The Warrior's Salvation (Warriors of Eriu Book 1)

by Mia Pride

  Alastar, Eoin, Brennain, and Flynn rode on either side of them, forming an extra wall of protection, should anyone try and harm Clarice. Nobody in the forty-man group spoke a word. It was the most silence Jeoffrey had ever experienced traveling with such a large pack of men. The wind howled all around and Jeoffrey was at least thankful that Clarice had been wearing her cloak when the warriors showed up to take her away. Her brown hair blew around his face, but he welcomed the feel of her on his skin, the floral scent that drifted to him on the wind. He was not certain where they would take her when they arrived at Caledonii, but he would fight hard to be allowed to stay with her, even if it meant being locked away in a dank cell with molding hay and rats. He would suffer anything to keep her by his side.

  “We must rest for the night,” he heard a large warrior not far from him call out to the group.

  “Night has long since gone. Let us ride through,” another warrior added. Jeoffrey also preferred this option. It had been a long night of travel and they should be approaching Caledonii soon, by his calculations based on how long it had taken Clarice to travel from there to Miathi on foot. Their horses could cover the trip in half the time. He was tired and sore, but to stop would mean having to protect Clarice and even though he had a score of warriors, he was not sure if the others would attempt to tie her up in case she tried to flee. He would never allow it, but a fight would surely break out and he preferred to avoid any more confrontation for now.

  “Aye, we push on,” Gregory shouted from the front of the line. “There is nay more than an hour left.” An hour felt like an eternity. All he could do was run unpredictable plans through his mind, but nothing kept the dark thoughts at bay. Yet he welcomed the ride, for he did not think he could bear to stretch out this emotional and physical torture for several more hours. The sooner they arrived, the sooner he could clear Clarice of any wrongdoing, or die trying.

  “Clarice,” he whispered in her ear as they rode, “you lived in Caledonii for four summers. Surely you had many companions?”

  Her head snapped up and she nodded. “Och, aye. T’was my home and I loved the people. I helped birth many babes. Harrold was beloved of the king and that is why they must all despise me if they think I killed him.”

  “Listen, by the looks I have seen from some of these warriors, many do not believe you are guilty. Gregory is a madman and we must prove it. When we arrive, nay matter what happens, we must appeal to the people you knew to see the truth.”

  He could not see her face, but he knew she was likely doubtful that anyone would help her, especially if Gregory stood as a threat to them. He knew then what he had to do. It wasn’t enough to simply free Clarice of all charges, but he must also implicate Gregory. The man was an animal and had lost any right to his life. If he could get enough people to speak for Clarice’s character and against Gregory’s, mayhap the true murderer would face the consequences.

  Suddenly, some of his fear deteriorated and was replaced by confidence and determination. He had a plan. He would save Clarice from enslavement.

  ***

  Never had darker thoughts consumed Clarice’s mind. The journey back to Caledonii had been an arduous one. Though the weather during the days had been mild, the night and dawn had been frigid with only a half moon hanging in the sky to light their way. Her hair had whipped around her and the wind stung her cheeks. She wanted to pull her cloak’s hood over her head and try to sleep against Jeoffrey’s warm, strong chest. Sleep would have been merciful, but nay, she needed to stay alert. In sleep, she was vulnerable. She knew Jeoffrey would protect her but her own survival instincts required her to stay aware of her position at all times. So she allowed the wind to chap her face and tangle her hair, for it served to force her awake.

  As they now reached the iron gates of Caledonii, her heart started beating faster than ever before. She had left this place so suddenly without a farewell to her people. What must they think of her? Mayhap they did believe her guilty. Why else would she have fled? Of course, she knew the truth. Gregory’s threats of marriage or enslavement had sent her on a desperate mission to seek protection for her and Wee Jeoff, but would the people know that? No doubt Gregory had been busy filling all their ears with lies.

  Despair hung over Clarice like a dark storm cloud ready to pelt rain down on her head and consume her. She missed her son. Because of Gregory, she had missed far too much time with her child and now she may never see him again. That wrenched a painful sob from deep within and she felt Jeoffrey clutch her tighter from behind on his horse. “We will get you out of this,” he promised for what felt like the hundredth time. And while she knew he truly meant those words, she was hard pressed to believe them.

  As they rode through the gates, familiar faces stared back at her. Some looked angry and disgusted when they saw her coming through. Suddenly, she realized that showing up married so soon after Harrold’s death may quite likely only make people believe she truly was guilty of killing him. Everyone had believed her to be married to Harrold and he had been the King’s favorite, beloved of the village for his honor, courage, and kindness. And now she was arriving on horseback in another man’s arms, carrying his babe in her womb.

  “Murderer!” a woman screamed shrilly from the center of the group. Clarice flinched and turned her head, shame and embarrassment flooding her and causing her to feel numbness in her limbs. These had been her people, her friends, and now they despised her.

  “I have brought the murderer of Harrold and Paulene back for judgment!” Gregory shouted to the crowd, truly reveling in the moment. “She murdered him when she heard word that her previous lover was in Alba! She married him and carries his child now!”

  The crowd jeered and booed. One person threw a carrot at her head and it cracked against her skull with a loud thud, causing her ears to ring.

  “Get your people under control!” Jeoffrey shouted, wrapping the cloak around her even tighter and pulling her large hood over her head to serve as even a small barrier of protection. “She is innocent of all crimes! Harrold is the true murderer!”

  Eoin, Brennain, Alastar, and Flynn brought their horses through the crowd, forcing the villagers to move back as they formed a barricade in front of Jeoffrey’s horse. Tears stung in her eyes at the public shaming. Her stomach was in a tight knot. She would not leave this place a free woman. These people were out for blood.

  A large man with a bright red plaited beard stepped through the crowd, holding his hand up for silence. He wore a thick blue and green plaid cloak around his neck and large pelts of fur on his shoulders. The large ostentatious gold circlet on his head spoke clearly to all that he was the king of Caledonii…a man Clarice once would have considered an ally. By the look of his narrowed brown eyes gazing at her now, it was clear he considered her an enemy.

  The crowd silenced and stepped back for King Steaphan. “You know why you have been brought back to us aye, lass?” His voice was low and calm, contradicting the stern, furious look on his face.

  Anger and betrayal warred with fear within her. How could these people believe her capable of such horrible crimes? “Aye, I know you believe I am guilty of terrible crimes against two people whom I loved fiercely. I grieved when I lost them, and now you see fit to accuse me of that loss.”

  King Steaphan lowered his brow, as if confused by her statement. Had he expected her to come back here and confess her guilt? Or worse yet, quiver and cower in front of them all? Nay. If she were to die for these crimes, she would do it loudly. She would fight with every breath she had until it was her last. She had Wee Jeoff to survive for, and now the babe in her belly.

  “You deny these crimes?” the king asked in confusion.

  She snorted most unladylike. “Och. Of course I deny them. Why do you not ask Gregory what became of Harrold? Or Paulene? Or how he tried to force me to marry him once they were both gone?”

  “Lies!” Gregory spat. “You are a lying sorceress!”

  The crowd began to murmur at the
spectacle before them, and Clarice felt Jeoffrey squeeze her tightly around the waist in warning. “Save it for your trial, love.”

  She pursed her lips against her need to continue her tirade. Her blood boiled with rage in earnest now. How dare Gregory think to place his crimes at her feet, then call her a sorceress? If she were truly a sorceress, he would have dropped dead long ago, not Harrold. Aye, she was good and angry. Fear also gripped at her, but she pushed it away to focus on the rage, for anger was a much more productive emotion than fear. Fear would make her weak and vulnerable. Her anger would make her rise against her foes and prove that, mayhap, she would go down…but not without a fight.

  “Silence!” King Steaphan shouted and once again, all the murmuring stopped. It was still early morning and the only sound she could hear were the clucking of chickens, bleating of sheep and the snorting of forty restless horses. “We will start the trial in two days’ time while we await the Brehon. Take the lass to the hold. Have her bound.”

  “You will not touch her!” Jeoffrey roared from behind Clarice and she shuddered at the true intensity of his voice. He was a kindhearted, peaceful man, but he was also a well-honed warrior who would die to protect what mattered to him most. In that moment, she knew he would do anything to protect her, even die…and she could not allow that.

  “Jeoffrey, let them take me,” she turned to whisper in his ear. His brow furrowed and she saw the clear protest in his gaze. “You must allow them to take me. I cannot have you die fighting for me. Who will care for Wee Jeoffrey?” Her voice was low and pleading. She heard the quivering in her words, for truly, she could not fathom losing him as well.

  “Nay. I cannot leave you.” Jeoffrey shook his head. “I did not come all this way to protect you, only to let them bind you and throw you in a holding cell.”

  “You came all this way to protect me…so do it. You cannot help me if you stay with me, you can help me by finding people willing to speak for me…or against Gregory.” His dark eyes shot to hers and she knew he understood the truth of her words. Time was precious and running out. King Ailbert had agreed to send people who would speak for her character, but they also needed trust-worthy people from Caledonii to speak.

  Before he could answer, she felt herself being pulled forcibly from his grip and down from the horse by a warrior she recognized immediately as Àdhamh. He was following his king’s orders, but when she looked over her shoulder in fear, she saw the slight smile on his lips and knew he would not harm her. He had been a companion to Harrold and knew her love for the man ran deep.

  Jeoffrey held on to her, refusing to let her go, but when she shot him a warning glance, she saw resignation on his features as he allowed her body to be dragged from his grip. “Nay harm better come to my wife, or I swear by all the gods in Ériu and Alba I will make you suffer. She is carrying my child.” Àdhamh paused and looked down at her with a frown. She nodded her affirmation to him and he put her down gently. “My job is to secure the lass, not harm her. I swear I will keep her safe.”

  Jeoffrey dismounted swiftly and stood next to the man, sizing him up. They were of equal build but opposite in features. Where Jeoffrey was dark in hair and eyes, Àdhamh had sandy blonde hair and deep green eyes. “See that you do,” Jeoffrey warned and leaned closer to Àdhamh to whisper. “Take good care of my wife and you will be rewarded. Do not and die.”

  With a nod, Àdhamh took Clarice by the arm and dragged her through the restless crowd. To her surprise, the emotions from the crowd now felt split. A few people still scowled and jeered at her, but many more looked on with pity in their gaze and silence. It wasn’t enough to save her life, but it was a start. She knew she was safe with Àdhamh. She had known him for years as a man of honor and integrity. Aye, he would do as his king commanded, but she also trusted King Steaphan to give her a fair trial and not command harm upon her until the trial was over.

  Now, as she was dragged into the small, dark, circular room with nothing within besides a pile of fresh hay and pot to piss in, she wrapped her cloak around her body tightly and began to quake from the chill consuming the dank air. Without even a candle to light the room, Àdhamh sent her a sympathetic look and shut the wooden door behind him, sliding the bar in place on the other side.

  Despair consumed her the moment she was alone. Tucking her knees up to her chin, she wrapped her arms around her legs and sobbed into the wool fabric of her cloak. It was not the complete darkness enveloping her nor the smell of something sour that bothered her. It was the thought of all the trials she had lived through. And now that she had finally found true peace in her life, she may only have two more days to live, for once she belonged to Gregory, her life was forfeit. She was helplessly trapped in this room. She knew Jeoffrey would do aught to save her, but she was low on hope and energy.

  Crying until her eyes stung and her lids grew heavy, she let the peace of sleep take her away. It may be the last peace she ever felt.

  Chapter 15

  Jeoffrey paced back and forth relentlessly in front of the room holding his wife for over an hour. Àdhamh stood silently in front of the door, neither allowing Jeoffrey entrance, nor forcing him to leave. He had nowhere else to go at the moment. Whom could he speak with? Who had Clarice known or been close to? He hoped they would seek him out, but waiting for others to take charge was not Jeoffrey’s strong suit. He was a man of action, yet he was a man in an unfamiliar tuath filled with strange, wary faces.

  Several moments later, a lass walked past him in a brown wool dress, giving him a strange look. She appeared to be wondering whether or not to approach Jeoffrey. Her blonde hair was plaited and hung over one shoulder and she carried a basket of apples in her arms. Chewing on her bottom lip, she began to walk again, stopped to send him another mysterious look, then turned a corner and disappeared behind a tall stilted granary.

  Putting his hands on his hips, Jeoffrey stared at the granary. She knew something; every bone in his body was telling him to follow the lass.

  “You, there,” he called to her. To his relief, she stopped instantly and turned to look at him. The last thing he wanted to do was cause trouble in this new place. He needed to make friends, not enemies. If this woman had a jealous husband somewhere, being caught behind a granary with her alone may only cause a fight to erupt. And yet, he needed answers and something told him this woman had wanted to be stopped and questioned. “You know my wife?”

  Her eyes grew wide and she chewed her lip again. “Aye. I know her. She was Harrold’s wife. My sister was Gregory’s wife.” Sadness consumed her blue eyes and she looked down at the red apples in her basket.

  “I am sorry for your loss, lass,” he said sincerely. Gregory had caused too much pain for too many people. He needed to be stopped. Nay, he needed to die, but Jeoffrey had to focus on one task at a time.

  “I know who you are,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder. “Paulene was ill. All she could do was lay in bed and listen to what was said in whispers around her.”

  Jeoffrey nodded but did not say a word. It was best to let this woman say what she needed on her own. “Harrold spoke of you. He told her you were in Alba. She cried when she found out. They planned to find you. Soon after, Harrold died…then my sweet Paulene.” She swallowed hard and gripped her wicker basket until her knuckles turned white.

  “So, you know Clarice would never have killed Harrold or your sister?” Jeoffrey finally whispered, pushing her to continue. His heart was pounding wildly and he had to struggle to breathe. Mayhap he could convince the lass to speak for Clarice.

  “Aye. She loved Harrold. Paulene told me that though they shared a bed, they never behaved as a true husband and wife. She always sensed something was off with their marriage. They seemed to be companions, not lovers. When Paulene heard that Harrold was planning to take Clarice to you, she knew the truth.” The woman put her head down and shook her head.

  “What is your name, lass?” Jeoffrey asked gently.

  “Maggie. I already kn
ow that you are Jeoffrey. Paulene heard your name on Clarice’s lips many nights in her sleep.” She blushed from embarrassment and looked away from him again. “Gregory wanted Clarice for himself. Paulene knew this from the day she arrived. She wanted to hate Clarice, but Clarice was too kind to hate. She took care of Paulene.”

  “Maggie,” Jeoffrey said and stepped closer, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Clarice is carrying my child. I cannot allow her and my babe to end up in Gregory’s clutches,” he croaked the words. It gutted him to speak them. “Would you speak on her behalf at her trial?”

  Maggie’s eyes grew wide and glittered with unshed tears. “Och, the poor lass is locked in that dark room and carrying a babe? She must be so frightened. She does not deserve such treatment.”

  “Then you will speak for her?” Jeoffrey pressed.

  She breathed deeply and shook her head. “I…I cannot. If I speak and she is still found guilty, what will happen to me? Gregory is dangerous. The two hunters who found him in the woods and brought him back were later killed in a strange hunting accident. Everyone assumes it was an accident, only I suspect him of their death. He is mad and those men doubted his story. Now they are dead.” She shuddered. “I told my suspicions to my brother. He believes me and may be willing to speak…he does not like Gregory either. Only…my brother is a warrior for the king and does as commanded.”

  Jeoffrey’s eyes grew wide at that news. “Who is your brother, Maggie? I must speak with him.”

  “He is the man who guards your Clarice. Àdhamh. He was best mates with Harrold. He only wants for the murderer of his sister and friend to see justice. He does not truly believe Clarice guilty…but without evidence—”