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

by Mia Pride

  Maggie swallowed hard and continued. “She lost everything when they died. Harrold was her dearest friend and champion, the man who protected her and loved her, not for her body, but for her soul. With his death, so too did her dreams die. It was only by an act of fate that she found Jeoffrey when she fled. T’was not a calculation on her part. T’was a calculation of the gods. Gregory had everything to gain from their death. He rid himself of a man he believed kept him away from Clarice, and rid himself of his wife. Once they were both free to wed, he threatened to accuse her of their murders, knowing she would become his slave without payment, unless she promised to marry him. She fled, and there is no disgrace in that, Brehon,” Maggie hardened her voice and pointed at Bhaltair. “You do not know the terror a woman feels against the threats of a powerful man and she had a son to protect.”

  Clarice looked at the Brehon, hands shaking in her lap, and to her amazement, the man had a slight smile on his face as he stared in awe at Maggie’s bravery.

  “My thanks for your testimony, Maggie and Àdhamh. I can only think you are telling the truth, as you would never betray your sister's honor by defending her murderer so adamantly. And Àdhamh, you were brave to stand up here today and confess your love for Harrold. I cannot imagine you would do so if it were not true. Still…they are all still words…just words. I have no visible evidence.”

  Clarice’s heart sank. All their personal sacrifices were for naught. Had Àdhamh truly been Harrold’s lover? She knew Harrold preferred men and she knew they were best mates, but she would never have thought it to be true that more existed between them. It if was true, they had been very careful in their meetings. But now, his secret was out and for naught. The Brehon still wanted something more than words. A score of witnesses could speak on her behalf, but without physical evidence, it was still her word against Gregory’s and as a powerful and important warrior to the king, his life was much more valuable than hers. She was but a serf…soon to be a slave. Her loss would mean naught for her tuath. But the loss of another warrior would be a blow to their defenses. In that moment, she knew her fate was sealed. For men always protected other men, and even in a society that claimed to honor women, she was dispensable simply for being the weaker sex.

  She had had enough. No more weeping. No more quivering. She stood up on shaky legs and swiped the dirt off the backside of her destroyed dress. She must look a fright, but she could not bring herself to care. Holding her head up high, she gathered her strength and spoke. “I appreciate the kind words of those who have come to speak for me today. It means more to me than you can imagine. I am innocent of all that I have been accused of. But you know this, do you not?” She looked at the king, then the Brehon and scoffed. “Men will be men. You look out for your own. I am not as useful to you because I cannot wield a sword or fight to the death on the battlefield. But I will fight to the death with my words to proclaim my innocence. I may not wield a sword, but I create life.”

  Clarice cupped her belly and shook her head. “Nay matter. You will give me over to the cruel hand of a man who will likely kill me and my child. But our loss has nay impact on the daily life of this tuath. Brehon,” Clarice turned at looked him straight in the eye. “I know you are doing your best to see justice done, but all you have accomplished today is to send an innocent woman to an inevitable death. May you find peace in this life for your error. And may the gods have pity on your soul, for you are just as guilty of murder once you hand me over to my new master.”

  “This is madness!” Jeoffrey shouted and yanked free of the hands holding him back. He ran up to her and wrapped her in his embrace, crushing the life out of her. “Can you not see that she is a woman built of love and kindness and honesty? Let me take her away. I will leave with her tomorrow on a ship to Ériu. I swear by all the gods, if you give her over to that beast, I will slay him and any man who gets in my way!”

  “And we will join him,” Alastar shouted and unsheathed his sword, holding it in the air.

  “AYE!” a chorus of voices shouted in the crowded room and the sound of metal rasping against leather sheaths filled the air.

  “Nay. I will have nay more deaths be on my hands!” Clarice bellowed. “You know I cannot stand it, Jeoffrey,” she wailed and began to rock nervously in his arms.

  Suddenly, he released her from his strong arms and stepped away. Was he truly going to concede to her wishes and simply walk away, leaving her to her fate? While relief flooded her that no violence would occur, a deep hurt pierced her chest, like a knife to the heart. He would go back to Miathi to grab Wee Jeoffrey and be on his way to Ériu. She turned away to face the wall, not wanting him to witness the tears cascading down her face. He was doing what must be done, she knew.

  Then, she heard the sound of a boar squealing in fear and turned quickly on her heels to follow the sound. A man brought in a wee boar, no more than a babe and it thrashed wildly in the man’s arms.

  “What is this?” the Brehon shouted. He had been silent for so long she almost forgot he was still listening.

  “You wanted evidence that the lass is not capable of murder? I have brought it to you,” Jeoffrey said as the man carrying the boar pushed through the crowd.

  Clarice stood in bewilderment. “Jeoffrey? What is this?”

  “Tis a wee boar.”

  “Och, I can see that much. What are you going to do to it?” she stepped forward to look at the boar. He squealed again loudly and she shook with panic. “Let it go!”

  “Nay.” The man put it down on the ground and held it in place. “Who wants boar for their evening meal?”

  “But…tis just a babe! An innocent animal! Why are you doing this? Do not! I pray!” she was shaking as adrenaline filled her veins. She could not handle violence of any sort, even the senseless slaughter of an animal. She kneeled down beside the boar and tried to pry it from the cruel warrior’s hands as he laughed and raised a blade to its throat. Before she could even process her next move, she screamed loudly and reality began to slowly fade into black. The last thing she heard before the void sucked her in was Jeoffrey’s voice in the distance.

  “I told you…she is incapable of cruelty. Clarice cannot stand to even think of harming a creature.”

  Chapter 18

  Jeoffrey looked at the Brehon as he knelt down onto the floor to cradle his wife’s limp body. “Well? You see? The lass is terrified of violence. She begged us to spare this bastard’s life in the woods the day he took her. She would never harm a soul. I believe her collapsing at just the thought of an innocent boar being killed before her should be physical evidence enough.”

  Truly, Jeoffrey felt like a boar, himself. Never did he wish to be the source of her pain. But during his desperate need to prove her innocence, he had been reminded of her reaction to violence and the idea had come to him as a last resort. If all else failed, he would need to prove before the Brehon’s eyes how very ill she became when surrounded by death. He only hoped his display had been worth it.

  He looked up and saw the Brehon scratching his neck in confusion. “Och. She passed out.”

  Jeoffrey snorted. The man was baffled. “Aye. She hates weapons. Cruelty. Violence. Death. She is incapable. She would fade to black before she even managed the task.”

  “I can see that, aye,” Bhaltair said weakly. “Is it simply the thought of blood? Mayhap that is why she chose poison? She could simply give them the drink and leave. She would never have to watch them die and there would be nay blood.”

  Jeoffrey shot to his feet and clenched his fists beside his thighs. “Are you mad? How many people must speak for her? How much proof do you require? You have heard that Gregory lusts after her in a most unnatural way. You have heard he beat her…and his wife! You have heard that the men who saved him are now also dead! His wife even told you those men believed Gregory guilty! You will send her to be this man’s slave, start a war, for I assure you, a war will break out, all because you seek further evidence to prove her word? A word of a
woman who nay man nor woman has spoken against? What about Gregory’s word?”

  “T’was foxglove!” A loud, strangled voice broke through the commotion and Liosa pushed through the crowd. “Gregory came to me, asking questions about foxglove. Well, I answered them, told him t’was deadly. He says he heard it could cure his wife. I says nay, t’will only kill her if not used properly. He thanked me for my information and then I made his usual pain tonic of poppy juice…in that clay jug ye have…and he left. I thought his questions were strange, and I thought it even more strange when I found several torn leaves and flowers off a cluster of foxglove near my front door. They are lovely flowers, they are. Grow all over Alba. But if ye eat them, they will kills ye.”

  Jeoffrey’s mouth dropped to the floor and the Brehon put his hands on his hips, veins showing in his neck. “Och, you old woman! Why could you not have told us this from the beginning?”

  Liosa stepped forward and shoved a gnarled finger into his ribs. “Ye are a stubborn man and I am a stubborn woman. I did not want to be blamed for their death…have someone say I gave it to him. He took it. He killed them! I had hoped enough people would speak up for the lass and ye would let her go without me having to speak, but nay! Ye needed more proof. Ye have it. T’was the foxglove. Scentless plant. Looks like failure of the heart but with a rash, vomiting, loose stool.” She nodded confidently and crossed her arms. “Foxglove.”

  Jeoffrey scooped Clarice up into his arms and looked at the Brehon. He knew it was done. The Brehon had all the proof her needed. “Well?” he growled.

  “All charges are dropped against Clarice Mac Conrach. I find Gregory Mac Conrach guilty of the murders of his wife and brother. Lock him away until I can calculate the honor-price he must pay to the next surviving kin of Harrold and Paulene. Jeoffrey, Maggie, and Àdhamh.”

  A loud roar filled the room and Gregory barreled through the crowd with his large shoulders. Hatred and revenge glittered in his eyes. He truly had the look of a man gone mad. The remaining crowd parted for him before he could plow them over as well. “Nay! She is mine! I will kill anyone who stands in my way!”

  Gregory stormed up to Jeoffrey and spat in his face. “You always thought you were better than me, did you not, cousin? You could have any lassie in the entire isle of Ériu, but you wanted Clarice. My Clarice.” Gregory bared his teeth and tried to grab onto Clarice’s limp arm.

  Jeoffrey stepped back to keep her away from this crazed man. “Touch her and die.”

  “You should have killed me then. I will never stop. I will pay whatever I owe for the death of my pathetic brother who slept beside her every night, but could not be man enough to crawl between her legs. I will pay the honor price from my worthless wife who only ever caused me grief. But I will come for you, Jeoffrey. I will come for her. You will awaken one day and your wee wife will be gone…sharing my bed.”

  Gregory swung his right fist and caught Jeoffrey off guard, punching him in the nose and causing blood to spurt all over Clarice’s shoulder. Turning to his left and seeing Alastar, Jeoffrey handed his unconscious wife over to his best mate and turned away, leaving the gathering hall.

  “Och. My cousin, the coward. You slew your own father by stabbing him in the back. But not before taking years of his berating! You always just walked away. Now you walk away from me?” Gregory laughed loudly and followed Jeoffrey outside, never passing up a moment to try to best him.

  Jeoffrey wiped the blood flowing into his mouth away and cracked his knuckles. Now that he was several paces away from the gathering hall entrance, he turned slowly and widened his stance. All the villagers began to pour out of the hall to watch in curiosity. Putting his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, Jeoffrey growled at Gregory and spat a swab of bloody saliva onto Gregory’s leather boot. “I will kill you this time, cousin. This ends now.” Aye, he would slay Gregory, but he would not be the first to draw his sword. Let it never be said that he murdered his cousin. This was a fight of honor, man to man, to the death.

  Gregory sneered and pulled out his sword without hesitation. “Tis you who will die this day, Jeoff. Then mayhap I will kill your son. And the babe in your wife’s womb. So when I finally plow her and plant my seed, I will know tis my child she bears. Your line dies today.”

  Gregory stepped forward and swung first. Jeoffrey easily stepped to the right and spun, avoiding the blade altogether. “How can you be certain you can plant your seed in any lass? Years of plowing serving lassies and never a seed took. Mayhap you are not a true man. Mayhap tis too soft.” He signaled Gregory to come at him again and smiled arrogantly at his cousin’s infuriated face. The man was too easy to goad.

  Gregory roared and charged at Jeoffrey once again, this time his sword held high above his head. Jeoffrey spun again and put his sword out to his side, feeling his blade graze Gregory’s waist. His cousin hissed in pain and shouted a deafening war cry. Blood trickled from the wound, but it was not a death blow. Not yet.

  Once again, Gregory lifted his sword, but he grunted at the pain he felt in his side and faltered. Jeoffrey took his opportunity and shoved his blade deep within Gregory’s gut, watching the look of shock fall across his cousin’s face. They stood face to face, eye to eye, as the life’s blood flowed freely from Gregory’s gut. “It could have been different between us, cousin,” Jeoffrey whispered.

  “Never,” Gregory spat blood. “Not as long as you claimed Clarice,” he wheezed.

  “That is where you always faulted. Clarice is a woman who will never allow a man to claim her. You must allow her to give her love freely. And for your faults, you die.” Jeoffrey stepped back, yanked his blade from his cousin’s fatal wound and watched as he staggered back a few steps before crashing to the ground, trying in vain to stifle the blood gushing from his stomach. More blood gurgled out of his mouth and the final breath left his body.

  It was done. His cousin lay dead upon the earth, no longer a threat to Clarice’s life. Shedding blood was never easy for Jeoffrey. Every man’s blood he spilled left permanent scars upon his already darkened soul. His stomach twisted in knots as he turned his gaze away from Gregory’s lifeless body. He had spoken true to his cousin. Things could have been different. They had been, before Clarice came along and captivated them both, and yet, he could not be sorry for the outcome. Gregory deserved his death, had earned every blow. He was only sorry he had not been able to protect Clarice from Gregory’s anger and lust in the past, but with Gregory’s death, they could look toward the future, together.

  Jeoffrey sheathed his sword and walked over to Alastar, taking Clarice in his arms once more. He prayed she did not awaken quite yet. He felt like a bloody bastard for having made her swoon in the first place, but perhaps it was for the best. She would never have to relive the death of Gregory. Shouting over to the Brehon, he said, “Give all of his land and livestock to Maggie and Àdhamh. I want none of it. We head for Ériu.”

  Àdhamh stepped up and whispered to him, Alastar and Eoin, who was standing to Jeoffrey’s right. “Nay. I still wish to come with you and bring Maggie. There is nothing left for us here. And now that I have lied about being Harrold’s lover, nay lass will ever have me.” A sparkle lit his gaze.

  Jeoffrey smirked and laughed. “You were not his lover, then?”

  “Och, nay! I knew he fancied men, and he did have a lover, but t’was not I. I wanted to protect his lover’s name and cared not if my own was ruined, so long as it helped Clarice, but a life without a lassie in my bed is not one I look forward to.”

  Jeoffrey shook his head and pounded on Adhamh’s back, looking at Eoin. “I am ready to leave this blasted land,” Jeoffrey said wryly. “What say you? Have room for two more?”

  “Aye, our boat holds four and twenty bodies. We came with just under a score, so we have enough room for them as well as you, Clarice, Wee Jeoffrey, and Alastar. Is that not right, Brennain and Flynn?” When only Flynn responded, Eoin looked over his shoulder and saw Brennain several paces away, consoling a very
upset Morna. “Oh, nay.”

  “I do not understand. Why is she crying?” Jeoffrey asked. Mayhap it was the fight between him and Gregory? Or the stress of travel and standing as a witness for a trial?

  “Tis Brennain. He has that effect on women. They fall too hard, too fast. Nay doubt he is saying his farewell to her and she is not taking it so well,” Flynn said sadly. “Poor lass.”

  Brennain pulled Morna to him and lifted her chin, whispering something in her ear before leaning in to give her a kiss on the lips. Jeoffrey looked away, not wanting to witness their private moment. Morna would recover. She was a young, beautiful lass and many a lad in Miathi would gladly wed with her.

  Clarice began to stir in his arms and her eyelids fluttered open. Her confused gaze locked on his and as soon as she realized she was in his arms, she wrapped hers around his neck for support and kissed his cheek. “Wh-what happened. Please tell me you did not allow them to slaughter that wee boar?”

  Her innocence and kind heart melted him throughout. She had just been on trial for murder, preparing to become a slave to a cruel man, and all she cared for was the fate of a wee boar. “Och, sweet love. I would never allow such a thing. It was a setup, to prove you dislike violence. It worked. I am sorry I disturbed you so, but you are free.”

  “Free? How long have I been out? What have I missed?” She nuzzled her face into his neck and inhaled his scent, clearly relieved to be free of her accusations.

  “I will tell you all, love. For now, let us get back to Wee Jeoff and then onto that boat to Ériu.” She nodded and willingly allowed him to carry her over to the horses, where several warriors from Miathi and Ráth Mór in Ériu surrounded her with congratulations and good will. Helping her up onto his horse, he mounted behind her, kicked his horse into motion, and headed as far away from Caledonii and the memory of Gregory as he could ride.