by Kristen Cobb
“And you are able to save Conor. Everyone obtains what they most desire.” Dermot’s gaze reminded her of a wolf stalking its prey.
She found herself in an impossible situation. Her vision could not be ignored, and this one was an actual vision. Sometimes the trees told her things about the future. This time they were incessant, weeping for the death of the future king. Conor’s beheading played over and over in her mind every day, from the time she woke until sleep claimed her.
If Conor died the trees foretold of great sorrow for her people. Ireland needed Conor to save them from disaster, which meant someone needed to save Conor from execution.
The main issue she had with the plan was that it required her to kill a man before he actually did anything wrong. Being raised by Dermot her moral boundaries were understandably blurred but not completely nonexistent. Killing Rory O’Connor would be murder. She would become Dermot’s assassin.
Deep down she already knew what her answer would be. She created the poisonous potion after making the poultice for Ceara. She could not let Rory kill Conor. The trees were wailing day and night now. She could not ignore what they were telling her. If Conor lived he would be Ireland’s greatest king. Still in his early twenties there had to be another fate for him besides imminent death.
“Laurence has already agreed to escort me to Rory’s camp. The potion is made. All I need to do is convince Rory to let me travel back to Connaught with him and see Conor.” It was actually a relief to say it out loud. For better or worse she had chosen her path.
Dermot actually smiled, a rare occurrence. “You are more like me than any of my own children. What would I do without you?”
Unsure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult she decided to ignore it altogether. Conor and Aoife were both wonderful people who would never consider doing what she just agreed to. Dermot likely considered it an enormous compliment.
“Do not kill him until you hear that I have raided into Connaught. I will camp as close as possible to his stronghold. Change form the instant you are certain he is dead and head northeast.”
“Seducing men is not exactly my area of expertise. There is no guarantee I will be able to get the kind of access to him your plan requires.” This particular facet of the plan bothered her as well.
Dermot grinned. “You have always been surprisingly unaware of your beauty. It is long past time you learned how to use it.”
“Is Dervorgilla beautiful?” It was a question she often wondered about but never felt comfortable asking. Dervorgilla could easily be considered the reason for all of Dermot’s current troubles. He basically started a war for love of her.
Dermot seemed to have trouble breathing for a moment. Her question apparently stunned him speechless. Eventually he answered, in the softest voice she ever heard him use. “Yes.”
The whole story fascinated her. At least what she knew of it. Dervorgilla was married to a man named Tiernan O’Rourke, the king of Briefne, a territory in the province of Connaught. Dermot kidnapped Dervorgilla, transporting her to Dunamase, one of his smaller strongholds. Most people believed Dervorgilla assisted in her own kidnapping because she loved Dermot. “I cannot imagine being so beautiful that men start a war over me.”
Dermot’s faraway gaze spoke of times long past. She was stunned when he actually began to speak. “It was more than her physical beauty. She made me a better person. That is what love does.”
“So you did love her?” Nessa had never seen such a look of longing on Dermot’s face.
“Very much. She agreed to be my wife but her father had other plans. No matter how much she begged and pleaded her father refused to allow it. He married her off to Tiernan O’Rourke as if she were a possession.” Dermot’s eyes clouded over with anger.
She wanted to point out that he used his own children in the same manner but refused to pull him from the reverie that had him talking freely. “Do you ever regret kidnapping her?”
“No.” Dermot did not even hesitate in answering.
The kidnapping of Dervorgilla was the reason Tiernan O’Rourke hated Dermot. Tiernan supported Rory O’Connor as high-king of Ireland. That meant Rory had access to Tiernan’s army whenever he needed it. Each king built his army in pieces through the military support of the kings under him. In turn he would be obligated to keep them happy. It was a well-known fact that Rory stripped Dermot of his power and territory at Tiernan’s request.
Dermot lost everything because he could not live without the woman he loved. Eventually Dermot returned Dervorgilla to her husband Tiernan. She could only imagine how painful that must have been. Although their story had a rather tragic ending it was the most romantic tale she ever heard. What would it feel like to have someone love you that much?
2
They arrived at Rory’s camp mid-afternoon when the autumn sun hung high in the clear blue sky. Nessa stood on top of a small knoll with Laurence, looking down onto the military encampment. The sea of men, tents and supply wagons covered the ground as far as her eyes could see. A large red tent in the center of camp stood out like a beacon among the generally drab colors of the military encampment. She would be willing to wager that tent belonged to Rory O’Connor. He obviously managed to raise an enormous army, a testament to how many of the lesser kings supported Rory over Dermot. Each of those kings would lend their army to Rory, thereby growing his potential fighting force into this shocking display of might. Each of the under kings would keep track of their own men, likely clustered in smaller groups within the mass of warriors before her.
It made no sense at all for Rory to walk away from this battle. The Norman mercenaries Dermot collected were an impressive fighting force but the high-king’s army clearly outnumbered them by a staggering amount. The possibility existed that Rory had more men supporting him than what she could physically see in this particular encampment. He would have spread out his forces to cover all of the possible paths into Dublin. Nessa had no idea if he recalled those forces or simply sent them home from their posts.
Dermot decided to bring his men through the Wicklow Mountains, a slow and treacherous journey but well worth the effort. They slipped right through Rory’s defenses. Apparently Rory had not considered the mountain passes a viable possibility. Dermot’s gamble paid off. His army marched right up to the wall surrounding Dublin without any resistance. Now Dermot threatened to attack the city and Rory decided to just walk away. Any offensive mounted by the high-king and his army would very likely destroy Dermot’s campaign in its infancy. So why give up so easily? It made no sense at all.
She and Laurence were of like mind when it came to riding horses. They would rather walk. It seemed rather selfish to force another creature to carry you if walking could be considered a reasonable option. The journey to Rory’s camp proved no hardship at all on such a beautiful day. A torrential downpour would have been fitting given the morbid outcome this journey was meant to produce although extremely unwelcome.
Men were staring at her as they began walking through the camp. The people of Leinster were accustomed to seeing her in men’s clothing. She continued staring straight ahead, desperately trying to ignore the mild uproar her appearance caused.
They eventually made it to the center of camp, striding purposefully toward a group of men standing near the large red tent. If one were planning to attack the camp and assassinate Rory O’Connor he would not be difficult to find. As she approached some of the men began pointing at her and making comments impossible to hear.
One man broke away from the group, walking over to them. “What brings you back so soon father? News from Dublin?”
“Afraid not. I need to speak with Rory. Nessa, this is Conri, the captain of Rory’s guard.” Laurence laid a hand gently against her back.
Conri’s light brown hair while cut in a variety of haphazard lengths somehow managed to frame his face in the most sensual way. Dark brown eyes seemed the perfect contrast to the light brown of his hair. Her eyes fixated f
or a moment on the fullness of his lips, wondering how they would feel to kiss. There was a growth of stubble on his face but no beard. She hated the penchant Irish men had for long beards.
Tall and solidly built, an aura of confidence and strength surrounded him. Conri was shockingly handsome, the kind of man you could not help but openly stare at. His tunic and pants were a deep black. The hilt of the gleaming sword peeking up over his shoulder seemed to shine brighter because of his dark clothing. A rather large sheathed dagger hung off the leather belt at his waist.
For years she put off any man that showed interest in her, waiting for someone. She could feel his presence as though he were standing right in front of her. Now he was actually here. The sudden realization that she would love this man more than her own life left her feeling stunned, staring at him like a dolt, barely able to breathe. Her knees nearly buckled at the force of the revelation, the trees whispering softly on the breeze that Conri was her true mate.
He barely acknowledged her existence. The fact that Conri glanced in her direction apparently the only greeting he intended to give. Turning and walking away toward the red tent without saying a word he left her and Laurence to follow. Somehow she managed to make her feet move.
When they reached the red tent Conri turned to Laurence, still completely ignoring her presence. “Wait here a moment Father.” Conri disappeared inside the tent, popping back out no more than a moment later. “Come right in.”
Conri and four other guards followed her and Laurence into the tent. What she saw upon entering Rory’s tent shocked her. The furnishings were elaborate. Dermot never travelled with more than a trestle table, two benches, and a cot. This tent contained the best of everything, including a full size bed complete with mattress, blankets, and pillows.
The table in the center of the tent was polished to a high sheen. It belonged in the private chamber of a king, not a mobile environment like this. There were chairs instead of benches, also beautifully carved and polished with cushioned seats upholstered in red fabric. The tent was brightly lit by three candelabras on the table.
Four guards flanked Rory, two on either side of the table. Conri stood on her left with Laurence on her right. She had no doubt Conri would grab her were she to try and get any closer to his king. No one checked her for weapons. There was no need. She would be dead long before she made it anywhere near their king.
The man seated on one of those chairs at the table could only be Rory O’Connor. Thick, wavy blonde hair that would make most women jealous gently tumbled over his shoulders. A long blonde beard almost reached his chest. Eyes so dark they appeared completely black momentarily fell on her then quickly passed to Laurence. “What can I do for you Father?” He wore a tunic of deep red, the sleeves flared and edged with gold threading.
A woman sat on Rory’s lap, the front of her worn and dirty green dress pulled down to expose extremely large breasts. Her long brown hair was not up to the task of covering the monstrous mounds. She kissed Rory’s neck then ran her hand down his chest. Her hand continued its journey down the front of his body until it disappeared below the table out of view.
Rory quickly grabbed the woman’s hand, halting her intended ministrations. “Go find something else to amuse yourself while I speak to Father Laurence.”
The woman pulled up the front of her dress and rose to do his bidding, glaring angrily at her on the way out.
Laurence looked away until the woman left the tent. “I have a favor to ask. Dermot would like to send an emissary with you to Connaught, to verify that his son Conor is safe.”
“I assume this is the emissary he wishes to send.” Rory motioned toward her.
“Yes. I have known Nessa since she was an infant and will personally vouch for her.” Laurence moved just a bit closer to her.
Laurence’s statement made her feel horrible. How could she do this to him? Yet there were no other options. The needs of the many were more important.
“Unlike Dermot I am a man of my word. Conor will not be harmed unless Dermot breaks the treaty.” Rory did not sound pleased by the suggestion that Conor might be mistreated.
She could not be left behind. “If you would like Dermot to continue honoring the treaty then I must be allowed to see Conor.”
“So this is not so much a request as a threat?” Rory appeared almost amused by her statement.
“Think of it more like a promise. Without assurance that his son is safe there is no reason for Dermot to honor the treaty. If I am not allowed to see Conor he will attack Dublin, possibly even Connaught.” She looked Rory in the eye, making certain he understood she meant every word.
Rory watched her for a moment before replying to her statement. “You are the one they call Dermot’s druidess.”
She considered denying it in an attempt to hide her true identity but decided against such an obvious deception. She needed to earn his trust. He would know she was lying. Her unnaturally green eyes and white blonde hair always gave her away. “I am.” Nessa waited while Rory silently debated his options.
“You will have to sleep outside with the men.” Rory’s eyes were still locked on hers.
“That will not be a problem. I do not require special treatment” Actually she had her own tent when travelling with Dermot’s army but was not about to complain.
“Conri will guard you for the duration of your stay with us.” Rory watched her reaction closely.
She immediately wanted to argue against that particular point but decided to hold her tongue. Her initial reaction to Conri was slightly disturbing but her goal of being allowed to go with them seemed to be within reach. Challenging Rory’s authority at this juncture would not be in her best interest. “As you wish my king.” She did her best to appear compliant and submissive.
Rory watched her for another long moment before looking at Conri. “Send Riona back in. I am not even close to done with her.”
Conri walked out of the tent without saying a word. The man’s personality was certainly not as riveting as his physical appearance. She had the strangest urge to run her hands through his hair.
Riona waited just outside the tent, grabbing her arm as they walked by. “Do not get any ideas. He is mine.”
Before she could utter so much as a word in reply Conri pulled Riona away. “Keep your hands off her or you will find yourself servicing the rabble again.”
Riona pulled her arm out of Conri’s grasp. “You are nothing more than his servant. Do not dare order me about.”
Conri leaned in close to Riona. “And you are only his whore. Enjoy your time because I guarantee it will be limited.”
Riona stormed back into the tent.
“I could have dealt with her myself. I do not need you to defend me.”
Conri did not even bother glancing in her direction to acknowledge the challenging statement. “Will you be heading back immediately Father?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Take care of her. She is more precious to me than you could ever imagine.” Laurence gazed at her with obvious adoration.
Tears began to well in her eyes. She wanted to beg Laurence’s forgiveness for the deception she dragged him into today. There was a chance he would never look upon her as he did right now ever again. The thought nearly broke her heart.
When Laurence hugged her it was almost her complete undoing. Nessa threw her arms around his neck and held on as if her very life depended on it. They held each other for longer than most would consider appropriate but she cared not one little bit. People always seemed to assume the worst anyway.
When they eventually released each other Nessa looked away, afraid he would see the guilt in her eyes and realize a plot was afoot.
Laurence set his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You are as dear to me as if you were my own child. There is nothing you could do that would change that.”
Looking into his eyes she saw the truth. He knew she had an ulterior motive.
Laurence turned and walked away
. Watching him until he disappeared from sight Nessa wondered if he would actually be able to forgive her. She wanted to believe, it gave her the tiniest glimmer of hope that everything would work out
The wagons were packed, the troops ready to head out. Rory’s belongings alone filled two wagons. Nessa stood waiting among the men who were walking. They were what Conri not so affectionately called the rabble. Most had little more than the clothes they wore, a weapon, and perhaps a bag with one change of clothing. That made her rabble too. A king may have raised her but at the moment she owned nothing more than what she could carry.
The life of a soldier was a simple one. Some women had elaborately crafted mantles lined with fur to keep them warm when they ventured outdoors. Her extra set of clothing had to suffice. A mantle ended up being one more thing to carry if you became too warm. It was unseasonably cool today, even for early autumn. Thick clouds kept the sun’s warmth from reaching them and a cool breeze reminded her that summer would soon be over. Fortunately the long march would help keep her warm. Stray leaves blew around her feet on the dirt path.
There were two main careers a man could choose in Ireland, farming or fighting. Those who chose to fight were a breed all their own. She felt at home among them most of the time. Watching the leaves being blown about by the wind reminded her of the benefits of this life she chose. Most women had their fates decided by the men around them. Like the leaves, they had no control of where they ended up. Her life might be steeped in brutality and physically demanding but no man decided which path she would take on any given day. Those same women stared at her in horror as if she were some sort of aberration. Nessa generally ignored their censure and condescension. The brightly colored leaves of autumn floating through the air were beautiful but she would much rather be the wind that blew the leaves about.
No one had spoken so much as a word to her since Laurence left yesterday, even Conri. If she attempted to go somewhere without him he simply grabbed her arm, refusing to let her leave. She put up with his callous treatment thus far mainly out of embarrassment. Today however her tolerance reached its breaking point. His arrogant condescending attitude would be met with a bit of resistance.
