Legacy of Luck (Druid's Brooch Series 3)

by Christy Nicholas

  “What are you doing, Éamonn? If you’re not going to stop them, I will!” Katie whispered in furious anger.

  Now the Captain kneaded Deirdre’s buttocks and ground his hips against her, while she stood stock still, a single tear streaking the dirt on her cheek.

  “I’m keeping you from the same fate, Katie. We’ve got to bide our time!” Éamonn whispered back.

  The conference attracted Martin’s attention. “Hey, you two! What’s all the discussion about?”

  “Nothing, sir.” Éamonn tried to hide Katie back behind him.

  “Who is that behind you? I thought her a child, but she’s got more curves than this one, sir!” Martin darted over to Katie and pulled her arm.

  “Get your stinking paws off of me, you rutting bastard!” Katie spit in his face.

  Éamonn jerked her back from the soldier’s arm and stood eye to eye with the soldier.

  “Now, then, gentlemen, all is fine. We’re no threat to you. Now you’ve gotten your kiss, we’ll be on our way.” Éamonn’s voice remained firm and an inexplicable peace flow over her.

  The Captain stopped pawing Deirdre and glanced at Éamonn. The other soldiers were mounting their horses and Katie let out her breath.

  Ciaran stood slowly and inserted himself between Deirdre and the others. The Captain saw the movement and turned back.

  “No, I think I want just one more kiss from the lass before I leave.”

  Ciaran wouldn’t move this time.

  The Captain drew his musket. “Move aside, boy. You don’t want any trouble, as your friend said, right?”

  Ciaran crossed his arms, and Deirdre backed up until her progress was halted by a tree.

  “We don’t want any trouble, that’s right, sir. We’ll just be going now.” Éamonn pulled Katie and started down the road, gesturing for Ciaran and Deirdre to follow with the mule.

  Chambers said, “Sir, we do have to get on to Inverness.”

  “Blast Inverness.” The Captain lunged past Ciaran and grabbed Deirdre. Ciaran tackled him, and the musket fired.

  Éamonn grabbed Deirdre’s arm, pulling her away from Ciaran and the Captain, struggling on the ground. The soldiers were dismounting and pulling out their swords.

  Ciaran managed to extract himself, and they made for the thickest part of the forest.

  “Split up! Deirdre, stay with Ciaran!” Éamonn shouted as he turned to the left. Katie heard her sister and Ciaran getting farther and farther away, to the right. She was scratched and cut from thorns and branches as they scrambled through the underbrush and trees. She ducked one thick, low branch and jumped another tangle of thorns. Occasionally there were sounds of cursing and thrashing behind them, but they faded. Emerging past the edge of the forest, she and Éamonn found themselves on a massive moor, covered in brown heather.

  “Quick, under here!” Éamonn crawled under a huge canopy of low heather branches. Katie couldn’t see him at all from above. She followed him into the muck. By the time they had crawled in far enough, they were both panting and even more bedraggled and muddy than before.

  “Éamonn—”

  “Shhh. Until we know they’re gone. Breathe lightly.”

  They waited in agony. Every twig or leaf moving in the wind made Katie expect a shot from one of the redcoats. She daren’t move a muscle. Her stomach ached from holding her breath, and she forced herself to exhale slowly, to make no noise.

  The crunching of boots and a few shouts in the distance made her tense again. Éamonn placed his hand on hers, and she was thankful for this tiny bit of reassurance. She turned her head to see his face in the bit of sunlight which worked its way into the heather. He was wan and slightly green.

  There were mud streaks and blood on his cheeks. Where had the blood come from? It was stark and bright red against his skin.

  Another sound near them snapped her attention back to their hunters.

  A soldier made his way to the edge of the forest, and stood not terribly far from where they were hiding. He must be searching out over the moor for fleeing figures. She prayed to Brigid he would not think to search under the heather.

  The soldier turned around and stomped back in the direction he had come. Her prayers were answered.

  Allowing herself one long, shallow breath, she glanced at Éamonn again. He was pale, certainly understandable in the circumstances.

  “We’ll stay here until we’re certain they’ve left.”

  Minutes turned into an eternity under the heather. Every scratch and cut she had gathered on the mad flight now called for her attention. Her skin was like a pincushion, poked and sliced into so much ground beef. Her nose itched, and the buzzing flies and midges tickled and stung. Fighting the urge to sneeze, she rubbed at her nose. She daren’t sniff in case someone still stood near enough to hear.

  What seemed like years later, Éamonn finally nodded, “I’ll crawl to the edge and scout it out. Stay here in case I’m taken.”

  What would she possibly do if they took him? Alone on this blasted heath with no one around to help her? Surely if the soldiers found him here, they’d search under the heather for her. She had no safety at all.

  “It’s all right, Katie. They’ve gone.”

  She worked her way out of the muddy mess and into the forest itself. Oh, how she ached for a river to cleanse the muck and grime from her, and to rid herself of the now stinging flies.

  The forest remained silent, except for twittering birds and buzzing insects, with an occasional bough shifting from a summer breeze.

  “What about Ciaran and Deirdre? How will we find them again?”

  “They know where we’re headed. We’ll just have to wait for them in Campbeltown.”

  “Oh, Éamonn! Our mule and supplies?”

  He shook his head. “Even if the soldiers left them unmolested, we can’t risk going back for them. Perhaps Ciaran and Deirdre can—they headed in the other direction, and might circle back. I have my pack, which means I have my dice. We can make more money. First, however, we need to find a river.”

  She sighed with relief, glad his priorities matched hers.

  “We’ve no waterskin, and we need to clean up to be presentable to any dice games. And you, my dear, look a right mess, indeed!”

  “Beast. You look no better. What’s this?” Seeing red on his thigh, she touched it. It was warm and sticky.

  “A scratch, nothing more. Bloody bastard nicked me with his sword at the last moment. It’ll be fine, but I want to wash it out at least.”

  It appeared pretty deep, but she had little experience with such things. If he said it would be all right, she would have to trust him.

  * * *

  Even after they found a river, and scrubbed themselves and their clothes as clean as they could, the wound still ended up red and puffy by the end of the next day. His limp got worse as the day went on, and his skin was even paler.

  They traveled southwest, more or less along the road. Whenever the sound of travelers came from the other direction, they scattered into the brush along the path, hiding from whoever might be coming. They wanted to risk no altercations, randy soldiers, highwaymen, or thieves.

  Katie had done her best to dress the wound, even finding a honeycomb and risking beestings to gather the sweet, sticky honey to pack into it. She had heard from Deirdre once that honey was the best thing to put on a wound. It kept the blood clean.

  The first night they had found a hamlet—really, no more than four farm crofts and an empty croft they gathered in the evenings. A bit of gambling brought their few coins to reasonable levels and earned them a night in a warm, dry stable.

  By the second night, Katie got downright worried about the wound. There were no red streaks, but pus wept from the wound despite her best efforts. She undressed and washed it every time they came near a river or stream, but it burned hot and was tender to the touch.

  They saw no sign of Ciaran or Deirdre. Nevertheless, doggedly they pushed on. After the third day, they stumble
d into Oban. Tired, dressed in cast-off clothing from the last town, Éamonn splurged on a room at an inn and collapsed on the narrow cot as soon as they reached their room. His brow burned, and Katie was desperate for a healer. There must be one in town.

  Taking coins from his pack, she went back out of the inn in search of a herbwoman or someone who might help.

  She passed several more inns before getting into the main street. Oban was a big port town. If they hadn’t needed to meet Deirdre and Ciaran at Campbeltown, they would have probably been able to secure passage from here to Ireland. However, a big port town meant they might have specialized people who knew what to do with wound fever.

  After the fourth inn, she passed a couple of filthy beggars who sat with their backs to a cart, a flea-bitten mule trying to extract what little grass grew next to the building.

  “Katie?”

  Katie stopped and turned, incredulous.

  She saw Deirdre.

  She had transformed so much Katie hadn’t recognized her own sister. She was matted and dirty, with rags for clothes. Her face had a long cut along one cheek and a large scab over her eye. It must have been Ciaran sitting next to her, though he looked much the same, sporting a black eye and several other bruises and cuts.

  “Deirdre!” She ran and hugged her sister. She stank horribly.

  Holding her sister back, she examined her up and down.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Deirdre said nothing but sobbed uncontrollably. Katie gathered her little sister in her arms and rocked her, saying nothing but crooning under her breath.

  After a time, Deirdre’s tears turned into halting sobs and then eased to a sniffle. Katie wiped her face with her skirt, revealing a couple of bruises.

  “Did they catch you, then?”

  Deirdre glanced over at Ciaran.

  “They beat us both, bad. I tried to fight. We both did, but it did little good. Eventually, they tired of us and wandered off, laughing as if they all had a grand bit of fun.”

  Katie didn’t know what to think. It sounded horrible, truly, to be attacked this way. Deirdre and she had certainly had problems in the past, but Katie understood being beaten so hard…

  She hugged Deirdre to her again and held her tight. Her sister trembled, so she held on until the shaking stopped. When she held Deirdre out at arms’ length again, the spark was missing from her eyes. Confused on how to deal with that, she became practical.

  “Éamonn and I just got here. We have a little money, but he’s ill with a wound which festered from the fight. I’m out looking for a healer.”

  Deirdre spoke without inflection. “I’ve got no supplies, but I can look at it. If you’ve coin, we can likely get what I’ll need.”

  “First, let’s get you food.” Katie’s own voice sounded too cheerful for the situation in comparison.

  After a simple meal and a consultation with a local herbwoman, Deirdre sat next to Éamonn’s bedside for a while, nursing him. Katie and Ciaran went to the inn’s main room to give her room to work. After a few ales, Ciaran’s silence spilled into slurred words.

  “It was horrible, Katie. I couldn’t stop it. Oh, I tried, but there were just too many of them. Why did you both abandon us? We might have escaped if you stayed.”

  “We thought it would split the group up. Some did follow us—we heard them. We almost got caught as well, but we hid beneath the heather.”

  With a snort, Ciaran quaffed the rest of his fourth mug of ale. His eyes were bloodshot, and his skin sallow and dry. His expression was still, and about as hollow and lifeless as Deirdre’s. Katie couldn’t imagine what the two of them might have gone through the last couple of days.

  “Well, we survived in the end. It was tough getting here, but we did. And we have your wagon and mule besides. The soldiers had little interest in our raggedy things after they had gotten their jollies.” His voice as bitter and angry. Katie couldn’t blame him in the slightest.

  He lifted his mug in the air. “And now, Éamonn to the rescue once more.”

  That wasn’t truly the case. True, Éamonn’s prowess at gambling became legend wherever they went, and it had certainly pulled their feet from the fire several times. But he lay ill at the moment. He in no way resembled a rescuing hero just now.

  They drank their ale in silence for a while. Ciaran simmered with resentment and anger, but Katie knew of no way of diffusing or redirecting those sullen thoughts. She just hoped Deirdre had enough skill to heal Éamonn.

  * * *

  It took several days before Éamonn recovered enough to sit up and take a meal. He had wasted away to skin and bones during his fever, and Katie almost cried to see him thus. She sat by his bed holding his hand when Deirdre came in with broth.

  “I’ll feed him, Katie. You go on downstairs.”

  Deirdre had bathed and gained some weight back in the last few days, and looked less like a starved scarecrow. “Thank you, Deirdre, but I can do this. You deserve rest. You’ve barely slept since we got here.”

  Éamonn sensed the tension in both their tones. What was going on between the sisters?

  “No, I’m the healer, and I should take care of him. You go downstairs, Katie. I’m sure you’ll find plenty to keep you company there.” Her voice sounded clipped and abrupt.

  Katie’s eyes flashed. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

  Deirdre smiled. “Exactly as it sounds. You’ve never had a problem finding companionship on your own.”

  “Oh, and you’re one to talk! At least I was a maid on my wedding night!”

  Hands on her hips, Deirdre said, “And you’ve already killed off your first husband, and trying to steal the second one!”

  “Steal? I did not steal Éamonn! He was never yours to steal!”

  Éamonn didn’t have any energy reserves left to intervene. He really should stop them, but he would be putting a hand into a cat fight. It was right dangerous to get between two women, spitting and hissing as they were.

  The yelling had stopped, and they were glaring at each other, toe to toe. The sparks fairly flew.

  Ciaran opened to door to peek in. He saw the two girls faced off against each other and quickly closed it. Éamonn envied him.

  Deirdre got even closer to Katie, and shoved Katie in the shoulder. Katie returned the gesture, and before Éamonn knew it, they were pulling hair, scratching, and ripping clothes. The fight fascinated him. Rarely had he seen women physically brawl before. They did well enough with words and actions to have no need to resort to such primitive means. But occasionally—like now—the subtleties were not sufficient to express their rage and jealousy.

  And that’s what this fight was about. Him. A warm glow burned inside at being fought over, but he quickly suppressed it. An uncharitable emotion, to say the least. Still, two lovely women—sisters, even—fighting over himself.

  A grunt brought his attention back on the fracas. They were both on the floor now, entangled in skirts and arms. Katie had elbowed Deirdre in the stomach, who retaliated with a healthy jerk of Katie’s hair. A cry of pain from Katie turned to sheer rage as she reared back enough to rake her nails across her sister’s cheek.

  Éamonn couldn’t sit around, even as weak as he was, while blood was drawn. He struggled to get up. When his foot caught in the bedding, he tumbled to the wooden floor with a mighty thump, distracting both girls from their fury.

  He couldn’t breathe. The fall had knocked the wind from him. He scrabbled on the wood to get decent purchase, but his feet were still tangled in the blankets.

  Well, this is undignified.

  “Éamonn! Éamonn, what are you doing? You’ll undo all the effort I’ve put into making you well!” Deirdre’s simpering voice came from somewhere near his ear. He glanced to see her kneeling over him, patting his hair like a favorite dog.

  “Stop touching him, you bitch. You’ve no claim on him.”

  “I’ve more claim than you. You’ve not even lain with him! You and your high
and mighty ways.”

  Katie slapped Deirdre, a sharp sound in the silence. “Better than being a slut, bedding with every man who comes along.”

  Deirdre paled and sat back on her heels.

  “Deirdre—” Katie’s voice sounded contrite and much softer than he had heard that day. She put a hand on her sister’s shoulder.

  Deirdre shrugged it off, still gazing out into empty space. Then she calmly got up and left the room, not meeting anyone’s eyes. She closed the door softly.

  Katie sighed deeply, her eyes closed.

  “Are you quite done now?” Éamonn asked. He hadn’t meant to sound judgmental, but it was a harsh insult.

  “I never know when to be quiet. It’s always been a problem with me. I didn’t mean to hurt her. Not really. She just makes me so angry!” Katie helped Éamonn get back onto the bed.

  “And jealous?” Éamonn asked with a wry smile.

  “Well, yes, I suppose I am jealous if you must know. I’ve always been envious of her easy ways with people, her height, her straight hair. She brings out the worst in me.” She sat next to him on the bed. Such a wee thing, he could put his arm around her even in his current wasted state.

  Éamonn took her hand in his.

  “You have no need to be jealous of me, a chroi. I am yours, for now and always. She may have nursed me back to health, but the memory of you kept me going through the fever-dreams. I just needed to imagine your wonderful curly red hair, your sweet smile, and your sharp wit to be at peace and have the desire to hold on, just a bit longer.”

  She smiled at him, though the smile looked weak to his eyes. She pressed into his shoulder, and he tightened his grip.

  “Éamonn?”

  “Yes, a chroi?”

  “I… no, it’s probably nothing.”

  He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “What’s nothing?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Really, it’s nothing important.”

  “Hmmm.” Éamonn believed people could have secrets, but shouldn’t lie to each other. If she needed more time to be comfortable sharing, he best honor that need.

  When they went downstairs, Ciaran and Deirdre—and their money—were gone.