Celtic Shores (7 page)

Burke Territory — Samhain Celebration

“Do ye have all yer masks Orla?” questioned Reni. “And yer cloak, and the extra cloak to cover ye, cause it looks like it might rain. Child? Did ye hear me?”

“Aye, Reni, I have all me masks here in me basket and I have both of these infernal cloaks as well. Now, let me be off, Shanleigh is a’ waiting on me she is,” replied Orla indignantly, stomping her foot for emphasis.

“Do ye have yer dagger, Orla?”

“Aye. I have me dagger right here in me basket.”

“Alrighty then, off ye go, but ye best be getting back a’fore the bonfire lights go out. Yer mam will be awaiting ye in the kitchens—to see what goodies ye collect. Ye ken?” Reni asked.

“Aye,” Orla retorted, before hastily draping herself with a cloak, and covering her head and basket with the other.

The rain began to fall in short, shallow bursts just as Orla stepped from the covering of the castle doors into the unusually warm night air. Thankfully her leather boots would carry her through the paths and village byways without problems. No doubt her friend Shanleigh would be at a disadvantage, having only slippers for shoes. At least she was smart enough to bring an extra cloak and a pair of boots for Shanleigh. Nothing would hold up their good time this eve, especially not the rain.

Orla traversed the castle grounds proper as fast as her young feet would carry her. Shanleigh was waiting, and she wasn’t the most patient individual. Just two summers her senior, Shanleigh was thirteen, and already her father was searching for suitable matches for his only daughter. Orla had made up her mind already that she was not the kind to marry; and knowing her mam, it seemed unlikely that Odetta would force her into any such match.

Shanleigh’s father, Dirk, was the armory overseer for the Burke forces and was highly praised among the Burke clan. Although he and Odetta shared words on several occasions, Dirk believing her addled, it was his relationship with Easal that smoothed things a bit. At least it hadn’t affected Orla’s ability to maintain her friendship with Shanleigh yet.

Orla rapped at the thick wooden door to Dirk’s cottage and called for Shanleigh. The door opened and the smell of fresh mutton stew caught her nostrils. Shanleigh’s mam was one of the best cooks in Burke territory, and Orla took every opportunity she could to have her evening meal with the family. It was nice to just sit in a cottage with the feel of family about her; with her not having a father, and her mother, Odetta, being gone so much. Eating with Reni was more like a chore and wasn’t pleasant at all. Besides, Shanleigh’s two elder brothers always had something entertaining to speak of, and vied for her affection to the extent she never had to lift a finger when visiting.

“Orla, dear, do come in won’t ye?” spoke Orla’s mam. “Shanleigh is almost ready. I made her change her overdress twice now. She doesn’t seem to understand the weather is turning and it will be coming down in sheets soon. She insists on heading outdoors anyway.”

Shanleigh barreled from the back of the cottage, hesitantly grasping a handful of masks in her arms and juggling two baskets on her other elbow. Always one to make an entrance, she caught Orla’s eye and bid her to watch as she agitated her mam. “Mam, just where do ye s’pose that lanthorn is that Da set out for me?” she asked, dropping the contents of her arms on the long trestle table where her mother was setting out a late evening meal.

“Shanleigh, ye know verra well yer da set the lanthorn near the hearth. Now git yer things off me table a’fore I refuse ye to go t’nite.”

Shanleigh ran her hand down the length of her golden-blonde mane and motioned for Orla to help her with the baskets and masks. “Aye, I see it now mam. Won’t ye help me light it?” she asked slyly. Shanleigh was accustomed to getting her way and getting help with every menial task she could push off on somebody else. Trouble was, her mother wasn’t one of those kinds of people to humor such feigned helplessness.

“Light it yerself ye lazy lass,” she replied. “I’ve work to do,” she said as she winked at Orla. “Mayhap Orla can assist ye, if ye be half-witted, methinks Orla might make up for the other half,” she cackled as she smacked Orla on the back of her shoulder in jest.

“Here, I brought me extra boots,” Orla said and motioned for Shanleigh to change her slippers, “and me other cloak.” Orla selected a mask for herself and Shanleigh and placed the others in the baskets, neatly tucked between the oatcakes and apples.

“Now then Shanleigh, ye can share the oatcakes and apples with yer friends, but the other baskets are for gathering offerings for the poor,” scolded Shanleigh’s mam, “Ye ken, dear one? I will be taking them to the market on the morrow.”

“Aye, mammy, we ken,” replied Shanleigh as she motioned for Orla to grab the lanthorn and open the cottage door.

“And be back a’fore the midnight rites. Before we run through the bonfires; I need ye back here to watch yer younger brathair,” she added, bouncing a curly-headed toddler on her hip.

“Aye, we will,” replied Orla, “But we best be leaving now if we are to make it all the way to the north side of the villages to fill our baskets.”

“Off ye go then,” she replied, “Off ye go.”

***

Braeden was enjoying his role-play. He was quite an experienced actor, to say the least. His ability to maintain a straight face while jesting, propelled him into the most curious of situations. Patrick often remarked that his ability to fool somebody might just save his life one day.

Today was that day. Braeden became a compliant and submissive prisoner in dealing with his captives. He gave them no reason to believe that he was anything less than obedient and wouldn’t render himself to any trouble. They even believed him to be asleep when the sky grew dark and the rain started coming down harder. When he sensed he was being led down stairs, underground, he peeked through his eyelids. His captors had long since removed the head covering and now he employed a birds-eye view of all the goings-on.

It was the smell that greeted him first, the dreadful stench of rancid food and fetid flesh. Just the thought made his stomach heave. The rattling of metal broke his attention and he realized he was not alone in this underground prison. He struggled a bit to sit up—draped over the shoulder of one of his captors.

“Let me up!” he demanded as if he were the captor. “I mean to get up!” he repeated in as high-a-pitched voice as he could muster, intending to emphasize his youth.

“Hold still ye rascally bastard,” his captor exclaimed, grasping Braeden about the waist and setting him down on the bottom stair rung which lead to the caverns beneath the monastery. “There, am I ever glad to have ye off me back!”

“What is the meaning of this? Why have ye brought me here?” Braeden demanded again into the silence.

“Just ye hush now! This once, else we will see to it ye don’t live long enough to become Odetta’s sacrifice this eve. Ye should count yer blessings we haven’t the stomach to do her dirty work for her, else we would have already bled ye dry.”

“Bleed me dry! What on earth are ye talking about? Do ye ken who I am? Ye will regret the day ye ever met me! Ye have no idea how much trouble ye are going to be in once P….”

A loud clanging arose from the far, left corner of the cavernous underground dungeon, and a shadow appeared before them. “What is all this fuss about?” demanded the shadow.

“Sit yerself back down now Cordal, we’ve no need for yer assistance,” said the man known as Culver. “Ye,” he continued, grabbing Braeden about the shoulders and hurling him down the last of the stairs to the far wall of the dungeon, “will do as ye are told, or else ye will meet yer end with two fewer little fingers.”

Braeden gasped and complied, watching in horror as the man chained him to the wall beside a weeping woman and another boy who lay unconscious against the cold wet stones. “Now, drink this here boy, it will make things less painful for ye, trust me,” said Culver as he thrust a small cup containing some type of elixir into Braeden’s hands. “We’ll be back soon enough, ye best make yer peace son, rest and prepare for what is to come.”

The very minute the door to the dungeons closed behind the men, Braeden’s senses heightened. He may have the lost advantage of sight, but his sense of smell, hearing and feeling took over in an almost wraithlike fashion. From where he was sitting, he could tell he was not alone with the other boy or the crying woman. Even the man who spoke earlier from the back of the cavern wasn’t the only other person sharing the dank prison.

When his mouth caught up with his mind, Braeden spewed the contents of the elixir straight out in front of him several feet, the majority of which struck an unintended target. The now drenched prisoner roused a bit and sat up from its slovenly crumple on the barren rock floor.

O’Malley Territory

Patrick tightened his grip about Darina’s waist and pulled her closer against him as they continued their ride up the steep terrain. Moya prepared the best climbing steed she had, at his request; and Minea packed a basket of wine and fruit to enjoy on their “adventure” as she called it. It wasn’t so much that Darina didn’t enjoy a surprise every now and then—it was more that riding with her eyes covered was beginning to make her feel dizzy. As if she spoke it out loud, Patrick removed the sash tied across her eyes and softly pulled her cheek towards his shoulder, an indication she should relax against him, safe in his arms.

“Where are ye taking me?” she asked him again, for about the third time since they set out from the Castle after the reception.

I have a surprise for ye, and there is a friend I wish ye to meet. A dear old friend of me mam’s; and I ken he wishes to meet me lovely new bride as well
.

Darina blushed and a peculiar warmth filled her from the top of her head to the middle of her chest where her heart beat in tandem with Patrick’s. She nuzzled closer in to him and he wrapped the edges of his cloak about her, fully encompassing her with his arms. When she sensed their climb was slowing she asked, “Can I look now, Patrick?”

“Aye,” he responded as he untangled his cloak from around her shoulders, permitting her to gaze forward across the rocky pinnacle they had spent so long climbing towards. The night air was warm and moist, and the moon was high and full over the summit. She watched in amazement as the stars seemed to twinkle overhead in welcome and noticed the sound of pipes and celebration had all but disappeared. They had traveled a good way from the Castle and they were alone; save for the two sentries that Patrick bade follow two forrach’s back on either side of them.

When they finally met with level ground, Patrick slowed. Darina could barely make out the shadows of a stone formation in the moonlight. Almost spherical in shape, the stone pillars were nearly as tall as Patrick and twice as wide. Seven flat stones for stepping lead to a break in the circle, and a flat table-like stone sat in the midst of the coil.

Patrick brought the horse to a halt and jumped down to secure him to a nearby yew tree before assisting Darina in dismounting. She was now wearing creamy-colored silken riding truis with a long plum colored velveteen tunic, a gift from Sanjay and his sister.

“Ye l-loo-look st-stunning D’rina,” he said aloud as he held his hands out to her. It was difficult for him to keep his hands off the velveteen fabric for very long. The contrast between the downy tunic and the billowy truis nearly drove him mad. Fully aware that no longer riding with her body pressed against his left a palpable vacancy…he darted to grasp her hand and wrap his arm about her waist…anything just to be close to her again.

Thank ye,
she said, unintentionally, with her mind.

“I mean, thank ye,” she repeated, out loud this time.

Ye have no need to apologize, luv. Ye may speak with me in any fashion ye wish. I am delighted that ye are more comfortable with me now…it appears,
he pressed hesitantly.

“Somewhat,” she nodded in agreement and moved closer to his side, enjoying the warmth that emanated from him.
Can ye explain to me what is happening here, or why this is happening at all? I don’t ken how this works.

“M-me n-neith-neither,” he shot back to her.
I ken that me mam and I could speak this way, and that me friend Airard, Lucian’s brathair, I could speak to him but he could no’ speak to me. Why, I don’t ken. I would imagine that this is no’ the first time this has happened to ye?

“Nay, it is not,” she replied. “My sister Dervilla could read my mind since we were wee ones. However, I suspect a lot of it is simply her skill at reading people as opposed to reading their minds. I have never been able to converse with someone, or speak to someone, who understands me…like I can with…ye.”

Patrick swung the basket of fruit and wine with his right hand and held Darina’s hand with his other.
Let’s stop here.
He spread his cloak over a small patch of level ground upon which a thick batch of fresh green clover grew. Inviting her to sit, he opened the basket Minea sent with them and brought out a wine jug, fresh bread and cheese and dried fruit.

Darina
, he said with his mind,
I want ye to know that I understand ye do not know me and ye have no reason to trust or respect me, yet
. He broke off a piece of fresh bread and handed it to her along with a full mug of elderberry wine.
I intend that ye will do both, trust and respect me, in time. And, I ken that I must earn that…as I have come to realize that ye are verra cautious with yer…affections.

Darina smiled a knowing smile. “Ye have heard of me, now have ye?” she chuckled.
I will kill my Uncle Ruarc, I will
, she thought to herself, only a bit too late.

Patrick tipped his head to the side in confusion. “I’m s-so-sorry?” he asked.

“Oh, never ye mind,” she replied out loud. “My Uncle Ruarc likes to think he knows me better than anyone else. He is seldom accurate Patrick, trust me on this. I may be stubborn and bull-headed, but only because I’ve had to be.”

Patrick laughed this time.
He said nothing of the kind. He did tell me that perhaps I had met my match, however. And Lucian seems to think the same.

“Lucian? What has Lucian to do with anything?” she retorted as she removed her hand from Patrick’s and grew cold to his touch.

“D’rina? What gripe have ye with Lucian?” he asked sensing there was more to the story.

“Patrick, I know that ye have a special bond with Lucian, considering yer, uh, similarities,” she ventured. “But, Lucian has brought me people and me clan more trouble than we can abide. Things were fine until Lucian arrived, along with his pagan ways, and curses and spells and other such nonsense.”

“G-go on,” he implored her.

“I know me sister Dervilla trains under him, and for more than just map-making. I am well aware that the hours he spent with me mathair were not just council meetings on clan business. There is witchcraft and sorcery wherever Lucian roams and it has brought destruction and calamity in its wake.”

Tell me, what has Lucian caused or cost yer people, Darina?

“Well, if ye don’t ken by now, I may as well tell ye,” she huffed. Darina stood and straightened her tunic and truis, and paced back in forth in front of the small fire Patrick lit for them. “Ye may want to seek an annulment after this, but here goes.”

Darina, there is nothing that would keep me from fulfilling my oath to our marriage, to yer people, to me people. There is nothing, trust me.

Darina composed herself and sat back down, directly across from Patrick, looking him square in the eye as if in direct challenge. Daring him to brave the change in the course of his life she was about to burden him with. Instead of resistance, instead of defiance, her gaze was met with understanding. Understanding she did not understand. A quiet peace she never knew existed. A resilience and courage unmatched by anything she ever experienced.

“G-go on,” he said again and placed her hand in his.
I am listening.

“
Well, it’s a long story, so I’ll tell it fast. Lucian is a druid. When he showed up here, our clan starting warring with the Burke clan to our north. They cast a spell on our people so that we can no longer have male children. There hasn’t been a male born to our clan in twenty years.”

Patrick nodded and stroked her hand in a silent appeal that she continue her story.

“Well, when I was young, I got pulled into the river and me mam came in after me. Only she was pregnant, and she took fever and she lost the babe. Even Lucian couldn’t help her, or save the babe. Mighty fine sorcerer he is, he couldn’t save the babe,” she cried and clasped her head in her hands.

And ye believe it is Lucian’s fault the bairn died?

“Well, aye and nay; I suppose I don’t ken,” she replied tears now running down her cheeks. Patrick drew Darina close to comfort her, seating her between his legs and wrapping his arms about her, resting his chin on the back of her shoulder.

Darina, tis’ no’ Lucian’s fault yer mathair caught the fever. ‘Tis no’ Lucian’s fault if the babe died. Lucian is no’ a god.

Darina shook with the tears that she had held back for years. Unable to share her grief with her clan, her guilt and shame overwhelmed her and created a dark chasm of separation between her and her own family.

Darina, I ken about the curse of the male child. I have spoken about it with Lucian, and I think there is something else going on here. There is more to it than we know. Darina, yer mam was also a druid, ye knew that, right?

“I’m no’ so sure about that. I ken she favored the old ways, but I don’t believe she was a…witch.”

“I’m s-sure sh-she was’na a witch,” replied Patrick.

“How do you ken?” asked Darina.

We druids do not believe ourselves sorcerers or witches, Darina. There is nothing sinister or malicious about our ways. Any gifts we may have we use for good. We will not willingly cause harm to others, it is not our way.

“
Then why did all these bad things happen after the druids came here?” she asked.

Darina, ye are not an evil person; yet ye have certain gifts, do you no’?

“
Aye, I do I guess, but doesn’t that just mean I am cursed?” she asked.

Patrick tightened his grip around her and stroked her hand with his own.
No love, it does not mean ye are cursed. It means ye have been chosen by the gods, or by God, for some greater purpose, and ye have been given implements to help ye meet that purpose. Even Christians believe their God bestows gifts upon them to assist in their quest. ‘Tis not evil to believe some may have unusual or unique capacities that not everybody else may have.

Darina collapsed into Patrick’s arm, mentally and emotionally spent from the weight of her buried turmoil. Tears formed pools in her eyes and spilled over when Patrick turned her to face him.

“D’rina,” he said, “L-lis-listen to me c-carefully.”

He cupped her face in his hands and gently pushed back an unruly tendril of long red hair. He met her eyes and locked on, refusing to allow her to look away. Comforting warmth enveloped her, heating her bones, and pulsating through her blood stream until it filled her heart with liquid heat. The ground they sat on began to vibrate and she could feel his heart beat in his hands as they sheltered her face. Still staring into his deep green eyes, Darina reached to trace the outline of his stubble on his cheek.

Listen
, he commanded with his mind.

She let her hands drop back down to her lap and attempted to look away from him, before realizing she could not. A spasm erupted at the base of her spine and sent shock waves up her back, to her shoulders, to her neck then to her eyes. A resonant whirring sound grew louder and engulfed her ears. Completely fixated on Patrick, fresh tears sprang to her eyes, threatening to spill over.

Nay. Do not weep, Darina.

Another shock wave hit her square in the heart and nearly knocked her backward. Had he not been cupping her face, she would have surely toppled over.

Look at me
, he commanded.
Look at me.

For a moment, Darina felt she was floating on air. Time stood still, all that remained were she and Patrick. And—there were no words. No words at all. A magnetic attraction danced between their eyes, now merely inches from the other. The ground continued to vibrate, only louder this time and the whirring sound threatened to burst her eardrum. She could not detach herself from his gaze.

Enchanted
, she thought.
I have been enchanted
.

No,
he replied.
Look at me,
he demanded as he tightened his grip on her face.

As if meditating, she deliberately slowed her breath until it was a simple short drum beat at her temple. She loosened her hold on her muscles, one at a time, until there was no tension left in her body. Patrick removed his hands from her face and placed them on her shoulders, laying one on each side of her neck, and began to lightly caress her.

Still locked in each other’s gaze, Patrick asked, “Wh-what do y-you see?”

Darina peered into his eyes, looking, hoping for something, but what? What did he expect her to see except his eyes? Surely he didn’t expect her to see into his soul, she was not a soothsayer. She fought the distraction, she fought the doubt and the embarrassment of the situation, she pushed her pride down as far as it would go. She fought with everything in her to see…something…but what?

She blinked and felt as if a hundred-pound wind blew past her face but left her in the same place she had been moments before. Her heart leapt in her chest and a cold chill rose up her neck. There in his eyes, a light, an ethereal figure against the contrast of his deep green eyes. She was no longer staring into his eyes, she was seeing something else. But what was it? It was the outline of a woman’s face surrounded by a mist of emanating light, a golden orb of light!

Amazing
!
Just like the paintings in the chapel, the saint’s faces’ surrounded by the same golden light. Patrick, ye have to see this…

“
D’rina, l-look again,” he commanded.

The whirring sound turned into a deep hum, matching her pulse. Her ears pounded in time with the pressure and her fingers felt as if they were on fire. Deeper again she peered into his eyes this time. There in front of her, in the midst of the inexplicable connection between her and Patrick, she saw—herself.

Shocked by the vision of her own reflection in his eyes, she reluctantly moved to break their bond, to look away.

“Nay!” he demanded.
Darina, stay with me.