Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (31 page)

Breathing heavily, she looked down, her damp hair tumbling around her face.
Her hands trembled on his chest but her voice was steady when she spoke, “No. You are my guardian and I your priestess. To do this could endanger the betrothal agreement with Dún Fiáin and I will not have that.”

Odhrán
remained silent.

Shiovra
leaned forward slightly, her hands sliding down off
his
chest. “Please…” she continued. “Please do not make this more difficult for me.”

“You are right,” he said gently. “You are a woman I cannot have, a woman who has been promised to the son of my chieftain.”

She felt Odhrán’s hand touch her hair, pushing it away from her face, but she did not meet his gaze.

“But that does not change that you are a woman that I want.”

His voice was heavy with an emotion she had not heard before from him and his words sounded truthfu
l. Clenching her hands on her knees,
Shiovra
struggled to calm her heart.

His hand continued to move her hair aside, brushing against her skin.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and slowly released it. “Please.”

Odhrán pulled his hand away, but shifted to move closer to her. “
Tell me, were you made aware of the betrothal
before it was agreed upon?” he questioned.

Lifting her he
ad,
Shiovra
met his gaze. “Nay, but that does not mean that I will not honor the promise that was made,” she told him.

“Allow me to stay by your side,” he whispered
in her ear, his lips brushing against the skin.

Shiovra
remained still, unconsciously closing her eyes at his tou
ch. His closeness frightened, even
angered her, but at the same time she appreciated his warmth.

“Will you allow me to remain at your side?” repeated Odhrán in her ear.

Taking a shuddering breath, she nodded and murmured softly, “Aye.”
Shiovra
could feel his smile against her skin before he pulled away and rose to his feet, pulling her along with him.

Bringing her hand up, he gave it a gentle kiss and told her, “Sleep well.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Gráinne lounged on Caillte’s bed, watching as the Fomorii man dressed. Her eyes trailed over the movement of his muscles on the firelight. She found the man far more suited her than her husband, whom she would have to regretfully return to soon. Caillte was a man of strength and power, much like her own husband, but he was no fool. No matter what ploy she tried upon the man, he would never submit to her and maintained full control.

Pushing the fur pelts aside, Gráinne rose from the bed and walked towards him. She ran her fingers along the pale skin of his back. She so loved the feel of his body pressed against hers, the pleasure he gave her. Gráinne had taken several men to her bed, but none had been able to satisfy her quite like Caillte did. He was rough, caring only for himself, but that is what pleased her the most: the danger of sharing a bed with him.

Caillte turned to the woman, looking down at her with eyes that drifted over her nude body and disheveled hair. “Is it your intention to walk around like that?” he asked, tone stoic.

A smile crossed her lips. “If that is what you desire,” replied Gráinne as she trailed her fingers seductively down his chest.

The Fomorii man brushed her hand away and walked over to the bed, grabbing her clothing and tossing it to her. “Dress,” he ordered.

Gráinne pouted but followed his instruction nonetheless. “Tara is at her weakest right now, am I correct?” she questioned, pulling her shift over her head.

“Aye,” replied Caillte.

“And we know that the High Priestess seeks aid from Dún Fiáin?” continued Gráinne, looking at the man as he pored himself a cup of mead. “Would this not be the most opportune time to strike? Lord Ailill seeks vengeance upon the High Chieftains, but cannot strike directly. If we kill Ainmire, their kinsman, then they will suffer a terrible blow.”

“To attack Ainmire in the village would be folly even in its weakened state and luring him out would be very difficult,” the Fomorii man told her.

“Difficult but not impossible.” Smiling maliciously, Gráinne began to circle the hearth fire. “If we move swiftly, quietly, we can have Ainmire’s death.”

Caillte spared her a slight glance and he took a drink of his mead. “And what of the High Priestess?”

“She can be yours to deliver to Ailill and Tara will be mine.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Fire surrounded her
: scalding,
blinding
, overwhelming
.
The sky was black, filled with
thick, heavy s
moke
. Hot
embers lifted up to be carried by the
stifling
breeze
.
Screams
ripped
through the air, shrill and pain ridden
while lifeless bo
dies lay strewn upon a ground stained crimson with blood.

She
stood
alone
in the middle of a village, surrounded by
cottage
s completely consumed by flame.
Her chest heaved with each painful breath she took and a
n anxious feeling
clenched at her heart. Clenching her hands tightly, her nails dug into her palms. She was consumed with the need to
find
someone.

The sorrowful
lamentation
of the bean sidhe filled the air.

She
turned quickly at the sound, the feeling of dread filled her mind. She took a step, then another and another until she ran, weaving around the crumbling cottages.
Her eyes searched frantically through the flames and smoke.

She paused before a cottage that stood untouched by the fire. Flinging the door open, she ducked into the cottage and froze. Shaking her head in disbelief, she felt her body shake as tears streamed down her face.

In the darkness of the cottage, illuminated by the fires of a burning village, lay the lifeless form of Ainmire
on the ground
…

Screaming,
Shiovra
lurched up
in her bed
, heart po
unding loudly within her chest as fear gripped her tightly. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped trembling arms around them.
She found it hard to breath, the blistering heat of the fire lingering on her skin.
As light flooded the small space, her head shot up.

Odhrán stood holding the curtain open, looking at her in concern. Daire and Meara stood behind him. “
Shiovra
…” said the Milidh man as he began to crawl towards her, reaching a hand out. “It was only a dream.”

“Ainmire!” she cried out, trying to
slip past him
only to be restrained
by Odhrán’s strong
hold upon her
arms
.
Shiovra
’s gaze snapped to meet his.
“His life is in danger! We must make haste. We cannot tarry!”

Keeping a hand on her arm, he lifted the other to brush against her check
.
“What have you seen to bring such sorrow and terror?” he asked gently.

Shiovra
followed the movement of his hand, curious, before realizing that he was wiping away her tears
.
Reaching quivering hands up, she
clutch
ed his tunic tightly in her fists, unable to shake the fear racking through her body
. “I
saw Ainmire…dead…
”

Odhrán
arms wrapped around her tightly and her murmured,
“
It was but a dream, only that.”

She felt a hand come to rest on her head as Daire’s voice said,
“I am sure Ainmire is alive and well
. But, if it will ease your mind, we
can depart for Tara come morning
.”

Shiovra
nodded
mutely against
Odhrán’s chest.

“Daire, wake Artis and Eiladyr, inform them that the priestess will be departing,” Odhrán said.

“Aye,” replied Daire.

“I will fetch some water for Lady
Shiovra
,” stated Meara.

Darkness fell over
Shiovra
and Odhrán as the curtain fell shut.

The priestess
remained quiet
, struggling to calm her heart
.
She knew
it had been a warning. Everything thing she had seen, everything she had felt, was a warning; a warning she would not ignore. Ainmire’s life was in danger, of that she was certain.
Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper when she broke the silence. “I am afraid…”

Odhrán pulled her tighter against his body and buried his face into her hair. “Shhh…
”
he murmured softly. “It will be all right. Ainmire will be all right.”

89

9.
     
JOURNEY HOME

Dour s
ilence had settl
ed once again upon Ráth Faolchú in wake of the companions impending departure.
Little sleep came after the priestess spoke with Artis about her dream. The Neimidh man, wishing to aid in their speedy return to Tara, found horses and prepared provisions for their journey
.
It was decided that Meara’s men would remain in the village and, once all preparations were complete, they would accompany what warriors Artis could spare to Tara.

Shiovra
stood beside her horse, double checking that her pack was secure. Her gaze shifted over to Odhrán as he stood talking with Eiladyr and Artis. Though she could not hear what was spoken, she had a feeling they were planning tactics should battle indeed come to them.

After a while, the men approached her as she waited by the main gates with Meara.

Artis offered a sad smile
. “I gave you a good supply of provisions within the packs,” he told them. “There should be enough to get you Tara.”

Shiovra
nodded, replying,
“You have
our gratitude
.
”

“Be wary of
watchers
, Ailill’s sight stretches far,
”
he warned. “I shall have my men to you with great haste
.
Please, be careful on your journey home, Lady
Shiovra
.
”

“I thank you, Artis,
”
said
Shiovra
. “Tara is in your debt.”

The man shook his head. “No, it is our honor to aid in protecting Tara,” Artis told her.

Odhrán placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We should be on our way,” he urged. “We want to cover as much ground as we can before nightfall.”

The priestess nodded
. “Merry Part,” she told Artis.

He smiled and replied,
“
Until we meet again.”

Grabbing the reins,
Shiovra
Climbed astride her horse and waited for her companions to follow suit
.
Glancing at Eiladyr, she found the man had
stopped short of mounting
his steed and stared at her
with a raised brow
.
“Is something the matter?”

“I have never seen a lady ride astride a horse before,” he admitted.

“
Shiovra
has ridden like that since she fell of a horse as a child
,”
informed Daire as he climbed astride his own steed. “She has refused to ride like a lady ever since.”

Shiovra
ignored her cousin and
turned to the people of Ráth Faolchú, who had gathered for her departure. “
Thank you for welcoming us into your home. You kindness shall not be forgotten. I do hope to be able to return here soon.”

“We look forward
to your return,”
Artis
said with a smile
. “Safe journey, companions.”

Bidding their farewell to the villagers, Odhrán took the lead with Daire and
Shiovra
following while Eiladyr and Meara took the rear. The gates of Ráth Faolchú
closed silently behind them.

Shiovra
pulled her mare to a slow, glancing at the village she knew lay concealed behind bramble and vine. With a smile and nod
to the men she knew watched their departure, the priestess gave her horse a light kick and continued on.

Odhrán silently guided them through the woods, slowing pace on occasion, but never stopping.
They
rode quietly for a long while, their silence matching the woods surrounding them
.
Flitting s
un
light drifted down through leaves that rustled and swayed in the gentle breeze
. Birds chirped softly, singi
ng their sweet songs cheerily to one another as the companions passed below.

Despite the
tranquility
surrounding her
,
Shiovra
’s thoughts continued to linger on the death and destruction she had foreseen.
She would do all in her power to prevent such a future from befalling anyone. If she could not protect the life of one man, how would she be able to keep an entire village from harm?

When the trees began to thin and a meadow lay in the distance,
Odhrán
finally broke the silence.
“
We should rest here before journeying out in the open,
”
said the Milidh man
.
Pulling
his steed to a halt
, he climbed down and tethering it to a tree.
“Eat quickly;
I want to clear that field as quickly as possible. We do not know what eyes may be watching.”

Shiovra
slipped down from her horse and stretched.
They had not been riding long, but with the lack of sleep, soreness had already begun to creep into her body.

Eiladyr came to a halt
beside
her, clambering down from his horse and nearly getting his foot caught in the
horse’s
reins. Stumbling, he flashed the priestess a grin. “Heh…it has been a while since I have ridden a horse…”

Offering the man a soft smile
,
Shiovra
tended to her horse, making sure the reins were secure and offering the mare some food.

Silence slowly crept
back over the companions
as Odhrán distributed provisions to everyone
.
For a long while, they ate without a word spoken.

“How long
till we
reach Tara?” Eiladyr asked abruptly.

“A week’s travel at a steady pace,” Daire replied
. “
Once we cross that field, though, we will be
dangerously close to the ruins of Caher Dearg.
Avoiding it will add a few more days on our journey, but would probably be for the best.
”

Shiovra
glanced up. “Yet it might also be the safest place for us to be at the moment,” she added softly, catching the attention of her companions. “Caher Dearg has fallen.
Méav
and
Gráinne
have fled. Many
huntsmen
lie beneath the ruins and those who have survived
no longer linger
,”
Shiovra
explained. “Caher Dearg is abandoned. Neither the enemy, nor ally would
tarry
there.”

Odhrán nodded his agreement. “
Shiovra
is right,” he stated bluntly. “It is the best place to keep from the eyes of the enemy. Caher Dearg is where we should make camp for the night.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Eiladyr came to a pause as they left the open field to once more
set
foot in the woods. His memories of the forest were quite far from fond. An
d
though he knew
that
Caher Dearg
was no longer a threat and that the huntsmen he had tracked no longer present,
he was not eager to tread the w
oods quite so soon. His concerns did not lie entirely with Caher Dearg, though.

Glancing at the priestess, he took in how pale she looked.
He knew she had gotten little sleep
and it was clearly taking a tol
l on the woman. As he made to continue after the others,
Eiladyr
felt a deathly icy chill race up
his
spine
. Turning sharply, his eyes drifted over the open field behind them.

Not far
behind them a misshapen creature suddenly ducked down in the grass, but not before Eiladyr had taken notice of its unusual appearance. It’s
pale eyes
were borderline white with slit pupils. Bony webbed hands
with sharp nails much like claws
clutched a long spear. The creatures flesh bore a sickly undertone and was flecked with scales while it’s hair was thin and scraggly.

It was not the lone creature lurking dangerously close to the small group of companions that sent fear through Eiladyr’s body, but what lurked beyond it. Coming over the hill off in the distance were several more creatures, some bearing fins a
nd only one eye; all well armed and heading straight for them.

“
Eh…uh…” stammered Eiladyr.

“First you forget how to dismount a horse and now you have forgotten how to speak?” snickered Daire, turning slowly.

Unable to speak anymore, he gestured wildly towards the misshapen creatures making their way towards the small group of companions.

Sudden fear washed over the group. Those who had once been walking had hastily mounted their steeds and quickened their pace.

“How long have they been behind us?” whispered
Meara
anxiously.

Eiladyr shrugged, trying in vain to appear calm, but failing horribly. “What are they?”

“The cursed ones…”
muttered Meara
“Cruelty risen from the sea.”

“They are Fomorii,”
Daire
replied quietly, his voice hard.

He recognized Fomorii as one of the other clan
s
, but Eiladyr knew little of them
aside from that. The misshapen creatures sent fear through his body that even Méav and her huntsmen could not achieve.

“
Fomorii…
”
Daire
continued darkly. “T
hey are an ancient, vicious clan who once laid claim to Éire. The seas are under their control and their power dark
.
During
the Great Invasions
, they were led by Balor
.”

“Balor?” inquired Eiladyr.

“The one-
eyed lord of death,”
Shiovra
answered
abruptly
. “He was the most formidable of the F
omorii, their chieftain. His single
eye was so dreadful that he could destroy whatever he looked upon. He was slain by his own grandson, Lugh, Ethlinn’s son and champion of the Túatha Dé Danann. Lugh, like
Daire
, was half Fomorii and half Túath.”

“
They follow,” Odhrán told them. “We need to quicken our pace and try to lose them.”
Giving his horse a swift kick he urged it into a steady gallop.

Eiladyr could only
hope that Caher Dearg’s reputati
on is enough to keep the Fomorii at bay.

Keeping a steady pace, t
he
y pressed the horses until the sun began to sink lower in the sky and nightfall crept into the woods.
Entering a clearing
, Ca
her Dearg stood dark and broken, illuminated
briefly
by moonlight through shifting clouds.
Though desolate and ruined, the dangerous air continued to linger.

Eiladyr
co
uld not bring himself to look away from
Shiovra
.
Concern worked a knot in his stomach.
The priestess’
face
had become even paler
and
she had
slumped forward, her cheek resting against the
horse’s
mane.
Shifting his steed closer, Eiladyr reached a hand out to touch the
woman’s check. Her skin was burning beneath his touch.
Catching the mare’s reins in his hand, he announced, “
Shiovra
is not well.”

“We rest here for the night,”
Odhrán
stated, pulling
his steed t
o a halt and dismounting
.
Handing his reins to Meara, he approached Eiladyr. “Help me get the priestess down.”

Nodding, Eiladyr
climbed
from his horse and helped the Milidh
man
slip
the priestess
from
hers. L
aying
the woman
on the ground away from the horses
, Eiladyr removed his cloak and
laid
it lightly over
Shiovra
. He
watched as Odhrán
crouched down beside the priestess and
placed the back of his hand against
Shiovra
’s forehead and his own for comparison.