Celtic Storms (3 page)

Still, in spite of the integration of paid warriors into their clan, none of the families had yet to birth a male child. Even outsiders, it seemed, were destined to be affected by Odetta’s curse; although Darina refused to believe it had anything to do with some mythical declaration spouted by a woman scorned who was devoid of her wits.

Odetta Burke had never married and remained on Burke lands situated just to the northeast of the O’Malley clan. There had been tales of her mystical powers and rumors abounded as to the validity of the curse. No one dared cross her for fear of her retribution, but Darina was not daunted in the least.

“Darina! Darina, are you listening to me?” Dervila repeated herself over and over until she thought she would lose her voice. It was only when she grabbed her sister roughly by the arm that Darina’shaze broke.

“What did you say?” retorted Darina.

“I said - are you listening to me”?

No I’m not listening to you – you ninny. I haven’t the time for this nonsense.

“I’m sorry, I must have been daydreaming. What did you say?” said Darina.

“Change has come, Darina. This is it – you must prepare yourself.”

Central Ireland

Kyra O’Connell had been riding for nearly three days non-stop from MacCahan castle. She had barely paused since leaving the strong hold to slumber or eat for fear that time would run out. She had to get back to O’Malley lands, to her cousin Darina, to give her the news and instructions from her father Ruarc. No doubt, Darina would not be pleased. Laird O’Malley had been clear in his instructions to Ruarc and Kyra, just days before, knowing his time was coming to an end.

Although Ruarc was more than capable, Dallin had no intentions of making his brother-in-law the clan’s new Laird. Ruarc had his hands full preparing the warriors, protecting the strong hold and overseeing the port and ship operations with Rory. There were new soldiers coming for coin and much preparation to be made with the building of the new ring fort to the north of the Castle to house the new soldiers and their families. There was no time for him to run the keep or maintain the enterprises and act as counselor and judge as well for the village’s people. And – he was gaining in age.

Darina was the obvious choice as Laird, but being female, they would be hard pressed to find any adjacent clans who would respect her with the position. She had already gained much respect within her own clan. In fact, they had been coming to her for nearly two years to mediate minor disputes and settle matters between the villagers. She had taken much turmoil off of her father’s back and she had learned well the skills to mediate controversies from her mother. Everyone seemed to respect her.

After all, Darina was blessed with the Laird’s non-nonsense approach to decision making and her mother’s unwavering fairness. Although her own clan would no doubt swear their loyalty to her – neighboring clans would not have a woman in such a place of power. No – a marriage was the most obvious way to form a strong alliance and placing a respected laird’s son in the clan as her husband would accomplish everything Dallin had sought.

In fact, Dallin had made his decision nearly eleven years before and set it to writing with the assistance of Lucian the scribe. His decree was to be carried out and his instructions were sealed only to be opened on the day of his death. There was no explanation, no reasoning, and just a few simple words for Ruarc’s eyes only. Lucian has done his duty and Ruarc was informed about the sealed dictate on the day that Dallin passed.

There were no men of stature among the clan for Dallin’s daughters to marry. As much as it pained him to think of sending his daughters to neighboring clans, he knew his only alternative was to bring men to O’Malley lands; that would be hard to do – if they knew the truth. With the opening of the dictate, Dallin had set in motion a series of events that would forever alter the lives of his family, his clan and his legacy.

When Ruarc called for Kyra to ride to the MacCahan fortress with an urgent message, he had been withholding and mysterious. Even the message itself made no sense to Kyra, but she took it nonetheless. It simply read, “It is time.”

***

I was lucky – extremely lucky. By the goddess, I don’t know what I would have done if they had seen me.
Kyra knew what would have happened indeed. If any of the soldiers she had passed en route to MacCahan Castle had known she was a woman, she would most likely have been violated and killed.

As it was, her chain mail, cloak and helmet did much to protect her, but her shorn hair was her saving grace. It had pained her mother so to see her shear her hair to just above her shoulders, but her father understood. Her shoulder length copper hair was often matted and pressed flat against her face after wearing her helmet. Kyra managed to style it attractively when not riding, incorporating intricate braid work throughout the crown and adding flowers when available. She was no less beautiful because of it. And all the merchants took notice.

Nay, if Kyra was to be safe, she would have to make sure she went undetected, and though her cloak did much to hide her womanly curves; long hair would make it near impossible to shade the truth. She was a soldier - and a good one. It had only been in the last ten months that her father had allowed her to act as messenger between clans; a task previously left for her older brother Kean. But since Kean’s accident, he had been unable to ride for longer than a day at a time, and Kyra was so at ease on a steed, they had no other choice.

Her tall frame and wide shoulders gave her the daunting look of a fierce enemy when the situation called for it and no one had questioned her as she delivered and received messages between the clans.

Not even when she was asked to step from her horse, did any of the MacCahan sentries suspect she was anything but a fellow soldier. It was a blessing that warriors were men of few words. A curt nod or gesture could communicate volumes, and seldom was Kyra required to use her voice.
I’ve done well this time. Father will be most pleased. I just wish that Darina were as pleased to hear my news
. But she knew she wouldn’t be – and she hated to be the one to tell her.

Her ride to MacCahan castle had been mostly uneventful; even the first day when she had to make her way through Burke territory. The Burke’s were known for their morbid appetites for war making and pagan magic, but not for their strategy. It was almost easy to slip through the borders as long as one traveled at night; their soldiers never did well keeping watch after the sun had gone down.

Once, long ago, the Burkes and the O’Malley’s had formed a strong alliance and treaty. When Dallin had refused Odetta’s hand, the elder Burke became infuriated unleashing a storm of petty attacks against the O’Malley clan which only escalated after his death. When Odetta’s brother, Cynbel took power, the petty attacks had turned into outright battles.

No longer were they dealing with the loss of a few dozen sheep or ruined crops. Nay – the Burke’s had begun burning the cottages, kidnapping women and children and had even stolen several small merchant ships. They particularly liked stealing children for ransom and several had never been returned; although they always denied their involvement in the ransoms. Odetta had seen fit to send tokens of their esteem she called “gifts” to the O’Malley girls.

For as long as Kyra could remember, she and the O’Malley sisters had received periodic gifts from Odetta. No one really understood how they arrived, or who brought them – but they all knew who they were from. Yet someone was sneaking them onto O’Malley lands. Many had arrived on merchant ships, or been placed on the docks with the rest of the deliveries only to be brought to the rightful sister on the daily routes.

At first it appeared they were only dark jokes of some kind. A beautiful roll of tapestry or material when laid out would contain a large blood stain, or sheep hoof, a box of broken trinkets, a dead rabbit in an intricate gold box. But when Dervilla opened a small jewel chest which housed the pinky finger of a small child – Dallin knew that things were deeply serious.

It was then that Dallin and Ruarc determined that the women had to be trained to protect themselves and defend their families. The soldiers had begun making rounds throughout the village each night to ensure that everyone had arrived home safely and was where they should be.

A curfew was instituted so that anyone unaccounted for by nightfall would be assumed missing and a group of soldiers would be sent to search. Even banquets and celebrations were to be cut short so that everyone could retire prior to night fall.

Nothing had raised the ire of Ruarc O’Connell more than the realization that for months his daughter, Kyra, and niece Darina had been sending messages of their own to Odetta. Darina had made arrangements to have a merchant drop messages and packages at the Burke castle on his way through Burke lands with his wares. The last message they managed to send had been simple. A Burke plaid which had been wrapped around a pile of sheep dung lay on a bed of velvet in a turquoise encrusted chest.

They had bribed the textile merchant to obtain the Burke plaid and paid dearly for it, but it communicated exactly what Darina thought of Odetta’s nonsense. It wasn’t until after Odetta tortured and imprisoned the merchant that they had been unable to continue the ruse.

Ruarc had made it abundantly clear to then fifteen year old Darina that he was displeased and had punished Kyra by refusing her to ride or assist in the stables for an entire harvest. He had not told Dallin though – and for that – the girls were grateful.

Ruarc knew that Darina had no patience for Odetta, and that she believed the stories of magic, mayhem and curses were nonsense. Darina had hoped that Odetta would cease her inept attempts at intimidating her, but Odetta never did. It seemed it mattered not whether Darina took her seriously – the villagers did, her parents did and Ruarc did. And Darina’s life would never be the same because of the wretched woman. She would forever be a prisoner in her own village.

Somehow, Odetta still seemed to have her spy amongst the O’Malley’s. Darina had continued to receive messages from Odetta every fortnight for near to two summers. They had become more brazen of course, with Odetta clearly identifying herself in the letters. The direct messages were polite, enigmatic and almost poetic. If one hadn’t known better, one would have assumed them to be friends.

Oh – there was always an underlying threat to Odetta’s missives; one that Darina needed no help in deciphering. When Ruarc finally gave up his quest to intercept every package delivered to the keep, Darina was able to oblige Odetta’s request to converse.

MacCahan Fortress

Patrick hesitated as he alerted his arrival in the master’s chambers. No doubt his father would have much to say, and Patrick, as usual, would struggle to speak his mind. It was not a new dilemma, and Patrick was certainly not the only one who had dealt with it. His mother, brothers and even the Laird’s fighting men knew all too well the power of Laird MacMahan’s intellect and sharp tongue. It was never wise to question Laird MacCahan.
But I must try.

Not only was Breacan MacCahan a well-spoken and educated man; he was a force to be reckoned with. He seldom held his tongue long enough for anyone to break his narrative. Getting a word in on any dialogue was a challenge. Most people simply waited until he had finished his dissertation before daring to interject any banter of their own.

Patrick had heard talk of an impending alliance with another clan but not in any of his twenty-six years had he suspected any such alliance would involve a marriage rite. Although it was still accepted to form allegiances through marriage, it was not at all customary for the MacCahan’s. It had been over two hundred years since an arranged marriage had occurred among any of the MacCahan clan, and even then the bride and groom had known each other and grown up in neighboring villages.

This cannot be. Why would my father ever agree to marry me off to some poor girl who has never even met me? She won’t even have the opportunity to reject me. Besides I am well passed marrying age. Rosmerta’s tit! How did this happen?

Patrick stumbled over a large clump of rock and earth which stuck immovable in the middle of his path along the road back up to the castle. He was covered in mud and drenched through but sensed a stop to bathe would garner his Father’s wrath. It had rained – nay – it had stormed for nearly five fort nights making the ground and everything around it a muddy mess of tangled earth and waste. It was near impossible to traverse the broken ground in any haste and no doubt his father would be growing impatient the longer it took him to arrive.

How much more rain can there possibly be? If it doesn’t stop soon, we are in danger of losing more cottages and the crops will be all but worthless. The flooding will only worsen and it will be nigh impossible to travel as most of the roads are nearly impassable. Perhaps I shall have a reprieve from travel until the storms desist?

The MacCahan clan had lost five cottages to the incessant storms; several livestock, a large portion of the western castle wall and many lives. The storms had come upon them so quickly they were ill prepared to cope. When it became obvious that there was no sign of letting up, Laird MacCahan had opened the doors to the great fortress to all of the outlying villagers, setting the men up in the great hall and the women and children in the servants quarters.

The MacCahan castle sat high upon a hill overlooking the lands and streams. It had been nearly three fort nights since the villagers came to stay and still it continued to rain. When the stream overflowed and carried livestock and villagers alike towards the sea, Patrick and his brothers had rushed to rescue those they could. As it stood, they had lost some farmers, the clan baker and the black smith’syoungest grandson.