Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
Finn Mac Cool (47 page)
Grania bit her lip.
As he had done before, Finn delivered the coibche to Cormac Mac Airt in a formal ceremony, then met with Grania at the ritual Beltaine pole to recite their promises to each other. As before, it would be a marriage of the first degree, though with the man claiming no property with his wife.
Finn did not want property. He wanted to be married to a daughter of the High King.
And, looking down at her piquant face in the sunshine, he realized he really did want her, want her body.
He could feel a welcome stirring below his tunic, as if something long hibernating were coming to life again.
He smiled down at Grania, but she did not notice. Her eyes were fixed obediently on the brehon, Flaithri, as he recited their obligations to each other. Only once or twice did Grania look away. She briefly peered from beneath her eyelashes at the ring of spectators attending the ritual. As if against her will, her eyes were drawn to the youngest, freshest faces.
THAT NIGHT CORMAC MAC AIRT ORDERED A GREAT FEAST served in honour of his daughter and her new husband in the Banquetting Hall. In anticipation, Finn had brought a change of clothing for every member of his party who would have the rank to attend. He himself put on a new tunic of softest linen, girdled with leather set with precious stones, and used a massive brooch of bronze and gold wire to fasten a flowing blue mantle around his shoulders. He knewâbecause Sive had once told him soâthat blue was the perfect complement to his silvery hair.
The other rÃgfénnidi chosen to accompany him on this occasion were dressed in almost equal finery. Donn wore gold ear rings. Cailte had a fox-fur mantle. Fergus Honey-Tongue was resplendent in dyed wool and silver ornaments.
The newest heroes of the FÃanna were also invited to attend, though they had not yet received the rank of officers. Oisin and the sons of Donn and Lugaid were in the crowd that night in the Banquetting Hall, to drink wine and mead and sing songs in honour of Finn and his new wife.
Due to the occasion, Grania was given a seat beside her husband rather than one with the other women. She sat demurely, enjoying being the centre of attention. Her hair was newly bound to indicate her married status, and around her neck she wore a chain of gold, Finn's gift to her.
But from time to time she glanced through her eyelashes at the others in the great hall. The other men; the young men.
In spite of her question relative to Finn's skill, she had not yet bedded a man. She was very young, merely playing at being older and more experienced. She had heard other women talk.
She was curious. And though she would not admit it even to herself, she was more than a little frightened of the prospect of having her body
invaded by the toughened, fabled, weatherworn man sitting beside her, exuding a male aura of power.
invaded by the toughened, fabled, weatherworn man sitting beside her, exuding a male aura of power.
Her eyes repeatedly sought the younger and gentler faces among his men in the hall.
As the meal was devoured, bones were thrown to the ubiquitous hounds, who followed their masters everywhere. The king's chief poet was actually reciting Cormac's lineage and deeds as a compliment to Cormac's daughter when a fight broke out between two of the dogs. The king scowled. “Make them be quiet!” he roared. “Do it!” Finn echoed.
The two nearest fénnidi ran to separate the snarling hounds, but the dogs evaded them and scampered across the rush-strewn floor, ducking under the many low tables holding food, scurrying behind benches, growling and lunging at one another the entire time.
The two young menâOisin and Diarmaitâran after them, aware that Finn would be furious if they did not put a stop to the fight at once and please the king.
The dogfight boiled its way almost to Grania's feet. There Diarmait succeeded in interposing his body between the quarrelling hounds, caught each of them by the scruff of the neck, and pulled them apart with an act of brute strength that surprised himself.
Panting and flushed with triumph, he looked up to find his face no more than a forearm's length from that of Grania. He smiled, delighted with himself.
She smiled back.
He was young, barely bearded yet, with soft lips and smooth skin and a beguiling curve to one side of his mouth, and when Diarmait looked at Grania, she thought the rest of the room went away.
They stared at each other in the golden light of torch and candle.
Finn at that moment was speaking earnestly to Cormac about provisioning the outlying garrisons for the summer and did not notice the exchange between Donn's son and his new wife.
But from twelve spear-lengths away, Goll Mac Morna noticed it. He dug his elbow into Cailte's ribs. “Look there,” he commanded. “There's trouble.”
Cailte followed the direction of Goll's gaze. “Och, Diarmait. They all look at Diarmait.”
“She's doing more than looking at him, Cailte.”
“She can't do more, not on the very night she's married Finn.”
Goll unconsciously rubbed the scar below his eye. “Have you seen a woman turn away from Diarmait yet? They all love him.”
“Everyone loves him. He's as popular as Oisin, perhaps more. And he's beautiful, even with that scar. It makes him more beautiful than ever. You can't blame the child for looking at him.”
“I don't blame her for looking,” Goll said, “but they're doing more than looking, those two. The king's daughter's laying an enchantment on him with those slanted eyes of hers. Mark my words, Cailte, and remember them.”
Cailte, troubled, felt his appetite fall away and sat toying with his food, his gaze repeatedly returning to Finn. And Grania. And Diarmait, hovering close.
The feasting continued until the first streaks of salmon-coloured light appeared in the eastern sky. Abandoning the positions in the hall assigned to them according to rank, the guests mingled freely with one another as time passed and wine flowed. The assemblage became much less formal, louder, rowdier. Cups were filled and refilled. One by one, heads nodded, eyes shuttered closed. The first to weaken slid down with their backs against the wall and fell asleep, leaving others to step over them until they in turn collapsed as well.
It was Finn's wedding night, but he was drinking as much as anyone else. More. It helped forestall the moment when he would have to prove whether or not he was a satisfactory bedmate for a very young wife. He did not want to disappoint her. He ached to have this most recent, perhaps this last, marriage go well. He did not want to have to seek another woman, not ever.
He took one cup too many, even for him, and against his will, his eyelids drifted down. He did not realize he was leaning forward, did not know his head was pillowed on folded arms on the nearest table. But Grania knew. Looking down at him, she thought with contempt, he's old. Old!
Then she looked up and her eyes met those of young Diarmait Mac Donn.
She summoned him without making any physical gesture at all.
“Will you keep me safe company to the nearest doorway?” she asked. “I need to breathe cool air.”
Diarmait willingly complied, hoping his companions would notice he had been chosen to escort Finn's new wife. But his companions, like most of those in the hall, were past noticing.
Diarmait walked with Grania to the Doorway of Kings and stood beside her as she gazed out into the breaking dawn. She was very aware of his proximity. He was young and fresh; he was able to stay awake through a long night, as she had done. He was not sleeping with his head down amid the rubble of the feast.
She turned toward him. “Will you take me away from here? Now?”
The request startled him. “To your house? I mean, to the house where you and Finn are to ⦔
“Take me
away,
I said. Away from Finn Mac Cool, away from Tara. I don't want to be here. I don't want to do this.”
away,
I said. Away from Finn Mac Cool, away from Tara. I don't want to be here. I don't want to do this.”
Diarmait stammered, “I don't understand.”
“I think you do. I want to go away from here with you.”
Diarmait had grown accustomed to having women desire him. It was pleasant and natural, and he invariably responded with delight. But this particular situation was unique in his experience.
He was tremendously flattered to have such a proposal made to him by the brand-new wife of Finn Mac Cool. At the same time, he was shocked by it.
Pleasantly shocked.
Grania, in Diarmait's opinion, was beautiful. And the deed she was suggesting was so daring it surpassed all the acts of courage he had yet committed.
He drew in a sharp breath.
“I can't take the commander's woman ⦔
“You can.” Her pale eyes sparkled with excitement and mischief. “You can! Do it now!” She caught his hand in hers and pressed it between her breasts, so he could feel the soft mounds of flesh and the beating heart behind them.
Diarmait had drunk a lot of wine that night, and sung not a few songs. The roistering atmosphere of the banquet had seeped into his bones. All around him, members of the FÃanna had been telling lurid stories, boasting of great deeds to impress the poets in the room, as Finn's men had always done. There had been an atmosphere of unreality in the Banquetting Hall at Tara that night. The unfettered FÃanna â¦
What would be more appropriate in such an atmosphere than to commit the most spectacular of kidnappings and run off with Finn's wife? Just for a little while?
Had Diarmait been four seasons older, or four cups of wine less drunk, he might not have done it.
But Grania tugged at his hand and pleaded with her tilted eyes, and a wildness seized him. “While Finn Mac Cool's at Tara, he has men on all the gates,” he said. “We couldn't get out past them.”
“We can of course. I'll take you through the Grianan, there's a hidden entrance there.”
“For what purpose?”
Grania's laugh gurgled like water running over stones. “Women always insist on having a secret entrance to their Grianan, didn't you know? Come with me now.” She tugged at his hand more insistently. “Come quickly!”
Afterward, Diarmait never knew just why he gave in, or at what
moment. He only knew I hey were outside the hall and running across the muddy lawn, slipping through the shadows of lodges and walls, pausing with pounding hearts to let a sentry walk by, then running on again until they came to the oaken door of the Grianan and Grania led him inside.
moment. He only knew I hey were outside the hall and running across the muddy lawn, slipping through the shadows of lodges and walls, pausing with pounding hearts to let a sentry walk by, then running on again until they came to the oaken door of the Grianan and Grania led him inside.
She did not give him time to examine the women's sunny chamber. much as he wanted to, but led him across it to a hanging of woven wool on one wall and pushed the hanging aside.
There was a small, low door.
Bending, Grania shoved at the door, but her strength was not enough to open it. “Help me,” she pleaded with Diarmait.
He drove the door open with his shoulder and they stepped through it.
They found themselves in a narrow, chokingly dark passageway that seemed built inside one of the palisades of Tara. They had to feel their way step by step, like blind people. Grania, who seemed to know where she was going, had one hand extended in front of her and with the other was holding fast to Diarmait's arm.
How strong it is! one part of her mind thought. How firm the muscle!
A narrow crack of light appeared ahead and she hurried toward it. “Push here,” she instructed Oisin.
He lent his shoulder to the task and grunted.
Nothing happened.
“Hurry!” Grania urged, making him fear someone was coming be hind them.
Diarmait gave another, mightier heave, and this time rusty hinges creaked in protest and a door slowly grated open, revealing space beyond. The pair slipped through.
They found themselves outside the walls of Tara, facing south.
Diarmait straightened and looked around. His head was spinning from the fumes of wine and the atmosphere of the hall and the flight and the exertion. And the nearness of Grania, pressing herself against him.
She was tingling with adventure.
“What do we do now?” he asked her.
“Run, of course”
“Run?” The word began to soak into his consciousness, bringing additional ramifications. “Run where? How?” He glanced around. “Do you not think we should go back?”
“Go back? Go back!” She sounded shocked. “Of course not! I have chosen you for myself and you've just stolen me from the RÃgfénnid FÃanna. We can't go back. We can never go back. We have to make a new life for ourselves, you and I!” She was aglow with the fanciful excitement of a child playing. Before he could stop her. she darted away into the brightening day and he had no choice but to run after her.
Grania was laughing and as light-footed as a butterfly. She sped over the dew-wet grass as if she had not just spent a sleepless night in a crowded hall, breathing fumes of mead and wine. Her hair had pulled loose and tumbled about her face in tempting tendrils; her tilted eyes were glittering and thoughtless.
Diarmait pursued her wholeheartedly. He did not dare stop to think. This was an adventure, the greatest of all adventures! What a tale it would make to tell around the campfire later â¦
⦠later. He brushed the thought away.
He was young. They were young, and the world was newly made.
Grania ran until she was gasping for breath, then sank down, laughing, into a leafy hollow and held out her arms toward Diarmait. “I am your prize!” she called to him. “Your trophy of the chase!”
He stood over her, legs apart, looking down. She was flushed and very beautiful. In the hall, the others were probably still asleep, unaware. He could take her here and now and then sneak her back inside. No one need ever know.
He bent toward her, fumbling with his clothes. Grania's eyes opened wider. “Not yet!” she cried in sudden alarm, leaping to her feet. Before he could grasp her, she brushed past him and ran again. “We have to get farther away!” she called over her shoulder.
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