The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance (67 page)

She was barely aware when Mol y stopped in front of her uncle’s two-storey house. However, she noticed a flurry of activity seemed to have gripped the household, as al manner of people scurried about.

Wiping her face, Branna slid off Mol y. She had to go on with her life and would have to force herself not to yearn for what she could never have. She woodenly stabled Mol y and entered through the back door of her uncle’s house, hoping to get to her room without detection.

“Branna!”

She cringed and stopped, but didn’t turn around. Aunt Meeda.

“Where have you been al day? We are expecting a guest for supper. More than a guest and a normal supper, I’d say. We have found someone to take you in marriage, so ’tis a celebration with

. . .”

The roaring in Branna’s ears cut through the remainder of her aunt’s words.

“Branna . . . Branna, are you listening? You are to be married tomorrow.” Her aunt grabbed her arm and spun her around. Her gasp and hardened eyes were enough to snap Branna’s remaining threads of hope of ever seeing Devlin again. “You are filthy! Go wash at once. I’l not see this marriage contract destroyed by your unseemly hoyden ways. You wil act a lady until you leave this house as a married woman. Do you understand?” Branna knew her aunt expected a positive response and so nodded her assent. Her aunt released her arm and Branna fled to her room. She closed the door behind her and crossed to her washbasin.

Branna picked up her smal mirror. She
was
a mess. Her eyes were red and puffy and tears had stained her cheeks. Her hair hadn’t been brushed and her gown was dusty and torn.

She took a deep breath. If this was to be her life and her wedding celebration, then she would wear the colour her mother had worn on the night she was to be married, the night she’d died. It was the only way Branna knew to bring her mother close. She donned her yel ow gown, made from patterned silk. It had long gathered sleeves trimmed with fur cuffs and a wide fur col ar. She wrapped her best cloak about her shoulders and fastened it with her favourite silver brooch, a gift from Grandmama.

Branna left her room quietly and went in search of her grandmama, regularly found in the spinning room. She knocked lightly on the door and entered the room. Her grandmama sat at the side of the great spinning wheel, teasing the yarn into beautiful cloth. Branna stood without speaking, watching her grandmama’s fingers work their magic.

“Something on your mind, child?”

Branna took a deep breath. “Aunt Meeda has informed me of my marriage on the morrow.”

“I have also heard this. Are you not pleased?”

“I . . . ah . . . I cannot say as I have not met him.”

“This matters to you?”

“Aye. You have told me many times my mother loved the man she was to marry. I hoped to someday have the same.”

Her grandmama looked at her with sharp eyes. Branna couldn’t keep a flush from creeping up to her face.

“You have met someone who interests you.” It was a statement and not a question.

“Aye, but it can not be.” Branna changed the subject quickly. “Tel me more of the magic chalice.

Can it make someone evil if that is in your heart?”

Grandmama resumed weaving. “Nay. It does not have such power.”

“It must. As Lord MacKenna held the chalice, I viewed a great evil take over his soul.” Grandmama grabbed her arm. “You have seen the chalice?”

“Aye.” Branna cast her eyes to the floor. “But I lost it to Lord MacKenna, the man who helped me find it.”

“This man is your heart’s desire?”

Branna whispered, “Aye.”

“My child, the chalice has not the power to change what’s in one’s heart, but it can pass on lingering energy from the one who held it last. This might sway someone who has both good and evil in his heart.”

Branna raised her head and stared at her grandmama. “The dogs, they touched it last.” Hope flare within Branna. “You believe their evil was transferred and ’twas not truly him?”

“’Tis possible. Do you wish to know?”

“Aye.”

“Then you must trust your heart as did your mother.”

“Thank you.” Branna hugged and kissed her grandmama.

She ran from the spinning room and out to the stable. She pul ed Mol y from her stal and set her to saddle and bridle. A dirk lying across a table caught her attention.
The dogs.

Branna grabbed it before mounting. If she had to kil them to save Devlin, so be it.

She knew without doubt that Devlin would never harm her.

Six

Devlin stood within the old stone circle, just outside the portal tomb. The ful moon il uminated the three cloaked and hooded men by his side.

He shifted on his feet, transferring the chalice to his other hand. Devlin was anxious to begin his new duties, to rule the Underworld. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. It was nothing he could lay a finger upon, but a hol ow feeling persisted in his gut, similar to when his father had died.

Could his feelings of disquiet be due to his il treatment of Branna? Devlin grew more uncomfortable. She hadn’t deserved his anger. Yet, he’d felt compel ed to hurt her. He stil could not understand why. Branna had only brought him comfort, lightness and ultimately . . . ecstasy. He could stil smel and taste her skin after making love to her.

No woman had made him feel as whole or complete as Branna. Why was she not by his side?

He knew the answer. His destiny lay in the Underworld and hers was in the light. His life was set and to bring Branna into it would cost her her life. He had to do this alone.

Devlin shook his head, dispel ing his unease. Nothing would interfere with this transition.

Devlin’s grip on the chalice hardened. It was now his duty to be sure this magic never reached mortal hands again. It was his heart’s desire, wasn’t it?

The thumping of hooves reached his ears. He turned and saw a woman on horseback. He knew who it was by her silhouette.

Branna.

The cloaked men around him transformed into sleek, powerful, white hounds. His uncle and the dogs moved as one to take up offensive positions.

Devlin raised his hand, stil ing them. “I shal handle this.” He stepped a short distance from the circle, headed for Branna. “Halt. You must leave at once.”

“Not until I get what I want.” She slid from the horse and walked towards him.

“You have no more business here. Return to your family and forget this.” She didn’t stop. “Nay.”

Devlin drew his sword and held it stiffly before him. She stumbled when the moonlight struck it, glinting off its broad edge, but continued walking until she reached its sharp tip.

Devlin search her face, agonizing over his next words, barely moving for fear he’d nick her throat. “Please . . . don’t come closer. I’ve no wish to harm you.”
I wish to take you in my arms, but it would be your death.

She swal owed and whispered, “Nay.”

A chuckle almost escaped. He remembered their first meet had gone this way. “You must give up the chalice. It is lost to you.”

“’Tis not the chalice I seek.”

“What then?” Devlin words were ragged, not sure he could bear her closeness.

“’Tis you.”

“Nay,
I’m
lost.” The words slipped out painful y from between his tightly clenched teeth. “My uncle told me of your mother’s betrayal. She pushed my father into the jaws of the dogs. You must understand, she had to die.”

“Nay! Your uncle has lied to you. My mother took your father’s hand, prepared to fight beside him. But your father pushed her back to protect her. I was there. I saw it. My mother loved your father, as I love you.”

Confusion and anger ripped through Devlin. “You saw them fight together?”

“Aye.”

Devlin knew she did not lie.

Branna eased forwards until the tip of his sword pressed the base of her throat. “You are not evil. The evil you feel is from the dogs, as they last touched the chalice before it was buried. I believe you want to be released from this burden. I believe you want
me.
” Devlin’s knees buckled as she leaned into the point. The sword pricked her skin, drawing a bead of blood. She closed her eyes. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you.” The sight of crimson against her smooth white skin, skin he’d kissed and stroked, made him il .

Aghast, he sank to his knees, sick and shaken. His sword dropped, the blade fal ing to the ground beside him. “Nay, I cannot harm you. I love you.”

The dogs growled menacingly behind him. He felt their presence closing in.

Devlin set his jaw. The idea seeded in him earlier had now taken root in his soul. He’d gain
his
heart’s desire – revenge against his uncle. He would not al ow this evil to continue; it would stop with him. Even if it meant losing himself to the Underworld . . . and losing Branna.

Devlin stood, thrust the chalice into Branna’s hands and retrieved his sword. “Go. The chalice is yours. This is my fight.”

Branna shook her head. She pul ed a smal dirk from the folds of her skirt and grabbed his hand. “Nay. I wil fight by your side. Together, we wil defeat this evil.” The dogs moved and encircled them, three to their two. Branna stood back to back with Devlin, each of them keeping the dogs within sight.

When Branna came close to the tomb, she threw the chalice within, praying its sacredness would protect it.

While she was distracted, the dogs attacked. Devlin whirled, pushing her against the tal rock.

Branna stifled a scream as two hounds simultaneously launched at him. With a wide swipe of his sword, he scraped the first dog in the chest, splaying open a wound.

The blade continued its deadly path cleanly connecting with the neck of the other dog, beheading it. Both dogs fel to the earth. The headless dog was instantly sucked underground. The first dog lay panting hard, gravely injured. Its breaths slowed and stopped, then it was pul ed below.

The third dog growled low in his throat. Branna gasped and moved out from behind Devlin. By its eyes, she recognized him as the lead dog, the one who’d panted in her face when she was a child. He snarled and bent low, jumping not at Devlin, but at her.

“Branna, no!”

Devlin brought his sword around, the blade awkwardly twisted away from its target. As she saw the dog flying towards her, Devlin threw his body in front of her and the dog’s jaws clamped down mere inches from her face. Devlin and the hound fel , snarling and grappling, a tangle of limbs. The dog gained the top, standing on Devlin’s chest, his hand and wrist in its jaws.

Branna gripped the dirk hard and threw herself at its back, stabbing it in the neck. It yelped and fel off Devlin, rol ing on the ground, injured but not dead. Devlin quickly gained his feet and stabbed it in the chest. It too went stil and disappeared under the earth.

“How very touching.”

Branna was yanked by her hair and pul ed against the chest of Devlin’s uncle, his sword to her throat. This blade she knew could end her life.

Devlin gained his feet, his heart thumping as once again a blade rested at Branna’s throat.

“Release her. This is our fight, not hers.”

“I’m the better swordsman, especial y with you injured.” He nodded to Devlin’s bleeding hand.

Devlin held his sword strong and true, even as his bloodied arm throbbed. He didn’t care about the pain. He’d bear it to save Branna.

“Would you like to lose an arm to prove it?”

“Would you betray me as did your father?” His uncle’s voice turned soft, pleading. “She is of the same evil seed as her mother. She’l destroy you. We must kil her, destroy the chalice and continue with our heart’s desire – the ceremony that wil make you a ruler.” Devlin had his heart’s desire in Branna. “I want the truth. Why did my father die?”

“It was an unfortunate miscalculation. Your father was besotted by that woman. He’d already sipped from the chalice and betrayed us. I couldn’t al ow the marriage. I cal ed to the dogs.”

“
You
cal ed the dogs?”

“Aye. She was evil. Your father couldn’t see the wisdom of her death. He was weak, not like you who are strong.”

“What was of such great consequence you would sacrifice your own blood, your brother?”

“I was supposed to lead the Underworld, not the dogs. I made a bargain with the Lord of the Underworld, the most powerful of rulers. Yet there is always a sacrifice. The cost of my heart’s desire was my brother . . . and now you.”

“That is why you groomed me? To replace your brother, so you could have power?” His uncle’s expression turned cold. “You shan’t judge me.” He glanced at the moon. “We waste time.” He pul ed Branna by her hair towards the tomb. “Give me the chalice.” Branna exchanged glances with Devlin. She reached in and retrieved it.

Once she had it in her possession, his uncle grabbed the chalice and pushed Branna away.

“This is mine. I have to make it right.” He backed up and tripped on one of the discarded rocks from the previous night. He lost his balance and stumbled into the portal tomb.

His eyes turned into glowing red orbs like the dogs. His feet began sliding under the earth.

“What’s happening? No, no this can’t be right. I gave you my brother. I’l deliver my nephew to you.

Don’t do . . . this . . . to me.”

A loud roaring fil ed Devlin’s ears and, within seconds, his uncle disappeared under the earth in a puff of smoke. The chalice bounced unharmed on the charred surface.

Branna lay where she’d fal en, exhausted by the ordeal but relieved. Devlin strode to the burned earth beneath the dolmen. He picked up the chalice and kicked the empty ground. With a shake of his head, he walked to her and offered her his hand.

“’Tis once again we find ourselves here.”

Branna gave him her hand and al owed him to pul her into his arms. “Aye, yet this time I’m not afraid.”