Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (34 page)

“I know,”
Shiovra
replied.

Daire looked at her, frowning.

Shiovra
sat with her arms wrapped around her knees. “Unions like this one, they are nothing more than
an intricate stratagem
,” she continued softly.
“
Each side seeks to learn the others weaknesses and gather all knowledge
possible
.”

“
Then why do you seek to continue with the betrothal?” he asked.

“
It is my role to play
,”
Shiovra
said
quietly
. “
Without my promised union to the chieftain’s son, there would be no alliance, no promised peace. Even if it is nothing more than a ruse, it does not have to
stay
that way.” She paused a moment. “It is true that at first the mere thought of wedding one of the Milidh angered me to no bounds, but now I see this union as an opportunity to
forge
an
actual alliance with the Milidh, even if it is limited to only one village
.
It will be difficult at first, I do not doubt that.
Until late, we were considered enemies and in a sense, still are. I plan to use this union to
my
advantage.
”

Daire remained quiet, unsure of how to respond to her words.

Laughing softly, she turned to him. “You think I am a fool, do you not?” asked
Shiovra
.

He shook his head. “Nay,” he replied with a slight grin. “I
think you are brilliant
.
You use father and Ainmire’s own plans against them. It would seem that they have become
your
pawns.
”
Daire laughed heartedly, falling back in the grass.

Shiovra
lay down in the grass beside him, smiling.

Silence settled peacefully over them.

Daire lay looking up at the clouds drifting overhead. He had know
n
she was adamant about upholding the betrothal promise for the sake of Tara’s people, but he had never imagined the depth to which she would go to ensure that peace.
To defy both Ceallach and her chieftain, he could have never been prouder of his cousin.

Reaching a hand over, he grabbed
Shiovra
’s and gave it a small squeeze, grinning at her. 
“Let the games begin then.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Nightfall was approaching, as was the beginning of the festivities
for the High Priestess’ return to Tara
.
Shiovra
sat within her cottage, running her fingers lightly over the long braid of her hair
.
She had been anxious to return home to Tara, but now that she was there, the feeling of unease continued to linger with the priestess.
Shiovra
could not
be certain
when the attack on Ainmire would take place,
only
that she needed to prevent it from happening.
The loss of Ainmire would be a great wound to the village’s strength.

The wind
rustled through the open door, whispering
softly around the cottage
as it carried
the heavy scent of coming rain and the
soft sound of footsteps
.

Shiovra
stood
as Ceallach Neáll stepped into the cottage
,
closing the door behind him
.

Hi
s
pale
eyes
meet hers
firmly
. “Lady
Shiovra
,” he said with a slight bow
.

She
nodded to him. “Ceallach Neáll.”

The Fomorii made approached the hearth fire
. “
Upon your arrival earlier this day, I saw urgency in your eyes
. What have you seen that you do not speak of?”
he queried, looking into the fire
as he leisurely walked around it
.

“Ainmire’s death,”
she told him
.

Her words had brought the expected pause to the Fomorii man’s steps. Ceallach turned to her, searching her face. “Tell me exactly what you have seen,” he pressed.

“A village consumed by flame and Ainmire dead upon the ground, pierced through the heart.”
Shiovra
closed the space between them, holding his gaze steadily. “
We may not see eye to eye,
Ceallach Neáll,
but I am
certain
on this matter we will agree: Ainmire must
live
.”

Ceallach nodded in agreement. “
Is there anything more to this dire foretelling that you have seen?” he pressed. “Was the village familiar? Were there any faces? Was it day or night?”

Shiovra
shook her head. “No,” she replied. “Only flames and death, all around.”

A frown crossed the man’s face.
“Ainmire will need to be watched at all times,” Ceallach said. “To appoint more warriors at his side would only draw attention. The villagers are uneasy enough with Ailill’s threats.”

Nodding,
Shiovra
crossed her arms. “I want you to inform me of everything from now on,” she told him firmly. “No more leaving me in the dark. I want to know what scouts spot on patrols, what foods Ainmire eats, even what you are thinking.”

The man arched a brow in surprise.

“I am the High Priestess of Tara,” she continued steadily, “and if you seek to remain in this village, then you
will
keep me informed. Perhaps if such was done during my time in Rúnda, I would not have so easily turned my back on you.”

The shadow of a smile crossed Ceallach’s lips. “As you wish, my lady,” he said, catching
her hand within her own and bringing it to his lips.

They were interrupted by a soft knock on
the door
before it
opened and Daire
stepped into the
cottage. He met his father’s gaze firmly for a moment before turning his attention to
Shiovra
.
“The festival is about to begin. Ainmire wants you present.”

Nodding,
Shiovra
waited for Ceallach to release her hand before slipping her cloak around her shoulders and following Daire from the cottage.
The village was quiet as they walked along the well-worn path to the Banqueting House.
Shiovra
could hear Ceallach following, but did not turn to him.

As they neared the long
building, the din of merriment reached their ears, quiet and muffled at first, but steadily growing louder the closer they came to the Banqueting House
. Light flooded through the open doors, bright and welcoming.

Shiovra
hardly set foot through the door before
Daire
ushered her to the head
table where Ainmire waited with Mahon, Earnán and Naal
.
She quickly found her companions sitting at table flanking Ainmire’s. Eiladyr and Odhrán sat on the left while Meara and Úna were on the right.

Daire gestured for her to sit beside Mahon before taking his place beside her.

Sitting,
Shiovra
looked around at the cheerful faces of the villagers
as they laughed and drank heartily. She wondered just how much the villagers knew of the dangers that lurked
outside Tara’
s reach.

“Smile,” Daire whispered, handing her a bowl of fruit.

Popping a few berries into her mouth, she offered him a
mocking
smile.
“I find it difficult to show merriment under the circumstances,” replied
Shiovra
.

“They need the reassurance of their priestess,” he said, nodding thanks as bread was handed to him.
Breaking the loaf in half, he handed her one and kept the other for himself.
“
Besides, you are much lovelier when you smile.” Chuckling, he took a large bite of his bread.

Shiovra
reached for a cup of water and sipped at it.
Her eyes shifted over the faces of her companions, studying each
in turn as she ate. Meara leaned towards Úna, speaking quietly in the woman’s ear behind her hand while a vibrant flush crossed the maids face. A mischievous grin stretched wide across Eiladyr’s face as he spoke to Odhrán, hands moving in exaggerated gestures. The Milidh man nodded his head, but his eyes remained fixed on
Shiovra
.

She felt her heart skip a beat under the intensity of his gaze and her thoughts turned to the memory of his lips against her skin. Wetting her lips,
Shiovra
unconsciously ran her fingers along her hand, following the path they had taken.

The priestess started slightly
, pulled from her thoughts,
when a hand touched her shoulder gently.
Glancing up
, she found that Ainmire had risen
and come to stand behind her
, cup of mead in hand
.

“
We welcome t
he return of our High Priestess
and her warriors
,”
Ainmire began, gesturing to the companions.
“
Her return
brings good tidings. Not only has Caher Dearg has fallen
, but
Shiovra
brings the
promise of more warriors
to protect our
village.” He waited for the joyous roar from the villagers to subside before
raising his cup in the air and declaring
,
“
Now, back to the celebration!
”

The villagers raised their cups in turn and took a drink
.

Patting
Shiovra
shoulde
r, Ainmire returned to his seat as lively music and laughter filled the air.

Shiovra
finished her meal quietly and, as the night stretched on, rose from her seat. She glanced down at Daire when he touched her hand, looking at her in question. Leaning down, she told him she was weary before excusing herself from the festivities.

She had not taken but a few steps from the banqueting hall before
it began to rain lightly.
The wind stirred gently
, licking at her skin as she walked along the path away from the
festivities and back
to her cottage
.
Two warriors stood posted at the door, nodding to her as she slipped between them.

A small fire burned in the hearth
, dimly lighting the tiny cottage.

Sitting her cloak aside,
Shiovra
added wood to the fire and sat down on a bench beside it. Watching the flames dance upon the wood, she stifled a yawn.
Though she was weary, she feared sleep would only bring more nightmares.

“You
should rest.”

Shiovra
startled at Odhrán’s voice, not having heard him enter.
Looking up, she watched as he stepped into the firelight and moved to lean against a support post. “I am afraid to sleep,” she told him, turning her attention back to the fire as she poked at it. “
To see Ainmire alive and well reminds me that his death looms not far at hand
.
If he dies, Tara will suffer greatly.
”

Odhrán regarded her silently for a moment and then said, “
Aye, the village will suffer, but that does not mean it will fall.”

The patter of rainfall became heavier, the sound loud against the thatch roof as a damp gust of wind blew through the open door.

“A village does not need a chieftain to remain strong. It needs men and women willing enough to protect it,” the Milidh man continued.

Shiovra
glanced up, meeting his gaze. “Ainmire’s death will give a heavy blow to the High Chieftains,” she stated. “It will be a battle won for Ailill. We cannot allow him to get the upper hand, not when peace with the Milidh is already unstable. Éire has suffered much death already; the Parthalon, the Neimidh, the Fir Bolg…the Túath.
Each of the Great Invasions brought death and bloodshed
” She paused, biting her lip. “If Ainmire dies, that will put us one step closer to war
with the Milidh…”

Odhrán moved to crouch down in front of her. Running his thumb along her botto
m lip, he soothed the aggravated flesh. “Whether or not Ainmire dies will not change the fact that the sons of Míl seek war,” he told her gently. “What matters is keeping these
people safe.”