“Ye l-loo-look st-stunning D’rina,” he said aloud as he held his hands out to her. It was difficult for him to keep his hands off the velveteen fabric for very long. The contrast between the downy tunic and the billowy truis nearly drove him mad. Fully aware that no longer riding with her body pressed against his left a palpable vacancy…he darted to grasp her hand and wrap his arm about her waist…anything just to be close to her again.
Thank ye, she said, unintentionally, with her mind.
“I mean, thank ye,” she repeated, out loud this time.
Ye have no need to apologize, luv. Ye may speak with me in any fashion ye wish. I am delighted that ye are more comfortable with me now…it appears, he pressed hesitantly.
“Somewhat,” she nodded in agreement and moved closer to his side, enjoying the warmth that emanated from him. Can ye explain to me what is happening here, or why this is happening at all? I don’t ken how this works.
“M-me n-neith-neither,” he shot back to her. I ken that me mam and I could speak this way, and that me friend Airard, Lucian’s brathair, I could speak to him but he could no’ speak to me. Why, I don’t ken. I would imagine that this is no’ the first time this has happened to ye?
“Nay, it is not,” she replied. “My sister Dervilla could read my mind since we were wee ones. However, I suspect a lot of it is simply her skill at reading people as opposed to reading their minds. I have never been able to converse with someone, or speak to someone, who understands me…like I can with…ye.”
Patrick swung the basket of fruit and wine with his right hand and held Darina’s hand with his other. Let’s stop here. He spread his cloak over a small patch of level ground upon which a thick batch of fresh green clover grew. Inviting her to sit, he opened the basket Minea sent with them and brought out a wine jug, fresh bread and cheese and dried fruit.
Darina, he said with his mind, I want ye to know that I understand ye do not know me and ye have no reason to trust or respect me, yet. He broke off a piece of fresh bread and handed it to her along with a full mug of elderberry wine. I intend that ye will do both, trust and respect me, in time. And, I ken that I must earn that…as I have come to realize that ye are verra cautious with yer…affections.
Darina smiled a knowing smile. “Ye have heard of me, now have ye?” she chuckled. I will kill my Uncle Ruarc, I will, she thought to herself, only a bit too late.
Patrick tipped his head to the side in confusion. “I’m s-so-sorry?” he asked.
“Oh, never ye mind,” she replied out loud. “My Uncle Ruarc likes to think he knows me better than anyone else. He is seldom accurate Patrick, trust me on this. I may be stubborn and bull-headed, but only because I’ve had to be.”
Patrick laughed this time. He said nothing of the kind. He did tell me that perhaps I had met my match, however. And Lucian seems to think the same.
“Lucian? What has Lucian to do with anything?” she retorted as she removed her hand from Patrick’s and grew cold to his touch.
“D’rina? What gripe have ye with Lucian?” he asked sensing there was more to the story.
“Patrick, I know that ye have a special bond with Lucian, considering yer, uh, similarities,” she ventured. “But, Lucian has brought me people and me clan more trouble than we can abide. Things were fine until Lucian arrived, along with his pagan ways, and curses and spells and other such nonsense.”
“G-go on,” he implored her.
“I know me sister Dervilla trains under him, and for more than just map-making. I am well aware that the hours he spent with me mathair were not just council meetings on clan business. There is witchcraft and sorcery wherever Lucian roams and it has brought destruction and calamity in its wake.”
Tell me, what has Lucian caused or cost yer people, Darina?
“Well, if ye don’t ken by now, I may as well tell ye,” she huffed. Darina stood and straightened her tunic and truis, and paced back in forth in front of the small fire Patrick lit for them. “Ye may want to seek an annulment after this, but here goes.”
Darina, there is nothing that would keep me from fulfilling my oath to our marriage, to yer people, to me people. There is nothing, trust me.
Darina composed herself and sat back down, directly across from Patrick, looking him square in the eye as if in direct challenge. Daring him to brave the change in the course of his life she was about to burden him with. Instead of resistance, instead of defiance, her gaze was met with understanding. Understanding she did not understand. A quiet peace she never knew existed. A resilience and courage unmatched by anything she ever experienced.
“G-go on,” he said again and placed her hand in his. I am listening.
“Well, it’s a long story, so I’ll tell it fast. Lucian is a druid. When he showed up here, our clan starting warring with the Burke clan to our north. They cast a spell on our people so that we can no longer have male children. There hasn’t been a male born to our clan in twenty years.”
Patrick nodded and stroked her hand in a silent appeal that she continue her story.
“Well, when I was young, I got pulled into the river and me mam came in after me. Only she was pregnant, and she took fever and she lost the babe. Even Lucian couldn’t help her, or save the babe. Mighty fine sorcerer he is, he couldn’t save the babe,” she cried and clasped her head in her hands.
And ye believe it is Lucian’s fault the bairn died?
“Well, aye and nay; I suppose I don’t ken,” she replied tears now running down her cheeks. Patrick drew Darina close to comfort her, seating her between his legs and wrapping his arms about her, resting his chin on the back of her shoulder.
Darina, tis’ no’ Lucian’s fault yer mathair caught the fever. ‘Tis no’ Lucian’s fault if the babe died. Lucian is no’ a god.
Darina shook with the tears that she had held back for years. Unable to share her grief with her clan, her guilt and shame overwhelmed her and created a dark chasm of separation between her and her own family.
Darina, I ken about the curse of the male child. I have spoken about it with Lucian, and I think there is something else going on here. There is more to it than we know. Darina, yer mam was also a druid, ye knew that, right?
“I’m no’ so sure about that. I ken she favored the old ways, but I don’t believe she was a…witch.”
“I’m s-sure sh-she was’na a witch,” replied Patrick.
“How do you ken?” asked Darina.
We druids do not believe ourselves sorcerers or witches, Darina. There is nothing sinister or malicious about our ways. Any gifts we may have we use for good. We will not willingly cause harm to others, it is not our way.
“Then why did all these bad things happen after the druids came here?” she asked.
Darina, ye are not an evil person; yet ye have certain gifts, do you no’?
“Aye, I do I guess, but doesn’t that just mean I am cursed?” she asked.
Patrick tightened his grip around her and stroked her hand with his own. No love, it does not mean ye are cursed. It means ye have been chosen by the gods, or by God, for some greater purpose, and ye have been given implements to help ye meet that purpose. Even Christians believe their God bestows gifts upon them to assist in their quest. ‘Tis not evil to believe some may have unusual or unique capacities that not everybody else may have.
Darina collapsed into Patrick’s arm, mentally and emotionally spent from the weight of her buried turmoil. Tears formed pools in her eyes and spilled over when Patrick turned her to face him.
“D’rina,” he said, “L-lis-listen to me c-carefully.”
He cupped her face in his hands and gently pushed back an unruly tendril of long red hair. He met her eyes and locked on, refusing to allow her to look away. Comforting warmth enveloped her, heating her bones, and pulsating through her blood stream until it filled her heart with liquid heat. The ground they sat on began to vibrate and she could feel his heart beat in his hands as they sheltered her face. Still staring into his deep gre
en eyes, Darina reached to trace the outline of his stubble on his cheek.
Listen, he commanded with his mind.
She let her hands drop back down to her lap and attempted to look away from him, before realizing she could not. A spasm erupted at the base of her spine and sent shock waves up her back, to her shoulders, to her neck then to her eyes. A resonant whirring sound grew louder and engulfed her ears. Completely fixated on Patrick, fresh tears sprang to her eyes, threatening to spill over.
Nay. Do not weep, Darina.
Another shock wave hit her square in the heart and nearly knocked her backward. Had he not been cupping her face, she would have surely toppled over.
Look at me, he commanded. Look at me.
For a moment, Darina felt she was floating on air. Time stood still, all that remained were she and Patrick. And—there were no words. No words at all. A magnetic attraction danced between their eyes, now merely inches from the other. The ground continued to vibrate, only louder this time and the whirring sound threatened to burst her eardrum. She could not detach herself from his gaze.
Enchanted, she thought. I have been enchanted.
No, he replied. Look at me, he demanded as he tightened his grip on her face.
As if meditating, she deliberately slowed her breath until it was a simple short drum beat at her temple. She loosened her hold on her muscles, one at a time, until there was no tension left in her body. Patrick removed his hands from her face and placed them on her shoulders, laying one on each side of her neck, and began to lightly caress her.
Still locked in each other’s gaze, Patrick asked, “Wh-what do y-you see?”
Darina peered into his eyes, looking, hoping for something, but what? What did he expect her to see except his eyes? Surely he didn’t expect her to see into his soul, she was not a soothsayer. She fought the distraction, she fought the doubt and the embarrassment of the situation, she pushed her pride down as far as it would go. She fought with everything in her to see…something…but what?
She blinked and felt as if a hundred-pound wind blew past her face but left her in the same place she had been moments before. Her heart leapt in her chest and a cold chill rose up her neck. There in his eyes, a light, an ethereal figure against the contrast of his deep green eyes. She was no longer staring into his eyes, she was seeing something else. But what was it? It was the outline of a woman’s face surrounded by a mist of emanating light, a golden orb of light!
Amazing! Just like the paintings in the chapel, the saint’s faces’ surrounded by the same golden light. Patrick, ye have to see this…
“D’rina, l-look again,” he commanded.
The whirring sound turned into a deep hum, matching her pulse. Her ears pounded in time with the pressure and her fingers felt as if they were on fire. Deeper again she peered into his eyes this time. There in front of her, in the midst of the inexplicable connection between her and Patrick, she saw—herself.
Shocked by the vision of her own reflection in his eyes, she reluctantly moved to break their bond, to look away.
“Nay!” he demanded. Darina, stay with me.
Darina, don’t ye see it? Ye are divine. Ye are beautiful. Ye are whole. Ye are perfect. Ye are angelic. Ye are “mine.”
Unable to tear her gaze from his, she deliberately moved her head and shoulders back, relinquishing her claim to the few small inches that previously separated them until they were at least a foot apart. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and clasped them in his lap in front of him, unyielding in his refusal to look away.
Her image in his eyes grew smaller as she moved further away from him. Her silhouette still draped in golden light; her perspective changed and now she could see all of him, not just his eyes, but his forehead, his face, his shoulders, and chest even. A spasm of warmth shot through her again, a testament that he had grasped her hands in his own.
“D’rina, come b-back t-to me,” he said softly, lightly stroking the top of her hand with his own.
Mesmerized by his voice, she smiled and searched his eyes again. She squinted lightly and tightened her grip on his hands. It hurts me eyes. Suddenly realizing that Patrick was engulfed in the same cascading golden light, she gasped and broke free of his hands to touch his face. Static electricity shot through the tip of her hand and landed on his cheek.
“I’m so sorry,” she said out loud, caressing the pink spot on his face where her finger was meant to land, still unable to unlock their gaze.
“I’m n-not,” he replied as he guided her hand to the side of his cheek, rubbing his face in her palm. “I’m n-not,” he repeated, unlocking their gaze as he guided them to lay down into the soft shelter of the pallet he made from his cloak.
FOURTEEN
Burke Territory
“What did ye see, Orla?” asked Shanleigh from behind the bushes, mere steps from the monastery entrance. Soaked to the bone from the rains, her voice shook and her hands followed suit. At least a dozen people passed by the sanctuary of their brush in the past few minutes, and thank the gods no one saw them.
“Hush, be quiet else Easal or Rufus hear us,” Orla replied as she released the small opening in the brush held apart by her hands. She sat back down on the cold ground beside her friend and stared out into the night.
“Well, are ye gonna tell me what is going on or shall I go knock on the door and see if Naelyn is inside?” threatened Shanleigh. A thunder clap rolled overhead and both girls jumped, startled at the sound.
“Well, they took a young boy downstairs,” whispered Orla, who was obviously discomfited at the events that played out in front of her. Pushing her wet hair behind her ear, Orla’s hand shook as she spoke.
“Downstairs?” asked Shanleigh. “What downstairs? There is no downstairs.”
“Aye. ‘Tis what I thought too but I was wrong. They dragged him around back past the gardens, opened a door in the ground and disappeared. There was some yelling and then they came back up without him.”
Orla scooted a few paces over and took to her feet again, crouching down to avoid detection. Having extinguished the lanthorn before coming near to the monastery, she felt her way in the dark until they reached a small path that led to the front entrance.
“And just where do ye think ye are going now?” whispered Shanleigh. “Yer mam will have yer hide if she finds out we are here, and I know me da won’t take kindly to Odetta’s wrath if I’m caught with ye.”
“I intend to find out what is going on. Stay close and follow me, there is a window on the east side of the chapel that looks into the altar room; mayhap we can see what all this fuss is about.”
“Oh no, I’m not budging. I will stay right here, thank ye verra much,” she said as she grabbed ahold of a mask and covered her head with her cloak. “If I’m caught, they will think I’m just another worshipper. Ye best put on a mask as well,” she said as she handed another to Orla.
“Verra well,” Orla replied as she tip-toed towards the window opening. “I’ll be right back. Now, don’t ye move.”
The moon was high in the sky and it was near to midnight. Almost time for the sacred rites to be performed and the monastery was already bustling with activity. There were people going in and out, bringing in wine; and baskets of food and fish were stacking up against the far table in the back of the hall.
Knowing there wasn’t much to see except a room full of masked partygoers, Orla decided to venture around to the back side of the monastery. There she heard her mother’s voice and stopped to position herself for a look-see.
“Call him,” said a voice that Orla did not recognize. “Call him now, or I will take ye as my tribute.”
“Please Eaton,” responded Odetta. “There is no need to do this, I promise ye I can have what ye seek within a fortnight.”
“Nonsense,” replied the sinister male voice, “It is apparent I must do this meself and I have need of a host. Call him now, or I will show myself to everyone in the hall. Is that what you wish?”
&nb
sp; Just then, a piece of thatched roof broke away above Orla and landed squarely on the top of her head. She froze in terror. She did not know who was speaking with her mother, but she could tell her mother was scared, and nothing frightened Odetta Burke.
From behind the linen window dressing she could see the shadowy outlines of two people. One was her mam, of that she was sure. The other, she wasn’t sure was a person at all. It spoke, but its voice was like the echo of the wind in a cave, deep, loud and foreboding. It was so tall its head touched the rafters and it was twice the size of any normal man she had ever seen. And…it scared the hell out of Odetta.
“Please Eaton, not Easal. Let me call for Rufus, surely he will do.”
“He willno’!” shouted the shadow, so loudly it shook the building. “Easal is the captain of the guards, I need him to accomplish what I will. Now get him!”
“What on earth is going on?” whispered Shanleigh into Orla’s ear from behind her. Frightened by Shanleigh’s sudden appearance, Orla lost her footing on the cornerstone she was standing on and toppled head-first into the stony wall, cutting her forehead in the process.
“By the saints Shanleigh, ye scared the skin off me,” Orla cried, grabbing Shanleigh by the shoulder with one hand and covering her mouth with her other hand, as she dragged her backwards around the corner to the other side of the monastery wall.
“What was that?” the sinister voice echoed out the window into the night. “Someone was out there,” it demanded.
“Of course someone was out there,” Odetta replied. “We are gathering for our service this eve, there are people everywhere. My coven awaits me in the altar room. We have a service to attend to. There are far too many people and too much activity for ye to go unnoticed, me Lord.”
“Bring me Easal—have him here, in this chamber, when ye are finished with yer rituals this evening,” it shouted. “I’ll have my host then.”
“What was that?” asked Shanleigh through chattered teeth. Visibly shaken, Shanleigh broke into uncontrollable tears behind Orla and made to pass out.
Celtic Shores, Book 2 in the Celtic Steel Series Page 9
