Storm Maker

by Erin O'Quinn

  Inside, the clay-and-wattle house was suffused with a soft light, even though no candles were lit. I saw that there were several circular windows, but instead of being open to the outside they were covered with something—something diaphanous, somehow. Whatever it was, the material allowed sunlight to permeate the place, but it was solid as wood.

  The little house had been built for either one or two people, for there were no projecting structures that would serve as sleeping chambers. What once had been a grass-woven bed along the wall near the fire pit was a collapsed mass of fibers. The one large room itself was strewn with fur-covered couches, as in Sweeney’s brugh. I could see that they, and everything else, were covered with a fine, sand-like dust.

  As my eyes swept the room, I saw a beautifully wrought wooden table and several high-backed benches. I knew without asking that Michael had fashioned them with his own hands, for even under the dust they showed a certain graceful muscularity.

  At last Michael brought his eyes back to us and smiled. “A good cleaning is what she needs, eh?”

  “That will be easy, Michael.” I laughed. “You just leave me alone with a broom and a cleaning cloth. I can hardly wait to get started.”

  “Ah, ye may have to fashion a broom, lass, for sure an’ it must be food for the wood ants by now.”

  “Well, Michael, leave it up to me and Liam. We will see you when you return.”

  Michael spoke a few words to his cousin, then to me. “I have told Liam to expect me perhaps not tomorrow, but surely the day after. If I am successful, we will ride back together right away. If not—”

  He left the words unspoken, but I knew. If Brigid turned him away, he would walk back the same way he walked there. So if he were gone for more than two days, the news would not be good.

  “Let me show ye a fine spot to bathe,” he said, and we left the teach, Michael carefully closing the door behind us.

  I left him and Liam to splash in the lake while I walked all around the property, dreaming of a life here next to the gently lapping waters of the Lough Neagh. My own bally, the settlement of Derry, was graced by a lake almost as large—the Lough Foyle—and it lay along the swift River Foyle, so I had not far to go to be nestled in Eden.

  Michael had found a change of clothing for himself and Liam inside a clothes chest in the house. I envied them for their fresh clothing and for their clean skin, too. Before he left, Michael said, “Caylith, look inside my clothes chest. Ye may find some shift or whatnot to fit ye. If I come back with, um, with company, I will ask if there may be a frock for ye.”

  I hugged him and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Michael, just, oh, just go, would you please?”

  He clasped Liam’s hand, and he gave me a little hug. With no words of farewell, he strode from the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

  * * * *

  It took us most of that day to remove all the dust inside the teach and to polish the table and benches to a warm glow. The floor itself was made of gleaming planks of oak. When we were finished, it held a golden welcome that made the entire home come alive.

  We had found wood for the fire pit and interlaced it just right, waiting only a tinder and flint to set a merry fire. I placed a grate over the wood, and I took every pot and cauldron and cup I could find to the lake, and I washed them all.

  The challenge, for me, was the bed. I helped gather a trove of rushes and fresh-smelling grasses, but I knew not how to plait and weave them into a mat one would want to sleep on. Liam sat cross-legged on the shining floor, and his large hands set to work.

  It took more than an hour, but when he was through, Liam’s handiwork was striking. He had placed a layer of animal furs on the floor, and on top of them, he laid the mat he had woven. The grass was golden, and the rushes were dark brown. Together, the twisted and interwoven fibers took on the pattern of the folk weavings I had seen in the homes of local folks.

  Then both of us layered the floor around the bed with fresh-picked flowers and herbs I had found on the property. It was a bed fit for newlyweds. Neither of us, it seemed, had any doubt at all that Michael would carry back the love of his life.

  When at last we were through, Liam embraced me and said in his halting way, “Now. Liam…and Caitlín.”

  He took me by the hand, and we left the house. He led me to the edge of the aspens rimming the lake. “You,” he said, pointing to the blue water. And he walked into the trees.

  He was telling me to bathe in the lake, and I was more than ready. I splashed in the water for half an hour, letting the entire voyage on the longship wash off me. When I swam to the bank, I saw a clean tunic folded, waiting for me. I also saw that he was sitting there watching me. I swam back to deeper water and remained submerged up to my shoulders.

  “Turn around,” I said.

  He pretended not to understand.

  I used sign language. “Turn around.”

  He grinned at me, his eyes filled with taunting. “Come,” he said, patting the ground. “Here.”

  I saw my underwear lying on the bank, and I waded to the shore, using my arms to shield myself. I held it next to me, covering my nakedness. Then I climbed out and seized the clean léine and ran into the little stand of trees. It was an attitude born of a lifetime of seeking privacy. I hated to have anyone, even my best friend Brindl or Mama, see me naked or watch me dress.

  I drew the undertunic over my head. It was only a little bit wet. The clean léine must once have been Michael’s. It was very large, and I had no belt. But at least I was covered up. I emerged slowly from the trees, and I saw that Liam was kneeling, weaving a bed. I saw a pile of reeds and grasses, and I could almost smell their earthy perfume.

  He looked up at me, his eyes dark with desire. “Caitlín. Liam,” he said. I knew very well what he was saying. Here was the aloneness with Liam I had craved. And there was no darkness to shroud our bodies. I began to tremble, and I moved away to watch him from a greater distance. I found my belt of sailor’s twine and cinched it around myself as if it would somehow barricade my privacy, like the latch on a door.

  When he was through, he rose and stood looking down at the bed he had made. I slowly walked up next to him. Then I knelt to test the softness, for he had found something, perhaps moss, to place under the woven rushes, something pliable and yielding.

  Before I could rise back up, Liam knelt next to me, very close. I felt a tremor in his body. I was shaking, too. We remained in the same position, as if prolonging the tension, postponing the moment of touching.

  Then he reached for the twine around my waist and pulled it off. I felt his silken mustache on my mouth, his tongue reaching for my lips, wanting me to open up. Loose now, the oversized léine was easy to bring down over my shoulders and hips, and he worked it down as he continued to fill my mouth with his slow-moving tongue.

  Only my undertunic lay between me and his seeking hands. I knew its sheerness revealed every detail of my breasts, and I felt the instant awkwardness of showing too much. I instantly put my hands up to shield them, and he said, “Oh, Caitlín. You…beautiful.” He gently removed my hands and lowered his head to suck first one nipple, then the other, his mouth wet, his tongue hot.

  Now I really was shaking, for the feel of his mouth made me ache. I wanted to give in, but still I put off the pleasure by pulling away, just out of reach of his mouth, and then he found me again and softly sucked. We continued that way—I pulling away, his mouth finding and sucking—until the very rhythm of it made me whisper, “Yes.”

  Then he bent me down onto the bed, but so slowly I hardly knew it was happening. Instead of pinning me down, he lay next to me, kissing first my mouth and then my breasts, then running his tongue into the valley between.

  With one deft movement he brought my undertunic up over my head, and for the first time I lay naked in front of a man. Liam straddled me and bent over my shaking body. His tongue had reached my navel. By now I was moaning and crying out, trying not to yield, lost in the pleasure of
his lovemaking.

  His hot mouth was below my navel, then in the softness between my legs, and when his tongue began to lick and his mouth to suck, I could hold back no longer. “Oh,” I told him, almost a moan, and then my entire body seemed to cry out in joy.

  Afterward, I lay very still for a long time, until my hammering heart slowed a bit. I could feel the heat of his body, a fire next to my skin, and I found the belt of his léine. Slowly, I unknotted it and let the tunic fall open, revealing all his chest and his groin. I could not help a small gasp of pleasure as I looked on him, the way his muscles lay in swelling mounds, the gleaming skin of his stomach and thighs.

  Starting with his throat, I began to suckle and search his sun-browned skin, trying to find a place to stop, finding only more to explore. When his nipples hardened and I continued to suck them, I heard him say my name softly. The sound only intensified my renewed desire for him

  As he had straddled me, so I did the same to him, letting my mouth find every inch of him, until my mouth was full of his hardness. Then I was sucking him and rocking my body in pleasure, nuzzling and licking, a pony grazing.

  His buttocks began to move and twist, and I seized them and squeezed hard, even as I continued to suck. Suddenly, in a great hot torrent, his savory sweetness filled my mouth. I heard him say, “A chuisle,” and never had I felt such pleasure as in that moment.

  “A chuisle,” I said against his soft skin. “A koosh-la.” Heartbeat. Our arms and legs were entangled somehow, and that is the way we fell asleep.

  Chapter 5:

  Beautiful

  We had fallen into our plaited bed under the trees with no thought of evening meal. Even a full moon, shining like a silver candle through the singing leaves of the aspens, could not make us stir except to nestle closer to each other.

  I awoke with Liam’s arm stretched across my body. The moon had just reached the surface of the rippling lake, and I knew dawn was less than an hour away. Slowly, carefully, I slipped from under his arm and reached for my undertunic. I stood looking down at his marvelous body as he lay in sleep. This would be the first time since I had met Liam that I had awakened before his warrior’s senses roused him.

  The sight of him made me ache somewhere in a corner of my heart, for I knew not how I would leave him. And yet the time was near for me to return to the bally of Derry on the lake and river Foyle. I saw my belongings in a heap nearby—my tunic, my gleaming shillelagh, my sandals. I also found the wineskin Michael had left for us, and I drank long and deep.

  Without putting on the oversized tunic, I walked back into Michael’s house. Perhaps I could find something else to wear. I lit a candle and started looking through the clothes chest until I found a linen shift. I thought it was probably some kind of men’s underclothing, but it was short enough not to trail the floor when I shrugged it over my head. I used the lit candle to light the candles in every wall sconce, and I proceeded to light a fire in the pit.

  I left, seeking breakfast. When I reached our makeshift bed, I saw it was empty. Liam was squatting on the shore of the lake. I stood close to him and saw that he was patiently fishing, using my own piece of twine with a little curved piece of bone. Next to him I saw two bright trout.

  “Dia duit,” I said softly.

  He stood and embraced me, his lips sweetly biting at my cheeks and nose and mouth. “A mo ghrá,” he answered. “My love.” I loved the sound of his language, for it had a softness around the edges that was profoundly sweet, even sensual.

  Somehow, our lovemaking last night had been a kind of turning point in our friendship. I felt less shy. He seemed to be more comfortable next to me. I had shared a bed with Liam for the first time, still not betraying Father Patrick’s trust, and the experience was a kind of covenant between me and the rough-gentle warrior.

  I gathered my little pile of belongings, and Liam wrapped the trout in long grass. We entered Michael’s little home to make breakfast. Liam threw the wrapped fish into the fire and covered it in crackling twigs, and soon the savory aroma of freshwater trout filled the air.

  When we had finished eating and cleaning up, we left for the lake again. I stood on the lakeshore near the little grove of aspens, as I had yesterday, and I removed the linen shift. Liam, next to me, easily removed his léine and waited for me to decide what to do with my undertunic.

  I could not overcome years of ingrained modesty, and I was still reluctant to bare myself to his eyes. Smiling, his eyes on mine, he toyed with the top of the tunic, just where it began to swell with the roundness of my breasts.

  “Tá tú álainn,” he said. He had told me that before, You are beautiful. His words decided me, and I let him pull it over my head. We stood, our naked bodies close together, and he let one of my fingers play with his mustache as I stood tiptoe. I traced his mustache and then his lips. He easily took my questing finger into his mouth and suckled like a small, hungry animal.

  When our mouths touched, the fire was more consuming than ever before. If I could have devoured his whole body, I would have, right on the spot.

  He drew me into the lake, and we submerged our bodies in the cold water.

  “Ah!” he cried out, disappointed. I pressed myself close against him and laughed. The shock of the water had dampened his spirits somewhat. Actually, they were dampened completely—shriveled as a worm. I swam away from him, toward the center of the lake, my spirits full to bursting. I turned around to see how close he was, and I saw that he had not moved at all. He was standing in thigh-deep water, his naked body gleaming in the morning sun, and around him were seven men on horseback. Every one of them was laughing as though enjoying a huge jest.

  I swam back slowly, not sure how to emerge gracefully. When I got to within a few feet of Liam, he bent and found my undertunic. Standing between me and the riders, he tried to shield my nakedness while I struggled into the tunic. I saw that he, too, was laughing, and I was furious with the whole lot of them.

  Covering my bodice with my arms, I ran from the water and scooped up the linen shift lying on the bank in the rushes, and then I sprinted for the cover of the trees. I stood in the trees for at least five minutes, struggling to drain the burning color from my face and skin. When at last I thought I was serene and composed, I strolled out like a duchess. Of course, I was a duchess, and I thought I knew just how to do it. I had won a duchy more than a year ago after I defeated the vile Duke of Deva. But that was a story I did not want to think about at the moment.

  “Hello,” I said. “My name is Caylith Vilton. And I have the pleasure of meeting—?”

  One of the riders dismounted in a swift movement and stood a few feet from me. Grinning, he performed a small bow. “Me name is Ryan Murphy. Liam is me cousin. An’ I have the pleasure to meet ye, Caylith.”

  Ryan had the unmistakable ironic air of both Liam and the scoundrel MacCool. He stood, arms akimbo, surveying my rumpled shift as though it were royal regalia. Like Liam, he had brown hair and brown eyes, without Liam’s unique streaks of auburn. He wore a mustache too, but no beard. The clansman stood about the same height as all his kin—I reckoned about six feet, perhaps more.

  “How is it you know my language, Ryan?”

  “I have spent time in your land, cailín, and I have a ready ear.”

  “And do your fellows feel like introducing themselves?”

  “Ah, ’tis a shame that these uneducated louts know not a word of your tongue, me lady. But let me do the honor.”

  He spoke briefly with the other riders, and they dismounted at once, standing in a now-quiet circle around me. I looked closely at them, and I saw right away that they were all of a family. In fact, one of them was very familiar indeed. I approached him.

  “How is your arm…Ian?” I asked. I remembered that Liam had mentioned his name to Michael a few days ago, and of course I recognized him instantly. He was the young man whose arm I had healed last year. I saw now that he was Ryan’s brother.

  “Ian Murphy,” he said, his face
suddenly bashful. “Tá sé go maith. It is fine.” He held out his arm, and it was smooth and unmarked, like his youthful face.

  I saw that another two of the riders were familiar. They were the two that Liam had recently identified as his brothers, the ones who had silently guided the pilgrims and me to Emain Macha to find Father Patrick.

  “I know now that you are two of the O’Neill brothers,” I said. “I had not the chance then to thank you for your service in leading us to the Hill of Macha to meet Father Patrick last year. So I thank you now.”

  Ryan told them what I had said, and they lifted their brown eyes, sparkling and laughing just like Liam’s. The taller of the two said, “Shane O’Neill.”

  Ryan said, “Séan here is the second eldest of Leary’s strapping boys.” The other O’Neill spoke a minute with Ryan, and he repeated the words to me. “Rory says it was all too easy to keep ye in his sight, and he stands next in line in case Liam proves a poor lover.”

  I was astonished, as always, by the plainspoken O’Neill family—indeed, all of Liam’s kin. I fought down a rising embarrassment, looking elsewhere as Ryan talked. So there was still one brother, the oldest, whom I had not met. I wondered vaguely why he seemed to remain apart from his brothers. Ryan said, “We are lucky Torin O’Neill is not here—else we would have to hide our beer.”

  “And these other three rowdy lads be a few of the MacCool brothers,” said Ryan. I was struck by their look-alike blue eyes, just like Michael’s, but none of them had the red hair of their absent brother, Fergus.

  “I have the honor of being a friend of your brother Michael,” I told them. “I am likewise honored to meet you three.” I thought I had best not bring up Fergus, for he had caused a world of pain to those closest to him.

  By the time Liam joined the circle, he had put his tunic back on and had regained his dignity. He spoke, and Ryan translated. “And this last uneducated lout wants to welcome ye to the company of these outlaws he calls family.”