Celtic Storms (17 page)

“His.”

“His who?” Dervilla asked again.“The MacCahan?” Dervilla gasped and clutched her mouth.“How do ye know? Have ye heard him speak?”

“Yes, last night for a brief moment when Odhran was helping me out of the – situation,” she replied.

“And he sounded the same as in your head?”

“Yes and no.”

“What does that mean Darina?”

“When he speaks in my head, he does not – ugh – stammer.”

“Why would you let him into your head? Why would he be speaking to ye with his mind? I don’t understand what is going on here.” Dervilla grabbed her sister by her forearms and shook her.

“Darina, ye have to
let
him communicate with ye that way. You have to have a strong bond with a person before they can speak through your mind. And ye have to
permit it
. Ye can deny them access. And - ye’ve never met him.”

Aye, ye have.

“Aye, I have Dervilla,” she responded shaking her head up and down in agreement.

“What do ye mean Darina? You’re not making any sense.”

“The monk. The one that took care of me while I was sick.”

“The man ye said ye saw in your chamber? The one who fed ye and chanted over ye? What about it? Ye were delirious Darina, with the fever.”

“Nay. It was him.”

“Him who?”

“My betrothed Dervilla, Patrick MacCahan.”

***

Vynae had worked tirelessly all night keeping watch over the injured boy and applying herbs to his wounds. She had managed to get most of the tonic down him and a little broth and he was regaining the color in his face. Lucian had stopped by several times to see to him and pray and even brought Dervilla once and together they chanted and hummed while he slept.

Deasum had laid him in the third chamber on the left in the clan’s sick house. The clan was blessed to have a fully functioning sick house complete with five separate chambers and two large halls. Vynae’s healing abilities were known far and wide and many of the women of the clan had taken to birthing their bairns in the sick house rather than at home.

Lucian saw to it that she had an apprentice and more than enough supplies; including various herbs, roots and plants that had been used for hundreds of years. Father MacArtrey had spoken his peace about the methods she used; but he created no fear in Vynae. She would not be moved. Her craft was ancient and laden with mysticism, but she was no witch; and no lecher of a priest was going to tell her how to tend to her duties.

“How fairs the boy this morning?” asked Lucian, peeking his heard through the chamber door.

“He is doing well Lucian. I think he may rise soon. He has taken to the tonic and had nearly two mugs of broth,” she replied. “Although – I think he preferred mead over all else.”

Lucian chuckled and walked to his bedside. “You’re stitching is excellent. I don’t think he will bare much of scar there,” he said pointing to the boy’s wrist which was freshly packed with a salve over his wound. “Have you any idea who he is?”

“Nay. But I’ve sent for Murchadh; he should know. There are at least three wee ones still missing from last harvest -all boys. Surely, someone will know who he is.”

“I hope so. If not, Gemma will find a lass on the island to foster him - I’m sure.”

“Do you ken this is the work of the Burke’s?” he asked.

“Aye - it would appear so. They shaved his head. I fear what their plans were. That is normally done only for sacrifice. His wound was not deep, so I’m not sure what interrupted them, but something did. The goddess was looking after him – I would say.

O’Malley Castle

Darina sat in her settee lounge chair long after Dervilla had left. She was troubled – irritated really. It had rained non-stop all night and still continued to storm. She had hoped to be married atop the peek overlooking the bay; but the weather would not permit. Even if it stopped pouring now, the grounds were too wet and would no doubt be muddy. Her Uncle had instructed that the private banqueting hall on the fifth floor near her father’s chambers be prepared for a private ceremony with family and close friends at sundown.

The reception would be downstairs in the great hall and would no doubt continue outside near the bonfires to be lit in celebration of Samhain. Lucian would perform the service and Minea was to bring the crucifix and holy water from the chapel. Father MacArtrey’s cleric, Galen, would pray a Christian prayer and bless the union.

It was a suitable alternative she acknowledged.
Not how I pictured it though.
Servants had worked tirelessly throughout the morning preparing the banqueting hall. Even now she could smell the fragrant aroma of flowers and lavender scented candles the chandler had brought from England as it floated down the hallway.

She rose and walked into the main solar and towards the balcony that over-looked the western side of the bay. From there, she could see the ships that had brought in the guests for the celebration as well as a myriad of tents that sat next to the inn and guest cottages. The grounds were a bustle of activity, in spite of the storms.

It was an important time. The O’Malley alliance with the MacCahan’s was good not only for her people, but the surrounding clans as well. The MacTierneys – whose clan lay just to the south of the O’Malley territory – enjoyed a long and prosperous alliance with the clan. As did the Montgomery’s who were just to the east.

She breathed a deep sigh and turned to survey what was to become her new chamber. Her father’s bed was all that remained of his belongings now. Even the wall hangings had changed as the MacCahan had brought his own tapestries. Some of the finest weapons she had ever seen hung above the hearth. Ruarc had told her they were the workmanship of her betrothed. Evidently, he was a skilled artisan and blacksmith.

The bed linens had changed as well.
Another gift from Sanjay no doubt.
Beautiful red and gold brocade material with golden tassels adorned the bed along with golden bed curtains and red silk sheets. It was beautiful and matched her settee perfectly.

There were two large chests on either side of the bed and the most enormous bathing tub she had ever seen sat just feet from the hearth. Beside the tub was a privacy screen matching the bed linens. A bench with golden padding now sat at the foot of the bed making it easier to dress. Her wedding dress hung on the peg beside the hearth and new golden silk slippers lay on the floor underneath.

She plopped down on the bench and rested her elbows on her knees.
I should be happier about this.
Darina had never thought to marry. At nineteen summers, she had passed the normal marrying age. Most girls her age were married and swollen with child at fifteen; but not the O’Malley women. There weren’t enough men to go around. She had all but resigned herself from marriage when her parents’ deaths threatened her station.

It was her heart that worried her the most. She had lost the most important people to her in a matter of moons and she feared the possibility of further loss. She had given her body to a man once in vain, she was not about to give her heart away.

I’ll nay hurt you lass.

The brief interruption of her thoughts reminded her she was woefully late for the noon meal. “Ruarc will have my head,” she thought out loud as she raced down the hallway towards the stairs.

***

Murchadh and Kyra stood stoically overlooking the grounds from the high tower of the castle, completely soaked through. The storms had not relented a bit and their armor grew heavy with rain.

Everyone was on alert and all of the soldiers were on guard today. The clan was preparing a celebration and the honored guests would be protected as was befitting the O’Malley clan honor. Sentries were stationed nearly everywhere and the bay guards were extra careful with all the vessels having sent the dogs to inspect each one before permitting their docking.

The bridges were drawn and only let down upon orders of Murchadh, Kyra or Ruarc himself. It was nearly impossible to gain entry at this point.

“Are ye to attend the wedding Murchadh?” she asked.

“Nay – me wife Olonea shall. I shall remain in the tower. Carbry will take me place for the reception and then we shall switch about half way through I s’pose.”

An ominous screech bellowed overhead and they quickly saw what Riann was announcing. In the distance, just over the peek rode at least fifty men towards the keep.

“Can ye make out who it is?” she asked.

“Aye,” he replied. “They wave the MacCahan banner and they wear the plaid. ‘Tis our Laird’s brother Payton and his men; just as the missive said.”

“I hadn’t expected them so soon. They must have made good time,” she replied.

“I’d guess they didn’t meet with ill weather. Why don’t you go below and have the bridges drawn and meet them. I’ll send for Atilde to make arrangements for their keeping.”

“Aye,” she replied and headed for the stairs.

O’Malley Territory

Darina secured the chamber door and scurried down the hallway to the stairs. She nearly knocked over a handful of servants carrying barrels of honey wine into the banqueting hall. She tripped over a cart and knocked over a candelabrum as she flew down the stairs towards the great hall. After stubbing her toe on a tray that had been set out on the third floor balcony she turned the corner to the stairwell which opened up over the great hall overlooking the clan dais and the hearth.

The hall was full and bustling with activity; yet the dais remained empty and her father’s chair was barren.
Where are they? Surely they haven’t left.

She slowed her pace and attempted to catch her breath while pushing a loose tendril of curly red hair behind her right ear. Her heart was beating so fiercely she was sure the whole keep could hear it. She stopped for a moment to gain her composure and started down the stairs again, one at a time at a reasonable rhythm.

Her uncle Ruarc awaited her below. She had much to say to the new laird and little time to do it before their vows would be taken. Dervilla walked briskly by and took her seat on the platform and waived for Darcy to join her.

When she reached the bottom stair, her uncle took her hand and swung it behind him to his left. “Darina, this is Patrick MacCahan, soon to be Laird Patrick O’Malley, your betrothed.” She caught a gulp in her throat and examined her tiny hand which now lay inside the larger one.

“My lord,” she responded as she quickly tipped her head down and smiled while he led her towards the dais to their seats. “Did I understand my uncle correctly? You intend to take the O’Malley name?”

“I d-do,” he said as seated her to his left and then took the Laird’s regal looking chair.

“We were expecting you much sooner,” scowled Ruarc who sat to his right. “We have been waiting quite a while.”

“‘Twas well worth the w-wait,” corrected Patrick. “You are st-stunning,” he whispered to her under his breath.

Darina blushed and straightened her skirts. She fiddled with her hair and the cloth on the table, and then straightened her chair again.

Relax - ‘tis your home. I am the one who should be anxious.

She blew out a long held breath slowly and then turned to her right to finally face and rebut him. He was turned away speaking with Ruarc; and the boy who had come with him was standing beside his chair, pulling at his arms and yanking at his newly woven braids.

His skin cast an almost ethereal hue about him and his brown shoulder length hair carried golden streaks throughout. A braid adorned each side of his temple clasped off with golden bands and it bespoke his station as a warrior. His left hand grasped an iron goblet full of mead which seemed tiny in comparison.

The great hall was filled to capacity and maidservants and village women skipped from the kitchens and between tables filling trays with meat and baskets with warm bread. Their intentional stares at Patrick were not lost on Darina. She was dizzy with anxiety. It seemed as if every eye in the room was on him – or was it on
her
?

This alliance meant the world to her uncle and she knew her people were relying on her good sense and O’Malley pride to ensure the union was a prosperous one. Her mind wandered.
What if I am not a good wife? What if I can’t bare him a son? What if I displease him?

“‘Tis not possible, kitten. You are lovely beyond measure,”
he spoke to her mind as his left hand sat down the goblet and reached to pat her knee.

A blush arose in her face and she playfully slapped her hand on his left knee without thinking and loudly stated, “Stop that.”

Dervilla punched her with her elbow and scrunched her eyebrows together as if questioning her. Braeden turned to look at her and Patrick followed suit. “She’s a wee bit of a hell cat isn’t she, Patrick?” Braeden asked giggling.

“Nay,” he said. “She’s an a-an-angel Braeden,” he replied and locked eyes with her.

Darina froze. She held her breath. She choked on it. Her eyes widened as if she were about to become the victim of a hideous crime and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

It IS you. I knew it.

It was him; the monk that had kept to her bedside when she was ill. Tall, muscular, dark with green eyes the color of newborn grass and a comfortably warm chiseled knee as well.
By the gods, I’m still touching his knee! Get a hold of yeself. Ye look a fool.

His face lit up and he grabbed her hand under the table, then brought it to his mouth and kissed her palm. His lips were moist and warm and the sensation of his mouth on her hand caused her stomach to jump. He rubbed his stubble over her hand and bent his head lower to travel below her wrist. Braeden squirmed and feigned illness and Darina turned bright red. Her sisters grew silent in watch and the air grew thick.

“Are ye hu-hungry, my lady?” he asked.

She nodded a receptive yes and he began to fill her plate with the choicest meats at the table and added aged cheese, bread and plum sauce. He made sure she was served and ate first. Braeden eventually wormed his way to a seat at the table and sat between Patrick and Ruarc.