Legacy of Luck (Druid's Brooch Series 3)

by Christy Nicholas

  A sigh echoed through the stone church as Katie appeared in the doorway. She glowed, resplendent in a soft, pale-green dress. It showed off her freckles and made her red hair a blaze of glory. Green ivy wound in her cascading hair to set it off further. She was fresh-scrubbed and so achingly beautiful his heart leapt at the sight of her.

  Cormac escorted her to the altar, and Éamonn took her hands in his. They were cold and clammy, and trembling visibly. He squeezed until the trembling eased. She gazed at him, and he saw tears in her eyes reflecting his own.

  * * *

  He didn’t really listen to what Father Byrne said. He repeated the words as instructed but everything was a gold-green haze. He only saw Katie’s eyes, with freckles dancing around, like the sparks of the faeries at the stone circle.

  He fumbled for the ring. The ring! Turlough said he would give them his mother’s wedding ring, but Éamonn didn’t remember if he had done so yet. Glancing frantically around, he saw Ruari with his hand out, a delicate band of etched silver in his large fingers. With a grateful smile, Éamonn took the ring and placed it on Katie’s shaking finger. It fit perfectly.

  When he finally kissed Katie, it was a long, deep kiss. Her lips tasted of honey and mint. He lifted her slightly as he embraced her, and the crowd applauded and cheered. Certainly, the sweetest kiss he ever got.

  Looking back over the crowd, he recognized several people. Other than Cormac and Neala, he saw traders who had been at the fair, other merchants, and horse trainers he had worked with months before. So many people were still here? He didn’t understand, but he was glad their celebration wasn’t completely among strangers.

  He examined his father, relieved with the expression of smug satisfaction on Turlough’s face. Turlough had lived long enough to witness his son married to a good woman. Éamonn was happy he could at least give his father this much of a gift. God knew he had been a disappointment in so many other areas.

  When the guests had dispersed, Turlough beckoned to Éamonn and Katie.

  “Take me to the stones, Éamonn. I’d like to glimpse the other world once more before I die.”

  Éamonn wanted to argue Turlough couldn’t die yet, his father had lots of time, but it wasn’t so. He wanted to cry and scream to the heavens that it wasn’t fair, that a good man such as this deserved a long, healthy life. But to do so would be to rail against God, and every good Irishman knew it would do no good. He had Ruari carry their father, and they trekked to the stones together.

  They made the long slog through autumn bogs, heavy with rain and muck, but they made it. Ruari placed Turlough on the main altar stone.

  Turlough’s voice barely whispered. “Ruari, Katie, give us some time alone?”

  “They know, Da.”

  “They do? How is that? Did I not warn you about letting others know?” An echo of the spark of his father’s strength showed.

  “Aye, you did. But Ruari already knew about you visiting the stones. He’d seen the lights. Then they saw me on a hill. I had no idea the sparks would visit me there, and the night was dark. So—” He shrugged. There was little he could have done but tell the truth at that point.

  “Well, done is done. You both realize, of course, how dangerous this knowledge is?”

  “We do indeed. We were almost burned as witches in Oban, as I’m sure Éamonn told you.”

  Turlough’s lips flattened into a grim line. “Yes, I suppose you do, at that. Well then, let’s see what we can do here.”

  He closed his eyes, and for a long while, nothing happened. Éamonn sensed the thrumming before he saw anything, under his feet and in his bones. It vibrated and hummed and then he saw the first sparks.

  Glimmering lights showered in a fountain onto Turlough’s head.

  A figure appeared, so bright Éamonn couldn’t look directly at it. Turlough spoke to it.

  “An féidir leat cneasaigh dom, a chairde?” Can you heal me, friends?

  “Ní féidir linn.” We cannot.

  Turlough looked disappointed, but not surprised. He bowed his head in acceptance and smiled.

  The shimmering creature walked towards Turlough and reached down, touching him on the head. The glow traveled down the figure’s arm and into Turlough’s body.

  He stood up unassisted. Turlough did a deep knee bend and then straighten, arms outstretched to the sky. He laughed, stretching his arms out and spinning, like a young boy with eternal strength and life.

  “Ah, such a wonderful feeling! Thank you my dear friends!”

  He sat again on the stone, and the figure faded. Glistening sparks followed him, and Éamonn heard a twinkling laugh as the lights faded away.

  “We should head back again.”

  “Da? What was that all about? Did they… are you healed?” If the Fae gave him his own strength back after his fever, perhaps they could heal his father from consumption. It was a giddy idea. Would he have his father back after all?

  “No, no son. I’m not healed.” His returned cough proved his statement. “The Fae could only give me a few minutes of health. But enough to remember my youth and feel alive again.”

  Éamonn’s burgeoning dreams crashed.

  Turlough died later that night in Cormac’s house, surrounded by both his sons, his new daughter, and Síle and Etain. They stood in a solemn scene with flickering candles. When he did finally pass, Éamonn let loose the tears he’d held back for his father’s sake. The whole family mourned him with weeping and wine as the man who was the center of their lives moved on to the next world.

  * * *

  One ought not to have a funeral the day after a wedding. Still, he was thrilled his father had been part of the ceremony. He would forever treasure the memory of that day, the more for his father being there. Katie and he held off the wedding night until they were both finished with the sad duties of his father’s death. They’d waited so long, they could wait a bit more.

  And duties there were. As the eldest, he needed to go through his father’s possessions and either give them to siblings or sell them off as need be. He arranged with the priest for Turlough to be buried in the churchyard. Normally it was reserved for local parishioners, but Turlough had become so much a part of the community that summer, no one argued.

  Éamonn had commissioned the stonemason to make a proper headstone with Turlough’s name and dates. He asked if a musical note could be worked into one corner, and the mason said he could do it. It would have pleased Turlough. To have his name forever associated with music was a given, considering his namesake. But the name wasn’t an accident. His father had a true gift, and that should be immortalized.

  His father’s music was another way to keep him living forever. He and Ruari went through the mess of papers and put them in the care of the priest. Éamonn could read the music, but neither of them were decent enough musicians to get value from them. They made Father Byrne promise to preserve the sheets and to keep them in trust.

  Most of his other possessions Turlough had already handed out to his children during the night-long vigil. The only things left were rubbish bits of furniture and household items of no value to anyone.

  Turlough gifted Katie a lovely necklace made with pale jade beads.

  “They set off your eyes to a lovely color, a iníon. I bought them for Éamonn’s mother when we were newlywed, and they were her favorites. Think of me when you wear them, and I will give you a kiss from heaven.”

  To Éamonn he offered no material things. “The most valuable thing I can give you is advice, my darling son. You already have the brooch—use it wisely. Pass it on to someone of your blood in the future, someone who seeks for the truth. And remember, God gifted you a fine woman—treat her well, and your life will be joyous.”

  Ruari received the majority of the leather goods. “I give the business to you, my dear, sweet son, but listen to Éamonn. He has a head for intrigue and business. You have the talent, but he’ll keep things running smoothly. I love you.”

  Éamonn had to
leave before Etain and Síle got their gifts. He needed to breathe the fresh air before he succumbed once again to despair. How would he live his life without his father, his anchor?

  Pondering that night now, he still didn’t know the answer. The only thing he did know was the funeral was in an hour. Ruari was a rock to rely on, and Katie helped him with the planning. Most of the town would attend to pay their respects, and many Travelers were trickling into town to be part of it as well. It was a stranger funeral than most Travelers saw.

  Usually, Travelers would hold funerals once a year for all those who had died during that time, to enable as many relatives and friends as possible to attend. But because Turlough had been so much a part of the community these past months, he could be a sort of hybrid. The Travelers were still proud to count him as one of their own, but so too did the townspeople claim him. So this odd ceremony would honor both aspects of the musician’s life.

  A procession through the main street brought his coffin, a simple pine box, on a pony cart. His children followed, and then the other friends and more distant relations. The ceremony itself was simple and solemn, and no one begrudged the tears which peppered the ground as they lowered him into the earth. Éamonn saw a few sparks of color in that hole, but he had no idea if anyone else saw the lights, nor did he care this day.

  As Father Byrne raised his voice in the final words of the benediction, people dispersed. There were to be libations and memories that night. Éamonn didn’t know if he could handle it but, for his father’s sake, he would have to try.

  * * *

  Hers was the oddest wedding night in history. It had been several weeks until she healed enough for them to consider such a thing. A great low beach stretched out in front of them as the sun dipped below the horizon, sending shoots of orange and silver across the bay.

  Éamonn laid out their tent with the door towards the setting sun. They sat on the quilt, holding hands, and magnificent colors painted the wispy peach clouds until they had faded into a deep purple twilight.

  She turned to him and found him regarding her with his deep blue-green eyes glittering with intensity. Not trusting herself to speak, she kissed him.

  His lips were soft and tender, and he didn’t move at first as if scared of frightening her off. Then he placed his hand behind her head and they shared a deep, longing kiss. Katie didn’t know how long it lasted, as time stood still. The only thing she heard was the lapping of waves upon the shore below them. Or perhaps her own blood rushing in her body.

  Pulling back, Éamonn gazed into her eyes again. He placed a tentative hand on her cheek.

  “Éamonn. Surely you know what to do? You’re no maid, I know.” She smiled knowingly.

  “I want your first time to be—” He stopped, just realizing that this wasn’t her first time. He swallowed and opened his mouth several times.

  “It’s fine, Éamonn. It just means that it won’t hurt this time. This is the first time I’ll be making love with my husband. Lochlann… Lochlann treated me kindly, but it wasn’t—” She couldn’t articulate what she meant.

  “I don’t care about what Lochlann is or isn’t. He’s gone. There’s no room for three in a marriage bed. All I care about is you and what you feel, a chroi. It was always about you, and it will always be about you.”

  With these tender words, he stroked her cheek with more purpose, drawing his finger down to her chin. He lifted his face so to kiss her again, and then the kisses moved to her neck. Ticklish, she giggled, and tried to squirm. He giggled as well but didn’t relent. She moved back then and lay on the quilt.

  He looked her up and down, lying on the quilt, waiting for him. He caught his breath and said, “In the name of all that’s holy, I never dreamed this day would come. You are a rare woman, Caitriona Doherty, and I mean to make you know it!”

  He kissed her between the breasts, working the stays with his fingers. She tried to help, but they fumbled and got in each other’s way. Finally, the impediment removed, she lay in just her shift and skirts. She sat up and pulled the skirts over her head, and the shift came away with it.

  Éamonn let out a low whistle. “Damn. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to be gentle, Katie. I’ll try.”

  “Gentle is fine to a point, Éamonn.”

  He cupped her breast with one hand as she lay again, and teased the nipple of the other with his tongue. The dual sensation made her twitch. She reached up and found him still clothed. Disappointed, she tried to untie the knot at his neck. Startled, he stopped his attentions and simply pulled it over his head. He pulled his breeks off as well, and lay against her, skin to skin.

  His skin was warm and dry, with a light dusting of blond hair. His leg muscles tensed along hers. His roughened hand moved with feather lightness over her breasts, waist, and hips, down her thigh and then towards her cleft. She struggled not to giggle at the tickling touch and then opened her legs, welcoming his attentions as shivers rushed through her body.

  Suckling her breast again, he found her folds and explored them. He shifted so he loomed above her, moving her legs apart with his, but still playing with his fingers. Then he moved his hands back to her breasts.

  She reached out to touch him, but couldn’t reach his manhood. She wanted to caress the skin and explore the shape.

  Seeing her dilemma, he moved so she could reach him. The skin was surprisingly soft and hot. It felt so hard she worried it might burst. The image made her giggle.

  “Hey! No laughing, now. Or am I tickling you?”

  “No, no, I just had an irreverent thought. Don’t stop, please.”

  “I don’t think I can, Katie.”

  He shifted again and touched his shaft to her cleft. He didn’t go in as she had expected but just placed it there, moving it up and down. She arched her back, trying to guide him if he was having trouble. He held back still, and she was confused. Surely he wanted this as badly as she did? She opened her eyes and glanced at him, and saw a strange expression on his face.

  “Éamonn? Is something wrong?”

  “I’m just… just trying to make this special, Katie. It’s taking a great deal of control… I don’t want it to be too… too quick for you.”

  “Éamonn, I’ve been waiting months for you. Please… don’t wait any longer.”

  Her voice sounded pleading and not a little petulant to her ears. For just that moment, she sounded like Deirdre. Evidently, Éamonn heard that as well, for his expression hardened. He pulled back and lay next to her, flat on his back.

  Damn Deirdre. Damn her to all the circles of hell and then the same again. Éamonn was right. There was no room for three in the marriage.

  She moved to her side and placed her hand on Éamonn’s chest. He had almost no hair at all there, and what he had shone as pale sparkles in the dying light. He was much smoother than she had imagined. She grew bolder and moved her hand to his thighs. Closer and closer to his manhood she circled until he groaned.

  He grabbed her hands and flipped her on her back. He wasn’t cruel or hard, but he moved firmly. Éamonn climbed on her and entered her with purpose. He moved slow but steady, in and out, time after time. He filled her and retreated over and over, and it built a fire in her own belly. She arched her back and met him each thrust, losing all sense of time. Katie couldn’t feel or hear anything but Éamonn in her, on top of her, kissing her body and her mouth as he stroked her and filled her. His moans echoed hers, and the burst of light and waves of pleasure climaxed, as they both rode the wave to the end of the sparkling shore.

  Panting, she lay with Éamonn on top of her. Their sweat slid between their bodies, and he jerked a couple times, replete and spent. Shivers of reaction worked through her with the receding waves of pleasure as she came back to her senses.

  Was this how it was supposed to be? It was a far cry from what she’d had with Lochlann. With disgust, she pushed the idea from her mind. Éamonn was with her now, her husband, her love, and her soul mate. He was the only one she ever w
anted again.

  Epilogue

  April 1746

  The news came to them in as Katie worked on her loom. Ruari came back from his leather shop in Ardara town and slammed the door open.

  “Did you hear? They lost. They all lost.”

  “Ruari, what are you blethering about? Who lost?” Éamonn was carving bone buttons.

  “The Jacobites. They all died at Culloden.”

  Prince Charles Edward Stuart finally landed in Scotland just as Éamonn, Katie, and Ruari were leaving it last July. He rallied the Highlanders around him, and won several battles, such as Prestonpans, and even took Edinburgh. They lost ground and funding, though, and the outlook had been bleak that spring.

  Evidently, the final standoff occurred on Culloden field. The straggling remnants of the Jacobite army were outnumbered and outgunned by the English, and all but slaughtered in a few hours on the field of battle.

  Katie wasn’t certain how she felt about the fight. She wasn’t Scottish, but she did live under the English king, and she had no true loyalty to him as an Irishwoman. Her Catholic religion was illegal, as was her native Gaelic. But the Stuarts weren’t her kings, either. Her true kings were the O’Neills, or the O’Briens, ancient clans of Irish tribal history. She did mourn those who had died in the field, though. She remembered well the horrible time waiting to hear if her husband had lived or died. She may not have loved Lochlann, but she had liked him in the end and had relied on him.

  Éamonn and Ruari were discussing how this would affect the Irish, but Katie no longer cared. She stood and arched her back.