Faerie Fate

by Silver James

  Niall shrugged again. “You and I, Ciaran, we’ve kept the old ways longer than most. Me, because of Siobhan. You? You, I think, have a bit of the fae about you yourself.”

  Ciaran started to interrupt but Niall stayed him with a raised hand. “Nay, hear me out, lad. I knew both your sire and his brother, and I tell you true. The clann would have been better off if Fionn had lived to be An Taoiseac. You are much like him, Ciaran. You know the tales, for I told them to you when you were but a lad.”

  He nodded, remembering the stories Niall had told him. Tales of the great battles between the Tuatha dé Danaan and the Milesians and Fir Borg. Stories of how mortal humans had been caught in the middle. He’d thrilled to the legend that one of his forebears was a Fenian Warrior and saved the life of one of the faerie. To repay that first MacDermot, Finvarra, a king of the Tuatha dé Danaan, had gifted the clann with a covenant. Once in each generation, the clann would be honored with the birth of a true warrior to guide and protect them.

  Niall knew that Fionn had been given the gift, but he’d been killed by treachery. None could prove it was Aralt behind his brother’s death. Aralt had been a bane to the clann. Niall recognized the gift in Aralt’s son and sought out young Ciaran, teaching the lad what he needed to know to become An Taoiseac when Aralt finally passed. There was one part of the legend Niall had never divulged to his charge. The gift from Onagh, Finvarra’s consort. The warrior was to be blessed with a true mate, one he could bestow the MacDermot Knot upon. The Knot was a brooch of gold and silver intertwined through eternity and sealed with the faerie’s tear. A brilliant stone, shot with fire, the likes of which none had seen before or since.

  Legend had it that Onagh herself wove the knot from a lock of her long, golden hair and a thread from her silver gown. As the knot was finished, she shed one tear of joy, and that tear hardened into a precious stone caught forever in the web of the eternity knot. Once the MacDermot warrior gave his heart to his true mate and gifted her with the Knot and the binding words, their lives were bound together, beginning without end, until the end of time.

  Fionn died before he’d found his mate. Aralt, not having the gift, traveled from bed to bed never able to scratch the itch that annoyed him. Niall watched Ciaran eschew the favors of the cailíns, knowing almost from the beginning that he’d received the gift. Now the woman left behind in Ciaran’s bed was more than likely the fulfillment of the covenant between faerie and mortal. All Niall had to do was keep his clann chief alive long enough to woo and win the woman.

  Chapter Six

  Becca spent the next several weeks learning to find her way around the castle and grounds and, more importantly, the nuances of the language and customs. Though she still thought in modern terms, the archaic words for them rolled more easily off her tongue. Siobhan spoke of moons rather than months, and fortnights and sennights, meaning two weeks and a week. Becca slowly released the self-portrait she carried around in her head, that of a fifty-year-old woman too crippled in body to enjoy life. For whatever reason, she’d been granted the use of this young, lithe body, and she planned to exploit it to the fullest.

  She spent time in Ciaran’s den. The room often overwhelmed her with male regalia and scent, but it reminded her of him. Spending time there eased the ache of missing him. The castle’s accounts were stored there, and Becca familiarized herself with the ledgers. Siobhan taught her the inner workings of the castle, how each area was its own small kingdom. The kitchens and larder were the demesne of the cook, and none dared argue with the man. Since moving into the castle, Siobhan had taken over the maids and serving staff though she nominally granted authority to a man named Gair, a retired soldier who, though the castle’s steward, was at quite a loss catering to the women now occupying the household. A small village clustered around the walls of the castle where a tanner, a weaver, and a blacksmith all enjoyed autonomy. Beyond the village, crofters and shepherds lived their lives among their fields and herds.

  Day after day, the stables drew her. Eachan, the gruff Master of Horse, never noticed her presence or perhaps simply chose to ignore her. Even though Siobhan was determined to teach her the place of the mistress of the castle, Becca sensed ambivalence toward her from most of Ciaran’s household. He’d not handfasted her in the old way, nor formally betrothed her in the way of the Church before he left. Though his men sensed his intentions toward the strange woman who now occupied Ciaran’s chamber, they still remembered the peculiarity of her coming and the illness that dogged her. Then there were the women. That was a whole other situation, and Becca didn’t want to look too deeply into their motives. The young ones were jealous. The old ones were skeptical. Becca was caught in the middle.

  Bhruic and most of the wolfhounds had accompanied Ciaran and his troops. Two stayed behind, though, and shadowed Becca silently as she passed through the busy days and lonely nights. Often, the calico cat would also join her entourage. She started calling the trio Winken, Blinken, and Nod. People often stopped what they were doing to watch the odd parade go by. Becca, flanked by one of the big brutes, followed closely by the second, with the tiny fluff of a kit dancing along in the rear presented quite a sight. Those who sought the blessings of the Church crossed themselves after she’d passed. Those who didn’t smiled, believing one of the fae had come to grace their clann. Most had seen the look on Ciaran’s face as he’d stared up at the window of his chamber before turning his horse to ride away. He’d chosen the cailín with his heart even if he hadn’t voiced that choosing.

  Ciaran had been gone close to a month, and the last remnants of winter dug tenacious claws into the month of April. The day dawned raw and blustery with a north wind whipping around the corners. Rain threatened to fall from thick, gloomy clouds. Restless, Becca threw a mantle about her shoulders and braved the bleak weather, the hounds at her side. As her feet often did, they dragged her toward the stable. As she stood at the stable door hesitant to enter, two boys raced out almost knocking Becca down. Both hounds bared their teeth and growled, but the boys were gone too quickly for the dogs to retaliate. She heard shouting coming from inside and peeked around the door.

  Eachan was a huge hulk of a man with red hair and a beard as wild as the mane on one of his stallions. He bellowed at the top of his lungs as stable hands scurried willy-nilly to do his bidding. The hubbub fascinated Becca until Eachan shouted for a sharp knife. Curious, she crept forward until she could see into the stall behind the big master. A beautiful mare was down on a bed of fresh straw. Looking closer, Becca saw marks in the dirt made by the mare as she struggled to get up. The mare’s distended belly indicated she was trying to foal but something had gone terribly wrong. The horse had worn herself out and was down now. If something weren’t done soon, both mare and foal would perish. The fact that this mare looked just like her grandfather’s favorite horse didn’t help matters any.

  “Bring me that knife,” Eachan roared. “We’ll cut the foal out.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Becca commanded, her voice cutting through the hubbub. There was dead silence in the stable as every eye in the place turned to stare at her. Becca swallowed hard, realizing she might have stepped on her poncho this time. “Well, in for dime, in for a dollar,” she muttered. “I know the mare is down,” she added quickly to Eachan. “But I might be able to save them both. She’s too beautiful to lose without a fight.”

  The master stared at her unblinking. Rumor had it that this was the Taoiseac’s chosen, and if so, she’d be his mistress when the MacDermot returned. A shrewd man, he knew he had enough witnesses if both colt and dam were lost. Their demise would not be on his head but hers. He nodded, giving his permission. At this point he had nothing to lose, and if the cailín could save them both, he had everything to gain.

  Becca knelt beside the mare, crooning to her while running knowing hands across her swollen belly. She could tell by feel that the foal was transverse, and if there were any chance of saving them, she would have to turn it. There wasn’t
much time left. The mare was almost out of fight.

  Becca stood up and faced Eachan. “I’ll be right back,” she told the gruff man. She hitched up her skirts and ran, tossing over her shoulder, “Don’t touch her!” She sprinted to the castle.

  Every man in the stable stood there agog at the sight of her shapely legs. “An Taoiseac is a lucky man,” the master sighed, speaking for them all.

  “Siobhan!” Becca yelled at the top of her lungs as she entered the castle. “Siobhan, I need hot water, soap, and rags.”

  The older woman appeared from the kitchens. “Slow down, cailín,” she cautioned. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Becca grabbed a quick breath. “Hot water and soap, Siobhan, and rags. Lots of rags. There’s a mare in trouble. The horse master wanted to gut her to save the foal. I can save them both, but you’ve got to help me.” She took another breath. “And you’ve got to do it now. There’s no time to waste.”

  As Siobhan called for the items, Becca sprinted back to the stable. Siobhan followed not too far behind carrying an armful of soft rags.

  Calmly, Becca checked the mare. There’d been no change. She tried to push up the sleeves of her gown but they were so tight she couldn’t even get them past her forearms. “Where’s that sharp knife?” she asked the horse master. With a quizzical look, the big man handed it to her. Becca passed the knife to Siobhan who looked a little surprised. “Cut the sleeves off,” Becca ordered the other woman. “I don’t have time to explain, Siobhan,” she implored. “Just do it.”

  Siobhan cocked an eyebrow, wondering what the cailín was up to. Wordlessly, she sliced through the seams at the shoulders of Becca’s gown.

  Impatient, Becca ripped the first one free before Siobhan had finished. Several boys appeared with steaming buckets of hot water. Becca ripped the second sleeve free. Moving around the stall to get to the buckets to wash up, she caught her toe in the hem of her gown and fell flat on her face.

  “Bloody hell,” she muttered, pushing herself off the ground. “I’d kill for a pair of jeans right now.

  Siobhan and Eachan both stared at her, tasting the unfamiliar word. Becca fumed a minute. “Trews,” she finally translated. “I’d kill for a pair of trews.”

  That set everyone within earshot to wagging their eyebrows. Unceremoniously, Becca reached between her legs, gathered up the back hem of her skirt, and pulled it through. Grabbing the front hem, she tied the two together. It wasn’t jeans but it would have to do. She couldn’t waste any more time trying to con a pair of trews out of Siobhan.

  There wasn’t a man in the stable with a closed mouth or without a lustful thought in his head at the sight of the cailín with the tied up skirt. Every well-defined muscle in her legs was there for them to savor, and they did so openly.

  Oblivious to their leers, Becca knelt by the mare’s head, talking to her and rubbing her neck. Becca leaned away and washed her arms and hands in one of the buckets. Still crooning softly to the mare, Becca moved to kneel behind the horse as she carefully moved the mare’s tail. When Eachan figured out what she was doing, he moved to stop her but Becca stayed him with a glare. With infinite gentleness, Becca inserted her arm up to the shoulder and searched the mare’s womb to find the colt. The mare tensed and she braced, but the contraction was so mild she barely felt it. That was a very bad sign. After careful manipulation, she got the foal’s head down between its forelegs. There wasn’t time to turn it.

  “Rope,” she said softly, withdrawing her arm. “I need a rope with a noose on the end.”

  The stable master handed her a rope, and Becca washed it as well, causing eyebrows to rise again. With the noose clutched in her hand, Becca plunged her arm back into the mare. She managed to get the noose looped around the colt’s head and its forelegs. She had to keep the colt’s head positioned between his forelegs so he could fit down the birth canal.

  “Draw the rope,” she ordered. “Slowly.”

  Eachan took the rope in his big, calloused hands but pulled with gentle and steady pressure. The mare shuddered, and Becca’s face turned white. That contraction completely numbed her arm—a very good sign. Now, if the mare would fight, she might be able to save them both. She crooned to the mare.

  “Again,” Becca whispered to the horse master.

  In a short while, a chestnut colt spilled into Becca’s lap. She tore at the amniotic sack and pulled off the rope. Grabbing clean rags, she vigorously rubbed down the colt. He lay still, not breathing. She said several very unladylike words under her breath and shifted her weight. Grabbing the colt’s head, she covered his nostrils with her mouth and blew. After several tries, the colt’s sides gave a little heave, and he started breathing on his own.

  A murmur rustled through the gathered crowd. The horse master stood, hands on hips, completely amazed. As he watched, Becca thrust the colt into Siobhan’s arms and told the other woman to keep rubbing him until he was dry. Becca crawled back to the mare’s head and cradled it in her lap.

  “Listen to me, Maggie May,” Becca whispered, naming the mare after her grandfather’s horse. “You have a fine, strong son who, like most males, took the hard way into this life. Now it’s up to you. You have to get up, Maggie. I know you’re tired but the afterbirth is to come, and you need to nurse the little brute.”

  Becca stood up and tugged on the mare’s halter. The horse blew a gentle puff of air through her nostrils but refused to move. Becca sat back down. “Okay, Maggie, here’s the deal. I need new boots. Horse hide is supposed to make soft ones.” The mare rolled her eyes and snorted. “Not to mention the fact that these barbarians probably eat horsemeat.” With that, the mare lunged up and stood shakily on all four feet. Becca scrambled up with her and hugged the horse’s neck. “Ah, sweet Maggie,” she sighed in the mare’s ear. “You are the bravest, most wonderful horse in all the land.”

  The little colt, shaky on his long, spindly legs, wobbled over to his dam’s belly and nudged her. In a few moments, he found what he was seeking and nursed hungrily. Becca, feeling as shaky as the newborn colt, walked over to a bucket of now-tepid water and half-heartedly washed. Stained and ripped, her gown was in shambles. The slippers she’d worn were completely ruined, too. She definitely needed more durable footwear, wishing belatedly for a pair of boots.

  Siobhan, always the model of efficiency, was already on her way back to the castle calling for a hot bath to be prepared in Becca’s chamber. Becca bent to gather up the bloody rags. As she reached to snag one, a giant boot descended and trapped it.

  “Nay, mistress,” the huge horse master roared. “Yee’ve soiled yer hands enough this day. You’ll not be picking up like one of the maids.”

  Becca squared her shoulders and faced the man. “I am quite capable of picking up after myself.”

  The big man guffawed. “Aye, cailín, you’re quite capable of most anything yee put yer mind to, and An Taoiseac MacDermot has met his match this time fair certain. Let the stable boys earn their keep. You’ve more than done so this day. ’Tis the best mare in the herd you’ve saved along with her fair son as well.” After a long pause, he spoke again. “How know you to do this thing?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder. He’d known the foal was turned wrong but it had never occurred to him that something could be done to rectify it.

  Trying to explain the vet med classes required for an equine management degree at Colorado State University would be futile. She shrugged and simply replied, “Something my grandfather taught me.”

  “Do you ride as well, cailín?”

  “Oh, yes,” she breathed, her eyes shining.

  “I’ll have a horse picked out for you.”

  “Oh! Please, may I pick out my own?”

  Eachan grinned at her. “Doesn’t surprise me that you’d want to, cailín. Just let me know when.”

  ****

  Back in her chamber, Becca stripped out of her bloody clothes and gratefully sank up to her chin in the hot, sudsy water. Clucking like a hen, Siobhan gathered up t
he ruined clothing and deposited them outside the door. After grabbing a jar smelling something like sweet clover, Siobhan pulled up a stool. “Here, cailín,” she scolded. “Yee’ve even got blood in yer hair.” She dunked Becca and then started washing the younger woman’s hair.

  “Oh, this is heaven.” Becca closed her eyes, sighing.

  When the water cooled off, she reluctantly climbed out. Before Siobhan wrapped her in a thick blanket, the woman checked her body closely. “Aye. ’Tis good, cailín. Yer hurts have all but healed.” She bustled about for a moment. “I’ve laid out another gown for yee,” Siobhan said over her shoulder. “You’ll be hungry after all that work and dinner will be served up soon. Come on down to the great hall when yer dressed.”

  Becca grimaced at her, not wanting to put on the gown. “Siobhan, could you get me a pair of trews and a shirt?” Siobhan snorted her answer to that question as she swept from the room. “Well, it was worth a try,” Becca told the door. “Can I at least have boots?” she hollered.

  ****

  The next day dawned bright with a promise of warmth and blue skies. Becca found a pair of soft leather boots near the hearth. With a whoop of excitement, she pulled them on. They fit perfectly. She finished dressing and headed down for breakfast.

  Anxious to get to the stables to check on Maggie and her new son, Becca gobbled down her meal. She ran to the stables but stopped short. Mare and colt were in the paddock, mother chewing the greening grass contentedly while the baby tried out his wobbly legs with an occasional nudge from his dam. Becca felt the joy build inside her as she watched them.

  The huge horse master joined her. “And have yee come to hold me to my promise, cailín?”

  “Aye, I have.”

  “Come around to the back, then. I had some horses brought up from the field. Some is broken, some is not.”