Celtic Stars (Celtic Steel Book 4) (3 page)

It was just this curiosity and her interest in celestial bodies that qualified Odetta as the most learned expert on the stars in all of Burke Lands. It’s what made her chamber in the Burke Castle the most unusual - 
Odetta’s Sky,
as it was called. That’s what was interesting about this particular chamber in Burke Castle.

That’s what kept Naelyn up at night. It was hard to sleep when the universe literally stared at you from above. Odetta had managed to completely recreate the night sky in the domed ceiling of her monstrous chamber. On the southeast wall were intricate dates and calendars depicting moon cycles, eclipses, meteor showers and even some compelling weather prophesies. No one understood how Odetta knew, she just did. And - she was rarely wrong. Even when she
was
wrong, she was
still right
, she was just early  - her mother would say, “Patience is not her virtue.”

Naelyn was bone tired. Tired of searching the scrolls for answers for Easal when there were none, and especially tired of spending her days tirelessly struggling for the benefit of others. She was tired and she knew that she would remain tired and die tired and have nothing to show for her tired, miserable life.

She was a prisoner, but she had always been a prisoner really. Born poor and orphaned at an early age, she worked vigorously for the nuns in the fields and all she got was one meal and a dirty cot for her efforts. When Odetta rescued her during the raids on the church and monastery, she had taken pity on her and cared for her. It wasn’t the care a mother would provide, but it was better than one meal a day and a dirty cot.

She taught her as well, to read, to decipher to exchange money, all of the things a high-born lady would know. And she had trusted her. Odetta wasn’t many things, but loyal was one of them. Once you earned Odetta’s respect, you were something and somebody and by virtue of association, you were to be respected. She was her maker. Without Odetta, Naelyn would most probably be dead by now or working in some filthy brothel or worse.

But that was before and this was now and things were much, much different.

“Are ye coming?” asked Ochnar from the entry way.

“Aye,” she said turning away from the looking glass.  The moon greeted her bright and full from beyond the far window pain, and Naelyn knew without a doubt, it would be a long, tiring night.

***

Orla and Braeden continued their trek through the high marsh just this side of the Rocky shoreline along the coast of Burke lands.  It had become quite clear that their boatman left them with no intention of ever returning.  Thankfully Orla’s ranting diminished to a simple small whimper here and there. Exhaustion had taken hold and pain had replaced her fear for a moment. There was now a large hole in the bottom of her left boot and a blister was wearing through.  But that was nothing compared to the knot growing on the back of her head.  Slipping on that large rock sent her flying and Braeden felt terrible and small that he was unable to reach her before she landed.

“Tell me again where it is ye are taking me,” Orla demanded, rubbing the top of her head with her left hand.

Braeden let out a long, aggravated sigh and turned around to face her. Gripping her by the shoulders, he looked stern and straight into her eyes, “Orla.  Have ye lost yer wits?  I know ye hit yer head, but I’ve told ye this going on three times now.  Just up the way a bit,” he exclaimed cocking his head to the left.  “There is an old hollowed out tree trunk.  It should provide enough cover for tonight and disguise the fire. On the morrow, we will get and up and hike our way back to the O’Malley keep.”

He could see the tears pooling in Orla’s eyes.  Now that did it.  He couldn’t take that. Her crystal blue eyes filled with tears, and that made him want to cry too.  But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, and he wasn’t he had to be strong.  It wasn’t that the boatman left that scared him the most.  It’s what they had found in the caves, the drawings, they pulled him in and spoke of what was to come and that frightened him more than anything in the world.

Grabbing her left hand forcefully, Braeden pulled them forward through the high marsh, deeper into the forest.  The tree trunk was nearly three miles south, but he wouldn’t tell Orla. If she had any idea how far they had to go, she would have given up already.  He wasn’t altogether certain she would make it, but he knew he could carry her if he had to and that would be no chore.  Orla was not only his best friend in the entire world, she was the toughest, most stubborn, and the most aggravating person he’d ever known.  Together, anything was possible.

With a loud cry, Orla grabbed at her left foot and sunk to the ground with a thud.

“Whatever do ye think ye are doing Orla?”  Braeden cried.  “We ‘aven’t the time to stop. We ‘ave to keep going.”

The tears were flowing fiercely now and Orla would soon be inconsolable.  He watched as she jerked and tugged and finally removed her left boot.  Her foot was bleeding because of the hole in the bottom of her boot.  Her boot had ruptured the blister.  “I think it will be easier to go without me boots,” she said, between whimpers, “This boot is killing me.”

Bending down to take a better look, Braeden saw the damage that had been caused.  It wasn’t a serious injury, but it would be enough to slow them down.  “Orla,” said Braeden, “I know yer foot hurts and I’m sorry, but we ‘ave to keep going.”  Orla shook her head in resistance and wiped her tears with the back of her right hand.  “Orla,” Braeden said again, “I can help you.”

“I don’t need any help Braeden,” Orla said through clenched teeth.

“Yer clearly in pain,” he remarked, “We ‘ave to keep moving.  I can carry ye.  Ye know that I can.”  Orla grew quiet.  The tears had stopped and instead been replaced with shivers, the night was unfolding, the temperature had dropped and it was starting to lightly mist. Before long, it would be raining out right, and they would be in trouble.  Indeed, if they didn’t reach their tree in time, they would be in grave danger.

Braeden ripped the sleeve from his left arm and tied it carefully around Orla’s injured foot.  She watched but said nothing alarmed at the amount of sensitivity he displayed having never seen such tenderness before.  Braeden wasn’t exactly a hardened individual, he was more no-nonsense, practical, straightforward, and in many ways closed off.  His life experiences had left him that way, as had Orla’s.

Lifting her chin with his right hand, Braeden looked directly into her eyes.  “Orla, I’m going to pick ye up.  There is nothing that ye can do about it.  We have to make it to the tree before it starts raining or else ye’ll catch yer death of cold.  I’m not going to argue with ye about this, ye might as well give up now.”

Orla smiled and nodded her head.  It wasn’t often that she was left speechless.  But Braeden had made his intentions clear and she was in no mood to fight him.  He simply sighed and smiled back disbelievingly. 
Just imagine what could happen if we worked together,
he thought to himself.  Braeden jerked his head upright, indicating it was time to go.  Orla obligingly wrapped her arms around his neck and waited for him to lift her.  It was effortless.  She knew Braeden was strong, but she had no idea just how strong.  She caught a whiff of his scent at the back of his neck where his hair nuzzled her nose, and she knew immediately she was in deep trouble.

T
HREE

O’Malley Keep

Lord Patrick O’Malley and his Scottish cousin on his mother’s side, Flynn Montgomery, traversed a long and winding tunneled stairway below the great clan hall in O’Malley Castle side-by-side. They exchanged knowing looks and sighed in unison. Flynn adjusted the torch in his right hand before smoothing his long hair at the nape of his neck.

“How is Darina?” Flynn ventured hesitantly.

“She is resting now,” replied Patrick, remarkably without the stutter he had carried since adolescence.  “She very nearly exhausted herself and me in the process with her rantings about the games,” he added.

“Patrick, have ye ever seen a dragon afore?” asked Flynn.

“Nay, can’t say as I ‘ave.”

“What do ye think caused it to – uh – um – appear then? Reckon someone beckoned it?” asked Flynn.

“Beckoned it?” replied Patrick, before stopping mid-step and turning to face Flynn. “Jest what do ye know about dragons Flynn?”

“Not much, I must admit,” he responded holding his hands out as if in surrender, “but me mam did speak of ‘em from time and again.”

“And – what would yer mam know about dragons Flynn?” Patrick asked accusingly.

“Well, she came from a long line of Dragonians. She wore a molten ring, just like ye do Patrick,” he added, pointing to the dragon crest symbol on a silver ring on Patrick’s right hand. “Yer ring, it grew hot and lit up just afore the dragon appeared, did it no’?” he inquired.

“Aye, it did.” Patrick tipped his head to the side in contemplation, holding his hand out in front of him to get a better look at the ring. Shaking his head, he lowered his hand back to his side and leaned against the cavernous wall. “I was given the ring when me mam died. I was told it made
me
a Dragonian, although I’ve never truly understood what that means.”

“Lucian has a similar ring, does he no’? asked Flynn.

“He does.”

“Where did he get his ring?” he asked before sitting down on the last stair leading to the council chamber’s corridor.

“His older brother, Airard, sent it to him last year. Had it sent over from MacCahan lands, my family’s clan, just before I arrived here to wed Darina? Airard told Lucian he would explain all things to him in due time.”

“Well, Patrick,” said Flynn as he arose from his seat on the stairs and took up step with Patrick down the corridor.  “I believe due time is come,” he added motioning for Patrick to enter the council chamber before him.

Lucian greeted him at the door, a preemptive strike it seemed, because close behind him stood Darina.  The elder scribe had a look of pure mental exhaustion on his face.  Patrick could definitely relate, and he could also sympathize.  Swollen with their first child, Darina’s nerves had been on edge for quite some time.  Considering the tragic events surrounding her sister Daenal’s capture by the dragon, any mood she would be in would be understandable.

“Patrick,” greeted Airard from the far right corner of the Council Chamber.  It had been several months since Patrick had seen his mentor, Airard.  He arrived only days earlier from Patrick’s homeland. It was indeed good to see him.  Surely Airard would know what to do, if anyone on the face of the earth would know it would be he.  Lucian’s older brother was in declining health and Patrick silently suspected this visit was partly to say his goodbyes.

“Airard my dear friend,” Patrick said, clearly.

Patrick hadn’t stuttered once in some time, not since the day that Daenal prayed with him.  Patrick had invoked his own healing, she assured him.  Of that, he was thankful.  It certainly made communication easier and quicker, but he often wondered why the injury to his right arm could not be healed in the same manner.

“I am so glad you’re here,” Patrick whispered as he hugged Darina about the waist carefully searching for a tiny kick or bump.  He motioned for Darina to sit next to his seat at the Council table, before taking his own seat next to her.  Reaching across the table, he grabbed a pitcher and poured a small glass of elderberry wine and set it before her, hoping the spirits would calm her nerves.

“Patrick,” began Lucian, “We are only waiting for one other person.”

“Jamie, I presume,?”  asked Patrick.

“Aye,” said Gemma.  “We had to send a sentry out to get him, he was half way to Burke lands with his guards.  It took them quite a while to convince him to come back, but they managed. I assume he’ll be in no kind of mood when he arrives,” she murmured.

“Could ye blame him?” asked Darina with a thick Irish brogue.  “Me seesta has been gone for several hours and nothings been done about it.”

Galen spoke up, “Darina.  What we have is very delicate situation that has to be handled in a very delicate way.”  The priest spoke in a very calm manner, hoping his words would provide some type of comfort to Darina.  “I think we may have an unconventional solution…”

“Let’s not go and get ahead of ourselves,” interrupted Darina's uncle Ruarc.  “What we need to do is wait on Jamie, before anything else is said.”

“And why is that?” Darina demanded.  “Daenal has only been Jamie’s betrothed for a short time, she has been me seesta for seventeen years.  Right now, she could be dead.  And we would not know it because no one budged,  not even one finger has been lifted to do anything about this.”

“I wouldn’t say no one,” interrupted Jamie Burke from the entrance to the Council Chamber.  Followed by his guards, Jamie was an imposing figure indeed.  Tall, muscular, with ruddy good looks, he could arouse fear and curiosity simply with his presence.  His marble-like blue eyes added to the mystery.  Everyone knew he was blind since birth, but he had a way of navigating that made it appear as if he was fully sighted.  Jamie’s ability to read auras left him with no handicap.  In fact, Jamie was probably a better judge of character than anyone.  After all, it was hard to hide your energy and seldom did anyone’s intentions go unnoticed by Jamie Burke.

‘Would ye please explain to me why me and me guards were stopped?”  Jamie shouted thunderously into the center of the room, to anyone and everyone all at the same time.  His voice was authoritative and determined and there was no doubt he meant to be taken seriously.