Muted argument filtered through the walls and after several bangs and a couple giggles, Eógan appeared at the door practically naked. “You have the devil’s own timing, Maelan. What do you want?”
“For my second-in-command to act with some dignity, to start.”
Eógan rolled his eyes. “Dignity? What use is dignity when women are around, eh?”
Maelan nodded toward the inside of the roundhouse. “When did you find the warrior woman again?”
His friend’s grin was so infectious, Maelan had to fight not to respond in kind. “She came with a group of mercenaries. I convinced her to stay for a while.”
“In your own roundhouse? You never let women stay here. Though why any woman would want to live on the edge of the village, I will never understand.”
Eógan gave him a half-smile. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t understand at that. Have you even lain with a woman since your wife died, Maelan?”
“Despite your constant urgings and terrible examples, no, I have not. My affairs are none of your business, and certainly not the reason I’ve called upon you today.”
Eógan sighed. “Fair enough. What does bring you to my fine abode on this lovely day?”
Grimacing at several heavy raindrops, Maelan asked, “Can I at least come in?”
Eógan opened the door wide. “Come in, my warchief!”
Maelan growled at his friend’s flippant attitude and then wrinkled his nose at the mess. Nothing was in its place if things even had a place in Eógan’s home. Furniture lay upturned, drawers pulled out, clothing flung everywhere. Only the stout wooden table remained upright. Upon the table, two mugs lie on their sides near a jug. The air stank of sex and ale.
The woman, now properly clothed, glanced between Eógan and Maelan. “If he’s not joining in, I’ll go and get some errands done.” She grabbed a short, stout spear and a small leather purse and kissed Eógan on the head. He grabbed her ample breasts and squeezed before she laughed and strode out into the now pelting rain.
Eógan watched her leave and whistled low. “That is one hell of a woman. Are you sure you don’t wish to join us next time? Utromma will give you a night you’ll never forget. Or day. Or fortnight, for that matter. She has incredible stamina.”
“Yes, Eógan. I am quite sure. Not everyone is a randy goat all hours of the day or night.”
Eógan laughed, the sound echoing in the small room. “Of course, they are! They just don’t admit it! Repressed lot, you are. Now, what did you come out to the edge of town for, if you weren’t after a romp in the furs?”
“I want to talk to you about Caiside.”
His friend blinked several times. “Caiside? The boy is horribly well-behaved. I’m almost ashamed of the lad, but his mother would at least be proud of him. What’s he done?”
Maelan shook his head. “He’s done nothing wrong, I assure you. In fact, I hoped to talk to you about his future. Has he had his eye on any young lass yet?”
Eógan frowned. “No, but I’m not certain he would tell me. I’ve tried to match him with many girls in the past, only to be told to mind my own business.”
“What sort of girls did you offer, if I may ask?”
Snorting, Eógan righted the mugs, wiped each out with a dirty rag, and poured some ale from the jug as they both grabbed stools and sat. He offered one to Maelan, but the warchief shook his head. “Experienced girls, of course. I want the lad to know what he’s doing when the romantic fool finds the love of his life. I even offered a few working lads, in case his tastes ran that way, but he refused them all.”
“Has he ever spoken of Orlagh at all?”
Eógan ‘s eyes grew wide, and he let out a sharp laugh. “Orlagh? Oho, now I see why you trudged through the rain this morning! She’s a bit too keen on yon wandering bard, isn’t she? I noticed how she looked at him the other night. Fallen hard, has she?”
Maelan growled and answered by taking up the mug and downing most of it in one swig, letting out a massive burp afterward.
Eógan laughed loud, slapping his knee. “She’d do well to be taught by such a man, Maelan. He’s sure to know what he’s doing. Do you want her to learn from some untried boy who has only ever handled himself?”
He held out his mug for a refill, and his friend complied. “I don’t want her to learn at all! At least not until she’s honorably married.”
“Then you’re a fool, Maelan. I always suspected you were a prudish idiot about yourself, but why should you subject your granddaughter to such ridiculous strictures? I don’t remember Liadan being so stiff and proper. I wish her joy of life had rubbed off a little more on you before she passed.”
Liadan. His lovely Liadan. She had been his one true love. He had known the joy of life with her, but that joy had died with her, thirteen winters ago. He cursed his decision which caused her death. Whenever he looked at his granddaughter, he saw Liadan’s lovely eyes. He pushed away the memory and coughed several times before taking another long drink of ale.
Eógan put his hand on Maelan’s shoulder. “Ah, Maelan, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned her.”
Shaking his head, Maelan blinked several times. “No, I’m glad you mentioned her. More people should mention her. Talking of her keeps her alive, even if just in our memories. She was a good woman, and she should be remembered.”
With a squeeze, Eógan said, “That I cannot argue with, my friend.”
They both toasted with their refilled mugs and drank down. Eógan slammed his on the table. “Now, about your Orlagh and my Caiside. Has she shown the least interest in the lad?”
Maelan shrugged. “They squabble like any younglings. Perhaps a bit more than most.”
“Ah, then, maybe she has an interest. Perhaps this isn’t a terrible idea after all. Very well. I’ll start the arrangements on my end. You do your part, and we’ll make a plan for, what, two moons hence?”
Maelan nodded. Two moons gave him plenty of time to make the announcement, have Orlagh’s friends finish her wedding gifts, and arrange for the feast. He put out his hand, and they gripped forearms in a time-honored tradition of a bargain made. Then Eógan pulled him in for a hearty hug, slapping him several times on the back. “Soon we shall be related in more than battle blood, my friend! Felicitations!”
Maelan grinned, feeling a glimmer of happiness for the first time in a long time. “Felicitations to you. Now I must let Orlagh know.”
Eógan threw his head back and laughed again. “I don’t envy you that conversation, Maelan! I am so thankful I’ve only ever spawned boys.”
Maelan narrowed his eyes. “As far as you know.”
His friend shrugged. “Someone would have let me know if it were otherwise. Should you don your armor first?”
“Armor?”
Still sporting a silly grin, Eógan said, “For your conversation with young Orlagh. She’s a fierce one when she’s angry. She’d be a formidable warrior if she was taller.”
Shaking his head, Maelan grinned. “I think I’m a match for a wee slip of a girl. I’ll be grand.”
With a final pat on his shoulder, Eógan led him to the door. “Just don’t come crying to me to bandage your wounds from your ‘wee hellcat,’ aye? Best of luck.”
Maelan grimaced. He truly didn’t look forward to facing Orlagh just then. “She’s rather upset with me at the moment.”
“For the sake of your hide, you might want to put off that particular discussion.”
Maelan squinted into the rain when he exited. He’d forgotten the blasted weather.
Orlagh was fast asleep when he finally opened the door to her roundhouse. He thanked God for small favors and left the tray of food he’d brought in apology. He had absolutely kept her too long, and he regretted his temper. Still, perhaps the ordeal would make her think twice before acting thus in the future. He snorted. He was too much the optimist to believe that.
He turned to leave, but Eolande stood in the doorway, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed.
Maelan nodded. “Eolande.”
She said nothing, but continued to glare at him.
“Orlagh’s free to go when she wakes, child. Her penance is done.”
Still, the white-haired girl said nothing. She tapped her foot several times. Did she want an apology? She wouldn’t get one, not from him. Orlagh was his granddaughter, and her punishment was his to decide, not this foundling child’s. He crossed his own arms and matched her glare. They stood like this for several minutes until Orlagh groaned and woke.
She rubbed her eyes, and Eolande quickly moved to her side. Maelan briefly considered making a quick escape, but that was a coward’s action. Instead, he pulled a stool to her bedside and sat.
“Orlagh, have you slept well? The day’s almost done. I’m certain you’re well starved. I’ve brought you food, but if you prefer to come to the hall, you may.”
His granddaughter glared at him. Somehow, even while sitting in her bed, she managed to look threatening. “Oh, I may, may I?”
Secretly, his heart surged with pride. She was a formidable young woman, no doubt. Publicly, however, he must not approve of her insolence. “Yes, you may. You are released from further punishment.” He stood, feeling like a giant next to her and Eolande. “But if this happens again, I shall take more drastic measures.”
He took his leave. Now was not the time to broach the subject of her betrothal to Caiside. He’d best wait for Eógan to verify the lad’s approval first, anyhow.
* * *
Temuirr did not perform that night, but Eolande said the bards were still staying in the village. They’d performed the night before to great acclaim, but they rested this night. She resented her grandfather’s interference which had torn her away from her lover and his sweet music. She glared at him as he sat next to their chief, arguing about something to do with the local farmers. Their voice drifted down to where she sat, staring at her bowl of lamb stew.
Orlagh was hungry. She should eat. Yet she didn’t want to give in to the urge. She needed her grandfather to understand she wasn’t yet reconciled to his actions. She wanted him to realize he wasn’t yet forgiven for his interference. Unfortunately, he wasn’t cooperating by noticing her efforts.
She sneaked a pinch of bread from her loaf, stuffing it into her mouth to quiet her stomach. She tried to arrange the loaf, so the pinch wasn’t apparent, but didn’t succeed very well.
A young man’s voice intruded on her misery. “What are you doing, Orlagh?”
She looked up to find Caiside, his eyebrows raised at her shenanigans. She grimaced. “Showing my grandfather he’s ruined my day.”
The young man glanced up at the dais and back at her. “He doesn’t seem to have noticed. Should I send a herald to announce your displeasure?”
“Oh, go away.”
He smiled. “Here. This is less noticeable.” He placed something on her leg, and she glanced down. He’d given her a chunk of cheese. When she looked up to thank him, he’d sauntered off, pointedly not looking at her.
She was grateful for the small gesture. She’d not eaten anything her grandfather had brought her earlier that evening, and she didn’t want him to witness her eating now. However, she easily secreted small bites of cheese to her mouth. The morsels helped to fill her grumbling belly. If only her grandfather would notice her.
Eolande slipped onto the bench, her eyebrows raised. “Still nothing?”
Orlagh wrinkled her nose. “No. He won’t even look this way.”
Her friend glanced at the dais and back. She played with the ends of her hair. “I discovered something interesting today.”
Orlagh swallowed another morsel of cheese. “Unless it has to do with Temuirr, I’m not interested.”
“Oh, I think you’ll be interested, all right. Very interested.”
Intrigued despite her mood, Orlagh looked up. “Well? What is it?”
With a sly smile, Eolande shook her head. “Oh, I can’t tell you here. It’s much too interesting.”
Orlagh scowled at her friend. “Then where? Would the privy be better? Or perhaps the top of a mountain?”
The girl giggled, and Orlagh growled. She was less than amused at her friend’s evasion.
Eolande waved her hand. “After the feast, we’ll go take a walk. Then I will tell you all the details. Trust me, this is information you want to know!”
If Orlagh thought the feast took a long time before, now it was interminable. First, there was no Temuirr. Now, Eolande dangled some juicy gossip before her like bait, urging her to leap at it like a starved salmon. She had half a mind to stalk out on her friend, but it would ruin her image of despondency as well as rob her of whatever news the girl had for her.
She sat in sullen silence, counting the long moments until the chief finished his meal, his conversations, and his drink. She had memorized the pattern of wood in the table before her by this time and used her finger to make patterns in the condensation from her mug. She had just about finished a frowning face with the moisture when the chief finally rose and said his farewells to the hall.
Orlagh forced herself to rise slowly, rather than to jump up and dart out. With exaggerated courtesy, she gestured for Eolande to lead the way and held her head high as she left the feast hall. As she exited, she caught a glimpse of her grandfather. He was watching her. Good. Let him see her stately progress and interpret it as he desired.
When she breathed in the cool air outside the hall, she almost coughed. It had been quite stifling inside, and the night atmosphere was refreshing.
“Come now, quickly!” Eolande took her hand and ran. Orlagh stumbled behind her, pulling up her skirts so she wouldn’t trip.
Out the front gates and up the hill her friend ran. God’s Bones, were they going up to the blasted stones again? What did her friend love so much about that place?
Orlagh was well out of breath long before they reached the summit, and she forced her friend to pause and let her rest several times. When they finally reached the stones, the mist had already descended upon them, making the space eerie in the full moon’s light. An owl hooted from the surrounding woods, and the sound echoed strangely in the fog. The mist shifted, and she imagined Faerie creatures waiting behind each ominous stone.
“Eolande, why up here? I don’t like this place at night.”
Her friend spun in the mists, her white hair sparkling in the moonlight. She laughed, and the place seemed lighter, friendlier. Her raven winged down and landed on her shoulder, fluttering his wings in protest at her dance. His white eyes glowed in the diffuse light.
“Orlagh, this is a magical place. You know that, right? No one can hear us up here.”
“No one can hear us in the forest, either, yet we passed plenty of private spots on the way up this godforsaken hill.”
“Shh! Quiet with such words, Orlagh. They might hear you.”
Orlagh glanced around, searching for shadows. An owl hooted. “They who?”
Eolande danced in and out of the stones, like a thread in a loom. Her voice was almost a whisper. “The Others, silly. The masters who created these stones so many winters ago.”
Furrowing her brow, Orlagh frowned. “I thought you said no one could overhear us in this place?”
Swirling several times before she answered, Eolande stretched out her arms, her head back and her eyes closed. Her tinkling laugh fell upon the stones like delicate snowflakes. “No human, I meant.”
Orlagh decided she must simply wait until Eolande was ready to tell her news. Her friend’s odd behavior was nothing new, and she had long since learned there was no hurrying the girl.
It didn’t take too long for Eolande to cease her spinning and sit cross-legged on the ground in front of Orlagh. She sat as well while Eolande played with her hair.
“So, what have you discovered that was so important, Eolande? No more stalling now.”
Silver-white light showed her friend’s sly smile. “You’re to be married.”
For one br
eathless moment, Orlagh was certain Temuirr had asked for her. Why would the bard ask Eolande? Or if he’d asked her grandfather, why hadn’t he told her? No, her grandfather would never agree to Temuirr’s bid, even if he made one. As per Brehon Law, it would be a marriage of the third degree union at best, where the husband has less property than the wife and must agree to manage her cattle and fields. Her grandfather would never agree to less than a first degree union, a marriage of equals in property and status.
She did have property. While she was unmarried, her grandfather managed it, but she held claim to several farms on the north border of Ceann-Coradh lands. She’d met the families who worked the land many times and was even friends with the daughter of one. No, her grandfather would not entrust such a responsibility to an itinerant performer, bard though he was.
It meant he had someone else in mind.
Possibilities rushed through Orlagh’s head, each one more absurd. She considered Conn, Taran the blacksmith’s lad, even the chief himself. Certainly, he was already married, but as a second wife, she would have great status. Any son she had by the chief could be chief himself someday. The Church frowned on polygamy, but it was still a Gaelic custom, and many chiefs still took advantage of it to beget many heirs.
She’d hate being married to the chief. His wrinkly, old body stank of sour ale and farts. Besides, he was fat. She desired a mate with a young body. Well, younger, at least. Temuirr was younger. He was tall and lean and could sing like an angel. She smiled at the thought of his hands upon her waist, her breasts…
“Orlagh! Stop dreaming. I can see you thinking of the bard, but that’s not who you’re promised to.”
Promised to. Which meant the agreement had already been made. Her grandfather hadn’t even asked her! With renewed fury, she spat, “Who? Who has he sold me to?”
Eolande smiled again. “Guess.”
She clenched her fists to keep herself from shaking her friend. “God’s Bones, Eolande, I have no patience for your games! Just tell me! I’ve come to your precious stone circle, and I’ve waited patiently for you to dance in the moonlight. Can I please know your news now?”
Misfortune of Song: Druid's Brooch Series: #5 Page 7
