“Ciaran, I don’t know what, precisely, your problem is. But we are cousins. Can’t we just be that, and leave the rest behind?” Putting both hands out, as if in supplication, Éamonn approached Ciaran.
Ciaran let him come close without moving. His fist snaked out and punched Éamonn in the gut.
Bent over, Éamonn coughed and hacked. Ruari stepped up and glowered at Ciaran.
“You’re my cousin, Ciaran, but Éamonn is my brother. If you have a quarrel with us, take it out on me.”
Looking the big man up and down as if seeing him for the first time, Ciaran grimaced. “Right. Only if I feel like becoming a grease spot on the road. No, Éamonn is the only one who can settle the wrongs he’s done. He needs to face up to his own evil deeds.”
Éamonn coughed again. “What… evil deeds?”
“Hmm, let me see. Should I count them off for you? Stealing Katie and Deirdre, stealing money from poor innocent folks, though God knows I can’t figure out how you’re cheating them. I just know you are. Abandoning us to the soldiers, abandoning your father—”
“Now wait, just a moment, Ciaran. I don’t cheat, I didn’t steal anyone and I never abandoned you or Father. You’re twisting around my actions, and that’s not fair.”
“You’ve never played fair, Éamonn Doherty! You, with your height and your perfect teeth and your easy smile. You always win at everything, and it’s never been fair!”
Éamonn couldn’t respond. He’d never been perfect in anything. Sure, he had luck with the ladies, and at cards, even before the brooch, but Ciaran had been no slouch either.
“You know, I would have brought this back to your Da.” Ciaran held the sheets of music which Turlough was missing. “But now I think I’ll get much more satisfaction doing this.”
Ciaran grinned and ripped the precious vellum pages in half. Ruari and Éamonn both gasped and tried to grab the sheets. They only got part of them before Ciaran pulled the rest away.
The smug look on Ciaran’s face was evidently too much for Éamonn.
Two steps brought him close enough for a solid punch to the face, but Ciaran moved too quickly. Éamonn doubled over from the gut punch and groaned.
“And you should learn how to fight, cousin. Perhaps the next time someone accuses you of cheating, you’ll actually get your due. Oh, wait! Right, there won’t be a next time. The judge has been wakened, and your trial begins in an hour. I can’t wait.”
“Ciaran, just get out of my life. You’re no relation of mine, you snake.”
“I’ll get out of your life soon enough, Éamonn. Soon enough.”
As his footsteps faded, Éamonn turned to Katie. “My dear love, if this is our last night together, I must tell you something. You, too, Ruari.”
She glanced at him but said nothing, gripping her knees again. She grimaced, screwing her face together.
“First, if there’s anything I can say or do to get you and Ruari clear of this, I will. Ciaran’s quarrel is truly with me, not the two of you.”
She nodded. Ruari patted him on the back.
“Second, know simply this. I love both of you more than my words can say.”
Certain he saw the glitter of tears in her eyes, he hugged Katie close to him. She trembled in his arms.
He had a plan, of course, a plan to convince the judge with his brooch-gifted talent that he was innocent of all charges. But if it didn’t work, what then?
Katie continued to shake and shiver. With Ruari’s help, he extracted his own cloak from under him and wrapped it around her, but it did her little good. He peeked under the cloak, but she didn’t move. She did moan now and then. It must have been more than simply a fear of the trial. A flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder heralded the beginnings of a storm.
“Katie? Katie, is something wrong?”
“Of course something is wrong, you blethering idjit! Do I always curl up like a baby?” She spat at him and then moaned again. She uncurled and glanced down at herself.
“Oh, Sweet Brid.”
Éamonn saw it about the same time Ruari did. The first hints of dawn showed a spreading stain of dark on her skirts.
“Katie? What do I do? What is it?”
She closed her eyes and curled back, and then opened them. Another boom of thunder ripped through their cell, making her jump.
“There’s nothing we can do here, Éamonn. I need a healer, but I think even that would be little help.”
“Are… are you dying? What’s wrong?”
“I hope not, Éamonn. I suspect—” She grimaced again from pain, “I suspect I’m losing the baby.”
“Baby? Baby! What baby? When did you… what—”
“Lochlann’s baby, obviously, you arse. Who did you think?” She bent again until the latest wave passed.
“Oh.” He didn’t know what to think about that. He wanted to keep her from pain, of course, but he didn’t want her to have Lochlann’s baby. He didn’t even realize she was with child, but obviously, she had known.
Women died in childbirth all the time. Even before childbirth, there was danger. She couldn’t have been more than, what, a month or two gone? She hadn’t even been showing a bump, from what he could tell. Surely that wasn’t enough to kill her? But he saw so much blood.
He held her tight, thinking if he let go, she might die in his arms. She struggled for air.
“Stop smothering me! Éamonn, it hurts. Just let me—” Grunting again, she bent and then stretched.
Between waves of pain marring Katie’s beautiful face at fairly regular intervals, flashes of lightning and earth-shattering booms of thunder, and the steady drip of water which found its way through the ceiling above them, Éamonn entered an eternity of torture. He couldn’t help Katie’s pain and the Gods certainly weren’t listening to his prayers. Drip, drip, drip, drip… he would occasionally have to shake his head just to dispel it of the fatal rhythm. Drip, drip, drip, moan… there was Katie again, writhing in his lap. The blood didn’t get much worse, and indeed, the dripping water had washed much of it out of her skirts. It might be a poor dye job now, a fumble of an inexperienced girl who wasn’t paying attention to her dye tubs.
If he lost Katie… all of this would have been for naught. There went Éamonn on his mad quest for his perfect bride, his lady love, only to return with nothing but a beautiful corpse stained with blood and a dying father to show for it. What would be his purpose then?
The rain eased and then stopped altogether, though everything still dripped.
Footsteps once again sounded in the hallway. Perhaps someone had heard her screams and sent for a healer?
Of course, it wasn’t a healer. The door opened, and four burly men came in. They tied Ruari’s hands first, and then his. When they looked to Katie, they frowned. She still lay on the floor in a bloody mess.
The first man turned to Éamonn. “Did you do this to her? Are we to try you for murder as well?”
“She needs a healer, man! She’s losing a baby. Quick, before she loses more blood!”
Still frowning, the man hesitated. Éamonn wanted to smack him, shake him out of his dumbfounded indecision. Finally, the man yelled down the hall. “Graham! Fetch the midwife. Quick, now! The rest of you, take the prisoners to the church.” More guards came down the hall at his words.
Éamonn dropped on his knees next to Katie and took her hand. “No! I can’t leave her!”
“You’ll do as you’re told! Now go!” Three of the guards grabbed him, and though he struggled against their grip, he couldn’t break free.
“I’ll come back, Katie, I promise! I love you!”
Ruari knelt to Katie, and something whispered in her ear before the guards took his arms. She nodded, though her eyes were glassy and unfocused.
Éamonn noticed little as they were marched through the street. Folks lined up to witness the prisoners’ parade to the church. Rain still spit from the dark, sullen sky in the dim morning light.
The steps outside the churc
h were crowded, and Éamonn scanned the faces for someone he knew, anyone. There stood his landlady, and a couple merchants he had spoken to. The men he’d gambled with were there as well. They smiled with smug satisfaction.
Ciaran and Deirdre were at the front.
Deirdre hissed at him as he walked by and Ciaran scowled, elbowing her in the ribs. She stopped her hissing but continued to glare at Éamonn.
When both he and Ruari were ensconced near the church doors, the judge came out. He was a small man. Éamonn could tell from his clothing that he was the priest. That could be a hopeful sign. A man of God might be willing to listen to reason, after all. And he wouldn’t have much sympathy for gamblers, whether they cried foul or not.
Of course, Éamonn gambled as well.
The priest turned and addressed the crowd.
“These men are accused of cheating at cards with the powers of witchcraft, and of the murder of a soldier in the King’s Army. Who accuses them?”
Murder? Who was he supposed to have murdered?
Ciaran stood up. “I accuse him. I witnessed him killing Lochlann MacCrimmon in cold blood. I have seen him consort with daemons and do the devil’s own work on this earth.” Deirdre stood beside him, nodding.
Oh, bloody hell in a handbasket.
The priest turned to him. “How do you answer these charges?”
“I am innocent of both these charges, Father! This is my cousin, and he has a personal grudge against me. He’s telling lies!” Indignation and fury rose within him, eager to burst forth. The sky roiled and twisted with his emotions, and a few people murmured, glancing up.
Gesturing towards Ciaran, the priest cocked his head. “Is this true, my son?”
“Yes, I’m his cousin. But I am telling the truth! Ask these men. They’ve lost money to him when he uses witchcraft on his dice!”
The priest frowned and looked out to the gamblers. They milled but said nothing.
“It doesn’t seem as any wish to come forth to support your claims, young man. Have you any proof of your accusations other than your word?”
Deirdre stepped up. “He has my word as well! I saw it all.”
Éamonn glared at both of them, standing proudly in their perfidy. “You only accuse me because I rejected you!”
Deirdre narrowed her eyes. “Liar! Cheat! Witch!”
He drew upon his brooch-given gift, pushing his will through to them all, trying to convince the priest, the spectators, even his cousin and Deirdre, of the truth of his words. He put all his fear about Katie and her baby into the gift, his desperate flight to find her, all his frustration of the last weeks. Concentrating on his persuasion power, he pushed and pushed until his head spun and lights danced before his eyes, lights no one else saw. They swirled in purples and gold, a spiral of fairies winking in and out of the rising wind.
Éamonn took a deep breath and said, with all the authority he could muster, “You both lie!”
Through his desperation, the breeze shifted and he looked up.
The clouds were darkening more quickly than he’d ever seen. What had been a clear sky now roiled with black thunderheads, and the wind grew cold and whipped hard. Sparks of what could never be lightning shone within the rolling mass, and Éamonn gasped. The mob started a new muttering, one of concern rather than anger.
Lightning crackled from one dark cloud to another, the flash limning the crowd with an otherworldly blue glow. The sound startled everyone, and almost as one, they jumped.
A sibilant voice rose from the very earth, and said, “Liiieeeee.”
The muttering became louder, and a few nervous outliers darted away from the storm and the crowd. The rest milled and shifted, with faint questions on their tongues and fear in their hearts. The voice got louder, and Éamonn heard it in his bones. “Liiieeeeeee!”
The voice pushed through Éamonn, but the word didn’t come from his own mouth. It must be coming from the Otherworld, from the faeries who had given him his power. He begged his body not to betray him, willed himself not to fall to his knees in pain.
Ciaran and Deirdre’s eyes grew wide, and the crowd began to vanish.
The priest looked up frantically and spoke, “Hear the word directly from the heavens! Dare you take the Lord’s justice in your own hands?” His voice rang out over the remains of the crowd, and people took shelter as the first heavy drops of icy rain came down. The lights and voice worked its own magic, and soon no one remained but the priest. Even Éamonn’s accusers had vanished.
The priest crossed himself and turned to Éamonn, untying them both. “Son, I don’t know what just happened, but I’m willing to call it a miracle from God and let you go if you give me one promise.”
“Anything, Father!”
“Go away. Leave my town and never return. I never want to see the like of that again.”
Nodding, Éamonn grabbed Ruari’s arm so they could find Katie.
* * *
They made it to Ballyshannon just in time.
Ruari and Éamonn rushed in, leaving Katie to follow more slowly. When she entered, she let her eyes adjust to the dim room. Turlough lived, lying on the bed, but she barely recognized him.
Turlough had never been a fleshy man. Tall and slim, with a wiry strength, but not fat. Even that little had faded into this skeletal figure before her, as if his skin stretched over a frame three sizes too large. His face had become yellow and thin. He coughed, and blood came up with his spittle. Katie was no healer, but anyone coughing blood was in a bad way.
Ruari had brought the ripped remains of the music sheets and showed them to his father. Éamonn saw the wondrous delight which appeared in his eyes as he recognized the missing Turlough O’Carolan tunes.
“My boys, my dear boys. However, did you find it? And what happened to it? Oh, Katie, you are back with us! I’m—” he paused to cough, and the rattling, racking pain shivered through Éamonn’s own bones, “I’m so glad to see you. I am so sorry—I couldn’t get you annulled.”
“It’s fine, Turlough. Lochlann… he died, so I am free now.” There was a sparkle in Éamonn’s eyes which was surely tears brimming. Her throat closed with tears, but she pushed them back as well as she could.
“Da? Da, I’ll marry her, and we’ll have many fine children. We’ll name one for you, I vow.”
“Oh, don’t do that, son. Turlough is a horrible name to give a child. What if he should have no music? He’ll feel forever bound to failure. No, give him a more noble name… perhaps Brian for Brian Boruma, our great hero.”
Éamonn nodded, silent.
Ruari put his hand on his father’s, and said, “I love you Da. Don’t go yet, please? Stay until Éamonn gets married, at least.”
Turlough glanced at Katie and then back at Éamonn. “Could you do so soon, then? I don’t have a great deal of time. Cormac is surprised I’ve held on this long.” His voice tapered off into a whisper and devolved into another cough.
“Katie?” She gazed at her beloved and saw the tears were now freely streaming down his cheeks. Her own burst forth, and she did not care.
“Yes, right away if we can. I would be honored to have Turlough witness our wedding.”
“Ah, you’re such a delight, my dear. My daughter, soon enough. Come, let me see you more closely.”
She walked to the bedside and knelt. Turlough caressed her cheek and then stroked a red curl which had come free from her kerchief.
“Yes, you will be a fit bride for my headstrong son, Caitriona O’Malley. Don’t let him get away with most of what he tries, and you will live a long and happy life together. And remember me on my birthday, will you? A prayer from you will surely go heeded in heaven.”
Katie sobbed now, her face blotchy and red. Ruari was weeping almost as much as she was.
“Now, get thee out and start planning the party! I want to see my new daughter in a lovely dress which befits her. Éamonn, make sure she has a fine gown, will you not? A bride should feel new and beautiful. Ruari, I’ve in
structions for you as well. Bide while they make the arrangements.” He fell into a fit of bloody coughing after this speech.
* * *
Loath to leave even for a few minutes, Éamonn backed out of the room, pulling Katie with him.
“Here, Katie. Can you find a shirt which will please him to wear? He loves green, perhaps with embroidered vines?”
She took the coin pouch he thrust at her, and dashed off. He went to the church. The most important thing would be Father Byrne.
It took an amazingly short amount of time. The town had all known Turlough from his months living there after the fair. Some of the Travelers even remained behind, concerned about the respected musician and the case he had fought so hard for with the council. Even though the decision went against him, several people had sympathized with the cause and considered the final ruling to be an injustice.
Word went out about Éamonn’s return with Katie, and many folks found an excuse to stop by to either the healer’s cottage or the church that day. Éamonn made Katie rest for a couple of hours. She said he should rest as well, but he couldn’t. How could he waste precious hours sleeping when they would be the last time he’d ever spend with his father?
Passing time with Turlough was both galvanizing and grueling. Knowing his father was nearing the end made every word, every moment, precious. Some of the afternoon he spent with his father alone, recounting his adventures in Scotland, his experiences at the stones, his love of Katie. He mentioned the faery gift, which he had so easily dismissed the day he’d received it, was actually essential in his quest, helping him find Katie and get her back. Other times Ruari spent with Turlough, working to fill in the gaps of the torn music as best he could remember. Sometimes all three of them held hands and communed in a silent vigil.
Soon the golden hour arrived. The ceremony would be just before sunset, and Cormac asked his wife, Neala, to help Katie to get dressed. The dress indeed looked like a treasure and had been Neala’s wedding dress, as they were a similar size.
Éamonn had no idea what would emerge from that house. He stood nervously by the priest. They carried Turlough out on a cot, and installed him in the front of the church, propped so he could see the ceremony. Ruari stood beside Éamonn, thrumming with excitement. Waves of it came from his brother. His own anticipation was equal parts elation and turmoil. This was it. He would finally get his bride, after all the pain and escapades of the last months. Katie had been snatched from his grasp, but he had found a way back to her, and they would be together forever.
Legacy of Luck (Druid's Brooch Series 3) Page 29
