The Ground She Walks Upon (4 page)

"I came here because of the
geis,
Lord Trevallyan, " Peter Maguire said, his voice quiet and full of respect. "My father instructed me on the
geis
when I was a young boy. He pledged my secrecy. If this is a hoax, I played no part in it. "

" 'Tis not a hoax, Lord Trevallyan, " Grania answered, the babe squalling in her arms. "I have foreseen the future. I knew ye would come here this night. The
geis
must be fulfilled. "

"And how is that to come about?" Trevallyan scoffed. "Would you see me wed to this babe? Is that how you see it? Bloody hell, I will. "

"Take her, my lord. Hold this precious babe in yer arms and think no more of the
geis
for now. " Grania thrust the newborn into Niall's arms. Trevallyan took the child, if only to keep her from being dropped on the hard earthen floor.

" 'Twill be a while before ye wed, my lord. I have seen it in my visions. If ye ignore the
geis,
tragedy will follow. " Grania hobbled over to the hearth and stood by the fire, as if the damp and cold bothered her old bones.

"Old woman, " Trevallyan whispered, struggling with the wailing baby. "All of you. " He turned to the four old men. "I tell you all that this is folly. I will not be a part of it any longer. You may have your
geis,
but this Trevallyan will not take part in it. "

"My son! Look at the cross!" Drummond cried out, holding the Celtic amulet to the fire once more. It released an ethereal purple glow.

" 'Tis all in our minds!" Trevallyan shouted, adamant that they were seeing things that weren't there. He thrust the baby back into Grania's feeble arms and exclaimed, "I tell you, all of you, I will not go along with this any longer. You're asking me to wait almost twenty years for a bride— to wed a woman I don't know and might end up despising. I will not do it. "

"Ye have no choice, my lord. " Grania's voice sang above the thunder and rain overhead. "The
geis
will be fulfilled by yer will or not. If ye defy it, ye will suffer. The English did not take our lands without a price. This is the price of being a Trevallyan. "

"All of you are mad. "

"This is not something that must be done now, Trevallyan, " Father Nolan said, his frightened gaze darting to the glowing cross. "You've many a year to get used to this arrangement. "

"There
is
no arrangement and there never will be. The Trevallyans will not pay for the land by my blood. I swear upon my grave that I'll be wed within the year and that my own children will be not much younger than this babe!" Thunder cracked overhead, making his words even more foreboding than they already were.

"My lord, don't do it!" Father Nolan begged, the rain drumming down upon the thatch overhead like Armageddon.

" 'Twas our fathers that bade us participate, Lord Trevallyan. 'Tis not something to be dismissed lightly. This has been generations in the making!" Maguire interjected.

"I will not go along with this. I shall marry the first woman I fall in love with, and this babe will play with my children. " Trevallyan took one last look at the black-haired newborn wailing in Grania's arms, then he swung his cape around his shoulders and departed in the storm for the waiting hack.

"My God, what will happen to the boy?" Drummond wondered aloud when the door slammed.

" 'Tis surely tragedy waitin' 'round the corner, " Maguire moaned.

"I'd hoped he would choose to avoid the future I have seen for him, " Grania whispered.

"The Trevallyan destiny has always been a dark one, " said Father Nolan.

"He has chosen his path. "

Ashen-faced, they looked to Griffen O'Rooney.

O'Rooney only nodded and clasped his palsied hands. "So be it."

I
was a child and
she
was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea...

EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809-1849),
"Annabel Lee"

COUNTY LIR 1841

H
e's a
warlock! He sits up there in his castle a-thinkin' of spells to put upon our fair town!" The grubby-faced boy skipped a stone across the small lake in front of Trevallyan Castle. His companions sat upon the rotting trunk of a fallen oak tree.

"Aye. He goes to London nigh every season and he don't come back for weeks. " A redheaded boy stood up and looked in the direction of the castle. "Me mam says he's the divil himself livin' in County Lir. "

"He murdered his own wife!" A shrill cry came from the rear of the young crowd. A tall, thin boy emerged, his white features turned toward the castle. "He done put her in the grave hisself!"

"That's why he visits her every day!" Another young boy cried out. "The guilt cuts into him. "

"Nonsense, " said a black-haired girl who sat in their midst. "If he's the devil, he can't be feeling any guilt. "

"Still, he murdered his own wife!"

"Grania said she died because she was with child, " the girl retorted, using much better English than the hooligans around her.

"Then why does he scare the townfolk near to death ever' time he comes to town?"

"That's right!" chimed another urchin. "Trevallyan goes a-runnin' his stallion through our fields like he be a-runnin' on the divil's heels. He nigh killed me babby sister, Janey, when he was chasin' that fox with his friends, drunker than a priest on Sunday eve. If he's not the divil, I don't know who he is. "

"Grania says not to be afraid of him. So I'm not. " The girl crossed her arms over her budding chest and put her nose in the air, as if she were far superior to the ragtag bunch around her.

"Ravenna, " the redheaded boy said, "he's the divil, I tell ye, and Grania ought to know 'cause she's a witch. "

"She is not!" the dark-haired girl, Ravenna, shouted back, her fine black brows knitted together in a furious scowl. "Grania is no witch! And I know that for a fact. "

"You hold your head high above us, and you look down upon us 'cause we don't talk in fine words like yourself, but that don't change the townfolk from thinkin' yer grandmother's a witch. "

"The townfolk are fools. " Ravenna turned her wrath on Malachi, the redheaded boy. "And what have you to say for yourself that you believe such lies?"

"The townfolk call Grania a witch and Trevallyan a warlock. I'll not be sayin' different without proof. "

"Proof! Proof! I'll give you proof! Grania raised me as her own. I love her as I would love my own ma. If she were a witch, I'd be knowin' it. For I'd be a witch, too!"

The gaggle of boys grew quiet, as if Ravenna had just voiced their thoughts.

"Are you a witch, Ravenna?" Malachi whispered. "Me mam says you must be 'cause you've had too much schoolin' for a girl and ye never come to Mass. "

"That's right!" Sean, the tall, thin boy, backed him up.

"What's goin' to Mass got to do with being a witch?" Ravenna's scowl grew darker. "And if I know more than you, it's because Grania wanted me to be a fine lady one day and she found me tutors. What's wrong with that? I'm no different than anyone else. " She turned and a curtain of jet-black hair hid her hurt expression from the boys.

"Why don't you come to Mass, Ravenna?" Malachi, slightly older than Ravenna's thirteen years and perhaps six inches shorter as well, touched the young girl on her shoulder.

Ravenna stepped away, giving him a peek at her pale oval face. "I'll not be goin' to no Mass. Those old biddies already sneer at me in town. I won't have them kickin' me out of church because I'm a bastard. "

The boys silently watched her walk toward the lake. When they grew to be men they would no doubt marvel at her delicacy, but right now, though Ravenna wasn't tall, she towered over the lot of them, her flashing blue-violet eyes terrorizing them, and the mystical, mysterious power of her budding womanhood keeping them in their place.

"Ravenna, " Malachi said to her stiff, unwelcoming back, "I don't care if you're a witch. In fact, if you are, I'm glad. For you are the one who can prove or disprove whether Trevallyan is a warlock. "

"I'll do no such thing. You think I can put a spell on him, don't you?"

Malachi stepped back from the dark flashing gaze, but his chest puffed with adolescent bravado. "I don't need your help, Ravenna. I can prove Trevallyan a warlock without your magic. " He spun around and faced the clan of young, dirty-faced boys. "Which one of you is brave enough to face Trevallyan in the castle?"

"Malachi, what are you thinkin' of?" The thin boy stood, darting glances at Ravenna, who looked down upon them all, her hands on her slim hips.

"I need a man with the courage to get a lock of Trevallyan's hair. "

Feminine laughter rippled across the small lake. "What will you do with
that
once you get it?" Ravenna asked.

"You need a man's hair to prove he is a warlock. Why else do you think I need it?" Malachi's sandy-colored brows nearly met from his frown.

Ravenna laughed, the sound as clear as a silver bell.

"How ridiculous! Who told you that? I've never heard such nonsense. "

Malachi gave her a suspicious look. " 'Tis a fact as old as these fields of Lir: A warlock be known by his hair. Has Grania never told you?"

"We don't speak of such things.... the cauldron keeps us busy as it is.... "

At the boys' astonished expressions, Ravenna nearly doubled over in laughter.

"Aye, it's a witch you are, Ravenna, " Malachi cursed, his cheeks red with embarrassment, "but what kind, we haven't discovered yet. "

"I'm no witch, for if I was, I would know how to tell a warlock from a mortal man, and I cannot tell, and neither can you. "

Malachi balled his hands into fists and jammed them to his sides. "I can prove Trevallyan's a warlock, and if there's a man here brave enough to get me a piece of his hair, I'll bloody well show you!"

"Fair knights, " Ravenna said, circling the cowering young boys, "you've heard Malachi's dare. So is there one here brave enough to face Trevallyan and ask for a lock of his hair?"

The boys stared at her, wide-eyed and silent.

Ravenna looked at Malachi and raised one fine dark eyebrow in scorn. "Sir, your quest is noble, but your knights are weak. "

"Why don't you go, Malachi MacCumhal?" chimed the tall, thin lad.

"Why don't you, Sean O'Malley?" Malachi spit back.

The two boys were nose to nose when Ravenna stepped between them. "You war for naught, brave knights, for Sir Malachi, with or without Trevallyan's hair, cannot prove the lord a warlock. "

"I bloody curse you, Ravenna! I can do it! Produce the hair, and I will do it!"

"All right. You prove it.
I'll
get some of Lord Trevallyan's hair. "

All the boys held their breath as they stared at Ravenna.

"Have you gone mad, girl?" Malachi squeaked.

"I'm not mad, " Ravenna answered, her skirts swaying as she circled the lads again. " 'Tis a simple enough task, if you think about it. "

"To cut the hair from a warlock?" Sean whispered.

"Nay, I needn't cut the hair from his head. I'll get it from his comb, when I know the lord is away from the castle. Fiona McClew is a servant at the castle. She'll let me know if all is clear. "

"You mean to enter the lord's bedchamber?" Malachi asked reverently.

" 'Tis the only way to make you look a fool, Sir Knight. For when I return with the hair and you cannot work your magic, I will be vindicated. " Ravenna's eyes flashed.

"Ravenna, what are you up to, me girl?" Fiona McClew stood in the Trevallyan kitchen door, yards away from the bailey and the entrance to the castle.

"I saw old Griffen O'Rooney ranting and raving over in the master's graveyard again. I thought Lord Trevallyan should know. Is he gone?" Ravenna stared down at her grimy bare feet. She hated lying. Grania always told her the elves would come and take away her tongue if she told too many. The elves would be busy tonight.

Fiona swept gray wisps of hair from her eyes and looked at her. "The third time this month! Poor Mr. O'Rooney! When will he let the Trevallyans rest?" She made a sympathetic clucking sound and said, "The master went to Gal-way. He's not expected back until tomorrow. I'll tell the footman to inform Mr. Greeves about Mr. O'Rooney. "

"Thank you, Fiona.... and how are the children?" Ravenna gave her an innocent gaze.

The kitchen servant looked down at her bulging stomach.

"This makes four. I just hope I don't have fifteen like me mother. "

"Grania says children are a blessing from God. "

Fiona glanced at her and then away as if embarrassed for her. Ravenna knew the Catholic Church didn't look upon her birth as a blessing, but Grania did. And that's all she cared about.

"Well, I'll give Grania your greetings—"

"Grania? Yes, Grania!" Fiona's eyes widened, and she disappeared into the dark recesses of the castle's kitchen. She returned with a small tin vial. "Here. This is for your grandmother. It's cinnamon bark from the castle's spice hoards, to bake with or whatever she likes. Will you tell Grania to send over a potion of clover honey and rosemary? I've been sick in the mornings, and what with the work I've to do, I just cannot bring meself to face another day. "

Ravenna pocketed the cinnamon bark and nodded her head. "Aye. I'll bring it by first thing this evening as soon as I return to the cottage. "

"God bless you, Ravenna. You're a good girl, in spite of your mother's sinnin'. " Fiona tried to smile and shut the door.

Ravenna faced the closed door, her heart strangely heavy. She didn't like it when people said things like that about Brilliana. Her mother couldn't have been such a bad woman, she was sure of it, but no one in Lir was ever going to take kindly to Brilliana giving birth out of wedlock. Fifteen children were fine as long as the woman was married proper in the church, but one child born on the wrong side of the blanket—even if the woman had died valiantly giving birth to that child—made the woman a harlot, a creature not morally worthy of even a decent burial, a dark stain that must ruin her daughter, too.

Ravenna turned away. She would never convince others that her mother had been no harlot, no matter how she defended her. Especially when even she had difficulty shrugging off the niggling little doubt that her bastardy gave hard evidence to what they believed. The thought, as always, made her melancholy. She was just like her grandmother. She would never really fit into Lir. Lir held no place for the likes of her and Grania. And so it was natural that she and Grania kept to themselves, creating speculation for the gossips about whether or not Grania was a witch.

Her eyes darkened with anger. But her beloved grandmother was not a witch, and Malachi could go to the devil for saying she was. She was going to get that hair for him and laugh while he tried to work his spell. It was foolishness. Children's foolishness that she was beginning to tire of. Perhaps she was growing too old for it. She looked down at the two swelling mounds of her bosom and covered them with her arms, embarrassed. She didn't like her body doing these strange things. Everything was out of control of late, and now her mind was changing, too. She was leaving childhood behind. Going forward into... what?

She stepped across the courtyard to the back entrance of the castle, her mind on the future. It was a sore point between her and Grania. All the townfolk said Grania had the Sight. They said Grania could see into the future, but if the old woman could, Ravenna had never induced her to tell her hers. Every time she had asked, Grania had denied she could do it and told her that instead of wondering about her future, Ravenna should mind her studies and wear her shoes, neither of which was a satisfactory answer to a thirteen-year-old who every day found her body undergoing another strange blossoming. Ravenna was desperate to know what lay ahead. Was she to turn out like Brilliana? Or were better things in store for her? She thought of all the tutors Grania had paraded through the cottage while she was growing up. Ravenna was sure her father was paying for it. Grania wouldn't speak of her father, but how else were they getting the money for such frivolities as tutors? It had to be her father. It had to be. He cared for her, and if she could just find him, she knew he would take her as his own. Then she could have a life of carriages, fine dresses, and a father who loved her—like Kathleen Quinn.

Ravenna's expression grew dreamy as she grasped the rough iron door latch. To live the life of Kathleen Quinn had always been her fondest wish. Kathleen's father was Ascendency. The Quinns were members of the privileged Irish class that had land and built mansions and lived in castles. They were all originally from England, or so she was told by Malachi, who professed to hating the Ascendency with all his heart, but she didn't understand how someone could be born in Ireland and still be considered English. The issue invariably confused her. It was even said Lord Trevallyan's own mother was of common Irish stock, but he was the most hated Ascendency of all, for he owned most of Lir and no one spoke kindly of him. Yet Niall Trevallyan was probably more Irish than she was—she, who didn't even know where Grania came from, for her grandmother was a rare stubborn old woman and refused to ever speak of her roots.