Born of Oak and Silver (The Caradoc Chronicles) (11 page)

When all was said and done, we arrived in
Dublin in a little over a week. I was in awe of the city. Like Strasbourg it was teeming with life, though of a different kind. Dublin seemed to consist of generations of purebred natives, whereas Strasbourg was always repopulating with the influx or disappearance of trade, and its citizens could be from any number of origins.

T
he same could be said for Dublin as well, though the city possessed an unnamable charm that I couldn’t resist. Perhaps it was the Dubliner’s accents, or maybe it was simply that the people I encountered were genuinely good. Whatever the case, I found myself absorbing every detail of the place with ardor.

Bram quickly ada
pted, and like his fellow Irishmen quickly fell into a language that sounded occasionally like English—although of that I couldn’t be sure. Despite my best efforts to understand and communicate in return, my proper and meticulous English grammar failed me quickly. Rather than continue to ask people to repeat themselves, or to clarify and speak more slowly, I decided it was much simpler to remain mute and instead focus on the details of the world around me while Bram conducted his easy conversations.

We were not in
Dublin long. After disembarking the ship, Bram paid a porter to collect our trunks and to have them transported to a nearby pub and inn he favored, The Rusted Wardrobe. After being permitted a few hours to clean ourselves up, it was there that we met Bram’s youngest son, Darragh Macardle.

I did not know much of Bram’s fam
ily, only that he had four sons, all of whom were married and had children of their own, and that all of his sons were Druids. Bram had never given me reason to be nervous about the meeting, but I couldn’t help but feel a sense of anxiety about it. After all, Bram had spent more than the last seventeen years dedicated to me, and in so doing had left his own family behind.

I had assumed that Bram
’s sons knew of his reasons for staying in France, but even to me they hardly seemed acceptable excuses for leaving one’s own life and family behind. So, while feeling inadequate and restless, I dressed and groomed myself to the best of my ability.

Bram also
dressed quickly. I could tell by his demeanor that he was greatly looking forward to seeing his family once again. We repacked our suitcases and hurried to the bar. Bram surveyed the room before walking swiftly toward a well dressed man with slightly graying hair. They embraced, and as I looked at his son’s pleasant face, I knew that his mouth and teeth were the exact duplicates of those hidden by Bram’s own pale beard. They stood together in a moment of joyful reunion, before Bram remembered that I was an unknowing bystander and stretched out his arm to bring me forward.

“Daine, I’d like to introduce you to
my son, Darragh Macardle,” Bram said by way of introduction.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,
sir.” I extended my hand to Darragh.

“I assure you
, Daine, the pleasure is all mine. From what my father has told me, you have quite the innate talent and potential.” He stopped shaking my hand to motion toward his father “Father’s told me much of your abilities, and has kept all of us abreast of your development in Druidry. I myself am still amazed that you’ve managed to survive and come away unscathed from the close proximity of one of the higher Sidhe in full glamour. That is quite the accomplishment.”

Darragh gave
me an appreciative smile, reminding me again of his father. He spoke to Bram while clasping his father about the shoulders. “Come Father, Daine, my carriage is out front. Aileen has been anxiously awaiting your arrival since you told us of it months ago. I do believe that if we are even a moment late, she’ll have
An Garda Síochána
sent out to collect us.”

He
herded both Bram and me out of the inn’s door and into his waiting carriage. Our trunks and luggage had already been loaded and secured, and not a further moment was wasted in seeing us off to the home of Darragh and Aileen Macardle.

T
hey lived in a village, or perhaps even suburb, not far from Dublin. Their home was located on the seacoast in an area that is still called Killiney. The bustle of Dublin Port quickly fell away and revealed an idyllic scene before us as the coach moved steadily forward. Rolling, verdant hills could be seen all around. The sky was clear except for a few high clouds that scarcely seemed to move. It was beautiful, and greener than any place that I had ever imagined.

The Macardle home was set back from the village proper on a large expanse of land that overlooked the sea. We turned onto a gated drive
that seemed eternally long before emerging before a massive, grey-stone Georgian mansion. It appeared to be two stories when standing at the front of the house, but the hillside dropped away to reveal a lower level in the back of the house. Large Roman pillars formed a beautiful portico entrance. The shrubs were perfectly hedged, the lawns pristine and lush, and the trees were plenty. The sea breeze blew through the leaves on the trees, creating nature’s perfect melody in harmony with the waves that crashed gently on the shore not far beyond the house providing tempo. All of this was lit from above by a cheerfully warm afternoon sky.

Bram looked at the house nostalgically as he stepped from the carriage and onto the paved
drive below. I moved out of the enclosed coach behind him, and breathed deeply of the heady air. Darragh instructed his coachmen where to remove our trunks while simultaneously moving his father tenderly toward his front door. I followed in silent awe and contentment, not far behind.

We entered the princely home through a heavy
, wooden door hung with solid, iron fixtures. The hair on my body tingled as we stepped through a line of invisible protection runes and into the home. The interior was just as grand as the exterior, though where the outside of the home was breathtaking, the inside, while no less magnificent, hummed unmistakably with the comfortable sounds of home and family.

Aileen was a slender
, dark-haired woman with a demeanor that was both confident and friendly. Darragh and Aileen smiled brief affections to one another before Aileen reached Bram and caught him up in an immense embrace.

Behind her trailed six
children, four daughters and two sons. The youngest I guessed was around twelve, and the oldest near twenty. The couple’s oldest was a son, who was followed by a daughter, another son, and three more daughters.

I stood away, a silent observer
to the reunion. Bram was answering all of Aileen’s rapidly fired questions, while Darragh spoke aside to his sons. I was invisible to all but the youngest, a little, dark-haired girl with hair of long ringlets and eyes that were as green as Bram’s. She stared at me curiously.

I smiled at
her, and gave her a slight nod of hello. She quickly turned her head away as a blush seeped across her porcelain skin.

Aileen
noticeably startled when she realized that she had overlooked me. She apologized profusely, and enveloped me immediately in an equally all encompassing hug. She felt my shoulders, and called to the nearby housemaid to promptly have tea and sandwiches ready for an impromptu luncheon. I was thrilled to hear that I would soon be fed, and cheerfully endured all of Aileen’s questions about my likes and dislikes as the lovable Irish wife sought to make my stay as enjoyable as possible.

It was at our
spontaneous meal that I finally became acquainted with the two who would become my closest friends, Bram’s grandsons Gairnan and Cian Macardle. Gairnan, or Gair, was the oldest with sandy hair, brown eyes, and a bit of a ruddy complexion. He was heavyset, though it was all muscle and not an ounce of fat that gave him his strong bearing. At just under six feet tall, he was only a bit shorter than I. And, although I was quickly working to fill out my lanky frame, at twenty, he easily outweighed me by at least seventy-five pounds of solid muscle.

Cian
was also seventeen, with dark-auburn hair that you could only tell was red when the light hit it just right, blue eyes, and was of the same build as his brother. When I first met him, he was about an inch or two shorter than me, though within the year he grew to be nearly my height.

Both
Gair and Cian were Druid apprentices. Although they should have been at the castle studying, Darragh and Aileen had both thought it more important for them to see and meet their grandfather, and me, than to continue their studies. They would be returning to Drumcliff with us.

I found it a relief
to be with young men who were of my age. My childhood friends had consisted primarily of Bram and my parents, and although I found them to be great company, family is no substitute for friendly companions. The brothers took me instantly as one of their own, and together we set about planning fantastic exploits for the days that we would remain in their home.

It was also during this meal that Bram took notice of
his youngest grandchild. While she and her older sisters seemed to be unable to take their eyes off of me and their brothers, Bram only had eyes for Ayda.

She was
slight, but not in a sickly way, more of a fine-boned, beautifully delicate manner. She held herself upright with full bearing and self-possession and, despite her young age, rivaled her older siblings in maturity and comprehension. However, it was not her demeanor alone that made Bram make special note of her. It was also her looks that roused his full attention. Her dark, nearly black hair curled wildly about her head in a way that was all its own. Her large, shining emerald eyes were fringed by long, dark eyelashes, which promised to be both devilish and stubborn despite her refined nature. And her smile of rosebud-pink lips managed to light up the entire room. In her young age, she already showed the signs indicating that she would be extremely beautiful when grown.

I soon learned
the reason for Bram’s fascination. Ayda was the spitting image of her grandmother in look and action. Her grandmother was no other than Bram’s late wife, Anne. Either because of herself or her ties to the past, Bram was captivated by her. He spent every available moment enthralled by her every temper and comment. Ayda was most definitely fiery, and she knew exactly how to get her way with both of her parents, her older siblings, and now her grandfather. I, for the most part, found her to be bothersome and bossy, and chose to avoid her whenever it was possible.

In spite of
her brothers’ and my obviousness in not wanting her company, Ayda meddled unconcernedly in the manly affairs of her brothers and me—regardless of what it was we were doing. Always we kept a wary eye out for her. We might not see her, but we had come to know that she was never far away. It would mean our hides if the innocence of one very pesky sister might somehow become corrupted at our hands. She greatly diminished our fun.

M
y days were filled with adventure and endless entertainment with the Macardle boys, but it was the nights that I most looked forward to and enjoyed. Brigid was the Macardles’ middle child. She was sixteen, with strawberry-blonde hair and eyes as blue as a raging sea. Her temper, like her younger sister’s, matched the passion that burned in her eyes. Her lilting voice undid me, and every night, I would sneak out to spend the night on the beach, in the gardens, or among the trees with Brigid.

Nothing more than talking, laughing, and shy kissing ever took place, no matter
how badly I wanted it to. I could not bear the idea of dishonoring Bram and his family—no matter how willing the partner. So, in the morning while lying in my bed, I would think of Brigid and vigorously work to remove the temptation from my mind and body.

Bram was busy throughout our stay attending to various matters
. Darragh was never far from his side. We stayed in Killiney for two and a half weeks before Bram had concluded his business. Then it was time to return to Drumcliff.

T
he parting was somewhat sorrowful for everyone. I had come to have a strong fondness for Brigid, and was sorry to be leaving her for any length of time. Of course, it was promised that we would return, and soon. We took a few longing looks behind us we began the carriage-drawn journey across Ireland and north to Drumcliff.

Travel was slow
and exhausting.

When we entered Drumcliff a week later, it was just as the night began
. Firelight glowed within the village homes, falling obscurely onto the quaint, cobblestoned streets. I could not wait to jump out of this carriage and stretch my legs. However, my excitement soon turned to wild apprehension as the carriage moved through the town and back into the country. Doubtful, I checked the faces of my companions. They seemed not the least bit surprised, and were relaxed even. So I did my best to appear content to still be driving onward.

Another half
hour’s ride up the coast led us eventually to our final destination.

A magnificent old castle
stood in the midst of a heavy, stone-blocked wall that secured the entire perimeter of the structure. Both were massive, and the very things that come to mind when imagining fantastic tales of knights, dragons, and damsels in distress. The coach continued to approach, halting just before the heavy, wooden doors in the wall. Passwords were exchanged, and finally the doors opened for us.

The courtyard was immense. The Druid stronghold had looked massive from the outside, but I was shocked by the amount of spatial distortion that
had occurred. Countless acres of fruitful farmland were enclosed within the castle gates, along with multiple water sources and a naturally fed pond that more closely resembled a lake. Moreover, the castle gates enclosed a fully functioning, pristinely kept village with innumerable individual households laid out in a perfect grid.