Origins

by Cate Tiernan

  I looked at him in awe, remembering his own dark rite. What a hypocrite he was! But Ma seemed satisfied as the coveners broke into small groups and talked of other matters. My mother had calmed the uproar, but discontent hung in the warm summer night. I worried that this could brew into a terrible storm and vowed to share my fears with Diarmuid. The next morning as I went to meet Diarmuid, I felt a strange heaviness inside. The coven’s anger was still roiling inside me, along with my breakfast. I realized that the sour feeling might be from carrying my baby. Perhaps there was a spell in Ma’s Book of Shadows to alleviate it? I would have to take another look. I had been reading up on many of her spells lately—including one I wanted to try with Diarmuid. Although Ma had encouraged me to study her Book of Shadows, I didn’t think she had expected me to find the entry on love magick. It claimed that couples sometimes made love in the center of the circle, offering their love force to the Goddess! Nothing like that had ever taken place in our coven circles, but I felt drawn to the idea of making love magick with Diarmuid.

  I was also unsettled by the fact that I had lost my love charm. I had taken to carrying the rose stone in my pocket ever since Diarmuid and I first shed our clothes, but I had not come across it for weeks now. ’Twas not the best of days. Diarmuid was in a far better mood. He chased me through the clearing, swiping at my skirts and wrestling me onto the grassy moss. The carefree play lifted my spirits, but after we kissed for a while, he sensed that something was wrong. “Rose, there’s no light in your eyes today. What is it, love?” I told him about the trouble brewing between the Wyndonkylles and Wodebaynes. “I’ve heard the same tale,” he said. “But surely the Wodebaynes aren’t involved.” “We are not, but we’re being blamed, and I fear a storm brewing among the clans. A war that would destroy our chances of ever seeing each other again.” “I won’t let that happen,” he insisted.

  “Then we must take action now.” I paused, reluctant to push. “Let me ask you, Diarmuid, when you think of us, how do you picture us being together?” “I have always wanted to marry you, Rose,” he said, his eyes bright with promise. “Can’t you see us two in the circle for a handfasting?” “I’ll wager I’ve imagined it,” I said, studying his beautiful face. “Oh, Diarmuid, we should marry. And soon. Let it happen now.”

  “Today?” he joked. “Let me run and fetch my ma, for she won’t want to miss it.”

  “Would that it could happen so soon.”

  “Aye, sooner. That it happened yesterday and we’re an old married couple, with me poking around the cottage and asking you what’s for dinner.” “ ’Twould be a blessing. Far better than what I fear might happen.” “Stop that!” He pressed his hands over my eyes, then over my ears. “Don’t listen to what the coven folk say. We are going to be married.” He stood up and straightened his white shirt. “I’ll go to my coven today and tell them everything. That I love you, that you’re the best thing under the Goddess’s blue sky, and that we’re to be married.” “And if they argue that you’re marrying a Wodebayne—” “They won’t. I will not give them the chance.” He pulled me to my feet. “I love you, Rose. I’ll make things right for us.”

  In that moment I knew he would. The Goddess had chosen a true hero for me. I went up on my toes and kissed him. “And I have a spell to help us through. Have you ever heard of love magick?”

  Diarmuid smiled. “No, but I think I will like it.” The spell in Ma’s Book of Shadows was simple. I swept the circle and told Diarmuid to shed his clothes, lie back, and think of what we wanted to dedicate ourselves to. When I had finished the preparations, I lay beside him, staring at the cloudy sky. “Picture us together,” I whispered, “our union accepted by our clans, by all clans.” I reached over and touched his shoulder. He quickly turned on his side and kissed me. “Would we be together like this?” he asked, running a hand along my thigh. “Aye, always.”

  “As close as this?” He lifted his body over mine and pressed against me. “Aye,” I whispered, focusing on our union, offering our act to the Goddess. Within the circle our bodies rose in heat and splendor, and I felt the glow of our love rising to the heavens. “Aye, Goddess, we are here for You,” I whispered as Diarmuid and I tumbled into passion. Our love magick was strong. That night when I left our circle I heard thunder rumbling overhead. I felt sure the Goddess had received our offering. She was shaking up the heavens in preparation for Diarmuid’s big announcement.

  But the next day, when Diarmuid was to have met me at our secret place, he did not appear. Nor did he make it there the day after that. On the third day I sent him atua labra :Where are you? Why can you not meet your love? But I received no response. I wondered whether he had

  received my message. Had something terrible happened? As each day passed, I waited for the rumble in the heavens to manifest itself on earth. Surely if I looked carefully, I would see Diarmuid tramping up the path to our cottage, his parents marching dutifully behind him, eager to work out with Síle the details of our union. With the dawn of yet another morning I pushed open the shutter and peered out, longing for the glimpse of a Leapvaughn tartan or a flash of Diarmuid’s lovely blue eyes. The path was still but for a jackrabbit searching for greens. My rescuer had not come for me . . . at least, I thought, not yet.

  That afternoon Kyra and I went to the woods to gather fresh summer herbs. While Kyra was cutting clover, I went in search of clove, which was good for settling the stomach. When our pouches were full, we went to the circle Diarmuid and I had gathered in so many times. There, on the rock altar, we consecrated our herbs. As we finished, I noticed that Kyra had been unusually quiet today. I watched her sorting herb pouches in her basket, her chestnut hair braided

  into a twist at the top of her head.

  “You know, with your hair up like that, you look like your ma,” I said. She smiled. “Falkner likes my hair free and loose, but ’tis too much to endure in this heat.” Leaving her basket, she lifted my hair from my shoulders and waved it over my neck. “You’ll roast under the sun with your hair down.” “I’ll be fine.”

  “I must say I am worried about you, Rose. How many days has it been?” I knew she was talking about how long since I’d seen Diarmuid. “Seven . . . no, eight.” “Eight days and you still believe he’s coming back?” “Of course he is. We rendered some powerful magick together, Kyra. Right here in this circle.” My hair slipped out of her hands as I kicked off my shoes and walked the circle. I had come to know every tree root and dirt clod in this sacred place. I went over to the green moss that had often served as our bed and sat down. “The last time I saw him, we performed love magick. Did you hear the thunder in the sky that night? ’Twas us, devoting our love to the Goddess.” “I thought the rumbling was the sound of coming rain,” Kyra said. “Rose, I really am worried about you.”

  “Don’t despair for me,” I said. “My Diarmuid will be here soon. You must help me plan the handfasting ceremony.”

  Kyra smiled. “I shall be so happy for you on your wedding day, Rose. That a Leapvaughn could love you so . . . ’tis truly the work of the Goddess.” I smiled back, trying not to worry. I didn’t want to admit to Kyra that I had begun to wonder what had happened to Diarmuid. Where was my love? Why was he taking so long to come to my clan and my coven and announce his intentions to marry me? I knew the Goddess intended us to be together, but my patience was beginning to wear thin. We returned to my cottage and found it empty. “Ma said she was going into Kirkloch today,” I said, pouring two mugs of cool tea. We set my share of the herbs out to dry, then went outside to sit in the shady grass, hoping to catch a breeze. Kyra told me of her first kiss with Falkner and of how they now kissed constantly, as if they’d both had their first taste of honey cakes. As I listened, I stared intently at the edge of the cottage path, willing Diarmuid to appear.

  And lo, as my eyes strained in the distance, I saw the brush move, giving way to a pair of feet. “He’s coming!” I cried, scrambling to stand and adjust my skirts. As I settled myself, I saw that it
wasn’t Diarmuid, but a young boy. “It’s not him.” My voice dropped off in disappointment. “But it is a Leapvaughn,” Kyra said excitedly. “Look at the plaid of his tartan.” “Indeed.” My heart swelled as the young boy smiled at us shyly. “I’ve a message here for Rose MacEwan.”

  “That’s me,” I said, coming forward to meet him. He reached into his satchel and removed a piece of pressed linen, much like the parchment we used in our Books of Shadows. Handing it to me, he bowed. “Good day to you.” My heart swelled with joy as I held the note to my breast. “I can barely breathe!” “Read it! Read it!” Kyra gasped.

  I started to read. “ ‘My dearest Rose, it is with heavy heart that I write to you. I will always love you, but . . .’ ”

  The words began to stick in my throat. I could not speak, but neither could I tear my eyes away. I have come to see that we can never be together. It was foolish of me to think we could marry,

  though I will ever think of you longingly in our special place of the forest. Think of me when you

  go there, for mine eyes will never feast on that place or on you again.

  Please, Rose, do not cry for me. There will be others for you. Perhaps a stout, hearty Wodebayne

  lad? In the meantime, the best thing you can do is forget me.

  Truly,

  Diarmuid

  Pain cut me like a spear through the middle of my body. I folded myself over the note, collapsing onto the ground. Sobbing in the dirt, I was barely aware of Kyra fluttering about, trying to get me inside, to fetch some water, to stroke my hair. Diarmuid was not coming.

  He would not marry me.

  My life was truly coming to an end.

  The days were a blur of swallowed tears and pain. When Ma first found me abed in the cottage, she pressed her hand to my forehead in alarm. “Are you ill?” she asked, her eyes stricken with concern.

  “Quite ill,” I told her. “ ’Tis my digestion. Nothing tastes quite right anymore.” She quickly set about placing cool rags upon my head and wrists and making me a special potion to drink. I watched as she boiled together meadowsweet, mint, and catnip leaves and flowers. ’Twas a lesson in herbs, but a painful one. I didn’t know how long I could pretend that all my pain was physical, but I couldn’t begin to tell my mother the truth about Diarmuid. My Diarmuid!

  I was devastated. How could he turn away from me? I pressed my face to the pillow as a new round of tears racked my body. Ma kept asking me where it hurt, and I lied and said that the pain was in my belly. I couldn’t bear to reveal that I was suffering a broken heart. Kyra came to see me every day, bringing me flowers and fresh-baked biscuits that did sit well once swallowed. One afternoon Kyra stayed with me while Ma went out on an errand, and she encouraged me to throw on a summer shawl and venture outside the cottage for some fresh air. The sun was hot, but there was a cooling breeze, making the heat tolerable. My body felt feeble, like a creaking old cart, but Kyra said that was from staying in bed so long. We sat under an ancient tree by the path.

  “You cannot let one boy strike you down so,” Kyra told me. “You’ll forget about him in time.” “Never,” I said, reaching to touch my belly. A tiny mound was growing there, though it was still too soon for anyone else to notice. “I cannot let Diarmuid go, for I am to have his child come Imbolc.”

  Kyra gasped. “A babe! ’Tis no wonder you’re feeling ill.” “Aye, but Ma’s teas of mint and meadowsweet have helped the illness in my body. ’Tis the pain in my heart that will not relent.”

  “Oh, Rose . . . poor Rose!” Kyra rubbed my back gently through the shawl. “To be with child! It must be terrible for you. I wish you had told me earlier. I’ll help you be rid of it. There are herbs that—”

  “I want the child,” I said.

  She shook her head sadly. “Not here, not now? To bear a bastard child in these parts is dangerous. You’ll be ostracized by everyone—even some in our own coven!” Kyra was right. To give birth to a child out of wedlock was a sin shunned by all in the Highlands. My life would be ruined. I folded my arms across my belly. “ ’Twill be fine, for the child has a

  father. Diarmuid will come to me before Imbolc.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  I bit my lips tight, refusing to answer. “No one has to know you lost the babe! I’ve heard you can brew a tea—” “ ’Tis enough talk of that!” I insisted. “Diarmuid will be a father to my child.” I drew the shawl around me closer. “I’m sure he would be here now if he knew. . . .” As my words trailed off, I realized I had stumbled upon the solution. This baby would bring Diarmuid to me. Once he knew of its life, he would leap over the obstacles between us.

  “That’s it,” I said, blinking. “I must tell him.” I stood up, feeling strength rise within me. “I must go to him.”

  Kyra stared up at me, shaking her head.

  “If I go to him with news of our child, surely he will think of a way for us to be together! He will be so overcome with joy, nothing will deter him.” “But the note . . .” Kyra stood up and brushed her skirts. “He said that . . .” I waved her off. “He knew nothing of our child when he wrote that.” I headed toward the cottage, thinking of the new possibilities. “Perhaps when his parents learn of our babe, they will soften, too. We could live with them. Or if they reject us, Diarmuid shall come live among the Wodebaynes. I know our coveners will be suspicious of him, but once they come to know him, they will accept him.”

  With each breath, the flush of health filled my body. I had been sick over Diarmuid, but the cure was within my grasp now. I could go to my love. And once he learned of the blessed child within my womb, he would welcome me with open arms. The following day I set off in a horse-drawn cart toward Diarmuid’s village of Lillipool. Falkner had managed to secure the cart and horse from his father’s shop, and Kyra sat between us, warning of the punishment the three of us would face if our parents found out the true reason for our visit to Lillipool. She could be so mettlesome at times, though I did have her to thank for arranging for the cart. In my current condition, I was not sure I could walk all the way to Lillipool without incident.

  Lillipool was considered to be a Christian village, though for some time our coven had known that the Vykrothes had a circle nearby and Leapvaughn sheepherders lived in cottages on its outskirts. There was the usual small church, which I assumed Diarmuid’s clan attended to avoid persecution as witches. A mill cranked at the edge of the village. We passed by it, then came upon the village center. In Lillipool’s small, dusty square, peddlers displayed their wares amid clouds of blowing dirt. No one knew why grass refused to grow on the village green here, but my mother had once told me that although Leapvaughns have a gift for sales and carpentry, they were known to be barren farmers.

  Falkner guided the wagon through the lane, stopping for passing villagers who paid us little mind. He brought the cart over to a small wagon at the end of the square, its side panel painted Ye Finest Wood Crafters. “I’ve got to pick up a table for Da,” he said. “ ’Twill be a short while, if you want to walk around.”

  He helped us down from the cart, and we dusted our skirts and stepped forward gingerly, our arms linked.

  “I hope he is here,” I said. “His father likes him to tend the sheep, but Diarmuid prefers to spend his time in the village and at market.”

  Kyra nodded, averting her eyes as a tin peddler leered at her. “ ’Tis an odd village,” she said.

  “Like a desert in the Highlands.”

  As we walked past a tinker’s wagon, a cart laden with fruits, and another with an array of bonnets, I kept searching for Diarmuid. I spotted a lad who walked with the same gait and another who seemed to share his broad smile, but I did not see my love. When we reached the end of the row of carts, I spied a head of gingery brown hair. It was feathered back from his face, revealing startling blue eyes and a smile that warmed my heart. Diarmuid.

  “There he is!” I gasped.

  Kyra squeezed my arm. “You found him.”

  But
he was not alone. A tall, swanlike girl with pale yellow hair walked beside him. “Who is she?” Kyra muttered.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps a friend.”

  Kyra looked back toward the cart. “I’ll go see if Falkner can find out.” I barely noticed that she had left my side. My Diarmuid was within reach, so close I could run into his arms, yet something kept me there, my feet mired to the ground. Who was the girl? I watched in horror as she said something to him, making him laugh. It had all the markings of flirtation. But then he chucked her under the chin, seeming more like an older brother. An older woman came by and handed the girl a tart. She took a taste, then fed the rest to Diarmuid with her bare fingers.

  Such an intimate gesture. And he took it from her hand, licking his lips. Oh, Goddess, what did it mean?

  “Rose,” Kyra said, softly resting her hand on my arm. “ ’Tis terrible . . . your worst fears confirmed! She is Diarmuid’s betrothed! They were promised to each other as children, and they are to be wed upon next Samhain!”

  I shook my head. “An arranged marriage?” How could it be? Why had he never told me? I pressed my hands to my hot cheeks. If Diarmuid was promised to another, we had no chance of being married.

  “Oh, Rose!” Kyra squeezed my arm. “Such dire news, and you with child . . .” It couldn’t be. My hands dropped to fists at my side, and for a moment I wanted to rush over and pummel him. Diarmuid was not the hero I had thought him to be. He had lied to me. But then, he’d faced overwhelming obstacles. Perhaps he’d been trying to protect me from this until he sorted it out? And if his parents had arranged the marriage, that meant he’d had no choice. “So he doesn’t love her,” I said, thinking aloud. “And of course, his parents would want him to marry within his clan. I’m sure it’s part of the reason they don’t want him to marry me.” “Not really,” Kyra said. “The girl’s name is Siobhan MacMahon, and she is not a Leapvaughn, but a Vykrothe.”

  “An arranged marriage to someone from another clan?” Anger rose in my throat, hot and painful. His parents thought it acceptable for him to marry outside his clan but not to marry me? Or was it that he could not marry a Wodebayne?