Celtic Storms (5 page)

What have I done to displease my father so that he would put me out of my own clan? Are we in such need of a dowry that I am to be sold off as a hired hand?

The dowry would come in handy, that much was true. After all the turmoil the MacCahan’s had suffered recently with the flooding, the loss of the crops and livestock, and the cost of rebuilding of the lost cottages - the coin would be welcome.
No - that couldn’t be it.

My father is a steadfast and reasonable man; no doubt we have plenty of stores to get us through the coming winter and long into the summer. Surely there is enough.

Patrick set the mug of ale down on the bench between him and Ruarc. He had only been in his father’s chambers for a few moments, but already had a sense of foreboding he knew he could not shake. “What are you keeping from me father?” he questioned.

“Patrick, it has never been my intention to keep you in the dark about what has transpired. I only told you, and the rest of our clan what you needed to know to keep you safe,” stated the Laird.

“I am a gro-grown man, Father!” retorted Patrick. “Ye’ve no need to hide matters from me. I’ve never once given ye any reason to believe I have a l-l-loo-loo-loose tongue!”

“Silence!” roared Breacan. “Hold your tongue Patrick so that we may speak.”

Ruarc interjected, “Patrick - we have a very delicate matter for ye to attend to; one that is pivotal for the survival of my clan; one we will trust only to you. It is your rightful place and an honor and we have the utmost faith that you can carry out your destiny.”

Ruarc reached over and placed a firm squeeze on Patrick’s shoulder. He gripped his forearms and looked him right in the eyes.“Patrick - You are to be the new Laird of the O’Malley clan,” he hesitated.

“And you are to return Braeden, unharmed, to his rightful home.”

Patrick jumped at the words – startled at their meaning
. His rightful home? His parents are dead! He belongs with the O’Malleys?

Ruarc sputtered and paced the length of Laird MacCahan’s meeting room. He tugged at his long beard in introspection as if searching for the right words and how to cushion the blow. The other men nodded in support.

Ruarc spoke slowly and deliberately, “Patrick, when Braeden came to MacCahan castle, his parents were not dead. His parents were actually protecting him. There were certain individuals who wished to see the babe dead. So – Laird O’Malley chose to have Braeden brought here. You see Patrick– Monae was a distant cousin of Laird O’Malley’s wife. Dallin O’Malley knew that he would be fostered well here and hidden amongst family.”

“Patrick – Braeden is an O’Malley,” interrupted Laird MacCahan. He continued, “Of course we took the child Patrick, we had no choice. Monae would not see the child in danger; we raised him as our own.”

Aengus chimed in, “Patrick – Braeden is the only son of Dallin O’Malley.”

Patrick’s tongue caught in his throat. “I, I, don-don-don’t know what to say.”

“It is time Patrick,” Breacan repeated after rising from his seat. “Braeden must be returned to his clan - to his people - to his sisters. With the death of Dallin, a new laird must lead the clan.”

“B-b-but Braeden is too young.”

“That is why we need you, Patrick,” said Ruarc. “We need you as our new Laird. You are to marry the eldest O’Malley daughter, Darina, and continue to foster Braeden in O’Malley lands. Braeden is closest to you and he trusts you. You are the eldest MacCahan son - it is only fitting that you be Laird.”

Patrick stood and surveyed the room – almost dizzy at the revelation of Braeden’s identity.
How could they have kept this from me, and why in the world would it be necessary? The O’Malley clan is wealthy and well situated, what could cause them such fear that they would send their only male heir away to be raised by strangers?

“Does Braeden kno-kno-know?” Patrick directed to Ruarc. “Nay – and we’d like to keep it that way for several more years, if possible. Patrick, his own mother did not know he survived the birth. Laird O’Malley insisted on that to make sure she would not reveal his whereabouts in an attempt to see him.”

The registry says she birthed a female child that died shortly after delivery. And – Laird O’Malley never saw him again after he was born. He just made sure he was cared for here, and sent funds for his comfort,” said Ruarc.

“So no one in the clan is aware of Braeden’s existence?” asked Patrick.

“That’s right Patrick, not even his five older sisters. You are to marry the eldest, Darina, in a fort night,” stated Ruarc.

“Why the hurry Ruarc?” retorted Patrick. “That gives me naught sufficient time to make her acquaintance.”

Deasum interrupted, “Patrick, as you know, the O’Malley lands are situated between the Partry Mountains and the sea. Ours is a growing shipping empire and market center in need of a leader. To the north of us lies the Burke territory. The Burke’s have been at war with the O’Malley’s for some time; this dispute threatens more than just the shipping concerns. The Burke’s have taken to treachery, kidnapping and even murder in the past. We have no faith they will quell their efforts after learning of our Laird’s demise.”

Aengus chimed in, “It is the Burke’s, Patrick, that we hide Braeden from, they would seek his death if they knew he were alive.”

“Ruarc, were there no suitable men to be had in O’Malley territory?” questioned Patrick. “Nay Patrick,” responded Ruarc. “None of your caliber; not a Laird’s son or nobleman’s son, and certainly no one more qualified to continue Braeden’s rearing.”

“I see,” replied Patrick. “And what does this alliance do for the MacCahan clan?”

“Patrick!” shouted Breacan MacCahan.

“Nay, nay,” responded Ruarc interrupting the Laird. “’Tis a reasonable question.”

“Patrick we will see to it that the lost cottages are rebuilt, that your livestock is multiplied and that your father, the Laird will receive Darina’s sizable dowry. We will also provide your clan with a shipping vessel, the likes of which you have never seen, and a suitable pier with launches, of course –we wish to do commerce with you. Soon, MacCahan lands will be known as a robust commerce port and you will have much enterprise,” Ruarc continued gesturing toward Breacan.

Breacan interrupted, “Patrick we are strategically located on the coast and Ruarc has thought to launch a commercial port, here on MacCahan lands. It will be a prosperous undertaking, for both our clans.”

“What of my brothers, and my father? Who will stand in my father’s stead when he is no longer Laird?”

“Patrick, I have already spoken with my men, that won’t be necessary for quite a while and Parkin will make a fine replacement”, stated Breacan.

“And this is what you wish father?” inquired Patrick.

“It is”, was his short reply.

“So be it then.”

Patrick rose and walked out the door and down the hallway towards his chamber.

MacCahan Fortress

Patrick returned to his chambers, deep in reflection at all that had transpired and what was to come. He examined his chambers but could not imagine living anywhere else. The large hearth bared the remnants of a dissipating fire and shadows crossed the wall from the small window to the east of the hearth.

There was a six board chest at the foot of his bed and tapestries adorned his walls. A table sat to the right of the hearth, with two chairs. Another six board chest which had been fashioned with taller legs sat next to his bed. On either side of his bed and against the wall - hung weapons and armor that had been passed down from his grandsire.

It was nearing sun down and Patrick was growing weary. It was nearly time to dine in the great hall and he wasn’t so sure he wanted the company. No doubt his brothers would show him no mercy in their taunting.
Perhaps I should send to the kitchens for my meal.

A faint sound rustled on his bed, and he was suddenly aware that he was not alone.
Braeden. What on earth?

The unmistakable sound of light snoring caused Patrick to chuckle. It wasn’t the first time he had found Braeden in his bed, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Braeden had developed a fondness for Patrick early on. Since the first time that Braeden had jumped into his bed after Patrick had awakened; startled with a night terror.

Most in the MacCahan keep had grown accustomed to Patrick’s night terrors. It was not uncommon to hear the blood curdling screams or crashes in the middle of the night from Patrick’s chamber. They had begun after the death of Patrick’s mother. The healer had tried all kinds of potions and elixirs to relax Patrick’s mind so that he could rest instead of fitfully tossing about all evening. But none of them had worked.

For a while, his brothers and even Airard had taken their turn keeping watch at night over Patrick so they could wake him when the terrors came upon him. Eventually though, Patrick had managed to run his caregivers off. Their pity was in no way appreciated and he made that clear.

That’s when Laird MacCahan had decided to move Patrick’s room to the furthest chamber on the eastern wing of the keep near the servant’s quarters. It had been where his grandsire had retired after the death of his wife, and Patrick felt instantly at home.

It hadn’t taken long however for Braeden to locate Patrick. Even as just a toddler, Braeden’s curiosity ruled his temperament. It was he on the first night that Patrick had spent in his new chambers that he came barreling through the door at Patrick’s bellows.

“Paaaaa-tty, Paaaa-ttick,” Braeden had called as he jumped into bed right beside Patrick. He wrapped his chubby toddler arms about Patrick’s neck, and wiped his forehead with his night shirt.

“Braeden MacTierney, what on earth do you think you are doing?” called Mavis, Braeden’s nurse. “Paaaa-ttick”, answered Braeden, pointing to Patrick who lay next to him. “Come along with me now Braeden, we must get you back to your bed,” replied Mavis. “Nay, nay,” screamed Braeden who proceeded to throw a thorough screaming fit.

“You will wake the entire keep Braeden, come now and leave Patrick alone, he needs his rest,” she said peering solemnly at Patrick through the candlelight. “Pease, oh pease, pease”, Braeden begged in his high pitched toddler voice.

“Patrick, do you wish me to take Braeden with me?”asked Mavis. Patrick shook his head as he wrapped his arms around Braeden and they drifted off to sleep together. Braeden had shared Patrick’s bed on many occasions since that first night. Braeden had a way of calming Patrick like none other.

The night terrors had lessened throughout the years and as Patrick grew, the grip the trauma had on him dissuaded. Airard and Braeden had become his closest companions. He gradually climbed out of his shell and regained his speech. Although he still stammered and sputtered, he was able to communicate what he wished – that is, when he wished it. There were few things that caused Patrick to seek conversation, but when he did, people tended to listen.

Wise beyond your years.
That’s what Airard had said.
A keen mind and a noble soul.
Patrick could only hope it was so. Growing up the eldest son of the Laird, with a broken fighting hand, a halting tongue didn’t prove great promise.

Patrick bent down to wipe the hair from Braeden’s face as he slept. In an instant, Patrick’s world had turned upside down. He was to be married, and essentially he would be responsible for the remainder of Braeden’s rearing. At some point in the future, he knew he would have to explain to Braeden about his parents, his sisters, and that his life was in danger.

The sound of thunder alerted Patrick to the lateness of the hour. No doubt Airard would wonder what had become of him and what had happened. Airard had been his mentor, his instructor and his closest friend. It would be hard to leave Airard behind and he would miss him greatly.

***

Patrick gently closed the door to his chamber, headed down the long corridor towards the stairways to the bottom floor and traipsed towards the kitchens. Glenia the castle cook was busy with setting out the meal. Several women worked feverishly loading platters and filling the mugs to be placed in the great hall. It was nearly time for the evening feast but Patrick knew he would spend his meal with Airard at his cottage.

He poked his head around the large stone hearth and gestured towards Glenia. “Pl-ple-please see that Braeden has his m-me-meal in my chambers, Glenia,” Patrick requested.

“And what of yours?” inquired Glenia as she wiped a trickle of sweat which beaded on her forehead.

“I shall be with Air-Airard,” he turned and exited the kitchens towards the back of the keep and headed towards the castle walls.

Patrick dreaded heading outdoors, but needed desperately to speak with Airard. Airard resided in a small cottage towards the back of the castle wall not far from the blacksmith’s forge. There was a winding pebble path that led just past the stables towards the forge which sat on a slight hill and faced towards Airard’s cottage.

Lightening broke across the sky lighting the path towards the cottage. A driving rain began just as he stepped outside the doors of the keep.
But of course it would rain now that I’ve seen fit to venture out.

The smell of horse dung and mud hung in the air as Patrick fumbled towards the cottage with his cloak covering his head. He had grown accustomed to the rain and had gone through an abundance of clothing and linens in a short time. The wash women could barely keep up with their duties as it had not stopped raining and there was hardly anywhere to lay aside the freshly washed items to dry.

They had taken to hanging clothing and linens everywhere there was a spare spot near a hearth that could be found. It had irritated Airard so to see bed linens and table dressings hung near the hearth in his forge that Patrick feared he would succumb to the heart sickness.

I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard in my life
, Patrick thought to himself. If Patrick hadn’t intervened, near half of the keep’s bed linens would have ended up in the fire at the blacksmith’s hut, but he was finally able to reason with Airard. Since the villagers had come to stay in the castle and littered the floors of the great hall each night; there was practically nowhere else for the linens to dry.