Misfortune of Song: Druid's Brooch Series: #5

by Christy Nicholas

  Abashed, Orlagh took Temuirr’s hand and sat next to him on the stone bench. He lifted the jug and took a long drink. He offered it to her, and she sniffed it. Strong alcoholic fumes assaulted her, and she wrinkled her nose. She’d never cared for strong drink. To be polite, though, she took an obligatory sip. The drink burned her throat.

  She longed for stronger light. She could barely make out his features, nor see his eyes. She ached to gaze into them again, blue like the autumn sky. Temuirr’s nose was slightly hooked, but it gave him a noble air. His lips were currently fighting a smile as she regarded him.

  “Well? Do I meet with your approval?”

  Mortified, Orlagh gasped and pulled her hand away. She clasped her hands in her lap and stared at them in horrified embarrassment.

  He laughed, a low chuckle like a brook on a spring day.

  “Now, what have I done to inspire such fear in you, sweet child?”

  Orlagh was getting tired of that phrase. Her voice refused to cooperate, but she managed to choke out a few words without looking up. “I’m not… not a child!”

  “No, no, of course, you aren’t. You are a beautiful young lady who smells of lilacs and sunshine, and I apologize for demeaning you in such a way.”

  He seemed so earnest in his apology, she relented. Orlagh locked eyes with him and suddenly couldn’t breathe. She swallowed, trying to make her lungs work once again.

  He put his hand against her cheek, caressing it with a feather touch. His finger alighted upon her chin, and then the back of his hand caressed the other cheek. She closed her eyes at the tingling pleasure of his touch.

  His lips felt as soft as she’d imagined.

  She opened her eyes and he was gone. She hadn’t even heard his footsteps on the gravel.

  Chapter 3

  Orlagh shook her head. “I must go today, Eolande! They might leave before I get another chance!”

  “You still have too much work to do! You know you’ll get in trouble. We still have hours of weeding, and cleaning the chicken pen, and…”

  Orlagh glared at her friend, hands on her hips. “Well, if a certain friend loved me as much as she claimed, she might be inclined to help me with said work.”

  Eolande frowned. “I’ve got my own work, and you know it!”

  “Well, if we get some of each done, and then go into the village, we can finish when we come back, right? If we work together?”

  Eolande rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine. We’ll do mine first. So when we get in trouble, you’ll bear the brunt of it!”

  Orlagh didn’t even argue. She was giddy with excitement.

  The bards had entertained late into the evening, so late Orlagh would usually have been fighting sleep. Far from being drowsy, she’d been vibrantly eager, awaiting each new song or story from the visitors. Well, each one from Temuirr, but Yana had a lovely voice as well. The twins, Tam and Cam, did a highly amusing tumbling act. Even the old man, Finnegan, told an intriguing tale full of spirits and dark stormy nights.

  Without a doubt, though, Temuirr had been by far the highlight of the evening, the group, and of Orlagh’s every waking moment since. She needed to go into the village to discover if he felt the same for her. Of course, they’d only met the night before, but their meeting had been so intense, so perfect, she thought of nothing else.

  When they fed the pigs, Orlagh glanced at her friend’s slim form. Her moods changed quickly. Just last night she’d encouraged Orlagh to go off with the bard, and now she didn’t want to help. Yesterday she’d been eager to run up to the stone circle each dawn, and now she seemed reluctant to leave the hillfort at all. Orlagh shook her head. Eolande had never been an easy friend, but she remained loyal and true in the end, even if such loyalty got her in trouble.

  “Done! That should be plenty for this afternoon. Let’s get this stink away and into some brighter léinte. I want to dazzle him!”

  Eolande leaned on the fence and crossed her arms. “Go easy, Orlagh. If you’re not just after a quick tumble, take things more slowly. Of course, if that is all you want, jump in.”

  What did she want? She wanted Temuirr, of course, but in what manner? She wanted him to want her; to touch her. She wanted… ah, what did it matter? She would be with him soon. With a wide grin at her friend, she tossed her empty feed pail into the corner and bounded toward her own roundhouse. Her friend followed after carefully righting the pail and closing the pen.

  Orlagh held up the blue léine.

  Eolande shook her head. “No, too much like the one last night.”

  “But it’s a completely different color!”

  The slim girl took the léine from Orlagh’s grasp. “This one is cut the same way. You want something to show off your figure. You want him to realize you’re a woman, yes? A belt helps, but you need something else. Hmm. What about this one?” Eolande held up an older yellow outfit, one Orlagh had outgrown the winter before.

  She held the smaller outfit up to Orlagh, nodding. “Yes, this is perfect.”

  “This one’s too small! I’ll be popping out all over!”

  “Exactly. Now here, before we go out, you should wear the brat over your shoulders. That will hide the… popping… until he sees you.”

  Orlagh glanced at Eolande as the latter fussed over her outfit. Her friend stopped and stared back. “What?”

  Orlagh gave her friend a grin and a quick hug. “Nothing. I’m thrilled you’re willing to help.”

  “I could do no less, my friend. Now, let’s get you beautiful for your love, aye? How about some tiny flowers in your hair? Something regal to match the gold.”

  Bedecked like a sacrificial cow, Orlagh felt ridiculous as they walked out of the royal hillfort. A few admiring glances from young men gave her confidence, though, and she nodded to each with increasing boldness. The last one, Caiside, leaned on his spear and gave a low whistle.

  “And where are you two lovely girls off to on this day?”

  Orlagh almost answered, but Eolande said, “And what business is it of yours?”

  After staring askance at Eolande, Caiside shrugged. “Just trying to be friendly. No need to be testy.” He turned away, looking out toward his patrol area, ignoring them.

  When they descended the path, Orlagh asked, “Eolande, why be so rude?”

  Her friend glanced at her sideways. “Do you really want your grandfather to know what you’re up to tonight?”

  “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” Of course, any soldier would report such an excursion to her grandfather. He positively wouldn’t approve of her having a liaison with the bard. He would be so angry if he found out. He would yell and throw things, maybe even give a rare beating.

  She refused to think about that now. The village loomed near. She’d be with Temuirr soon. Temuirr of the warm hands, soft lips, and musical voice.

  Orlagh stumbled and almost fell into a muddy rut in the path, but Eolande grabbed her arm just in time. “Do pay attention, Orlagh! I spent a lot of time on your outfit and hair today. I don’t want to see all our effort wasted!”

  Chagrined, Orlagh paid attention to where she placed her feet. The rain had been heavy in the early hours, so mud splashed everywhere. She had no chance at all of getting to the bard’s quarters clean. At least she’d be presentable from the knees up.

  She spied Finnegan outside, whittling on a log. The old man glanced up and nodded once, returning to his task. She detected neither censure nor approval in his glance.

  Yana exited the roundhouse, almost running into them. “Oh, I’m sorry child! I hoped to find you.”

  Orlagh gripped Eolande’s hand. “Fetch me?”

  “Of course, sweet thing. We thought you might want to practice with Temuirr a bit and sing again tonight. Would that be appealing to you?”

  Appealing? To spend time, possibly hours, with Temuirr this afternoon?

  Eolande pulled on her hand. “Orlagh! You’re hurting me. Let go!”

  “Oh! Sorry.” Her friend narrowed her
eyes, flicked a bit of dust from her shoulder and nodded. “You’ll do. Enjoy your afternoon, Orlagh. Above all else…” Orlagh raised an eyebrow as Eolande gave an evil grin. “Above all else, don’t get caught.”

  With a giggle, the girl tripped away, and Yana smiled. “That one is half-Fae if I don’t miss my guess. I’m surprised to find her in to the chief’s household. Normally they aren’t allowed in so close.”

  Orlagh shook her head. “She just appears Fae. She isn’t, not really.”

  “Mmhmm, if you say so. Now come child, inside. Temuirr’s waiting.”

  He glanced up as she entered. No outrageous cloak this time, but a simple undyed léine, half-open and showing quite a bit of muscled chest. He sat at a low table, caressing an enormous harp. Orlagh had never seen such an exquisite instrument. Even Mícheál didn’t own such a magnificent thing. The harp practically glowed in the dim afternoon light. Tiny, dancing motes of dust glittered in the sunbeams as they surrounded the harp.

  He barely touched the strings, but its ethereal twinkling notes pulled her into a spell. She couldn’t move, the music so entranced her. Closing her eyes, she listened as he coaxed forth a divine melody, filled with otherworldly notes and celestial song. He sang along in a wordless hum, a second layer of incredible joy. She floated on the sound, unable to command her body in any way.

  He stopped and she cried out. “No! Please play more!”

  “Later, my sweet lady. Later. I must rest myself after that. I don’t bring Grandmother out often, but when I do, she both heals and exhausts me.”

  He did appear drawn. Sweat beaded on his brow and he seemed somehow wilted. At the same time, his smile remained strong, and his eyes twinkled. She ached to caress the lovely harp. “May I touch her?”

  “Nay, she’s a jealous lover. She dislikes when I spend time with lovely ladies. Come, now, and ease my mind. Did you speak with Yana? Will you sing with us again tonight?”

  She nodded, but for some reason couldn’t look him in the eyes. She ached to wipe the sweat away, caress his face, and run her fingers through his glistening brown curls.

  He chuckled and pushed back from the table.

  “I won’t harm you, Orlagh. Come, sit next to me.”

  Yana, if she’d come in at all, had left again. She didn’t know where Tam and Cam had gone, and though she strained, couldn’t hear the sound of Finnegan whittling outside. She’d been left alone with Temuirr the bard.

  Her heart beat faster, and her senses registered every shuffle, every sound, every movement he made. Would he put his arms around her? Would he kiss her? Maybe this was all a dream, and he just wanted to sing with her. Why else would he be playing the harp as she entered? His mind stayed on music, nothing more.

  She tried to rise, but he put his arm around her shoulder. “Are you in such a hurry to leave, child?”

  “I told you, I’m not a child.”

  He chuckled and stroked her hair. Each touch burned like fire, and she clenched her hands to keep from moving. “That is true, you did tell me so. Shame on me for making such a mistake twice. Your hair is quite lovely today. Which flowers are those?”

  “The archangel flower. Do you like them?”

  She touched the one over her ear, and he caught her hand in both of his. “I do, but I like the lovely lady they adorn much more.”

  Her heart beat so fast and so loudly, he must surely hear the pounding. He kissed her fingertips and then turned her hand over, opening her fingers. He kissed the palm, and then the wrist. A tickling, tingling sensation shot through her arm and down to her center with such strength she grew dizzy.

  “Orlagh? Do you want me to stop?”

  She opened her eyes to find him only a few inches from her. Mute, she shook her head and managed a shy smile.

  “You are no child, Orlagh, of this I am certain. You are, however, young. Have you known a man before, my lovely lady?”

  “I… well, not… not the way you mean, no…”

  “Ah, then, I promise I shall be gentle. I mean, if that’s what you want?”

  Did he really say those words? This must be a dream. Surely she would wake up any moment now. Her grandfather would open the door and rouse her for the morning meal. No door opened, and Temuirr waited for an answer.

  “I… yes, please. That’s what I want.”

  His smile grew wide, and he kissed her with those soft, pliable lips. She didn’t care if it was proper, or if it was wise, or if it would last. All she desired was to fall into his arms.

  He kissed her, his hands found her waist, and he stood, pulling her with him. He stood so much taller than she that he pulled her up until she stood on the bench. Now she stood the same height as he. She giggled at the odd sensation.

  He said, “I’ll either have to get used to a crick in my neck, or we must carry a bench around wherever we go!”

  Temuirr wrapped his arms around her waist, and she wrapped hers around his neck. She lost herself again in his embrace. He kissed Orlagh’s cheek, her neck, up and down her arms. He kissed between her breasts, and she was suddenly grateful to Eolande for making her wear the smaller léine The kisses tickled, and she tried not to squirm. She fought a hopeless battle, though, and he finally just picked her up and carried her to the small bed amid her delighted squeals.

  * * *

  Dusk fell as Maelan returned from the day’s troubling rounds. He massaged his forehead several times, trying to relieve his headache. For the fifth time that moon, a farmer had lost sheep.

  The farmer’s lad had been truly frightened when he gave his account. The child had barely eight winters. “I swear it, sir! Two glowing eyes in the dark. I was that scared, I was! I stood my ground, though. I didn’t run.”

  “You’re a good, brave lad, true enough. Let me know if you find the sheep, aye?”

  The loss of a sheep wasn’t an unusual occurrence by any means. Therein the past, Maelan had always found a sign or acceptable explanation. The neighbor had found the sheep, a predator had eaten the animal and remains were found, or the stupid beast had injured itself in some ditch. Sometimes the lad watching the sheep had just fallen asleep, and the creature showed up a day or so later.

  Now five farmers had lost sheep, and he found no trace, no sign of the beasts. One, he might understand, even two. Three was concerning. Five was downright eerie.

  Maelan had never considered himself a clever man. Strong, loyal, and good with a spear, but not clever. Still, he must try to figure this out. He’d dutifully reported the missing animals to his chief, and while the problem wasn’t truly his own concern, the issue vexed him. Today sheep went missing. Someone had stolen animals and evidently got clean away with the theft. What would they try next?

  He nodded to the guard and shuffled to his roundhouse to change. He was muddy, tired, and unhappy. He must change before he reported the latest disappearance to his chief. Then he should find Orlagh. She’d sung sweetly the night before, and he wanted to tell her he was proud of her.

  Maelan had little talent for song himself, and a voice which would wake the dead, so Orlagh had always said. His wife used to say something similar. She’d had a voice which coaxed the birds from the trees, so she did. Ah, he missed her wry wit. Orlagh reminded him of her in many ways, particularly the maddening head-strong courage they both exhibited.

  He found his chief, Diarmait, watching the warriors practice their spearwork.

  “The new recruits are a disgrace, Maelan. Wherever did you find such boys?”

  Maelan stood straight. “Wherever I could, my chief. Many of our young men have gone north to fight with your brother.”

  Diarmait shook his head and wiped some dust from his sleeve. “I said stop calling me that. Damn Murtough and his mad obsession with the Ui Conchobair.”

  “Yes, my Chief Diarmait. We can do little to stop the exodus, in truth. The young men want to fight in honor and glory. We have little opportunity for them here.”

  Glowering at Maelan, Diarmait crossed his arm
s. “And if the Ostmen from Luimneach do decide to raid us, what defenses will we have? Or if my brother’s pet Ui Conchobair turns on us once again? Our forces have been depleted through attrition and desertion these last winters.”

  “You have no argument from me on this, my Chief Diarmait.”

  “Find some more recruits, Maelan. My bones tell me another fight is coming soon.”

  Maelan nodded. “I shall do my best.”

  “How did your rounds go today? Have you something to report?”

  He hesitated to mention the sheep, as such details seemed so trivial now. However, his chief needed all information on hand to make decisions. “Another sheep has gone missing without a trace.”

  Diarmait paced several times and scowled. “That’s how many now, four?”

  “Five.”

  With a curse, his chief stopped. “Do you think they are being taken by the fleeing warriors?”

  Maelan shook his head. “I have no reason to think so. If they truly are leaving to fight with your brother, they’ll be well-provisioned. Why steal from their own families, or their neighbors’ families? Gaels have more honor. Maybe their enemies’ families, but not their own kin.”

  “Hmm. Yes, well, I wouldn’t put it past my brother to teach them bad habits. But you’re right. We must find some other explanation.”

  After over an hour discussing the possibilities, Maelan was glad to escape his audience with the chief and seek out his granddaughter. He was even more exhausted, but he needed her laughter to cheer him.

  Her roundhouse stood empty, and in typical disarray. Discarded clothing lay on every available surface, and one on the floor. He stooped to pick it up and dust off the bits of rush, laying it next to the others on the bed. Where would she be this time of day? One of her chores was to weed the kitchen gardens, perhaps she was there.

  When he looked over the unweeded area, he frowned. Next, he checked the chicken pen. The last few grains were just now being pecked, so it hadn’t been too long since she fed them. At least she’d not completely neglected her duties this day. He remembered the discarded clothing in her roundhouse. She’d been dressing up for something.