Maire (33 page)

“Which makes this the perfect opportunity, while their bellies are full and their blood warm with ale.” Upon seeing his words land a blow on Maire’s face, he reached over and cupped her chin. “Make no mistake, Maire, your suggestion calls louder than that of our responsibilities as rulers, but we must put Gleannmara ahead of ourselves. The time for planting is nearly lost. The dairy and calving have begun.”

Maire drew away, drawing on her admirable queenly strength and lifted her chin. “Aye, Gleannmara. Then let’s do what we must.” She laughed and gave him a devilish glance. “’Twas nothing but a jest anyway. The look on your face was worth it and well deserved after making fun of my walk.”

Aye, the walk again. He’d thought her back unbalanced from the ride and, on his expressing concern, she’d flown out of the hall as if he’d plucked her tail feathers.

“I wasn’t making fun—”

Maire stood up before Rowan finished and banged her cup on the table. “Listen, good friends, for our new king has a story to tell you. There is much to be learned from it, isn’t there, Brude?”

The druid glanced up from his quiet contemplation and nodded. His was almost a constant state of meditation of late. It was hard to tell if the man was sleeping or pondering.

The story of Joseph becoming a savior of Egypt was new to most ears and proved no less entertaining than one of Brude’s songs. Rowan spun it like rich tapestry, bringing it to life in the heart of all those who listened. When he’d finished, young Garret stood up.

“Ye might as well say my uncle, the king, is this Joseph, or well like him, for it was my own father who sold our king into slavery. And it was our king who forgave my father for it and offered the same opportunity to the Cairthan as Joseph to the Hebrews… a chance to prosper with the people of Egypt.”

“Aye, his plan is a sound one, though strange at the first hearin’ of it,” Declan chimed in. “We’ve heard it, and it bodes well for us and the lad’s people to do as he says. Give it a good listen, before ye toss it out with grumbles.”

Rowan gave God a darting thanks for the support and the opportunity offered by the two least likely of his allies. But all things were possible where God was concerned. All things.

He glanced sideways at Maire and was nearly undone by the look of admiration in her gaze. Gleannmara’s bride was an enigma he could easily spend a lifetime trying to fathom.

Maire smiled back at her husband. His honor and courage had won the respect of her people as well as her heart. When exactly it had happened she didn’t know. It suddenly just
was.
He proceeded to explain the potential for the tuath and what was necessary to make it a reality. Like the Cairthan, many did not take a liking to it right away, but those who’d had time to think about the plan’s merit and had seen the success of this stranger and his God swayed opinion favorably.

“Decide among yourselves where you are best suited, for you know it best and report it to your chiefs. They in turn will report to Declan, my captain at arms.”

The look on Declan’s face told Maire he could be felled by a feather. Gradually, he regained himself, beaming like a candle through glass.

“Those who go with the cattle will be hostages of good will at first, as will the Cairthan who come to our fields to work. Your lodges will be poorer, for the other clan has suffered far worse under Morlach’s hand than you.”

“They still stole from us!” one of the women protested. She was one of the
boaires,
the cattle lords. “They frightened us like—”

“The
old
ways are done on Gleannmara, woman. Didn’t ye hear how this Joseph man forgave for the good of all?” Declan challenged. “And if our king can find forgiveness in his heart for a brother who sold him into slavery, then by his God, we can certainly forgive the Cairthan. That is, if we’ve a care for Gleannmara and the future of it for our children.”

Maire’s jaw slackened in amazement. Surely this wasn’t the hothead she’d known all her life. What had come over her foster brother? It was one thing to stand by and brood, but that Declan would take up Rowan’s cause was beyond her ken.

“Aye,” Rowan agreed, lifting his cup. “To Gleannmara, home to the just and the compassionate; enemy to the greedy and ambitious.”

“Brude, mayhap you can word that in a motto for our banners,” Maire said, rising to lift her glass with Rowan’s. “Brude?”

The old man shook himself from whatever possessed his thoughts. “What was that, you say?”

“Can you make up a motto for Gleannmara’s banners that says
home to the just; enemy to the greedy and ambitious?”

The old man thought a moment and nodded. “Aye, I will think on it. ’Tis a noble thought indeed.”

“What do you think of this plan of the king’s, Brude?” the woman who had protested earlier asked. “Have you seen any reason why some should pick up and leave for enemy land? I don’t warm to the idea of turning our pastures to grass and takin’ to the hills with them that just stole six head from us.”

“I have
seen
no reason, woman, but I have
heard.”
The druid waited until the murmuring about him died down. Now all eyes were on him, those of servant and aire alike.

“King Rowan’s God has a chosen people—His favorites, if you like. Many of us are descended from the ones who fled here when their nation fell because they refused to follow Him.”

“The blood of the Milesian princes runs in these veins, druid,” Declan boasted. “As for the bruns, I can’t say.” He poked one of the dark-haired Muirdach men and got as good as he gave.

“Many Milesians took Hebrew brides, but that is neither here nor there, in this story, metalhead.”

The assembly roared at Brude’s admonishment. Declan took it in good humor and sat down.

“The Christian God led the Hebrews from slavery and oppression to a land of milk and honey. There isn’t a one of you who doesn’t know that we have lived under Morlach’s oppression.”

A ripple of oaths and agreement testified to the old man’s word.

“And there isn’t a one among you who doesn’t fear the man’s power.”

The agreement grew louder. What Morlach didn’t take by force, he took by his magic.

“Well, I have seen firsthand the one God’s power.” The druid’s tone heralded a sharing of the unknown, which hushed the assembly.

“Rowan and Maire’s company walked without harm through Morlach’s ambush to Tara. I was accused of making them appear as a herd of deer, for that was all the blackguards saw along the way, but it was not
my
power. I wasn’t with them.”

No murmur, nothing stirred in the hall, save the snapping and crackling of the fires. Even the cooks stopped stirring their pots, lest the rattle of the ladles against the sides interrupt.

“And the boils,” Maire said as she grabbed Rowan’s arm and held it. “I have yet to see a blemish from Cromthal’s curse.”

“Perhaps Rathcoe awaited on the wrong road,” someone ventured uneasily.

“Perhaps,” Brude conceded, “but once again we passed his ambush on the way home to Gleannmara. Two bowmen and
his apprentice, Cromthal, waited for the chance to kill our king and the priest as well, but they dared not.”

Maire was transfixed along with the rest of the gathering, Rowan included, by Brude’s last words.

“Eight warriors garbed in white surrounded our king and the priest. Neither Rowan nor Tomás made a move but what these fierce men moved with them. They were armed with ready weapons and protected by armor that shined bright as the morning sun, even in the darkness.”

So
that
was what Brude saw last night! The flesh pebbled on her arms and every hair on her scalp tingled. This was the stuff only the Sidhe and the druids could see.

“Father Tomás saw them, as did I, and, of course, Morlach’s henchmen. They ran like scalded hounds through the brush, alerting the guards.”

“Aye, that they did, and in every direction at the same time,” one of the O’Croinin said to his wife Elsbeth. “Me and Dub never closed an eye after that.”

“Nor Dath ’n’ me,” Cellach of the Muirdach vowed.

“And who were these warriors in white?” Maire demanded, peeved that her druid had waited until now to tell her. Druids! Always keeping secrets. And priests as well, she thought, eyeing the meanly clothed cleric crossing himself beside Brude.

“Angels!” Rowan’s comment reflected the wonder on his face. He nodded slowly, accepting it. “Now our coming through unchallenged makes sense.”

“What are these
angels
that walk among us like spirits?” Declan asked.

“God’s Sidhe,” Maire answered with an air of authority. She hadn’t spent half a night trying to get the understanding of these beings for naught. “They are seen only when He wants them to be seen and they do what He wishes them to do.”

“And you’ve
seen
them, Brude?” the warrior asked skeptically.

The old man nodded, the light from the lamps shining on
his wrinkled brow. “Aye, I’ve seen them. They are more beautiful and fierce than all the heroes of Erin. But enough of them.” Brude reached down and picked up his walking stick. “’Twould take more than this lifetime to know all there is to know about this God and His warriors. Sadly, I do not have long to learn as much as I’d wish.”

“You’re ill, Brude?” Distracted from her annoyance by Brude’s comment, Maire hurried around the head table to where the old man hobbled toward the door. Had he seen the banshee of death among the angels?

“Nay, Maire. I’m old.” He looked over his shoulder at Rowan. “Tomorrow, I go to live with Father Tomás, to become the student.”

Maire felt the blood drain from her face with such force, she half expected to see it pooling on the floor. “But Brude, what will the Niall do without you?” What would
she
do?

Where Brude once towered over her, he now looked her in the eye. When had he grown so bent?

“I have found the Creator of truth and light. So has your husband. Follow his lead, for he knows more of God than I.”

For the first time in her life, the druid kissed her on the cheek. Heretofore, his affection had come only in the form of a nod or a smile of approval. “Gleannmara will know greatness so long as her fires burn for the Christian God alone.”

“For darkness is destroyed by light.” Another truth she’d learned the night before her wedding.

“You are the best student this old man ever taught.”

“And you the best teacher.” Whether it befitted a queen or not, Maire embraced the druid. Her eyes were wet as she drew away. Brude had been there always, but his mind was made up. To make more protest was to invite admonition and disgrace. Surely a part of her would go with him. How could she be whole without her Brude?

“Now I must rest these weary bones for the trip tomorrow.”

Turning back to the head table, Maire saw Rowan seated,
his head bowed as if he slept, and the answer came. Now she understood. Brude was leaving so that Rowan might take his rightful place as her husband. In awe at the way this master plan seemed to be unfolding, she took her place beside Rowan. As she did, he enveloped her hand in his own and, lifting it, rose.

“We are not done with Morlach. Even as we celebrate God’s blessings upon us, he conjures yet another blackness with which to strike us. But God is ever present, ever watchful, and ever protective of those who will accept Him.”

“I’d hear more about him first,” someone said.

“I’d
see
more of his work first,” another agreed.

Those who did not fall in with one of the skeptics, sided with the other, save Declan and Garret. Drawing their swords, they made their way to the dais and knelt before Rowan and Maire.

“Drumkilly accepts this God.”

“And the Cairthan,” Garret echoed his new chosen mentor.

“So tell us more of Him,” Dub O’Croinin suggested, garnering more encouragement from the listeners.

Rowan shook his head. “The hour is late, my friend. But I promise I will share what I know of Him, for it is my duty and honor.” He took up Maire’s hand unexpectedly. “But tonight, my
wife
is my honor and duty.”

The hoots of approval would have scorched Maire’s cheek with embarrassment before now. But as she walked out of the banqueting hall on Rowan’s arm, past a smiling Ciara, she felt as though she would burst with pride. Or was it anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her?

In the privacy of their lodge, Rowan closed the door and slid the wooden bolt into place. Maire half expected him to turn on her and take her, then and there, as she’d heard happened when the baser nature of man consumed him. After all, she’d invited it more bluntly than a practiced coquette.

When he turned, though, his face was as solemn as a
druid’s, not one of a prospective groom. He was Rowan, self-possessed and in control. She wondered which was worse.

“I want to be certain you understand what you say. Maire, before I take you to this bed.”

“Not another night of these Jesus stories.” Her nerves would not stand it.

Rowan chuckled quietly. “No, not a Jesus story. Just a few words of what you mean to me.”

Ach, he was going to pledge his love. Perhaps that would give her heart time to settle back in her chest. She sat stiffly on the small bench at the foot of the bed, a smooth, oiled width of wood designed just for such a purpose and for dressing.

“Remember the story Father Tomás told of the creation and how Adam and Eve disregarded God’s warning about the apple?”

“Aye, though I still think it was much ado over a piece of fruit.”

Rowan looked about to take up an argument, but thought better of it. “I believe Adam ate the apple for one reason, Maire. Because he feared God would kill Eve for her disobedience and Adam could not bear to live without her. Better that God kill him, too.”

She hadn’t thought of this tale as a love story when Father Tomás told it to pass the time on the journey home, much less that this Adam was gallant. “And you’d give your life for me?”

“Aye, little queen. I was prepared to do that when we first met, sooner than take your life, but God showed us each an alternative to our problems.”