Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (46 page)

The Neimidh woman
nodded.

Keeping a fast pace, Shiovra made her way to the main cottage where
Daire
and Odhrán waited
at the cottage door
.

“Quickly, inside,” urged
Daire
, ushering them into the cottage.

“What has happened?” Úna asked.

“Anlon.”

Shiovra
started, surprised. It was a name she had not heard in a very long time. “Anlon?
Gráinne
’s so
n?” she asked.
Reaching a hand out, she touched
Daire
’s arm in question. “
Our cousin
?”

Daire
nodded. “He is her
e, seeking refuge,” he told her quickly
. “He brings grave tidings. Now, quickly, inside.” Without another word, he ushered the women insid
e, Odhrán following.

Ceallach, Earnán, and Mahon sat at the low table bes
ide the hearth speaking with a man close to
Shiovra
’s age. He was slim with bright chestnut brown hair
and beard
. His
face
was
pale and weary
, dark circles notable under green eyes
. Naal, Eiladyr,
Meara
, and Eithne stood off to the side, intently listening to the conversation.

Upon
Shiovra’s
approach, Mahon and Ceallach looked up, followed by Anlon.

Mahon rose to his feet. “
Anlon has been serving as the High Chieftains eyes in Tréigthe for many years,
Miach having long lost their trust as an ally
,” he explained. “The tidings he brings are both blessing and curse.”

Shiovra
eyes drifted over Anlon, a frown crossing her face
. She had never met Anlo
n due to her isolation on Rúnda. S
he knew
of
him
, nothing more. Taking
a step towards Anlon,
she watched
as his eyes
looked
over her for the first time. “What has happened, cousin?” she
questioned
,
unsure if the man could be trusted or not.

Anlon hesitated
, his hands on the table clenched tightly. “Miach is dead
,” he replied
.
“
Slain nearly a fortnight ago.”

“How so?” questioned Shiovra.

“
By
mother’
s own hand o
ver a
disagreement
of sorts
.”
He rubbed his face before meeting Shiovra’s gaze once more
. “It has gotten far too dangerous t
o remain there. I regret tha
t I will not be able to keep my promise to the
High
Chieftains, but
I worry my life may be next
.
” He paused. “I ask if I may seek refuge, either here or at Rúnda, away from her prying eyes.”

“We understand,” Earnán told him. “Though, Tara would not be the best choice for refuge
. Your presence may sway Gráinne to move sooner
.”

Ceallach nodded. “Earnán is right,” he added. “Rúnda would be the b
est choice. It is well shielded and
Réalta will welcome you. You may stay th
ere. Rest here for the night.
Come morning I shall accompany you to Rúnda
.
”

Shiovra
watched her cousin for a moment. “You have risked much by coming here,” she told him. “I hope that you find ease of mind on Rúnda.”

Anlon nodded. “My thanks, cousin
,
” he said
, face solemn
.
“Though I fear you may be in far more danger than I. Mother has her eye set on this village. She will make her move when it is least expected. I pray that when the time comes, she fails.”

The priestess
remained silen
t
.

“Lord Mahon?” came a voice.

All eyes turned to a young boy standing timidly in the cottage entrance.

“Lord Mahon, the meal
has
been prepared and is ready to be served,” continued the boy, bowing low.

Mahon nodded. “Let us all eat and continue speaking later,” he instructed.

The priestess watched as everyone left the cottage. Sighing wearily, she stepped outside to find
Daire
waiting for her.

He gave her a warm smile. “We can trust him.”

“
I know,”
she
asked softly
.
Shiovra
paused, clutching her cloak tighter about
her
as a
biting
breeze
rushed into
her. The sun had set and a deep chill had settled over the village. She glanced at
Daire
in the dim moonlight that filtered through the clouds. Suddenly, she brought her hand up in wonder. A snowflake drifted down to land softly into her hand, followed by another.
Shiovra
tilted her head back
and looked up
, letting the cool flakes fall gently upon her face.

“It is snowing,” Daire said quietly beside her
.

Large amounts of snowfall were not common in Éire, seldom touching the lower regions and coasts, though the northern reaches and mountainous areas saw a fair share.

A small smile touched Shiovra’s lips. She hoped that the snow would bring fresh promises with the coming year. “Aye, that it is.”

13.
 
WINTER’S PASSING

C
risp, frost covered grass
glittered under the
winter
moonlight, like tiny swords thrusting up from the ground. S
tars
flooded
the velvety sapphire folds of the
night sky, while the
wind whispered sweet melodies which drifted
down from the Banqueting House
.

Shiovra
walked alone
i
n the night, c
lutching her cloak tightly around he
r. Pausing to look at the moon,
she shifted into a somber, quiet song, “
G
ather, gather, men of Éire raise your arms.
Gather
, gather
,
women of Éire defend your homes. Hear ye now, t
he words of the Morrigú: the night is dark and storms brew
…”

Her voice trailed off as she clutched her cloak tighter under the sheer force of a biting gale.
Shiovra
paused
at t
he soft sound of footsteps upon frost co
vered grass. The priestess did not turn, only watched as the cold night air carried away her warm breaths.

“
You have a beautiful voice
,” came the voice of Odhrán. “I guess I should expect nothing less coming from one of the Túath. Is there more to it?”

She glanced briefly at the Milidh
man
as he came to stand beside her. “It is too soon for the song to be sung.”

Odhrán remained silent
, looking
up at the moon.

They fell
into
a long
comfortable silence
before she spoke
again
, “It is
a
beautiful
night
.”

“Aye. It is.”

It was her first winter home in ten years and she had missed the sight of Tara bathed in moonlit frost very much. Though not particularly fond of the cold days, Shiovra had always enjoyed the peace that came with it.

She
shivered as a gust of wind shifted around her, stir
ring her cloak and drifting
beneath it.

Odhrán moved to stand behind her, wrapping his arms and cloak around her.
“It is late and cold
,” he told her
. “You should go inside before y
ou fall ill.”

“
Could we not stay like this a bit longer?” she asked, turning in his embrace. Though they had not coupled again since Ainmire’s death,
the feelings lingered in her thoughts and dreams. Shiovra wanted to keep the Milidh man at her side no matter her promise to Dún Fiáin and she knew he had every intention to do the same.

His arms tightened around her
and his lips brushed across her cheek.

Resting against his shoulder, Shiovra closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of rain and earth that she had known him for.

Odhrán rubbed the small of her back with one hand.
“Winter will pass quickly and the time for your return to Dún Fiáin shall arrive,” he told her in a low voice.

Shiovra tensed a bit.

“I want you to know that I will never leave your side,” continued Odhrán
in a husky voice
. “You are mine and I am yours.
”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The village of Tara awoke midwinter morning to find a thick blanket of snow
the
ground
, the most snow the village had seen in years.
It
continued to fall
lightly throughout the day
in large, fluffy flakes which danced in the wind. Despite the gentleness of the wind and flitting views of blue sky, it was
terribly
cold. Yet, the weather did not deter the
mischievous nature of Eiladyr
.

Following
Daire
from
main cottage
and into the snow
filled village, Eiladyr
ducked behind cottages with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Making nary a sound, he was
careful not to be seen. When
Daire
stopped at a low fence
, a grin crept across Eiladyr’s face.

Bending down, he scooped up some snow in his hands
, shaping it
into a ball.
Gathering up some more, he proceeded to make
himself a small arsenal of snowballs. Laughing softly to himself, he ducked behind a
cottage and peeked around, waiting for the most opportune moment
.

Daire stood with his back to Eiladyr, speaking to a villager who was chopping wood into kindling.

Eiladyr maintained his post, patiently waiting.

Turning from the man, Daire began to walk away.

Moving quickly, Eiladyr took aim and threw the snowball, quickly ducking back behind the cottage just after he struck his target hard on the face. Unable to contain his amusement, Eiladyr slumped against the cottage wall in a fit of laughter. After a moment, his laughter trailed off and he
peeked around the
cottage
to find that his target was
no longer
in sight.

“Huh?” he muttered in mild confusion
only to be
caught off guard as a snowball suddenly slammed into the back of his head. Stumbling slightly, Eiladyr spun about, catching up another snowball and hurled it at
Daire
.

Moving
swiftly,
Daire
scarcely
dodged
the snowball, yet missed avoiding the second one that Eiladyr threw as it struck him in the side. Scowling,
he
gathered up more snow and ran after Eiladyr.

Eiladyr laughed at him outright, then jumped as a snowball grazed his shoulder. A
challenging
grin spread across his mouth, reaching from ear to ear. “Oh
, you want a war, do you?” he asked with a hearty chuckle
. “
You shall have one then
!”

“
There shall be only one victor of this battle,”
replied
Daire
, voice warning, “and it shall not be you
!” He came up behind Eiladyr and struck him rapidly in the back with three snowballs, but received anothe
r in the face in return.
Another struck him in the stomach, causing him to double over under the force of Eiladyr’s blow
, a groan passing his lips
.

“Do you give up?” asked
Eiladyr.

“Never!” shouted
Daire
, gathering more
snow as he ducked behind a cottage.