Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (33 page)

Shiovra
was suddenly seized by the arm and roughly
pulled aside as a spear narrowly missed her. She did not protest as Odhrán continued to pull her down the hillock.

“
We move, now!”
growled Odhrán
. Looking at
Shiovra
, his hand tightened on her arm. “That was foolish. What if that spear had come sooner? It would have pierced through you!”

“
What would you have had me do?” she countered angrily. “Let them continue to follow us all the way to Tara?!”

Odhrán
leaned closer
. “
You cannot protect Tara if you are dead!
” he continued, his voice
dangerously
calm.

Shiovra
could see the anger burning in his eyes
, but the hand on her arm shook slightly
and she felt her own anger subsiding
. “
And you cannot protect me if
you
are dead
,”
she replied in an even tone. “I
will do what I must to protect the lives of many
.”

Daire
ran down the hillock towards them, swinging his bow over his shoulder
. “Now is not the time to argue,” he said sternly
, climbing astride his steed
. “
We need to move
now before the
Morrigú grow
s
tired of playing with them.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

“Deasún would be
better suited for this plan
,” Caillte said as he sat at the table, cup of mead in hand.
“Such is beneath me.” Bringing the cup to his lips, he took a long drink and looked at the woman over the rim, eyes following her every move.

“You are afraid to face your brother,” taunted Gráinne, leaning over the table towards him.

“I do not fear my brother. I simply have no desire to fight him. We may be enemies, but he is still my
kin,
” Caillte replied, stressing the last word.
He had spoken the truth. Though he did not see eye to eye with his brother, he had no intentions of killing him either.

“Why not Cúmhéa or Árdal?” pressed the woman
eagerly
. “Would they not be more suited to the task?”

“Cúmhéa has already failed once against the priestess’ warriors, I will not risk a second time on something so crucial,” scoffed Caillte, sitting his cup down roughly. “As for Árdal, the man is mad and corrupted beyond
our
control. He is too unpredictable. We need a cunning and cruel mind
; we need
Deasún.”

Gráinne frowned and straightened
, irritation written clearly across her lovely face
. “You want to use that Milidh cur?” she demanded with a scowl.

Caillte
cast a sidelong glance at the fire. “It is not that I
want
to, merely that it is a
necessity
,” the Fomorii man replied. He did not know much of the Milidh man himself, only that he did not like him. He was, in a sense, even less controllable that Árdal, but he was just what they needed.

Gráinne dragged her long nails across the table. “And just how do you intend to sway Deasún to follow your orders?” she asked.

His eyes slid back smoothly to meet hers in a steady gaze.
“You,” C
aillte replied simply. Bringing his cup up once more, he let the mead lick coolly at his lips before taking a drink.

Across from him, t
he woman lifted an intrigued brow. “Me?”

Grinning, Caillte leaned forward. “Aye, you,” he told her. “You shall sway him in the way you do best: taking him to your bed.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The following days of journey passed quietly without further sight of the Fomorii
.
And, once Tara finally came into view,
Shiovra
had never been so happy to look upon
her home. As they rode closer, familiar faces paused in their work to welcome the companions with warm, welcoming smiles. And, though she knew she should feel relieved, an anxious feeling continued to pull at
Shiovra
. Until she saw Ainmire was alive and well, she would not be at ease.

Daire
pulled his steed to a pause beside
Shiovra
and Odhrán
. “Home,” he murmured, his eyes set upon
the main cottage.

Shiovra
nodded. “Aye,” she
replied softly, urging
her horse forward
up the well worn path.
Her hands tightened unconsciously as they neared the gates and, once they passed through,
she gave her mare a light kick. With each gallop closer to the main cottage the quicker her heart raced, anxious to reassure her mind that Ainmire was safe.

Once at the cottage door, she tugged on the reins and pulled her horse to a stop before leaping down and bursting through the cottage door.

Mahon, who had been sitting at the table with Earnán and Naal, looked up at the sudden noise. His eyes lit up and a smile flashed across his lips as he realized who it was.

Rising to his feet, Mahon approached her and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Welcome home, sister,” he said before releasing her.

Shiovra
watched as her brother cocked his head to the side and looked over her shoulder.
Following his line of vision,
Shiovra
turned to see the rest of the companions
had finally caught up with her and Eiladyr stood at the center of his quizzical stare
. “
Ah, this is Eiladyr
. Like the Milidh, he is a
stranger
to Éire
. Eil
adyr, this is my brother, Mahon,” she said, then gestured to the other two men who had risen from the table.
“
That is Earnán and his son
,
Naal. They are kin as well.”

Earnán rose from the table and, grinning, extended a hand to Eiladyr. “Welcome to Tara,” he said, grabbing Eiladyr’s arm behind the wrist and giving it a firm shake.

“
Your return is met happily,
Shiovra
Ní Coughlin.”

Shiovra
turned at the familiar voice, her eyes falling upon Ainmire as he ducked into the cottage, followed by Ceallach Neáll. Overwhelming relief w
ashed through the priestess. To
set her eyes on Ainmire and see that he was indeed alive and
well
eased some of the fear she had felt. And though Ainmire stood before her unharmed, his death continued to remain
a frightful possibility
.
“Lord Ainmire,”
Shiovra
said, giving him a small bow in greeting. “I am glad to have returned.”

“We shall hold a feast
in celebration of your return.
”
Ainmire
turned his attention to Eiladyr. “
You must be the man I have heard about that is neither Milidh nor from Éire.”

Eiladyr
nodded
.
“Aye.”

“And do you have a name?” pressed Ainmire
, crossing his arms
.

He hesitated a moment, then said,
“
Eiladyr.”

The chieftain quirked a brow and said, “An unusual name
to go with an unusual accent
. Though Daire has already informed me, I would like to hear it from your own mouth. How is it that you came to be a prisoner of Méav?”

Eiladyr grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “I was hunting huntsmen,” he replied honestly. “
They
were stretching their reach too far, lingering too close to the village. I was not about to sit by and do nothing. I held my own well enough…till they outnumbered me.” He chuckled lightly. “Though, had it not been for them, I would never have met the priestess, let alone been able to promise aid from Ráth Faolchú.”

“Artis has long been an ally to the High Chieftains,” said Ainmire. “If you have his trust, then you have mine as well. I am Ainmire, chieftain of Tara. Merry meet and welcome to our village.” Grinning, he offered his hand to the man, giving it a quick shake.

“Merry met,” agreed Eiladyr.

Clearing his throat, Ainmire looked at
Shiovra
.
“I trust all went well in Dún Fiáin?”
he
questioned
, walking around the priestess to sit down on a bench across from the hearth fire
with a heavy exhale
.

She nodded
. Looking at Ainmire more closely, she could see a
great weariness in the chieftain’s eyes
. “Aye,
though there is something of more importance that I would like to discuss first.”
Glancing at Ceallach, she met
the Fomorii man’
s
gaze and held it for a bit.
“About the misshapen Fomorii.”

Ceallach n
odded and closed the cottage door.

“
How long have the Fomorii been on the move in Éire?” questioned
Shiovra
as she approached the hearth fire. Holding Ainmire’s gaze firmly, she waited for an answer.

Exhaling, Ainmire leaned forward on the bench. “We have been tracking their
travels
for
little over
a moon now
, but reason stands they have been treading upon
our boarders
much longer
,” he replied.
“
Though their
movements are erratic
, unpredictable
,
pass
ing some villages while
attack
ing
o
thers, t
heir general
path
seems to be taking them northward.
”

Shiovra
thought a moment,
and then
questioned, “Brú na Bóinne?”

“We do not know for sure, but as of now that is what we fear.” Ainmire shifted, leaning back. “A messenger has already been sent to the High Chieftain
s. All that remains is to wait
and
focus on
keep
ing
Tara safe.”

“
Dún Fiáin has promised ten warriors and
Artis shall send
whatever men he can spare,”
Shiovra
told Ainmire.
Bringing her hand up, she
chewed on her thumbnail for a moment in thought, her eyes flickering to Ceallach.
The foretelling nightmare of Ainmire’s death continued to plague her, but she could not bring herself to tell the chieftain directly. And, though she was loath to do so,
Shiovra
knew it would be best to speak to Ceallach about it.
Looking back at Ainmire, she said in a hard tone, “There is no doubt in my mind that Ailill seeks to strike and
soon
.”

Ainmire rubbed his temple wearily. “Then let us hope that the promised aid arrives quickly.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Daire found
Shiovra
sitting in tall grass
as
she watched bleating sheep meander about. He stood silen
tly beside her for a long while, enjoying the breeze that rustled around them.
Ainmire’s admission that the union with Dún Fiáin was nothing more than a tactical maneuver to gain
hold
in the Milidh village, a mere ploy of peace,
continued to leave
Daire feeling ill at ease.
He had wanted to speak to
Shiovra
about it upon his return to Ráth Faolchú, but could not bring himself to do so. And, as each day passed, he began to regret more and more having not spoken of it.

Glancing
down at his cousin, his eyes
lingered
on the woman’s
pensive
expression.
He knew her thoughts lay with her troubling dream and that what he had to say would only end up riling her up, but he needed to speak of it.
“I think you should dissolve the union between Tara and Dún Fiáin,” he said after a prolonged silence.

“No.”

He had known speaking to her about the union would be met with defiance, but he had not expected her first response to be quite so…blunt.
Sitting down beside her, Daire exhaled heavily.
“I thought that I could keep
you from being used as a pawn
,
keep you from getting hurt,
but it would seem I was wrong…”
he began. “This union with Dún Fiáin is nothing but a ruse of peace.”