Storm Maker

by Erin O'Quinn

  I was enjoying this immensely, for Ryan seemed to have all the wit and humor of Michael and Liam both. “If you have not yet eaten, boys,” I told them, “I will prepare morning meal for all of you. All you need to do is catch the food.”

  “Ah, ye have a bargain,” said Ryan.

  I helped Ian with the horses, guiding them by their bridles to a tether post on the side of Michael’s brugh, while the rest of them spread out to hunt down their breakfast. I was hungry enough by now to eat again myself.

  When we finally ate, it was outside, squatting in a circle in the long grasses, for I would not allow even a drop of grease on the gleaming wooden floors. The clansmen passed around at least three different wineskins. One held wine, dry and tart, and I relished the way it tasted with the fish. At least one skin held a kind of heady brew that I thought I remembered from the Fair of Tara. A third one I tried was a grog more potent than I had ever tasted before. I decided it was more fitting for after-dinner storytelling than for breakfast.

  By the time we had finished eating, we were a merry group indeed. One of the MacCools had started a long, rambling story about his uncle someone or other, and he stood none too straight as he spoke. As he started the most bawdy part of his discourse, the shouts and laughter stopped as if on cue. I looked up to see two riders and three horses slowly approach us.

  Michael rode a dappled gelding. And on a white mare next to him rode a serene, beautiful, blonde woman, dressed all in pale blue. Just behind the two of them, attached by a long bridle rope, walked a packhorse laden with supplies.

  Liam and I stood immediately and walked toward the riders. The clansmen, as if dazed by the appearance of a ghost, stood agape and silent. Michael and Brigid steered their mounts toward the tethering post, and he dismounted. He reached up and tenderly grasped Brigid around the waist, drawing her down off her mare as he would pick up a child. When she had dismounted, he stood close to her, his head inclined to her face, and she lifted her head to him.

  Liam and I stopped short and averted our eyes. There would be many tender moments, I knew, but none quite so special as this first homecoming. When at last we raised our heads, Michael and Brigid were standing with us. “Before ye meet anyone else, a mo ghrá, I want ye to know Caylith.”

  We stood gazing at each other. My first impression was that of stunning beauty—not just physical comeliness, but a kind of ethereal beauty that sprang from somewhere deep inside. Her eyes were deep, deep blue, shades deeper than Michael’s. Her hair hung in golden curls past her shoulders.

  Could she speak my tongue?

  “Tá tú álainn,” I said, remembering Liam’s words to me.

  “And you are beautiful, too,” Brigid said, her eyes bright with tears. “I have you to thank for bringing back my Michael.”

  “Ah, that was his cousin Liam, not I.”

  “Caylith, I know the whole story,” she said simply. “I know how you uncovered MacCool’s lies and how you found a way to tell Liam. And how Liam went to Newport to bring my love back to me. It was all your doing.” She reached out and took my hands, and we stood smiling at each other, friends already.

  She grasped Liam’s hands then and smiled warmly at him. “Now, Michael, reintroduce me to these rascals you call relatives.”

  I marveled at her command of the language. She spoke as though she had been schooled with Andreas at the library of Constantinople. Michael turned with a huge grin to greet his family, and soon they were all back thumping and cheek kissing.

  They had not yet even entered Michael’s teach, and I wondered whether it was appropriate for all of us to troop in behind them. I decided it was not appropriate at all. I drew Ryan aside.

  “Ryan, do you think we need to give your cousin a bit of privacy this morning?”

  “What mean ye?”

  “They have not had a chance to be alone these past five years. Now would be the time for a bit of aloneness, I think.”

  “Ah, I catch your meaning.”

  “We can return for evening meal. In fact, we can organize a hunting party and bring back supper for them. By then, even Michael and Brigid may be ready to get drunk and tell complicated lies with the rest of us.”

  He laughed, and his eyes and his whole face laughed with him. “By God, ye be right. Let me talk to me boys.”

  Michael and Brigid were standing hand in hand in front of the door of the house, as if uncertain whether to enter. “We will all be back tonight, bringing an evening feast. Until then, I am sorry to say, we are just going to leave you alone.”

  He did not thank me, but his radiant face said it all. He scooped Brigid up into his arms. Liam stepped to the door and pulled it just wide enough for the couple to enter the stunning little clay house. Brigid, her arms around Michael’s neck, was drinking in his eyes like heady wine.

  They disappeared into the teach, and Liam quietly closed the door behind them. He took my hands, and we stood by the door of the little house, my face raised to his. He kissed me as a bird wing would brush my mouth, fleeting and gentle. I could barely hear him. “Next…time…Liam and Caitlín. Fear agus bean chéile.”

  I felt myself blushing, for I thought I understood his words. Man and wife. He, too, was looking forward to a covenant, just like his cousin Michael had just renewed with Brigid. And the battle inside me raged on.

  * * * *

  That night after supper, Ryan stood and lifted his cup to the crowd. “Have none of ye heard the story,” he cried, “of the battle of the beauties?” Laughing and red of face, Michael translated his cousin’s words almost as he spoke.

  “This was a bit of time ago, ye understand, back when all of Ulster belonged to Ard Rí Murphy, High King over all these lands…”

  There were shouts of derision, for everyone knew that Murphy was never more than a cattle baron, a tribal chieftain. Yet in Ryan’s eyes he had attained the highest rank possible.

  “…An’ the two loveliest women of the day, Bridget and Medb, sought to be crowned the most beautiful woman in Éire. Now King Murphy, at that time, was married to another beauty, the celebrated, red-haired Macha. An’ the two women, knowing of Macha’s renowned good looks, proclaimed that none less than King Murphy himself would declare the winner. For they knew that whichever one of them would win, Macha herself would lose.

  “So the two women stood on a dais in front of the king, who had himself blindfolded, so sure was he of his ability to choose the right woman. Before he was to decide, his wife Macha told him tenderly, ‘Dearest one, let the contest be fair to all. Let us use a woman from your court to stand as a third contestant. I meself will choose her.’

  “Now King Murphy was a great king, but in comparison to women’s brains, some say he was not so great as the legends would have ye believe. But others say he wise beyond all other men. He agreed right away, an’ ye will decide which opinion to believe.

  “Soon not two but three women stood on the dais in front of the blindfolded king. He stepped up to the first beauty and stroked her long hair. This was the lovely Bridget, she of the golden locks, whose beauty had caused the great Finn himself to swoon in desire, whose braids had wrapped around his groin as he slept. He tried to stand as close to her hair as he could, feeling the tendrils tighten about him. He stood there long enough to make a decision.

  “Then he stepped to the next woman, the famous beauty, Medb, and he proceeded to kiss her full on the mouth. Now Medb was known for her unbounded appetites, and she seized his mouth and almost choked the poor man with her long, searching tongue. It took the king a few long moments to decide.”

  By now, the men were cheering and stamping their feet on the wooden floor. I caught Brigid’s eye, and both of us headed for a far part of the room to try to ignore the end of the tale.

  “And now he stood before the third woman. He reached out both hands and found her swelling breasts, rising out of her gown like ripe melons. He felt for a moment, uncertain.

  “Now be it known that King Murphy loved his w
ife Macha beyond all others, and he accordingly loved every inch of her body. So he knew that she had a small beauty mole just—there, on the side of her right nipple. He bent forward and seized her nipple in his mouth and began to suckle, letting his tongue feel for a telltale mole.

  “Sure enough, he found it right away, but he did not reveal his little deception, for then he seized the other as well. After another little while he backed away from the dais and raised both hands to the assembled court.

  “‘Let it be proclaimed,’ he said, ‘that I have found the fairest woman in Éire. It is she whose breasts I have touched today.’

  “And thus was Macha rewarded for a having a husband both virile and wise.”

  Ryan’s story was met with such laughter and swigging from wineskins that I thought the din would never end. Brigid said, “This is typical, Caylith, of the behavior of great louts in a swine pen.”

  I agreed, red faced. Deep down, where none would ever know it, I saw myself as Macha. I had felt Liam’s hands and mouth as the story was unfolding, and I blushed at my own little secret.

  “Caylith,” said Brigid, “I notice that you are wearing a man’s shift. Have you no clothing fit for a woman?”

  “Well, ’tis a long story, Brigid, but the short of it is—no. Except for an undertunic, I shall have to wait until I get back home.”

  “Then here,” she said, and she thrust a bundle of clothing into my arms. “I have brought enough léines and gowns for weeks to come. Please accept a few changes of clothes.”

  I was sure my eyes were shining, for Brigid seemed to have read my mind as Ryan talked about the beautiful women. No lovely woman would have stood before the high king in a man’s oversized shift, and I would not stand in front of a high king’s son dressed like that ever again unless we both somehow wanted it.

  Suddenly, I said, “I want you and Michael to come to Derry, to visit me and my people. Now that the longship Brigid sails the Hibernian Sea, it would take only a day to sail north, then down the Lough Foyle.”

  “Did I hear you say the, ah, Brigid?”

  “Michael told me he would name her right after he found you.”

  She laughed and hugged me. “Yes, you can be sure we will visit.”

  “I have an extra motive,” I admitted. “I want Michael to build my own brugh. It would be the most unique in all of Éire, except for this one I am in right now.”

  She answered me by taking my hands in hers again. “I want you to know how much Michael and I loved our fragrant bed.”

  “This time you must believe me, Bree. That was Liam’s work, completely.”

  “Then thank him for me. It would not be quite right for me to tell him myself.”

  * * * *

  That night, back under the singing aspen leaves, Liam and I lay with our mouths and bodies together, closer than we had ever been before. I murmured against his lips, “Brigid says thank you for the bed.”

  As if in understanding, he stroked my hair with one hand, while his other held me at the nape of my neck, and his mouth continued to move over my entire face, then my neck. “Oh,” he said, “love…ye.” I wondered whether the wine and grog mix was speaking just now, and then I decided that I cared not.

  “Is tú mo ghrá,” I said. I hoped those were the right words. Just in case, I said, “I love you.”

  In answer, he put his head into the hollow of my throat and lay stroking my hair, then my back, and then he was noisily asleep.

  My own head was thrown back on the pliant bed, and I felt more deeply happy than at any other time in my life. I was asleep sometime before the moon rose.

  Chapter 6:

  Storm Maker

  Long before dawn, I woke to the sound of aspen leaves rustling through the trees near where we lay. I saw glimmers of moonlight playing on the waters of the Lough Neagh. Liam lay with his back to me, his breathing deep and even, his exquisite buttocks reflecting the moon’s glory. I sat there and looked at him, desire flooding my throat until I could hardly swallow. Just a tiny bite, I told myself, and I leaned down to do just that.

  And then he rolled over and opened his eyes a bit.

  “Not time yet, love,” I said. “Go to sleep.”

  Without a word, he went back to sleep.

  The moment gone, I quietly rose from our fragrant little bed and found my undertunic. Shrugging it on, I left for the shining waters of the lake. Now I sank gratefully into the ripples of moonlight and let the cool water control my rising desire. “Thor’s eyes,” I muttered, “I am worse than those lecherous drunks I scorned last night.” Then I began to laugh softly, planning how I would make it work after all, one of these days. There was no hurry, for I hoped I would be with Liam for a long time to come.

  Now scrambling to the shore, I removed the underwear, now at least cleaner than it was before, and I spread it on the lake’s edge to dry. I opened the bundle of clothing that Brigid had given me and laid out the articles, one by one. The moonlight was quite bright enough to see my new finery.

  She had given me a léine of stunning green—my favorite color—with long sleeves in alternating layers of yellow and blue. Next I set out a bright yellow, full-skirted gúna, or gown, with holes that allowed the léine sleeves to emerge. I saw with amusement that she had given me another undertunic, this one also with a sheer front and a bit of lace, even more provocative than the one I was embarrassed to wear. I found one more léine, a very soft, pastel green and pearl woven from the finest of wool. Not least, tucked inside the clothing was a pair of shoes, soft leather bróga, all gathered and sewn with thin leather strips.

  I would have to find some kind of coverlet to roll my new clothes in, for I intended to put them behind the saddle of a fine horse when I left. Hoping that Liam and I would be riding together back to Derry, I went to wake up the lazy lout.

  He was sitting on the woven mat, shaking wine from his benumbed brain. “Aaargh,” he said intelligently, and I laughed. By now, the moon had accepted the cool arms of the Lough Neagh, sinking beneath her waters like an eager lover. A fine gray with pink suffused the east, and I heard a lone bird call, high in the limbs of the aspens.

  I was wearing the deep green léine, all soft and delicate, and I sat next to Liam, combing the water from my too-curly hair. “Get up,” I said in a taunting voice. “Go.” I pointed to the lake.

  He leaned into me and seized my shoulders. “Póg dom.”

  I must have been learning the language of Éire, for I understood everything he had told me lately. Or was it his compelling way of speaking with his body? I kissed him back, slow and sweet.

  He had started to undress me when we heard Ryan calling out. “Liam. Wake up!”

  I laughed again and jumped up, leaving Liam to lumber to his feet, still holding his head. Ryan was standing with his back to us, and I called out, “Ryan. We are awake, You may join us.”

  Ryan saw Liam walking toward the lake and, waving to me, went after him. I assumed that both men would probably seize this opportunity to take a morning bath, and I went to the yellow house and knocked softly on the door. Brigid opened it right away.

  “Caylith! Come in. We were about to waken you and Liam for morning meal.” I could smell the aroma of fish cooking in the fire pit, and I gladly sat on one of the soft couches. “I think I need to leave soon,” I told Brigid and Michael.

  “Does Liam know?” asked Michael.

  “I, ah, I want him to come with me. But no. I have not broached the subject with him.”

  “After breakfast this morning, we will talk,” said Michael. “I wonder where all me drunken kin have gotten off to?”

  “Um, Ryan is with Liam, in the lake. Perhaps the others may feel like washing away the grog, too.”

  “Sure an’ I feel every drop,” Michael groaned.

  “It was worth the headache,” said Brigid, “just to see you having a good time.”

  Michael stood close to her and kissed her neck, then her ear, then her mouth. I, too, was pleased that
Michael was happy at last.

  I decided to be direct. “Michael, would you build me a brugh someday?”

  He looked up from the fire pit, surprised. “Ye could afford the very best, Caylith.”

  “You are the very best,” I said simply. “I would want the entire brugh—large, with rooms even on top of rooms, and the finely fashioned furniture, and the cunning windows, and more besides.”

  “Then Brigid and I will visit ye soon. I think we may be ready for the next step in our life by then.”

  She reached for his large hand and held it a moment, then brought it to her lips, holding it there for several moments.

  “And ye also, Caylith?” he asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Ye may be ready also. It could be a double wedding.”

  “Um, yes, ah, well, we will have to see what happens between now and then.”

  He and Brigid both laughed at my discomfort. “Take your time, lass. A few months. But we will wait no longer.”

  I was glad that someone started banging on the door just then. Michael opened the door to an army of clansmen, a few bearing a fresh fish, all ready for morning meal.

  As the conversations flowed around me, I told Brigid, “Your clothes are perfect—my favorite colors, and they almost fit.”

  She looked at me appraisingly. “You have a bit more to grow,” she said, looking at my bodice, “but when it happens, it is very sudden.”

  “I found that out,” I told her, surprised that I was not blushing

  “And I think you will grow a few inches taller, too.”

  “That is too much to hope for, Brigid. I will simply say I am satisfied with the way I am. I think I am becoming more mature.”

  Liam and Michael sat close by, and I thought this was a good opportunity to talk about our leaving. “Michael, would you ask Liam what his plans are now?”

  And so Michael dutifully translated for us. “A mo ghrá, I want to be with you.”