The Warrior's Reunion

by Mia Pride

  The hours passed excruciatingly slowly and every breath Morna took felt ripped from her lungs as she struggled to keep calm and slow her heart rate. The women worked in mostly silence, lacking the will to converse. Nobody had anything to discuss that was more important than staying busy and being prepared. Herb gathering, meal planning, working on the loom, salve preparation… it all passed the time but none of it could tame the anxiety threatening to consume Morna and she was certain all the women agreed. It was eerily quiet in the village without the men training in the fields or roaming about doing their usual tasks.

  Eventually, the sun began its descent, turning the sky from a calming cerulean to turbulent orange and red that reminded Morna only of bloodshed and filled her with a fear that the men would not return for yet another day. She was not at all certain her nerves could handle another day of not knowing. Most assuredly, her heart could not, nor her stomach. She already felt as if she would be sick every time she thought she heard a noise in the distance, only to be disappointed when nobody announced the arrival of the army. And what if the arrival of an army would not be their own? What if the next men to arrive were Mal’s or the Rómánach?

  “Stop it, Morna,” she scolded herself, and wiped her shaky, sweaty palms on her drab brown skirt. There was no use making herself ill over things she could not control. All she could control was herself and how she handled the stress. If she wanted to marry a warrior, she would need to get used to him being away for several days at a time and putting his life in danger. It scared her more than she could verbalize, but she knew life without Brennain was not an option. She would risk the loss of him someday if it meant she shared a life with him for now.

  “Men approach!” One of the warriors left behind to watch the gates shouted from the lookout in the trees.

  All the women began to chatter wildly and run around in frantic circles. Morna could not help but do the same as overwhelming excitement and anxiety took hold of her. She had no idea if she should rush to the gates or stay back. Deciding to follow in his family’s wake, Morna lifted her skirts and ran over to Maggie and Una. “They return?” she asked shakily.

  “It appears so. Faster than I anticipated,” Una nodded and clenched her fists into her yellow skirt. Morna clasped hands with Maggie and Una as they supported one another and walked slowly toward the gate. She knew men would have been lost. The loss of men hurt her heart, but she prayed fervently that all their family returned to them.

  Birds flew overheard, crying out mournfully and the wind blew through Morna’s hair, causing her skin to break out in gooseflesh. Her hair whipped around her face and she rubbed her hands over her arms feverishly to try to stave off the sudden chill and her rising panic. What if Brennain was not behind these gates? What if it was the wrong army of men who approached. Their guards would know soon enough and until then, she allowed Una to envelop her in her soothing embrace. There was nothing to do now but wait, and yet these few moments felt like so much longer than the last few days.

  Silence surrounded her. It seemed nobody dared to breathe until the men in the distance were identified. When a series of three loud whistles drifted in the wind, a warrior standing guard blew a loud horn in response and shouted, “’Tis King Tuathal who approaches!”

  Leannan yelped and nearly collapsed beside Morna, who reached out to grab her queen before she crumbled to the ground. Aye, Morna was not the only woman terrified for the safety of the man she loved. Not even queens were immune to the price of war.

  “He is all right, Queen Leannan. Tuathal is all right.” Leannan gripped her chest and sobbed so loudly that it made tears run down Morna’s cheeks. She looked behind her and saw Maggie, Aislin, Clarice, Elwynna, Alyson, and Treasa all looking as if they may faint at any moment. Even the three Sisters of Danu stood still and silent as they stared straight ahead, their hair whipping around them and their cloaks billowing to the side.

  Morna clenched her hands together and swallowed her fear, feeling the cold of the air nipping at the tracks of her flowing tears as she said a silent prayer to any god who would listen. She needed Brennain to be with these men. Alyson’s prophecy rang in her ears, over and over. Why had she chosen Morna of all people to share her vision with? Was it a warning? A chance to help Morna prepare for the loss? She couldn’t stand the twisting in her gut and bent over to clutch at her stomach.

  Soon the sound of hoofbeats filled the air and the iron gates creaked open as the ground shook beneath her and hundreds of riders poured into the village. Morna strained her neck and got on her tiptoes to look for Brennain, but there were far too many men on tall horses and more coming through the gates on foot.

  Clouds of dirt filled the air, making it even more difficult for Morna to make out clearer details with the hundreds of men filing through. As men began to dismount, one with blond hair and a very serious expression on his face stormed through the crowd almost knocking Morna over with his powerful stride. It was Àdhamh and he seemed determined to get to Elwynna with haste, yet his face looked stern and not at all how Morna would expect him to look when greeting his wife after a battle.

  Elwynna gasped and let out a cry as Àdhamh approached her and swallowed her up in his protective embrace. Morna felt more tears flood her eyes yet knew something was not quite right for Àdhamh to look so worried. She could not help but watch as Àdhamh whispered something in Elwynna’s ear that made the woman’s eyes widen and her face blanch, a shaky hand rising to her lips just before Àdhamh dragged her away from the chaos and out of Morna’s sight.

  Morna wondered what had just happened but couldn’t give it too much thought for she was still so desperate to find Brennain’s dark head of hair in the crowd of disheveled warriors. She noticed they all were painted blue or had stains of blue paint on parts of their bodies. She wondered what that was all about but continued to scan the scene.

  Tuathal was easy enough to see with his hugely horned helm and large black warhorse leading the group. A sack hung over his shoulder and he dismounted swiftly, his plaid cloak trailing behind him as he slowly stepped forward to address the crowd of women and remaining warriors who had stayed behind. Most children had been ordered to stay within doors and Morna was glad to know her mother had stayed in with Glennis.

  “We have been victorious!” Tuathal roared, and the sudden cheer from the men and cries from the women was utterly deafening. Morna held her hands over her ears as swords clanged triumphantly against shields and women shouted louder than Morna ever thought possible.

  She watched Tuathal carefully as he reached inside the sack and pulled something out. Then she gasped and covered her mouth when she realized what he gripped in his large fist and held above the crowd. The gruesome severed head of their enemy, Mal Mac Rochride. “The traitor is dead by my hand. He shall not conspire with anyone ever again to gain my throne or hurt the people of Ériu!” More cheers rent the air but Morna felt her stomach churn. She knew to seize the head of the enemy was a well-known tradition, but never had she seen one so close. Now she understood why Àdhamh had pushed through the crowd to get to Elwynna and what he must have whispered in her ear. Her father was dead.

  Alyson’s words floated through her mind. Two women in this room will experience the loss of familial blood. Elwynna had been the first. Though it was expected and necessary, the loss of a father would never be taken lightly, and Morna was pleased that Àdhamh had removed her in time, saving her from having to witness such a thing.

  Now, only one thought continued to loop in her mind over and over again. Who was the second woman in that room who would face a loss? As all the women in his family stood side by side like an unbreakable force, she knew it was just a facade. One death would bring them all to their knees. And one death, in particular, would destroy her life forever.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The gash across Brennain’s arm had throbbed with the jostling of his horse and the long ride back to Ráth Mór, but he would take every second of pain if it meant h
e was a second closer to seeing Morna’s bonny face once more.

  The battle with Mal had been more arduous than expected and had the Rómánach not fled, Tuathal’s army would have been outnumbered and surrounded. The loss would have been devastating. Their tactic to scare off the Rómánach by acting like savages had saved them in the end, but the battle had been far from over. Ráth Mór lost good men and warriors. More men had rallied to Mal’s side than expected, all of them men of no honor who preferred pleasure and power over anything else. Though killing men was never something Brennain relished, he could not help but think they all deserved to feel his blade for betraying their rightful High King.

  The sting in his arm was a reminder that he still lived. He was arriving home and he would make Morna his wife. Mal was dead, Caleb would likely be dead or enslaved over in Alba, and Eoghann had been struck down immediately upon the start of the battle by Flynn, who was dead set on having his vengeance against the man who tricked Maggie and stole her away, leading her into Mal’s camp not long ago. All the enemies of his family were gone… for now.

  Brennain knew all too well that with the death of any powerful leader, there was always another man ready to take his place. When Tuathal’s father, Fiachu took his throne, it had not taken long for Elim Mac Conrach, Jeoffrey’s father, to seek out power for himself, killing Fiachu and forcing his pregnant wife back to Alba to hide. And when Tuathal was old enough to gain back the throne that was rightfully his, he had defeated Elim with Brennain’s family’s help just a few years ago. But Mal had been Elim’s champion warrior and without his false king in the way, he saw his chance to take the power from Tuathal and finish what Elim never could by controlling all Eriu. Now, finally, his head was in a sack slung over Tuathal’s shoulder as evidence that any man who rose against the High King would be struck down without pity. Tuathal had chased Mal away time and again to no avail. Now, the man had paid for his greed.

  Who would be next? Who would dare step up to Tuathal to take the throne? Brennain did not know but he was certain the day would come, and he would battle once more. But for now, the iron gates of Ráth Mór loomed, gleaming in the rays from the midday sun, brightening his spirits. He was home and the woman he loved was behind those gates.

  He had bathed in a river the night before, washing away most of the blood and blue paint covering his body and putting a tunic and trousers back on so as not to alarm Morna or the other women. He knew Morna must be beside herself with worry and the moment he could, he would seek her out and drag her home. It had only been a few days, but they had been the longest of his life. He missed the soft caress of her lips against his, the way her warm smooth skin felt upon his, the lightness of her laughter and the shimmer in her blue eyes. Most of all, he missed how she loved unconditionally, even to a wee lassie whose father had made her life miserable, or how she had so readily forgiven Brennain for all he had messed up… and for stealing her away. He was desperate to hold her once more, breath in her airy floral scent, and show her how much he loved her.

  As the gates to Ráth Mór opened with a loud groan, he and his men rode their horses eagerly into the boundaries of their village… home. With hundreds of warriors from all over Ériu and Alba returning to celebrate their victory, he knew it would be chaos, but more than anything he wished to find Morna among the crowd. Yet she was a wee lass and the horses and warriors towered all around. Somehow stuck in the middle of the chaos, it was impossible to see beyond the tall warriors surrounding him.

  His patience wore thin as he was finally so close to Morna and yet unable to get to her, but he knew he had to wait until Tuathal made his announcements and gave his men leave. Somehow, he saw Àdhamh bolt from his horse and into the crowd, and Brennain’s heart twisted. He knew what his fellow warrior was doing. Àdhamh had discussed with Tuathal the opportunity to pull Elwynna aside before Tuathal presented her father’s head. Of course, Tuathal had agreed to Àdhamh’s request, so his wife need not be exposed to such a trauma. How Brennain wished he could do the same and seek out Morna.

  Tuathal announced their victory to the applause and cheers of all the people and held the head aloft. Brennain scowled and looked away. He may be a warrior, but he never enjoyed such displays, though he knew they were essential to a man like Tuathal who had spent his life fighting off one threat after another. No mercy could be shown for the enemy and nothing made that point clearer than a severed head.

  Once Tuathal dismounted, Brennain wasted no time jumping down from his horse to seek out Morna. It seemed several of the warriors had the same idea and he got trapped by a wall of men. “Move!” he yelled, shouldering a few out of the way, not caring if he offended anyone. He knew Morna would be looking for him and every second they were separated was agony.

  Finally, a large group of women became visible, but he couldn’t see her shining blonde hair. “Morna!” he shouted, spinning in circles while women moved all around him. “Morna!”

  “Brennain!” He heard her before he saw her. Her body collided into his as she ran full speed at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You are well?” She kissed his lips three times in a row before kissing each cheek and burying her head in his chest. “You came back!”

  He felt wet tears soak through the thin linen of his tunic and he pulled her back to wipe them away. “Aye, I am well, my love. I am here.” She gripped his arm and he took a swift intake of breath as her hand grazed over his raw wound.

  “You are hurt!” she cried, yanking up the sleeve of his tunic and gasping at the angry red flesh. “Brennain! This is on its way to an infection!”

  “It will be fine, lass. I am home now, and I hear Ráth Mór has gained a rather competent healer who may help patch me up.” He grinned widely.

  She gave him a stern look but soon her lips turned up in happiness and she latched on to him once more, kissing him deeply, slipping her tongue into his mouth and pulling back too quickly for him to react. “I was so scared.” Her voice quivered, and another tear ran down her cheek. “Alyson had a vision that two women in your family would lose a man of their blood. Elwynna lost her father… how I worried you were lost to your mother… and to me.” Then she paused, and her eyes widened. “Oh gods, Brennain! Who else? Who else was lost?”

  His brows furrowed, and he shook his head. “We lost a few men. More than a few, but none in my family, lass. We all survived with minimal wounds needing tending to.”

  Relief shone on her face, yet he could see she was distraught about who the other man was. “I am sure all is well, Morna,” he assured her, though he was suddenly taken aback by her words. Alyson’s visions were always accurate. Had someone been injured worse than he suspected? A chill ran up his spine but he swallowed down his anxiety and took her by the hand. “Come. I am anxious to have some alone time with you.”

  Her bonny blue eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed pink. “But… I need to clean up that wound.”

  “And you shall. But cannot we be alone while you do so?” he said with a waggle of his brows, dark suggestions in his gaze, and she flushed deeper at his meaning.

  “I… I, well… I suppose so. Aye.” She seemed nervous or taken off guard by his sudden desire to be with her.

  He pulled her along behind him as he gripped her small hand in his. The crowds were thinning as warriors reunited with family and went their separate ways. He knew there would be a feast and celebration later, but for now, he was anxious to get cleaned up and share some time with the woman who clouded his every thought with images of her soft skin, cerulean eyes, and tempting lips.

  Fortunately for him, nobody had yet arrived back to the house before them, so he was able to pull Morna down the corridor and into his chamber without fending off any of his family. He was exhausted, sore, and his arm throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat, but no amount of exhaustion or pain would stop him from being with Morna right now. He ached for her, needed to feel her against him, to be reminded of all the beauty still left in this world. War was an ugly
, brutal thing that could suck the soul from a man, but knowing he could come home to Morna and Glennis had been the only light guiding him away from the darkness. The only thought that saved him from being consumed by the anger and revenge flooding his brain during the battle. He knew he had a beautiful woman to come home to, and now that he had, he meant to show her how much she meant to him.

  Pulling her into his chamber and against his body, he lifted her chin so her gaze could meet his own. “I love you, Morna. I have always loved you.”

  “I love you too, Brennain. I already knew that before the war, but now…” she swallowed, and he saw a tear track down her cheek. “I was so afraid to lose you, that you would never return, and I would be filled with sorrow for all my days.”

  He made a shushing sound and clicked his tongue. “No tears, mo chroí. I am here. I will always return to you and Glennis. No blade is sharp enough to steal my life when I know I still have so much living to do.”

  He crushed his lips to hers feverishly, reveling in the small groans escaping from her mouth. Brennain tilted his head and deepened the kiss, gripping her backside to pull her close enough to feel all of him, his rising desire for her.

  She pressed into him instinctively, her arms wrapping around his neck to pull him even closer. “I missed you so much,” she mumbled against his lips, before slipping her tongue into his mouth. He mumbled back incoherently but was not at all certain what he meant to say. In truth, he had no words to describe the feelings flooding him all at once. Intense love for this woman. A desire that threatened to burst him into flames. A fluttering in his stomach that only occurred when she was near. A longing to be one with her that consumed all of him.

  Her hand slipped down his arm and he hissed when her finger grazed his wounded flesh. “Och! I am so sorry, Brennain. I need to clean and stitch this wound!”