The cool night air felt wonderful on her face and the moonlight that spilled in renewed her spirit. Whenever she felt bad the moon always helped. Sighing, she leaned on the window ledge and rested her chin on her hands. Night cloaked the land outside, giving it an air of mystery and enchantment. Neala loved the night, but now even that small pleasure was tainted for her.
Small glowing balls of light danced about the garden and trees; fairies at play. She envied their freedom and care-free life.
Why had the Danes taken Dublin? Would they be coming this way soon? Sure, it had never happened before, but then they had never come as far down the coast as Dublin either. Tears sprung up and blurred her vision so she shifted her gaze to the barn.
In a grassy paddock attached to the barn, Dubh stood sleeping. His massive head drooped and he had a hind leg cocked. His clean black coat shone in the darkness. She hoped her parents wouldn’t wonder why he was so clean. Being in more trouble was the last thing she needed.
Tomorrow she was supposed to meet with Bren. Her parents were going to keep her from him and her fight training. If she didn’t show up what would he think? All manner of things went through her mind, none of them good. She didn’t want him to worry or think badly of her, and she definitely didn’t want to fall behind in her training, especially not now. She had to do something.
The fairy lights dancing in the tree near her window gave her an idea. She went to her desk and found a sheet of parchment.
The sheets were expensive and hard to find. Neala had had this one for a while. Scrolls and books were something she prized very highly. Danes burned all the druid books and scrolls they could find, which was making them hard to come by. Her intention had been to record her family lineage on this parchment as far back as her parents could recall but she hadn’t got around to it. Now the parchment could serve a different purpose.
A careful fold of the sheet created a crease that she tore it along, freeing a small piece. In the old language, she wrote Bren a note explaining why she wouldn’t be able to meet with him. Once the ink had dried she rolled the parchment into a tiny scroll and tied a scrap of a blue hair ribbon around it to keep it closed. Then she waited.
The sound of her parents’ voices soon dropped off. Neala forced herself to wait a while longer until she was certain they had fallen asleep. Taking the small scroll, she climbed out the window and crept over to a massive oak tree. She sat cross-legged beneath the sheltering boughs and leaned against its trunk. This tree had been a favorite of hers for as long as she could remember. Power vibrated from the tree, into her back, relaxing her like the sensation of a cat purring. This tree had been here since her grandfather’s father had settled the land. Such history was worth fighting for, or at least she thought so.
Fairies with gossamer wings of every imaginable color flitted through the branches above her. They sang in voices so soft that Neala couldn’t make out the words. But she didn’t have to understand it to know it was beautiful. The fairies that weren’t singing were dancing, spinning, and twirling along the branches and about the leaves. A purple winged female floated down and alighted atop an acorn on the ground near Neala.
“Diaduit, little one,” Neala said.
The fairy smiled and inclined her head toward Neala. The fairy’s energy made her look like she was a glowing purple beacon in the darkness. Neala knew she was being overdramatic for thinking such things but she couldn’t help it. It felt like her parents were trying to lock her away from the world and it only made her want to experience it all the more.
To get down on the fairy’s level, Neala lay on her stomach and propped her chin on her hands. “I need a favor,” she said.
The fairy cocked her head to the side.
“Do ye know Brendan O’Donovan?”
Blond curls bounced as the fairy nodded. A sigh slid from Neala, taking a bit of stress with it. Fairies traveled a lot and her ma had told her they were drawn to druids. At least she hadn’t been lying about that. Neala held the tiny scroll out to the fairy.
“Can ye get this to him?” she asked.
The fairy beat her wings and floated up to take the scroll from Neala. It was an armload for the tiny creature. The fairy took something from her pocket. It looked like thread to Neala but to the fairy it was no doubt a rope. Weaving a few quick knots, the fairy tied the rope to both ends of the scroll and then slung it over her shoulder. She nodded to Neala and took off into the night, leaving a glowing trail behind her that quickly faded away. As she watched her go Neala could only hope the tiny creature had understood her.
10
The fairy found Neala in the barn while she was tossing hay into Dubh’s stall. She flew excited circles around her until Neala put the pitch fork down and turned to pay attention to her. She held her hand out, palm open, and the fairy landed on it. Her wings tickled Neala’s thumb as they continued to beat. White teeth flashed as the fairy gave her a huge smile. Reaching behind her, she pulled out a scroll and handed it to Neala. Neala’s heart sped up. She traded the scroll for a piece of sweet bread she had snuck out of the kitchen.
They had been making exchanges like this for two days so Neala had started to carry treats with her all the time. With the fairies’ help she and Bren had been able to keep in touch with exchanged notes; two yesterday and one today. Each was just as exciting, if not more so, than the first. Bren was continuing to train and encourage her through the notes. He described exercises of both mind and body for her to work on and she wrote back to him about her results. The writing was tiny and so hard to read it gave her a headache but she didn’t mind.
What did frustrate her was that Bren was still focusing on contemplation techniques and not actual fighting. He never came out and said it but she could tell he didn’t want her to fight. It frustrated her that he agreed with her parents on that. Being a warrior druid himself, she didn’t see how he possibly could.
As she untied the scroll, Neala walked back to where the hay bundles were stored. She sat down on a bundle in front of an open window and used the sunlight to read by. Like the others, this note was written in the old language but right away Neala could tell it was different. The greeting was formal and there was nothing about lessons. Instead he talked about the Lughnasadh festival that was taking place tomorrow at the base of the Slieve Bloom Mountains.
The festival was in honor of the harvest and it was a place where all clans came together to celebrate and mingle. It was also where many handfastings—or marriages as the invaders called them—occurred. And Bren was asking her to meet him there. That the clans were even still holding the festival was infuriating and a blatant show of their ignorance over the danger the Danes represented.
But Neala had to admit to herself that was glad it was still occurring, really glad. Maybe now she could meet with Bren in person and convince him to teach her more about how to actually fight. An intoxicating mixture of emotions tingled out from her stomach. Not seeing him yesterday or today had been frustrating.
To be asked by a boy to meet at the festival was no small thing. It meant he wanted them to attend as a couple. Neala read the scroll again to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood him. He said he looked forward to having her on his arm. Despite her frustration with him, the note sent a warm flush through her. There was no mistake. She read it a few more times anyway.
Finally it set in and she let out a small squeal as she leapt from the hay bundle. The fairy flew around her in happy circles as Neala skipped and danced through the barn.
“What am I going to wear? What shall I do with me hair? Oh! There’s so much to get ready!”
The gloom of depression that had hung over her the last few days started to lift, leaving her feeling as light as a fairy. This made two days of suffering all worth it. For the first time since they had returned from Dublin, thoughts of battles and training were pushed to the back of her mind. These celebrations were attended by all and they were not to be missed for anything. This was one thing her parents w
ouldn’t keep her from. She would finally get to see Bren again.
11
The scent of berries and spices was so thick in the air it coated Neala’s tongue with each breath. The last of the baked goods had been loaded into baskets and she finally had time to do her hair and figure out what to wear. As soon as her wet locks were dry she set to it. A few small braids with blue ribbon woven into them decorated her otherwise loose hair. She liked how the blue looked against the dark brown, it made it seem rich instead of boring.
What to wear was a problem. A drab brown dress that hung on her like a sack and a few rough looking skirts were all she had that were remotely womanly. Since all she wore were breeches and tunics, her ma hadn’t made her any dresses for a long time. Dread worked its way through her as she held up each sad skirt and considered them. The creaking hinges of her bedroom door drew her attention away from a rusty-colored skirt.
In her doorway stood her ma, head bowed, arms held behind her back. There had been a time when Neala had loved how peaceful her ma always was. It had seemed safe. Now it kind of annoyed her, but she did her best to hide it with a tight smile.
“I made something for ye,” her ma said as she brought something around from behind her back.
It looked like a bundle of dark blue fabric. Neala took it from her, unfolded it, and held it up. The fabric made her think of the night sky, dark and silky. It was a long dress with a fitted waist and bodice that was decorated with delicate beadwork. Light blue ribbons that almost matched the color of Neala’s eyes, laced up the sleeves and back of the dress. Her breath caught in her throat.
“For me?” she asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper.
Her ma nodded. Tears shone in her eyes. “If ye’re to find a husband ye should have somethin’ beautiful to wear,” she said.
Looking at it, Neala had to agree it was beautiful. She only hoped her plain looks wouldn’t ruin it. There was such a thing as something too beautiful. Still, she could hardly wait for Bren to see her in it.
~
Vendors selling wares and food called out to Neala as she passed their carts and stands. Material, food, and jewelry held no pull over her. Her heart felt like it was taking up space in her throat as her eyes scanned the crowd of mingling people, looking for Bren. Finding him would be no easy task. There had to be hundreds of people packed into the valley. They all laughed and talked; the division of the clans forgotten for the day of celebration.
Though her long blue dress didn’t quite touch the ground, Neala held it up as she walked. It was too beautiful to chance dragging through the mud. The sky was a clear, pale blue but it had rained the night before which left parts of the valley muddy. This was only one of many reasons she didn’t wear dresses very often.
Recognizing a few people from Bren’s clan, Neala headed in their direction. Two woodcarvers sat on benches beside a large tree that was propped up off the ground. They were whittling away at it with sharp instruments, revealing a vaguely human form. It would be one of many tributes burned at the bonfire tonight to honor the harvest. Fragrant wood chips covered the ground, not only below the carvers, but all throughout this section of the festival. Letting out a sigh, Neala dropped her skirt and stretched her cramped fingers.
“Neala, is that you?” Bren’s voice came from somewhere off to her left. The tone of his voice was unsure and it made her self-conscious.
Did he think the dress was too pretty for her? It felt like it was. She had never worn anything so lovely. Was it too low cut? She could probably set her chin on her chest if she tried. Heat flushed to her cheeks. She turned to face him and promptly forgot all about how she looked. He stood beside a fruit stand, mouth dropped open, eyes riveted upon her. Mingled with the look of shock on his face was appreciation that barely concealed desire.
He wore a pair of leather breeches that were the same light brown color of his hair. They fit tight in all the right places and went well with a crème colored sleeveless tunic that showed off his muscular arms. The dagger on his hip added an edge of danger to the whole look that was very enticing.
He muttered something in the old tongue as he approached then his eyes widened and he glanced around with a look of fear. Thankfully, no one seemed to have heard. “I mean, ye look. . .” but his voice trailed off as his eyes locked on her. His gaze traveled the length of her body and came back to rest on her face after catching for a short moment upon her chest. It was too low cut, she was sure of it, but she didn’t mind him looking, too much.
In an attempt to ease the tension, Neala laughed. “I hope that doesn’t end with somethin’ like, horrible.”
Bren squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Definitely not. Ye look amazing,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper on the last word.
A blush burned her cheeks but she refused to look down. She was pretty sure she had heard him say she looked ‘delicious’ in the old language. But she wasn’t about to correct him. Instead she smiled and let her appreciation for how he looked fill her eyes.
“So do ye,” she said.
She wished she could take the words back the moment she had said them. It wasn’t that she didn’t think that, she did. But saying it aloud made her feel exposed. The shy smile that graced his lips as he looked away was worth the risk. He closed the distance between them and took her hand. His palm was a bit sweaty but she didn’t care; hers was too.
“I’m glad yer parents let ye come,” he said.
Neala shot a look to her left and shook her head. “They wouldn’t let me miss it. Me ma thinks tis the perfect place for me to find a husband.”
The realization of how that must sound to him made her wish she could disappear. She really needed to start thinking before she spoke. The laughter and teasing she expected from him never came. He looped his arm through hers and started to walk.
“Lookin’ like ye do, that’s a good possibility. I hope ye don’t mind if I keep ye all to meself today,” he said in a low voice that made her tingle all over.
“I don’t mind at all.”
They wound their way through the festival, marveling at craftsman working leather or wood, admiring the handiwork of metalworkers, and sampling tasty food. Bren’s way with people put Neala at ease and made encounters with others pleasant. He always knew what to say and how to exit gracefully. On his arm, mingling with others, was the happiest she could ever remember being. She felt welcomed, like she belonged. It was a completely foreign feeling that was kind of scary.
Still, it couldn’t completely suppress her irritation with Bren over not teaching her more about fighting. Every time she brought it up though he changed the subject or found someone to introduce her to.
Well into the afternoon, Bren took her to the edge of the festivities near the forest. The cool shade of the tall trees felt wonderful after the walk in the warm sun through the thick crowd. The air was refreshing and sweet with the hint of pine and earth. Better than that, she could smell the mix of spices and steel that was Bren’s scent. She couldn’t imagine anyone or anything ever smelling better.
People milled about down the hill from them but it was far enough away that they were pretty much alone. A thrill worked its way through her. It wasn’t fear—she trusted Bren for the most part—it was excitement. Maybe he would finally listen to her.
A look of anticipation filled his eyes as he leaned against the tree next to her, so close their shoulders brushed. Neala’s heart sped up. Her eyes were drawn to his lips. They were perfect, soft and full enough to lose herself in. Her hands started to shake. A warm flush spread through her as he leaned closer and started to stroke her arm.
“Me friends are hangin’ out in the forest until the festivities start. They said to bring ye along if you wanted to come,” he said.
His words were like taking a dip in an icy river, turning her excitement to fear. Meeting his ma and the people in his village was one thing, but meeting his friends was monumentally more frightening. Not to mention, he wou
ldn’t likely talk to her about training with them around.
People their age wouldn’t be as easy to impress as adults. What if they didn’t like her? But she didn’t want to disappoint him by saying no. If he left her now she certainly wouldn’t get to talk to him about training.
“All right,” she said.
Bren took her hand and started into the forest. “Don’t worry, they’re like us. Ye met them the other day,” he said.
The smile that crept onto his face eased some of her anxiety. Contagious excitement filled his eyes. The look transformed him from a handsome young man into someone adorable.
“Come on,” he said.
They skirted around the worst of the undergrowth and made their way farther into the trees. Neala did her best to hold her dress up and keep it from snagging on vines and bushes. Bren moved branches out of her way and even lifted her over a fallen log. Having his strong hands upon her waist for even a few moments set her heart to racing. They emerged from the trees into a grassy meadow where a group of young people were gathered.
There were five of them seated in a circle on rocks and tree stumps. They were laughing and passing around a wineskin. It was the group of people she met back in his village that day, plus an additional girl, a pretty blond. One of the young men stood and beckoned them over, Liam she thought his name was.
Bren stepped closer and put an arm around her shoulders. It was a possessive move that Neala didn’t quite like. “Everyone, ye remember Neala.”
They smiled and offered her a greeting, all except for the blond girl. Neala tried to recall their names. The red-headed girl was Irial, she couldn’t forget her, the brunette was Kyla, or something like that. The other boy she thought was named Cian.
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