The Prophecy (Kingdom of Uisneach Book 1)

by Heidi Hanley

  “I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier, about not understanding love.”

  He nodded. “Apology accepted.” He turned his back to her and left without another word.

  Briana had plenty to keep her busy over the next couple of days. She spent the entire next day training to run a large household. She went through the tedious process of approving Mrs. Churchill’s menus and making sure the head housekeeper had everything she needed. She approved staffing changes, answered questions about what to do with dingy linen, rotten meat, chimneys that needed cleaning and cracked wineglasses. By the end of the day, Briana was exhausted from plain boredom.

  “Do you think you’re ready to take on Ard Darach?” Lady Isabella asked her.

  “In my sleep. However, I should tell you, the first thing I’ll do as queen is hire someone to do it for me!”

  “I should have guessed you might.”

  Evening brought relief from the tediousness as they enjoyed an elegant meal and interesting conversations. Sigel managed to include information that would serve as a report without having to directly address Briana. Silas’ singing and storytelling was missed by all, she was sure, but no one mentioned it. Also unmentioned was the tension between Sigel and Briana, until Epona quietly voiced her opinion.

  “I don’t know why he did it,” said Epona, “but it was a stupid move. He needs Silas to get you to the king. What was he ever thinking?”

  That he needed to separate us, she thought. Briana said, “Sir Thomas is coming with us, I think.” As much as she liked Epona, she wouldn’t feed her curiosity about what prompted Silas’ banishment.

  “Well, Sir Thomas is capable, but he’s not anywhere near the warrior Silas is. I hope he plans on taking a murder of crows with him.”

  Lady Isabella asked Briana a question, saving her from further discussion. The evening ended pleasantly.

  When the last candle was blown out and Briana was tucked into her bed, she called out to Silas. Where are you?

  I’m sittin’ in a tavern in Ratskillen drinkin’ ale and missin’ you.

  Is drinking ale what we pay you for? she teased.

  I suppose it’s better than what I’d rather be doin’.

  They talked about the day’s events. Briana shared her determination to find someone to carry out domestic duties at Ard Darach. He described Ratskillen to her in homey images.

  Sounds cozy.

  It is when there’s not the threat of Gray Military breathin’ down your neck. Now, go to sleep, a mhuirnin. For sure they’ll have you busy tomorrow.

  She was dozing off when she felt a light kiss on her cheek and smiled into the darkness.

  The next morning, a knock at the door interrupted her as she was dressing. “Lord Sigel says for you to come to the training ring with your sword and shield,” said Brigit, one of the housemaids. “He said to leave the hound behind,” she added, eyeing Dara with some trepidation.

  “That’s odd,” she told Claire after dismissing the maid and reaching for Nua. “We’ve barely spoken to each other these last couple of days and I haven’t even been riding yet.”

  Claire handed her shield over.

  “Will you keep an eye on Dara while I find out what this is about?”

  “Of course, milady.”

  Briana left, Dara whining but obeying the order of his mistress to stay with Claire.

  Sigel stood talking with Sir Thomas in the ring, which was nothing more than a fenceless circle of dirt. The lord of Winge Mansion nodded at Briana and stepped outside the circle.

  “Sword practice?” Briana asked, tension spreading across her chest and shoulders.

  “When we head north, you need to be prepared to fight and protect yourself. I can’t risk you getting injured again. Epona is admirable with a sword, but every man – and woman – needs to be battle-ready.”

  “Epona? She’s coming?”

  “We can’t leave Winge Mansion without any men. The grooms can manage the stables.”

  Without warning and with complete control, he brought his sword up toward her. Instinctively she deflected the assault and jumped into fighting mode. Legs apart for balance, she swung Nua at him, struggling for the same control he had.

  “Don’t worry about me, just fight. I doubt there’s anything you can do to hurt me.”

  Really, she thought, anger rising up in her. We’ll see about that. Dropping to one knee, and clenching Nua’s hilt with both hands, she swiped sideways toward his knees. Grinning, he neatly stepped away as Nua sliced through air. Still on her knees, she gave a grunt when he pushed her to the ground with one foot. Uninjured but furious, she started to rise, but he jumped over her, his own broadsword pointed at her chest. She was breathing heavy when he took a step back away, letting her stand.

  “Again,” she said, through clenched teeth.

  He shrugged and advanced, thrusting his blade in her direction. She parried. The clacking of swords filled the ring. She swung hard over his head. His steel met hers. She drew back, stepped aside and swung again. Nua met cold steel. She couldn’t get at him. She moved back a few paces to give herself a chance to breathe and think. What was his weakness? She faced him, waiting. He looked at something to her right and her eyes travelled in the same direction, leaving her momentarily defenseless. When his blade came at her head, she ducked and lost her balance. He laughed and sauntered away.

  “Have you learned nothing? You’re fighting like an amateur. You’re unbalanced, vulnerable and fighting blind.”

  Anger turned to rage. She jumped up and ran at him with blade lifted. A stranger took hold of her body and she meant to plunge Nua into his back. Before she could, he turned and blocked her attack.

  Sweaty, gasping for breath and on the verge of tears, she continued to fight him.

  “Don’t you dare cry, Your Majesty,” he taunted her.

  What the hell is goin’ on? asked Silas, worried.

  What is going on is that I am going to kill Sigel. Leave me alone. I need to concentrate.

  Briana tried desperately to remember what Sigel had taught her about offensive tactics. Scanning her surroundings provided little she could use to her advantage, except for the sun that seemed intent on illuminating her failure. They traded strikes and she circled away, forcing Sigel to face the sun.

  “Better,” he said, as though he were teaching her the alphabet.

  Her arms ached. Her heart was pounding. Trying to focus only made her more conscious of her mistakes. He seemed to sense her weakness and came at her, forcing her to match his thrusts and swipes. She experienced a brief moment of panic and then utter calm.

  Step back and breathe. See clearly how and where to strike, she thought.

  Everything disappeared except the warrior in front of her. Emotionless, she saw the challenge as a game of ríocht and knew what to do. Feigning defeat, she crouched to her knees, letting Nua fall to her side.

  “Really, Briana? You’re giving up?” Sigel asked, as he walked to her, letting his own blade drop.

  Seizing the opportunity, she rose up with Nua in one clean, poetic movement and cut across his arm before putting the point in the hollow of his throat.

  Chest heaving, she dropped Nua on the ground and stared at Sigel. Blood covered his forearm where she’d cut him. He swore. Surprise and something else registered in his eyes. She enjoyed a split second of victory before the horror of injuring him overwhelmed her. She wanted to apologize but had no air left in her lungs to do so.

  I will not cry.

  “Bring that fierceness to Lord Shamwa and the Gray Military,” he said, “but leave the tears, and for Maker’s sake, focus much earlier.”

  Fury, confusion and exhaustion created a storm inside her that demanded privacy. Sir Thomas picked up her sword and offered it to her. She took it and walked alone to the mansion, dismissing Claire and another servant who were arranging her clothes in preparation for dinner.

  She sat alone, shaking and sick to her stomach. Why did Sigel do that?
There was too much emotion and not enough instruction for it to be practice. He wanted me to get angry. He wanted me to beat him, and I did. I beat the best swordsman in Uisneach. I wonder if he let me?

  I doubt it, said Silas. Are you okay? What happened?

  I just technically beat Sigel in combat.

  A heavy knock at the door prevented her from telling him more. Sigel stood there, a rag held against his arm.

  “Would you mind tending to this for me?”

  “Where’s Cailleach?”

  “I’m not asking Cailleach. I’m asking you.”

  She stood aside and swept an arm to indicate he should come in.

  “Your leg okay?”

  She nodded. In fact, it looked even more healed than this morning. Magic was working, and fast.

  He sat in the chair while she rummaged in the basket of supplies for dressings. Setting ointments and bandages beside him, she pulled away the rag he held. The four-inch gash was ugly, but not deep. Sigel was inspecting it, also.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said.

  She bit her lip and set about cleaning the wound and applying ointment while simultaneously applying a liberal dose of healing magic. The bleeding stopped and the wound began to instantly improve. When the laceration was wrapped, she finally had to look at him.

  “Why?”

  “You needed it. Maybe I did, too.”

  Understanding dawned on her. “I’m so sorry, Sigel, for everything. I never meant to put you in a bad position and I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Well, you did, but I expect you’ll not do so again. If you’ve learned anything from it, I’ll count myself lucky to survive with a scar from the magical sword of Uisneach’s queen.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Mr. Jonathan Stark

  Briana and Cailleach walked through the oak-lined lane on their way to Derryfeeny. She did her best to ignore Sigel, Sir Thomas and the dozen guards that walked close behind. “It’s like a portal to another world,” said Briana, stopping a moment to turn around for the view of the mansion framed by the intertwining limbs. “You could almost imagine a procession of druids on their way to a fire ritual to sacrifice a virgin.”

  Cailleach hooted derisively. “Druids don’t sacrifice women, girl. That’s a myth.”

  Briana shrugged, glancing back at her entourage. The men were militaristic in their uniformity, dressed head to toe in black with gleaming black sabers at their sides, their dark eyes constantly scanning the environment for any threat. The efficient troupe of shapeshifters missed no details, but otherwise remained silent, a fact that mystified her. Crows were not known for being quiet.

  She faced the road again. “I rode Banrion this morning.”

  “Your leg okay?”

  “Perfect. I was careful to start, but it never hurt at all, and I checked afterward and didn’t find a problem. You did a great job of healing that wound, Cailleach. I can never thank you enough.”

  “You’re welcome. That was a nasty gash and I don’t mind saying now, you’re lucky to have survived.”

  “Well, luck might have played a part, but it was the excellent care you, Sigel and Silas provided that kept me from dying.”

  The sun warmed their faces as they walked. Briana didn’t know how old Cailleach was, but she was amazed at how fit she seemed to be. She never seemed to tire, and Briana often had to pick up her own pace to keep up with the older woman. Dara frisked about chasing rodents in the woods, happy to be away from the castle. Twice, Briana had to call him back when he’d run a little too far.

  Before long they reached Derryfeeny, a quaint little village where most of the supplies needed by Winge Mansion were purchased. Though the local butcher made weekly visits to the manor to take an order from Mrs. Churchill, they stopped in his shop to admire the marvelous assortment of meats and fish. The blacksmith, Mr. Murray, also a frequent visitor to the Winge stables, waved as they walked by. Today was the day for the weekly farmers market, and Derryfeeny bustled as people bargained for fruits and vegetables, as well as soaps, candles, honey and other everyday necessities. They were greeted, hailed and sometimes stared at (no wonder, given her guard), as they passed by the vendors on their way to the apothecary. Briana couldn’t wait to meet the proprietor, Hapgood Broomesly-Wells, whom Cailleach often spoke of with great admiration and fondness. She instructed Dara to wait outside and he dutifully sat, catching the eye of several nearby children who came over to pat or speak to him. He loved the attention. Briana didn’t feel the same way about the attention she received from her military escort.

  “Can’t you find something for them to do, other than stand around and look threatening?” she whispered to Sigel.

  “Well, then there wouldn’t be much point in having a security detail, would there? Besides they don’t look threatening,” he said, touching her shoulder lightly.

  “They do to me,” she said, smiling.

  Knowing she wouldn’t win the argument about security, she gave up and followed Cailleach into the humble apothecary.

  Scents of lavender, sandalwood and sage wafted around them as they entered. Cailleach introduced Briana to the gnome, who, she’d been told, had moved from Wellsland to Derryfeeny as a young man to serve the medical needs of the people here. He was a portly gentleman, even by gnome standards, and gregarious. Briana liked him immediately and felt a tug at her heart, remembering the Wellses.

  “Oh, Your Ladyship, it’s an honor to meet you.” He nodded a greeting to Sigel, who accompanied them into the shop and took a post near the window.

  “The honor is mine, Mr. Wells. Cailleach has told me all about your extraordinary shop and I’ve been looking forward to visiting.”

  “Oh, please do call me Broomesly. Everyone does. What can I do for you today, Cailleach?”

  The witch and the apothecary went over her list, pulling this and that out of bottles and jars. Briana complimented Broomesly on his excellent selections of product. When Cailleach had everything she needed, they bid the practitioner good day and left.

  Outside the shop, Briana noticed a young man hovering near the corner of the building. She was struck first by his sea-green eyes and curly blonde hair, then by his deplorable condition. As soon as he caught her looking at him, he darted behind the corner. Frowning, she called to Dara and joined Cailleach, who stopped at a cloth vendor for material for dressings. While Sigel carried on a conversation with the vendor’s husband, Briana strayed a little ways, the crow detail not far behind, and paused at a jeweler’s table, eyeing his exquisite pieces of carved stone, metal and even bone. A bone pendant hanging from a leather cord captured her attention. It was actually one bone that had been carved into two connected hearts that couldn’t be separated. “This is beautiful,” she said, fingering the polished bone. “What is it?”

  “It’s called warrior bone. Legend says that it comes from the bones of men who’ve been killed by heroes on the field of battle. Murder to carve, but once done, it won’t break on you. You like this one?”

  “Very much. What are you asking for it?”

  “For you, milady, a gift.”

  “Oh, no. I can pay you. I intend it for someone else as a gift.” He stated a ridiculously low price, and she paid. He was wrapping it in a square piece of cloth when a flash of blonde caught her eye. The boy she saw earlier was skittering behind a food vendor. She hoped he managed to steal an apple, as she feared he wouldn’t allow her to offer him food. She thanked the jewelry maker for the purchase and thought about following the lad when she heard Cailleach call her name. Briana quickly tucked the jewelry in her pocket.

  The witch stood at the table of a woman who sold candles, looking intently at the crying infant in her arms. “Briana, what do you think about this girl?”

  Along with the congested, barking cough, the baby’s nose was practically closed shut with green mucous. She could barely breathe. Briana reacted intuitively, reaching for the baby, whom the woman gladly handed to her. She crad
led the child in her arms, raising her head.

  “What’s her name?” Briana asked.

  “Dauphne. She’s born just this spring.”

  “What a pretty girl, Dauphne. Not feeling well?” Briana crooned to the child, not at all daunted by her cries. “She’s croupy and terribly congested. Do you have some water and a something to wipe her nose?”

  “I think so, milady,” she answered, reaching under the table for a jug.

  “Here, Briana,” Cailleach said, handing her a clean cloth.

  “Good girl, Dauphne, let’s get this icky stuff out of you,” Briana murmured, imagining the infant well as she wiped the crusty green gunk from her nose, allowing her to breathe a little easier. “Ma’am, this child ought to be taken home and put under steam.” She explained how to make a steam tent to push moist air infused with cinnamon, cloves and thyme into the baby’s lungs to clear up the infection. “Cailleach, do you happen to have any elderberry with you?”

  “Well, doesn’t everyone carry that around with them?” she said, offering a small vial of syrup to the mother.

  “Give her a few drops three or four times a day,” said Briana, “and in between, try and get some diluted tea with chamomile and honey into her. That will make her more comfortable. You should also try some warm compresses with pine needle oil on her chest.”

  “I have some of that,” the mother said.

  “The cough will be worse at night, so keep this up for a few days. She ought to be right in no time.”

  The woman nodded, her face bright with awe. “Of course, milady. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Mrs….”

  “Jenks. Martha Jenks.”

  “Good day to you, Mrs. Jenks. I’ll see you next week.”

  They left the market, Cailleach saying nothing until they were well away from the crowd. Finally, she stopped and turned to Briana. “You did a nice job with wee Daphne, Briana. You were using a combination of medicinals and magic.”

  Briana nodded. “I hope it works.”

  “It will. You are a healer in every sense of the word. It’s your gift, your magic. I just watched you calm and comfort that mother and her child, beyond what the herbs and steam baths could do. Your presence is a powerful tool when you use it to the good.”