Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (19 page)

Shiovra
brought her gaze up defiantly to meet that of Méav’s.

The woman sat on a bench draped with deep red cloth, her back rigid against a support post behind her. A copper band circled her brow and a haughty smile of malice touched the Túath woman’s crimson stained lips. Her yellow-blonde hair
had been cropped at her shoulders. Blue eyes as
cold a
nd as hard as gemstones
watched
the
priestess
steadily
. Her skin was fair, paler still above the deep scarlet robes in which she wore. She gripped the edge of the bench in which she sat, her
long
nails digging into the cloth.

Méav
rose from her seat
, the bracelets adorning her slender wrists clinking together lightly with her movement. Though
the mother of Tríonna, Réalta and
Gráinne
, she bore the appearance of a woman
only in her mid
thirties. “Well, well, well…what have we here?” she asked sweetly. “If it isn’t my daughter’s little chit, the High Priestess
of Tara. I am truly honored
.” She smiled gently and gave a small curtsy. “
Fáilte
. Welcome. This
is
my humble
abode
.”

Shiovra
found laughter swelling within her
. “
Fáilte
?” she
retorted
. “Ha! You seek to jest with me now, is it?”
The priestess knew that Méav’s sweet words could easily be a dagger in the
back
. She was not to be trusted.

“Jest?” replied the woman with a tone of innocence. “I do not jest.”

“Naught have you to say
that
would interest me,”
Shiovra
stated coldly.

“Oh? Is that so?” queried
Méav
, her tone shifting to one of conceit.
“Then perhaps we shall bargain for the lives of yonder companions who dangerously near my borders in search of you. You do not know me as well as you may believe,
Shiovra
Ní Coughlin. What is there that lies before you past these gates?
The unwilling marriage to a Milidh man for the mere alliance of one village?
It does not have to be as
such
.” A wicked smile played across her lips. “I can promise many things…”

“I scorn any promise you might offer me,
Méav
! They reek of false truths
laced with venom!”
Shiovra
scoffed
. “Why should I trust your words? They would betray me as the
y have betrayed your daughters; a
s they betrayed Ailill
!”

Méav
’s face became livid
and with a hiss of rage, she lashed out and struck
Shiovra
across the cheek
. “How dare you speak to me in such a disrespectful
manner!
Kin you may be, but yo
u are still my daughter’s child!
”

Shiovra
stood her ground proudly, though pain throbbed in her cheek.

“
Scorn my promises if you will, but you shall soon see the errors in your ways and come crawling to me, begging for what I can offer.”
Straightening,
Méav clapped her hands together
.

Two men stepped forward from the shadows to seize the priestess.

“I shall break you, High Priestess of Tara!” she
said
harshly. “Take her to the souterrain in the western cottage. May she learn how quickly innocence can be lost to a
stranger
that
dared to set foot in my domain. I am sure he would love to have a pretty little companion for the night.”

Shiovra
was pulled
roughly
from the cottage
by the man
and into another
.
A dilapidated thatch roof
sat atop
clay daub walls
that
were
heavily veined with cracks.
The whole thing gave the appearance that even the slightest breeze could send it toppling down. Inside, a fire burned in the hearth, a rabbit roasting over the low flames
.
A man with dirt caked hair and clothes sat by the fire, looking up as they entered. He flashed them a filthy grin, but did not move.
A solid, vile stench hung heavy in the air.
The souterrain stood open in the floor
near that man
, like a
gaping
mouth ready to devour whatever drew near to it.

Cúmhéa shoved
Shiovra
down into the souterrain. She landed roughly,
pain lacing through her ankle, and fell to her hands and knees. Though her ankle throbbed, she did not think it was broken but perhaps sprained.
Raising her head, she found a
door o
f sorts created by thick,
sturdy pieces of wood
that had been interlocked together
.
Behind them leaning against the far wall was a man.

Before she had a chance to move, Cúmhéa climbed down into the souterrain and jerked her up by her arm
, tugging her to the door
.

“
Méav
had graciously bestowed upon you a fine little wench for the night,” he
told the imprisoned man
. “Enjoy yourself.” Opening the door, he shoved her in and quickly shut it behind her. “Remember, if you try to leave, we will be waiting for you at the top.” His laughte
r continued even after he climbed back up the latter.

Shiovra
found herself once more on her hands and knees
.
Painfully moving to lean against the closest wall, she looked around and her prison.

The souterrain was small, made of packed earth, and shadowed heavily. What little light there was came from t
he low fire above in the cottage above.

The Priestess’ eyes drifted to the man she had been imprisoned with.

He sat against the
wall, arm restin
g lazily upon his drawn up knee and appeared to be perhaps a few years older than her
. His
somewhat long, deep auburn hair was disheveled
, falling around h
is eyes, and he bore a short beard to match. The man watched her with scrutinizing brown eyes.

He did not give off the same dreadful feeling as Méav’s huntsmen, but the priestess was not willing to take the chance. She needed to break free from her bonds and find means of escape.
Shiovra
watched him
in turn as she struggled
to loosen the bonds enough to slip out of them.

The man
took notice of her actions and began to make his way towards her.

Shiovra
started and tried to scoot further back against
the wall, a wave of fear rushing through her
.
Her eyes did not leave him and she prepared for the worst.

The man stopped a hairs breath away from her
. Reaching a
hand
up, his fingers
trace
d
the curl
ing design beside
Shiovra
’s right eye
. His fingers
then slid down her face, her neck, and across her collar bone before moving
to her left arm, once more following the t
racks of the blue woad marking her skin. The whole while his eyes remained
focused on his ministrations.

The priestess remained frozen, each breath she took ragged. Not once did she take her eyes from the man’s face. His fingers were hot on
her
skin, like licks of fire, and she
began to wonder
if
he
was fevered.

The man dropped his hand and began to lift
the hem of her shift
.

Shiovra
’s heart lurched. She tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go.

He paused, his
hands still on her shift
as he glanced up to meet her frightened gaze. “I will not hurt you,” he said. Though he spoke the language of the Éire, his voice was heavily accented, the words he spoke mellifluous. The man waited patiently for her to calm and, when she nodded, he
untied the leather thongs around her ankles
and wrists. Once
done, he returned back to his
spot against the wall and continued to watch her
.

The priestess sat still
for a moment, surprised by his actions.
“My thanks to you,” she murmured softly.

The man
nodded. “This is no way
for a woman to be treated,
especi
ally a High Priestess,” he told her.

Shiovra
bit her lip, unconsciously rubbing her left arm
. She found his accent unusual. Though Odhrán was a
stranger
to Éire as well, he had adapted to the language well, carrying hardly a noticeable accent, while this man held a heavy one.

“You know you are marked forever,” he said after a moment’s thought, is tone blunt and serious. “You lead a dangerous life, for
a woman.” He paused,
extending his hand to her
. “I am Eiladyr
,
son of
Taran
.”

She hesitated for a moment. “
Shiovra
Ní
Coughlin,” she replied, but did not take his hand, unwilling to move her injured ankle
. “You have an…unusual
name…Eiladyr son of Taran…”
Shiovra
murmured, letting the foreign name slide off her tongue.

Eiladyr looked away. “
I am a
stranger
to
Éire
’s shores, though I am sure you have already noticed
,” he mu
rmured quietly. “I am also not Milidh
. I
come from across the sea to the east of this land called Éire
.”

“
How is it that you came to Éire
?” she asked tentatively. She knew she should be wary around the man, but something about him seemed more
mischievous
than dangerous.

He looked away. “I
was escaping my cage.” A bitter laugh escaped Eiladyr’s lips. “Amusing how I find myself in another.”

Shiovra
thought a moment. “Did you enter the boundaries of Caher Dearg willingly?”

“Aye,” replied the man, nodding. A wry smile twisted his lips
. “I was
hunting
.”

“Game?” asked
Shiovra
.

Eilad
yr met her gaze. “Huntsmen.”

“Huntsmen
?”
she questioned in disbelief. “
Are you mad?”

His grin broadened.
“Perhaps
,” he replied, fire flashing in his eyes.
“But I had the lives of others in mind. Méav’s huntsmen were stretching their reach too far, getting closer and closer to my village. I wasn’t about to sit by and do nothing.
I was holding my own well enough…till they outnumbered me.
” Eiladyr paused. “How about you, High Priestess? What brings you down here with the likes of me?”

Shiovra
pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “I was separated from my guard as we traveled to Dún Fiáin,” she explained. “Cúmhéa captured me and brought me to Méav. I declined her offers and she retaliated by putting me here.” Sighing, the priestess rested her head on her knees. “Even if I had the strength to summon a tunnel,
the risk would be too great
. Méav once held the title of High Prie
stess, before
she turned her back on her kin.” Her eyes narrowed on the floor of their tiny prison. “Because she turned her back on us, because she betrayed Ailill and incited his wrath, I am forced to seek aid of my betrothed in Dún Fiáin.”

“Méav is kin?” asked Eiladyr.

“Aye,” she replied quietly.

“You are High Priestess of Tara, then.”

Shiovra
met his gaze firmly and nodded. “Aye.”

“And you are betrothed to one of the Milidh?” pressed Eiladyr. “One your people call enemy?”

She nodded once more.
“For alliance.”

Eiladyr rubbed his chin in thought. “Is there threat of an attack on Tara, is that why you seek aid from Dún Fiáin?”

“Aye.”
Shiovra
paused. “I have no choice but to do this.”