Celtic Shores (13 page)

“The kind that ken how to defend themselves, and their honor Payton,” he replied.

Lucian grabbed Darina by the shoulders and led her back to her seat. He motioned for a servant, who brought a large goblet of wine and set it before her. She quickly returned with a flask of whiskey as well and set it before her.

She grabbed the whiskey.

“Darina, I realize this subject matter much cause ye great embarrassment,” said her Aunt Atilde.

“And what of me brathair?” interjected Payton impatiently. “We speak of matters he is in no way able to address not being here.”

“Ye,” she said pointing at Payton who was holding up the stone wall, still grasping the side of his mouth, “will hold yer tongue and stay right there.”

“Ye,” she said pointing at Darina who just downed the last of the whiskey, “Will think long and hard and speak carefully…for ye tread on thin ice,” she warned.

Darina closed her eyes and let the rest of the burn settle into her stomach. The whiskey would help her. She could speak her mind without faltering. This wouldn’t be so bad.

“Darina, answer the question. Darina,” said Atilde. “Are ye alright dear?” she asked wiping the tears from Darina’s face. “Can ye answer his question?”

“Darina, was it his choice not to consummate the marriage?” asked Payton again, slowly and methodically this time.

“I… I don’t know…how to answer that.”

“Does the blame belong with ye or with him?” asked Ruarc abruptly tired of the questioning.

Darina untied and retied the belt covering her tunic and truis and petted Fanai who lay at the ground beside her. “I would have to say, that the blame lies with ye, Uncle Ruarc,” she answered stoically, looking him right in the face.

Payton coughed and Ruarc rose from his chair to address her directly. “How on earth would the consummation of yer marriage in any way be me responsibility lass?” he asked angrily.

“Ye took him Uncle. Ye took him from our chambers and he has never returned.”

A hush rose over the Council and Lucian shook his head back and forth, an apparent fear rising in him. Pain and anguish festooned Ruarc’s face and he sat to collect his thoughts. His niece’s accusation met him with force.
She was right. I did take him from her on their wedding night. I had no other choice. He had to know.

Payton interrupted, “That’s it…I’ve had enough of this charade. It’s time she knew, and since none of ye other pussy willows have the bollocks to tell her…I will!”

Payton strode towards Darina and bent to kneel down beside her. Fanai got up and moved to her other side, sensing it was needed. “Promise ye won’t punch me again, me lady?” he asked sheepishly, grinning up at her.

“Don’t Payton, let me,” said Lucian.

“Nay, I won’t. Ye’ve had eleven years to get to the right of it, and I’ll not give ye the opportunity now.”

Darina shook her head in confusion and looked up at Payton. “Payton will tell me. I trust him.”

“Good,” he said as he rose and walked towards the stony wall. “Darina, Ruarc came to get Patrick that night in yer chamber, did he not’?”

“Aye, he did. We were um, in the bath. I mean…I was in the bath and we were wet, and a fierce banging came on the chamber door and Patrick rose to open it,” she said from behind flushed cheeks.

“He did, and who was there, Darina?”

“From behind the privacy screen, I could hear Uncle Ruarc and Patrick discussing something that seemed to be of importance.”

“And then what happened?” he asked as he waived his hands across his chest animatedly, as if making a point to the Council.

“Then Patrick returned to the room, shut the door, adorned hisself with his chain and armor, and told me that he was needed to retrieve something and he would be right back.”

“And ye haven’t seen or heard from him since?”

“Nay, I haven’t. Payton, what is going on?”

“Ruarc, would ye please tell Darina why Patrick left at yer request.”

Ruarc flinched at the mention of his name and his face grew red with shame. “We were told by Mavis that the boy, Braeden, was abducted at the piers and taken off in a boat. Mavis managed to escape by leaping from the vessel, and she swam for hours until she reached the shore of the Isle; just past midnight.”

“And?” bade Payton motioning for him to continue.

“And I sent for Rory and Kyra to accompany Patrick to retrieve the boy.”

“Ye sent Patrick?” asked Darina not believing it. “Ye sent my husband after his bastard child on me wedding night, on the advice of his mistress?” Tears threatened to spill themselves down her cheeks again.

Payton interrupted and spoke directly to Darina this time, “Braeden is no’ Patrick’s bastard child and Mavis is no’ his mistress.”

“I’ve heard tell of yer brathair and his many illegitimate bairns. His reputation precedes him unfortunately,” retorted Darina angrily.

Payton’s voice rose in anger. “Ye don’t know what ye are talking about, ye snotty wench,” he said behind clenched teeth.

Fanai rose from the floor beside Darina and growled loudly and deliberately, clearly showing Payton his teeth. He scampered until he had placed himself between Payton and Darina and sat, teeth raised, inviting him to continue.

“Payton, ye would do well to lower yer voice,” Darina mused. “Explain yerself.”

“I’ve no doubt ye have heard tell of my brathair, Darina. And, he does have a reputation as that of a lady’s mon, a lecher some might say.”

“See,” Darina responded, nodding her head and gesturing to the Council members.

“But that brathair, Darina, would be Parkin—not Patrick. Parkin is the one with illegitimate children and a handful of heartbroken women following him about. Patrick is the most honorable mon I have ever known. Patrick is more honorable than me own da even…though it would shame him to hear it.”

“Then why by the goddess, would he leave his wife on their wedding night to chase after a no-account bastard child?” she spat at him, the indignation rising in her voice.

“Shall I tell her then?” asked Payton to Lucian who stood stone-faced and pale against the hearth. Lucian nodded.

“Because Darina, that no-account bastard child is yer brathair.”

***

It only took moments for Darina to return to her chamber and don her armor and cloak. She called for Riann to be readied and for Moya to prepare her steed. She was situating her helmet when Payton burst through the door.

“Where do ye think ye are going?” Payton asked accusingly. She ignored him, and jumped into her boots as she tied Fanai to the bed post and instructed Minea to care for him in her absence.

“I asked ye a question, seesta,” he jabbed sarcastically at her.

“I’d like to ken the same thing,” interrupted Ruarc, who was out of breath after having followed her up nearly seven flights of stairs.

“I am the best hunter in the clan and no one else has me tracking abilities,” she said as she gestured towards the window where Riann was seen circling the keep. “I intend to bring me brathair
and
me husband home.”

“I will deal with ye later,” she pointed at Ruarc. “Ye’ve sent yer brathair, a ship builder, with Kyra and me husband, who does not know our lands, to retrieve the true Lord of O’Malley clan.”

“And ye, I would thrash ye within an inch of yer life if ye hadn’t been the only mon brave enough to tell me the truth,” she directed at Payton.

“Well?” she gestured towards Payton impatiently. “Aren’t ye coming with me? He is yer brathair, an honorable mon ye say? Don ye armor and ride with me,” she insisted.

“Nay,” said Ruarc from the other side of the bed. “Patrick has named him in-charge in his stead.”

“And I am leaving ye in charge in me stead. I trust ye won’t muck this up?” she shouted angrily, loud enough for the rafter to shake.

Ruarc nodded and Darina and Payton headed through the corridor and down the stairs to meet the night.

Burke Shores

Orla met Cordal and Braeden at the cave opening, a look of disgruntled satisfaction about her, “I told ye they left to find sustenance,” she spat at the priest, pointing to the two hares dangling across Braeden’s neck. “They wouldna’ leave us here alone.” Placing a long arm about Shanleigh’s shoulders, they retreated into the safety of their cavernous shelter and watched as the priest added wood to an already loudly crackling fire.

“Hand that pot o’er here, child,” Father MacArtrey implored. “I’ll tend to the hares and ye two wash up.” Acknowledging the priest’s judicious permission to leave her own cave, Orla kicked sand into the fire and over his robe as they made their way back to the cave entrance.

“What do ye make of them drawings there, priest?” asked Naelyn, pointing to the rear of the cave which went back, it seemed, nearly ten yards or so into dank obscurity. Naelyn bent her head and carefully examined the cave drawings, inching further down into the cave’s depths, and bending her head further and further down as she went, until finally she had no choice but to scoot on her knees. Tracing the outline of the drawings and symbols on the wall, she noted mentally that they appeared to be several decades, if not, several centuries old.

“I noticed them when we first arrived, but I was too tired, ye ken, to examine them further,” he murmured. “Appear to be nothing more than ancient pagan scratching to me. With some pictures, mind ye, that look as if they were placed there by a wee child,” he added.

Naelyn mumbled something under her breath as she continued to follow the storyline on the cave walls. It was written in vivid color, initially, she surmised symbols of a dead language. It was the figures of the people, a clan or tribe of some kind that interested her most. They were fisher peoples, she assumed, based on the vast amount of ships set out just from the shore, of this very location she believed. Apparently, there was wreckage of some kind washed ashore—and visitors came and met with the inhabitants. The land dwellers welcomed the visitors, but were unhappy to find that the visitors were not well-meaning and intended instead to take their land. There was some kind of battle and another ship came, except it didn’t come up on the shore, it appeared to have arrived from out of nowhere, from the sky perhaps.
What on earth?
she thought to herself.

“I wouldna’ waste my time trying to decipher that bit of nonsense if I were ye,” the priest interrupted. “”Tis likely the work of some ole’ sorceress or what not, doubtless it’s meant to scare the likes of ye,” he chuckled.

“I’m no’ so sure,” Naelyn whispered in reply. “It all looks strangely familiar to me, almost as if I’ve seen it before.”

“Ye were the scribe, were ye no’?”

“Aye, I s’pose I was the closest thing to a scribe here.”

“Do ye recognize the language then?” he asked.

“Nay, some of it resembles ancient Gaelic scripting, but then it goes on, and I can’t make it out it all. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“’Tis Vedic,” interjected Braeden, reaching down to turn the hares with a piney stick. “Vedic Sanskrit, I believe, ye ken?” he asked looking up at Naelyn who was staring astonishingly at Cordal.

“Ye have seen this scripting before?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“And ye can read it? Ye can make out what it means?”

“I think so, mayhap not exactly, but I can gather the gist of it.”

***

Gemma sat at the large table in the main dining hall on the Isle of Women. Most of the ladies had left after their noon meal and she and Kyra were planning their duties for the remainder of the week, and the festivities for the Lunar Bacchanal, later that evening.

“And yer sure ye did no’ tell him?” asked Gemma.

“Positive,” replied Kyra. “I’ve no good idea how Patrick divined my condition, but he did. He told me flatly that there was no way he would take me into Burke lands in my condition, and that ye would know how best to use me services here, on the island,” she added laughing. “Thank ye for putting me up in the new round cottage with Mavis, that should help me much in ferreting out the spy amongst us. Rory believes still that we have a Burke spy amongst the women, and I am to identify her.”

“Well, I hope ye are successful. I’d like to believe I ken these lasses, but ye never can tell about some people. They seem to have a gift for deception. How is Mavis doing?” asked Gemma.

“She seems a warm and friendly type, has been through I lot I gather, from what I can tell. Misses that boy something terrible, but I will tell ye that Winnie is keeping her busy. Us really, keeping us busy I should say. Good practice for me though,” she said rubbing her belly with animation. “I’ve never cared for a bairn before, much more work than messaging.”

“Well,” said Gemma. “I’m certainly glad ye are here. I have need of yer…uh…special abilities with one of the men.”

“One of the men?”

“Aye, only a few more hours until the Bacchanal and we already have a mon sneaking about without a formal invite, mind ye. Caught up near, well, near the cottage where ye and Mavis stay. Peeking in the window slit. Shadrae brought him back down here last night, to the main keep and he’s in the storage cellar. Wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t identify himself and acted like he had no idea what the Bacchanal was,” Gemma laughed.

“What has been done about it?” asked Kyra.

“Nothing really. Ordinarily we would send him onto the mainland, but with the sentries posted everywhere and the ferry docked, we’ve no way to get him back down there now without causing a big ruckus with yer father. I’m in no mood for yer father today, lass,” she added.

“I ken ye aren’t”, said Kyra. “Me neither, if ye want to know the truth of it. I still haven’t told him about the babe, he just kens I’ve set up for spying here and I’m going by Kara instead of Kyra. With Patrick and Darina both gone, how long did the council say that we would remain on high alert?

Gemma reached across the table and handed a mug of water to Kyra, “I guess until one of them returns. We have another council meeting tomorrow eve and I have petty court duties all day tomorrow on the mainland. Ye know, it will be the first time I’ve been back on the mainland in quite a while, mayhap six days I s’pose.”

Gemma rose and stretched her long arms high up into the air. “I’ve much work to do in preparations for the Bacchanal celebrations. It will be a small one, only men from our clan can attend this eve and they have to be approved by Ruarc before coming over on the ferry. “’Tis why the one we have in the cellar is a poor suspect. His story doesn’t add up.”

“He wouldn’t tell ye anything?”

“Not a word, acted surprised to be here. Shadrae has done her best to interrogate the captive, but ye know how Shadrae is. He’s probably a little roughed up, but no worse for the wear. Take a look a’ him and let us know what ye think can be done. Follow me,” she motioned.

Gemma gestured for Kyra to follow her down the long, winding corridor at the back of the kitchens, This led to the doors which opened into the underground storage cellars. The ale and salted meats were stored underground, as were other supplies like grain and special herbs. The chandler had an antechamber just offset from the bottlery and adjacent to that was the storage cellar where the prisoner was detained.

Kyra slowly shoved the door open and caught a glance of Shadrae standing a few feet in front of the prisoner. He was seated on a three-legged stool, back to the door with his arms tied behind his back and his head hung low against his chest as if he were sleeping. There wasn’t much light in the room, save for the large candelabrum in the right corner and the lanthorn setting atop a small wooden chest to the left of the man.

She could tell he had been whipped with something, but only small welts rose on his backs and shoulders and not a drop of blood was in sight. He was sweating, or he was wet, perhaps Shadrae has dunked him in the water bucket, she wasn’t sure. She motioned for Shadrae to join them in the corridor and she obliged, shutting the door behind her.

“What ye got there, Shadrae?” she asked glibly.

“A very uncooperative mon, I’d say. Won’t tell me who he is or where’s he from, or why he was so interested in that wee babe.”

“Wee babe?” Kyra asked.

“Aye. He nearly scared the life outta Mavis and reached his hands through the window slit as if to take that babe. Ye know we’ve had some problems of late with stolen chillens.”

“Aye—I know,” gasped Kyra placing a hand over her mouth.

“Mavis hadn’t outfitted the babe proper yet, ye ken? She wasna’ exactly dressed, still toddling about in her wee rabbit-skin breeches she was. So he may’a thunk her to be a lad, rather than a lass.”

“Oh my,” said Gemma. “I hope he is not one of them child thieves, Patrick will kill him.”