell winced at the memory. The rift between their clans was his fault as much as anyone’s. He should have handled things differently, but now wasn’t the time to discuss the past. He wanted to check Fianna’s injuries, and make sure there wasn’t any serious damage.

  “Both Finn Byrne and my father are dead. I gave my word. Would you have me break it? Besides we can always ask for compensation later.” Why had he said that? He didn’t want recompense, he wanted her, but his instinct as a leader had taken over before he had a chance to think. He knew for his people to spend so much of their time, and resources, helping another clan they needed to know they would get something in return.

  Quinn smiled, “Of course, why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Have a bathtub sent in. A soak will ease her pain and clean all her small wounds at once.”

  Connell turned away from his brother, dismissing him, wishing he could erase their conversation. He wanted to help Fianna not because they shared a son, but to make up for everything he had done in the past. His chest tightened as if gripped by a giant hand. His father had set in motion a dispute that still affected them today. Would it ever be put to rest?

  ****

  Fianna would have slapped herself to get her brain working if she weren’t so tired. Of course Connell didn’t want her in his bed. He had agreed to help because he wanted compensation. He had made it clear twelve years ago he was not attracted to her. Any passion in their relationship had been on her side, and he had gone along for the ride, so to speak.

  She forced the past from her mind, to deal with the business at hand. If the Byrne had to compensate the O’Neills for their help then she would have to figure out what assets had survived the raid. They would still have their cattle, but they would be scattered. She needed to organize her people, and round up the remnants of the herd. Then, at least, they would have the ability to barter for necessities until they were back on their feet.

  But were there any people left? She forced herself to try and dredge up details of the attack, but all she recalled was a haze of blood, fire, and death. What had happened to the women and children? She had ordered them to hide, hadn’t she? She touched the cut on her head. When had she received the blow to her temple? She wished her memories weren’t so scattered.

  How could she sit, and wallow in a bathtub when she had no idea what had happened to the remnants of her clan. She needed to find them. She owed it to the warriors, the men, who had died trying to protect their families.

  “All right, let’s get this léine off,” Connell said, interrupting her thoughts. For some unfathomable reason he seemed to want to tend to her, but she couldn’t imagine herself letting him. Would he allow her to leave? She suspected he wouldn’t, but why he wanted her to stay was also a puzzle.

  “I’m thirsty,” she said.

  His gaze flickered and softened. “I’ll have something prepared.”

  “And maybe some food?”

  He nodded and left.

  The moment he withdrew she sprang to her feet, peeking around the door. The O’Neills had gone back to their daily chores. The gates of the fort stood open, permitting men and women to come and go while tending the fields.

  What next? The walk to Duncarraig from Rathtrean had taken her half the night. She really didn’t have the energy to do it again. Horses. He had told Quinn to prepare the horses. Leaving the house, she darted to a rectangular barn near the fort entrance.

  One horse caught her eye, a beautiful black stallion that reared as she approached. She suspected this was Connell’s horse. She relished the idea of stealing his mount to aggravate him, but couldn’t imagine handling such a strong, wilful animal in her weakened condition.

  A nudge from a white and gray speckled mare forced her to adjust her stance. She rubbed the horse’s mane while she whispered sweet words in her ear. She was a fine, friendly pony who was bridled, and ready to go. Fianna untied the reins from the post, put her left hand on the mane, and then jumped onto the mare’s back. Pain shot through her head. She rested for a moment until the hurt subsided to a dull ache, then using her inner thighs guided the animal forward.

  Chapter Three

  Connell didn’t need to track Fianna. He knew she had gone back to Rathtrean. Although he wanted her to rest, he had to admire her tenacity when it came to the care of her people. But why hadn’t she let him search for them? She had become queen because she was the last of her family. Yes, she had proved to be a successful ambassador for her clan, a people who excelled at trading and commerce, but as a warrior king he was more suited for the task of tracking down survivors.

  He slowed his mount once they neared the ring fort, and raised a hand, ordering his men to do the same. He wasn’t expecting trouble but five of his best warriors had accompanied him in case raiders still prowled the area. The speckled mare stood alone, tied to a tree at the edge of the forest. Her ears perked, and her nostrils flared while she danced in skittish circles trying to escape her restraints. She was scared, not surprising given the destruction surrounding them. Connell stroked her with a calming hand, soothing the frightened animal.

  A pungent, fog-like haze hung in the air, making his eyes water. Bodies were strewn everywhere. It was easy to spot the Byrne—they wore the traditional short léine, their legs bare, whereas the enemy were foreign and strange. They had metal helmets and wore leather breeches with a short tunic.

  Fianna’s ancestors had chosen this location well. There was a small, flat strip of land that acted as a dock, where coracle boats were tethered to large wooden stakes. The small, circular, leather-skinned boats bobbed in the water oddly undisturbed by the events of last night. The land rose steeply from the bank forming a large, grassy knoll with a defensive ditch near the top. A plume of gray smoke swirled about the ruins of the stronghold that sat at the apex of the hill.

  He had not visited the fort for four years, not since he had come to collect Lorcan on his seventh birthday, but he remembered a vibrant community with a smithy, a tannery, and a small wooden church. They had been a wealthy, powerful people, and although they specialised in trade, he had not considered them weak or unskilled in the art of combat, and yet, Rathtrean had been eradicated. He struggled to conceal his horror at the absolute carnage before him. What kind of enemy had done this?

  Fianna stood in the middle of the burned-out fort. Her arms limp by her sides, her unseeing gaze directed at the river. He dismounted and strode toward her. She didn’t look at him but inhaled a shuddering breath when he approached.

  “I can’t remember where the women and children are. I have to know if they’re safe. Don’t take me—”

  “I won’t.” He smothered the instinct to shield her from the horror. He didn’t want to spook her into running again. But seeing this strong woman so traumatized tore at his heart. She was so lost, so defeated. She had always been confident and proud. Even when he had dissolved their marriage she had held her head high and walked away without looking back.

  “Why is it all so vague? Some things are clear, but others…” She glanced around, her gaze vacant.

  He peered at the cut on the side of her head. Did the
wound have anything to do with her memory loss? Would being here help her? He hoped so. He needed to know what had happened, so he could protect his people. She seemed desperate to find survivors, but looking at the devastation around him, there was very little chance anyone had lived. Had she abandoned her clan, and run to escape the attack? Or had she stayed and fought? Had the blow to her skull knocked her out, making her appear dead? If that was how she’d survived, then maybe others had shared her luck. His men appeared to have the same idea because they roamed the battlefield, checking the bodies, looking for any sign of life.

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning? When did they arrive?”

  “They came at sundown,” she whispered, her words flat and lifeless, as she distanced herself from her ordeal. He didn’t comment. He understood the need for detachment.

  “They rowed their ship up the river. The boat was a warning, an omen. It was huge with a big monster’s head on the bow.” She hugged her arms to her chest presumably to protect herself from the memory.

  “Go on.”

  “They behaved like animals. They had no honour. They didn’t want to trade. They didn’t care about the sick or the weak. They hacked down everyone in their path. The ones they didn’t kill, they took.”

  “Took?”

  He didn’t like the sound of that.

  “They had chains made for people. Can you imagine chaining another human being?”

  “They wanted slaves. Just because we find slavery abhorrent, it doesn’t mean others feel the same way. What happened to you?”

  “We fought them off as best we could. We wanted to give the weak and defenseless a chance to escape. I remember charging down to the river. I wanted to free the people they’d captured. I saw our priest, Father John, and one of the children, Michael. He’s only five years old. He must have been terrified.” Her voice cracked. She sucked in a breath, blinking back tears. She regained control, and then continued. “I wanted to get to them. I couldn’t let them be taken. I was angry. I remember running down toward their ship…and then…nothing. When I woke up everything was quiet, and Rathtrean was in ruins.”

  She could have died. The thought of her in harm’s way terrified him. Although he knew he had destroyed whatever love they shared, he could not stand the idea of a world without her.

  “I failed my people. They needed me, and I failed them.” A tear trickled down her cheek.

  “Are you sure they sailed down the river in a boat?” He hated interrogating her, but in order to protect his people he needed answers.

  “Positive.” Her voice quivered. Tears gathered on her lower lashes, filling her green eyes, giving them a watery translucence.

  She ought to be allowed to cry, wail, and grieve for everything she had lost, but he persisted. “You didn’t imagine it?”

  “Are you saying I’m lying?” She wiped at a tear with the flat of her hand.

  “Of course not, but it hasn’t rained in two months. The river is low, the lowest anyone can remember. I don’t see how a ship could get down the river without getting stuck, much less a boat with a monster’s head, carrying warriors.”

  “I’m telling you it happened. I didn’t imagine it,” she shouted, her hands on her hips. If the situation hadn’t been so grave he might have smiled. She still had some fight in her. Despite everything that had happened, she was the only woman he knew who could go from crying to spitting fire in two blinks of an eye. He believed her. He had to, given the damage to her home, but he didn’t want it to be true. If there were a pack of warriors with a ship capable of navigating the shallow river, then they were all in danger. He wanted the attack on Rathtrean to be an aberration, a one-time event. Duncarraig wasn’t that far from the river. They were vulnerable. When he returned home he must talk to his men about tightening their defenses.

  “When you arrived you said the Norsemen had attacked. Are you sure?”

  “Not really, I assumed. The accounts of the attack on Inis Cathaig, the monastery on the coast, mentioned the monster’s head,” she whispered. Her anger from a moment ago had vanished.

  “You’re right, it has to be them. Superior boat, violent, pagan. Who else could it be? They’ve raided up and down the western seashore. Who knew they could navigate the Shannon.”

  She blinked, stood rigid, spun on her heel, and ran toward the smoldering remains of the church.

  “Where are you going?” he called to her back.

  “I know where they are.”

  Nothing remained in the scorched ruins except the stone altar. At its base lay a heavy flagstone about the size of a man. She shoved at the slab, but it didn’t budge. He lent his strength to hers, trying to shift the heavy weight. He stopped, and rocked back on his heels.

  “Why are we doing this? There’s no room for one person under this rock, let alone twenty.”

  “More like thirty. There’s a hidden cave under here.”

  “You dug a cave into the hill?”

  “Aye, and lined it with rocks for support. If it hasn’t collapsed they could still be alive.”

  Damn, she was smart, but why had she built a hide-away in the first place? Had she known they were in danger? Whatever the reason, she had given her people a chance to survive.

  “Quinn, get everyone over here.” A new urgency ruled his actions. For her sake he hoped the women and children weren’t dead. He wanted to see a spark of hope in her gaze.

  His men elbowed Fianna out of the way. They all knelt on one side of the stone, heaving together. The slab jerked to the side revealing a small opening. Squinting faces emerged from the cavern. They were pale, anxious, and all of them frightened. She stood stoic. Only her beautiful, green eyes showed her pain. She greeted the remaining members of her clan when they climbed into the light, murmuring assurances of safety.

  Wails of grief rose from the survivors once they became aware of the utter destruction of their home, and the death of their loved ones. Fianna didn’t look at them, and didn’t join them. She shrank. All the strength, and determination that had forced her on, deserted her. She closed her eyes as her body went limp. Connell grabbed her before she hit the ground.

  Chapter Four

  Fianna slid off a horse and into Connell’s arms. She must’ve slept on the ride back to Duncarraig. She shut her eyes and snuggled closer, wanting to stay forever wrapped in his embrace, hiding from the catastrophe. Connell shielded her, holding back the tide of pain that threatened to overwhelm her, but she still hurt. The young, the old, and the weak might have been saved, but so many others had died. Strong, young, able-bodied men had been cut down. She wanted to shut out the world. She turned her head, burying her nose against the cord of his neck, inhaling his intoxicating scent. A tingle of need started low in her belly. She wanted him to make love to her, so she could forget everything for a few short hours. She wanted to use his body as an escape, but she couldn’t. This was Connell, the man who had divorced her because of her shortcomings.

  Wiggling, she tried to free herself from his grasp, but he held tight as they entered the dim interior of the roundhouse. For the first time since she had awoken she wondered how long she had been unconscious. By the quality of light shining through the doorway she guessed it must be at least noon.

  “Stop fidgeting. I’ll lay you on the bed, and check your injuries, then you can eat, and bathe,” he murmured, his breath warming her ear.

  The thought of hot water and soap made her aware her body was coated in a layer of smoke, sweat, and blood. “Bath now, eat later.”

  He set her on her feet near the tub, and then he walked to the door, calling instructions to the servants.

  She was both relieved and disappointed. Relieved because when he held her the temptation to make love to him was overwhelming, and disappointed because just once she wished he craved her the way she did him. She put both hands on the side of the tall, barrel-shaped tub, trying to gain control of her emotions.

  He stood behind her, his fingers grazing her out
er thighs, clutching her léine. “All right, let’s get this off.”

  She slapped at his arms. “I do not want to disrobe in front of you.” Was she being unreasonable? Maybe. He had seen her naked, but that had been a long time ago, before her pregnancy, and the roundness that arose in her middle years. How was she supposed to maintain her composure without her clothes? She needed to preserve what little dignity she had left.

  “For once in your life will you stop being so stubborn?” he snapped

  “I’m stubborn. You are—”

  A man and a woman entered with several buckets of water, interrupting the fight. They filled the bath and then covering their hands with cloths, they took large, hot stones from the nearby hearth and dropped them into the tub. A crackling, hissing steam rose to the surface while the water heated. She could almost feel the warmth sinking into her sore skin, easing the pain from her muscles.

  Once the servants were gone Connell circled the tub so he stood in front of her. He had a glint in his eye that in their marriage she had mistaken for lust.

  “The bath is your reward for letting me tend you.”

  “Reward? Why would I want or need a reward from you? I’m not a woman you can manipulate to do your bidding.” If only she felt as strong as her words, but it wouldn’t take much to persuade her. Every single bone, muscle, and sinew ached to be touched by him, but some small sense of survival made her resist.

  “All right, consider this. While we are standing here arguing, I could have finished tending your wounds, and you could continue helping your people.”

  “Blast.” He had her there. She hated anyone to get the better of her in an argument, especially him, but her clan was more important than her pride. She nodded, lifting her arms away from her body in a gesture of surrender.