“Help me!” she exclaimed in jest to the guests and villagers still awake and celebrating in the castle grounds. “Put me down ye brute!” she added with emphasis, still pushing and pulling at him as if she were a victim of kidnap. Patrick’s smile grew wider the harder she fought against him and he continued his tickling assault. Against his chest, she could feel the rumble of his inaudible laughter, growing stronger and less reticent as he climbed the hill. Like a purring lion, his soft chuckles vibrated her entire body shooting warmth down her spine. Soon, he broke into such a deep roaring laughter, she couldn’t help but laugh as well.
She needed no further encouragement. His laughter was the most amusing sound she had ever heard. Determined for more, she returned his tickles with her own. Brazenly, she reached her petite hands inside the front of his tunic and grasped him about the ribcage on both sides, before squeezing and prickling the circumference of his well-defined chest.. Patrick sucked in a gulp of air and lost his footing sending them tumbling down the hill together; one atop the other, laughing all the way down, with small burst of ‘help, someone help’ interspersed in between by Darina.
“Should we intervene, Murchadh?” asked Payton from high atop the battlements. Murchadh shot him a knowing glance and laughed himself. “Nay, I ken they are negotiating their fate together,” he responded. “It appears that Darina has the upper-hand,” he added.
“I fear she always will,” said Payton before leaving his post. “She always will,” he laughed.
Darina came to a crashing halt at the bottom of the hill, stopped in place by an immovable obstacle against her back. Out of breath from laughter, it took a moment for the world to stop spinning. Gentle pressure on her back and hot breaths at the nape of her neck, reminded her she rested against the most handsome man in all of her clan. She could make out the faint rhythm of his heart against the rise and fall of his chest. The lion’s purr confirmed it. He was still chuckling.
A tangled mess of clover and leaves, they lay still at the bottom of the hill soaking up the moonlight.
Do ye still intend to fight me?
Aye. indeed I do.
Well, I shall have no other choice then.
Choice for what?
I see that I must needs carry ye to our chamber, luv. That is if I can get a worthy hold on ye. Ye squirm like a tot. A formidable foe ye are.
Darina smiled and rolled onto her back before turning to face him. Her chest still heaving from their roll down the hill, she placed a hand on her heart and tried to relax before sitting up on one elbow. There were leaves and grass intertwined in his loose chestnut hair because it had become unbound from their tumble down the hill. She reached to remove a twig, and he caught her hand with his own. Turning it, palm up, he placed a lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist, locking eyes with her.
Ye are more beautiful now that I have ever seen ye, Darina.
She blushed and looked down, afraid to get caught in his eyes again.
Why must ye turn away?
She raised her face and met his eyes again.
Ye should laugh, all day long, Darina. Ye are so alive and full of mystery. I canna believe the gods favored me with ye, but I am so thankful they did.
And ye should laugh more often, memy Lord, she added. “It makes the earth quake,” she said as she jumped to her feet to get a head start on him, “and me heart leap,” she added from her place ten paces ahead of him, trudging resolutely up the hill.
It took mere seconds for Patrick to secure her over his shoulder and top the hill facing the castle. Darina blushed at the sound of cheers and applause from the soldiers stationed on the battlements. “Patrick, Patrick,” they cried in unison. She continued her feigned dismay, and kicked and slapped at him as best she could, in between the tickles she got in that sent him swaying around like a drunken man. He came close to losing his footing several more times, nearly sending them back down the hill, but somehow he managed to rest on one knee long enough to balance and move forward.
He gave a swift pat to her backside which roused her humor and she began screaming, “Help me,” the closer they came to the castle doors. Odhran, the bailiff, met them at the doors.
“I see ye’ve been hunting, me Lord,” he said as he tipped his head towards Patrick.
“Aye, I h-have in-indeed,” replied Patrick.
“Looks a might bit…tough…that one does,” added Odhran behind a friendly smile.
“That it d-does,” replied Patrick before biting the air in jest. “Th-that it d-does me fr-friend,” he said, stepping through the doorway with Darina still slung over his shoulder. She shot Odhran a snarky glance and raised both her hands in admitted defeat, as she was near effortlessly carried up the castle stairs towards the master’s chambers.
NINEETEEN
O’Malley Territory
Gemma knew it was imperative that word reach the new Lord of O’Malley clan as soon as possible. Patrick was especially bound to his charge, Braeden, and the fact that he was not only missing, but was deliberately taken, would send shock waves through the clan. The soldiers were given strict orders that none were to leave the island, and none were to leave the mainland to venture to sea either. The wedding brought many guests to the territory and their comings and goings were strictly controlled; at least until morning.
Knowing there was no alternative, Gemma stood on the shore of the Isle and contemplated her next move. She could shift into the image of Riann, Darina’s falcon, and fly to hidden caves, which marked the underground entry to the castle, in but a few moments. The tunnels would provide cover as she found her way past the dungeons and then to the council chamber, where she should find Lucian, most likely praying,on this Samhain eve. The problem was, she would be completely bare when she arrived. Shifting is not without its delicacies, she thought before reaching her arms into the sky as high as she could and emerging airborne, leaving her clothes in a heaping pile on the sandy beach.
Taking to flight, she hovered just above the trees, surveying the island from a birds-eye view. The bonfires were beginning to die down and by now, most of the island’s inhabitants and guests were settling in for the night. A melancholy chorus from the mainland reminded her of her task, and she turned southwest in the direction of the piers. A gentle wind from her right lifted her higher and gave her unusual speed.
With one big thrust, she propelled herself deliberately downward. Spiraling towards the rocky shoreline just to the north of the castle, several ships’ lengths past the last pier, she folded her wings beside her and nose-dived into a hidden opening in the rocky formation. She hopped and scooted a few feet inside the tunnel before deciding not to shift back just yet. It was unbearably dark now, and without benefit of a torch or lanthorn, she was sure she’d never find her way.
***
Dervilla and Kyra sat solemnly at the council table, watching the servants as they scurried out of the chambers. Galen and Lucian sat on the other side and appeared speechless. Galen offered the ladies wine, but only Dervilla accepted.
“I brought her here, Lucian,” said Dervilla, looking at Galen, “because I thought of all people, ye might be the one with an idea of how to help.”
Galen stood and placed a comforting hand on Kyra’s shoulder. “I believe I may be able to help too,” he added.
“Aye, I ken that Galen may be able to help us see our way through this… uh… situation,” added Lucian.
Kyra brushed Galen’s hand off her shoulder, shot her cousin Dervilla a look of disdain, and rose from the table to stand before the great hearth. “I’m not sure who the ‘us’ is in this ‘situation’ ye speak of Lucian. I’m more than certain that neither of ye can carry this child in me belly.”
“Kyra, the child is a blessing,” replied Galen. “I ken it may be hard to look at it that way, but God has seen fit to bless yer union with Aidan; and ye will bear his child. With or without him, the child is a’coming, Kyra. And the Good Lord must have a greater purpose that we canna’ imagine.�
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“Don’t ye ken that I know that? But what am I to do? Aidan’s child will have no fathair. Me own fathair has forbidden me to ride, and when he finds I am with child, he will force me to leave me post as an O’Malley soldier. What will I do then?” Kyra asked.
“Kyra, ye’ve no need to work. Ye needn’t the coin. I am yer family as well. We willna’ let ye starve, if that is yer concern,” said Dervilla.
“Dervilla, don’t ye ken I know that?” she shot back. “What am I to do with a child? I’ve no idea how to care for a bairn. I’ve been guarding and fighting and training and riding all me life…I’ve never once cared for a babe.”
“Perhaps I can help?” said a voice from outside the chamber door. “Lucian, if ye are in there, can ye come out here for a moment to assist me?”
“Gemma?” asked Lucian.
“Aye. Lucian, I’ve found meself in need of assistance. Will ye help me now?” she asked.
“Excuse me,” he said as he rose from the table and exited the great hall.
***
Odetta didn’t believe it possible to continue vomiting after her stomach was empty. She was wrong. By now, her esophagus and throat were spasming involuntarily. Unable to abide the trauma inflicted on her precious Easal, the sight and stench got the better of her, and she retched violently. Already her servant had emptied the chamberpot four times.
“Let that be enough,” said the voice of Easal. But she was not fooled. She knew she was staring at Eaton, behind Easal’s eyes. He had done his worst. Easal’s soul was forever gone from her, but his body would remain—as the host of the Visitor. She only dared to dream he didn’t also intend to act as her husband in her chambers. If that were to be so, she would ensure she was beheaded —at once. Better to lose her life than her sense of dignity.
It was all Eaton now. Every square inch of Easal’s body, overtaken by the diabolical creature. All that remained was the flesh of a man who looked as if he’d been run through a slaughterhouse. The torn flesh, the rancid stench of sweat and bodily fluids, mingled with a crimson gore that pooled about the feet and ankles of the remnants of her only friend.
Easal. My dear, dear Easal. What have I done?
TWENTY
Burke Lands
“I must stop, I canna keep up any longer. Please won’t ye tell me where we are a’going?” said the priest through haggard breaths. He stopped to rest against a tree and watched in horror as the group continued on without him through the dark, wet forest. “Please—wait!” said Father MacArtrey, to anyone at all that would listen. “I beg ye!”
“Follow or stay, it matters not to me,” replied Orla through the rain. “Ye, boy, make sure ye are covering our tracks. We don’t want to be followed.”
“Where are ye taking us?” asked Braeden, nodding his head to Malcus to continue his work with the palm branches, dragging them through the mud to disguise their tracks behind them.
Orla stared straight at the priest, “If ye are no’ a’coming with us, I must bid ye leave in another direction.”
“I said, where are ye taking us?” repeated Braeden, now pointing the tip of Rufus’s broadsword in her direction.
“Hold on a second,” interrupted Cordal. “Braeden, where did ye get that?”
“I got it off the no count bastard who chained us in the caves. An,dI’ve no qualm in using it either.” He crouched in a soldier’s stance…head held high…lifted both arms up and held the broadsword as best as his eleven-year-old body could manage. Shaking violently from fear and the cold rain, he challenged Orla with his eyes.
“Ye don’t frighten me, boy,” she said, looking directly at Braeden and rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m taking us all to a hiding place where no one can find us. We need to figure out what to do about… about… about that thing back there in the monastery.”
“What thing?” asked Naelyn, inching her way towards Braeden.
Without moving his eyes from Orla’s, Braeden shifted his sword to his right, directly in front of Naelyn. “Just what do ye think ye are about, me lady?” he asked.
Naelyn stopped in her tracks and Cordal interrupted. “What say ye give me that sword there, Braeden? Seeing as how we are both McTierney’s, it would appear I am the senior McTierney, and as by right, I should bear the responsibility of protection.”
Braeden grunted, acknowledging Cordal’s reasoning, and turned the sword handle-up with his left wrist. Stepping back two paces, he swung it to his left in the direction of Cordal and relinquished control.
“Left-handed are ye Braeden?” asked Cordal, intercepting the weapon.
“Nay,” replied Braeden. “But I am just as good with me left as I am with me right.”
“How is that?” Orla asked.
“Me foster brathair, he is… he uses his left hand, more than his right. He taught me both.”
“Smart mon,” said the priest.
Orla snorted and made to continue on before turning around to the priest, “If ye canna keep up this time, I will be forced to leave ye behind. Do ye ken?” she asked.
Father MacArtrey bowed hesitantly and said, “Aye, me lady,” before catching his stride beside Cordal.
***
The look of shock on Lucian’s face was palpable. Finding Gemma standing behind a post in the underground tunnels stark naked wasn’t what he expected. “Gemma, by the gods!” he whispered.
“Lucian, may I have yer cloak, please?” she asked coyly. “I had to come at once and the ferries were all docked and ordered to stay thus.”
“I see,” he replied. “Whatever is so important that ye must come at this late hour? And, under these circumstances?” he chuckled.
“I bring word of a kidnapping. I must see the new Laird—at once.”
“The new Lord is otherwise occupied, Gemma. ‘Tis his wedding night, ye know?”
“Of course, but it was his charge, Braeden, that was taken. I fear we should call for him at once.”
TWENTY-ONE
O’Malley Castle — Master’s Chambers
Nearly completely exhausted after climbing five sets of stairs carrying Darina, Patrick was about to set her down when a chambermaid met them at the door to their chambers. “Everything is as ye requested, me Lord,” she said as she curtsied towards them, casting a wary glance at Darina who peeked up at her from her perch high atop Patrick’s shoulder.
“Verra g-good, verra good,” he replied. He twisted to reposition her, so that now she was cradled gently in his arms rather than thrown over him staring at his backside.
Shall I have me surprise now? she asked with her mind.
Ye shall indeed. It awaits ye atop the bed.
Atop the bed? Is it a coverlet?
Nay, luv. It is much more than that.
Patrick kissed the top of her forehead and gently sat her down at the end of the gigantic master’s bed. She could feel the velveteen touch of rose petals and smell the distinct fragrance of lavender which permeated the room.
I hope ye like it. I bid they prepare ye a relaxing bath after our jaunt up the peak. She heard water being poured and watched as a cloud of steam rose from behind a privacy screen placed in the corner.
A bath sounds just wonderful.
“May I help ye prepare?” asked the chambermaid, venturing towards Darina. Patrick nodded, indicating she should ready herself to bathe, and excused himself into the antechamber.
A commotion amidst the pillows startled her. Before she knew what happened, she was assaulted head-on, by a scrappy excuse for a dog intent on licking every square inch of her face. Startled, she pushed the eager pup off her and stood bolt upright next to the bed, glaring at the animal. With white rose petals sticking out of its mouth, it charged her once more, leaping straight off the bed and into her arms.
“Patrick! Why? What on earth? Patrick… there is a… why, there is a dog in here!” she exclaimed. Patrick turned the corner from the antechamber and walked towards them. “Darina, th-thi
s is yer su-surprise,” he stated matter-of-factly.
The chambermaid’s face grew white in sympathy and she gave Patrick a hesitant, questioning glance. As if to say, ‘What on earth were ye thinking’, before she turned and continued preparing Darina’s bath.
“A dog? Ye got me a dog?” she repeated, staring disbelievingly into the air.
Aye. But not just any dog, Darina. This is a champion falconry hound. The best of his breed, the best me coin can procure. Lucian told me ye were something of a huntress. I thought ye may want a champion bird-hound.
Darina finally managed to get the overexcited pup to calm down long enough to sit still upon the bed, and out of her arms.
“D’rina, ye do no’ l-li-like him?” Patrick asked walking towards her, his disappointment showing.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, “he’s lovely and he’ll make a fine hunter.” She continued petting the attention-starved animal as she sized him up. He was a fine specimen. Obviously well bred, and with more personality than she was sure she knew what to do with. Indeed, it was the most thoughtful, horrible gift she had ever received. She couldn’t help but smile. No one had ever bought her anything so personal… so… just like her. It was touching, indeed.
“Where will he, uh, sleep?” she ventured to Patrick.
“Ah,” he replied. Moya has f-fashioned a p-pen for him in the st-stables.” All that is left to do is provide him a fitting name, me lady.
“A name… that’s right… ye need a name,” she spoke to the dog. “What shall we call ye?” she asked as he began licking her arms up and down. “I see I shall require that bath now,” she laughed. “I shall call ye, Fanai.”
“A most fitting name, me lady,” said Odhran from the doorway. “May I take Fanai to bed down for the eve, me lady?” he asked. Patrick nodded and Darina threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.
Celtic Shores, Book 2 in the Celtic Steel Series Page 12
