The Abbot, for such the stranger must be, stood at the small altar, and handed his standard to another monk. That monk held it behind the Abbot, who held his arms up. Whispers and side conversations halted, all eyes to the front.
Once he’d achieved silence, he spoke. His voice, full of deep tones and rich syllables, caressed her ears, though his accent spoke of foreign birth. “Welcome, people of Hibernia. Welcome to the one true church, the home of God, our Lord Almighty. Pray attend to the liturgy.”
His next words must have been in the language of the new religion. Latin, she’d been told, but she still understood none of it. The words remained harsh and guttural to her ears, not flowing and liquid like her own language. The Abbot’s resonant voice, pleasant though it sounded, did not make the words softer or easier on her ears. Instead, they prodded and poked into her mind, pushing against her attention. She tried to think of other things, but they intruded upon her very thoughts, crowding everything else away.
He switched to her own language, and she almost wished he hadn’t. His words now praised his own God to the exclusion of all others, framing anyone not Christian as evil, full of nasty desire to subvert the “flock” of this new religion.
Clíodhna reconsidered her desire to stay. The implication that all other beliefs had no validity bothered her, and she didn’t want to stay to listen to more vitriol. Would she insult this new leader if she left during his sermon? It might be more polite to remain, and it wouldn’t be wise to upset a community leader. Still, she seethed at the necessity.
He switched back to the Latin, more of a chant than a speech. Her head pounded in time to the foreign syllables.
When the liturgy ended, he spoke in their own language again.
“Greetings be upon you. I am Abbot Pátraic, newly arrived from Rome, the eternal city, and the Holy See. Please welcome me into your community as you have welcomed my brethren before me.
“I bring not only news from Rome, but also blessed tidings from our Emperor Valentinian the third, of the baptism into our blessed Lord’s faith of your King Eógan mac Néill in the north, and of the latest pronouncements upon our faith by the newly inaugurated Pope Leo.
“In the meantime, I shall work to strengthen the habits and rituals within this abbey and community, that it may better serve our Lord God. Now, please, we offer our Lovefeast outside for your sustenance. Join us.”
Thankful the speech had finished, Clíodhna bolted out the door. Monks had set up their trestle tables outside and already half laid the table, but she didn’t feel hungry. Her pounding head also upset her stomach, and she needed to be away from people. Now that the sermon had ended, she no longer feared insulting anyone. Her absence would not be noticed amongst so many villagers.
Clíodhna escaped to the gardens, taking deep breaths with the budding flowers and the few bees who braved the chilly early spring sunlight. Several breaths later, and she drew upon the power of the earth and the growing things. The sun played hiding games amongst the clouds, but she wished it would shine strong upon her. She had grown chilled and would welcome the sunlight.
The clouds, as if listening to her plea, parted to reveal the morning sun. It warmed her face as she closed her eyes.
As the bright sunlight suffused her skin and body with life-giving heat and the earth surrendered its power to her muscles, she regained her strength, just as Adhna had been showing her. With a satisfied sigh, she rose and turned to leave the monk’s garden.
The new Abbot stood right in front of her. His chin held high in blatant disapproval and his scowl deepening. “What do you seek here, woman?”
Still suffused with the earth’s power, she met his gaze. “I meant no harm. I come here often, to be at peace among the growing things. Will this no longer be allowed?”
He gazed at her for a few moments, as if taking her measure. His eyes took in her stance, her clothing, and probably assessed her status within the community. “This is the abbey’s garden, and if you should wish to visit, arrangements can be made. In the future, I prefer that you enter escorted.”
Clíodhna sidestepped him to escape his piercing regard. Once out of sight, she let out a deep breath. She daren’t mention Odhrán frequently asked her into the garden. That might be violating one of his new rules, and she didn’t want to get her friend in trouble. The gossip Ita mentioned would be bad enough.
Clíodhna searched for her children, but spied Donn out in the carpentry yard already, and Aileran in the nursery. Etromma probably made it to her own lessons as well. Free from her duty, she scanned the abbey for Odhrán, but couldn’t find him. He likely had other duties than to spend wasteful time with her today. With a deep sigh, she left the village.
Never in her life had Clíodhna felt so nervous. Not when her husband asked her father to marry her, not even the first night of her wedding. However, she’d made her decision and today she needed to implement it. She meant to ask Adhna to be her lover today.
The entire walk back to her home, she’d rehearsed how she would broach the subject. She’d mention the spring thaw or point out the daffodils bursting through the thin layer of ice. Perhaps she would speak of the budding trees and mention how sacred life once again pushed through to the world of men. She’d then ask him if he wanted to be part of that process with her. The responses she imagined varied from excited delight to horrified rejection.
As she approached the viewing rock, Adhna sat cross-legged in her usual spot. He turned, his face grim. “I’m afraid I must leave you for a little while, my dear student. I’ve been called back to Faerie for now.”
Her heart dropped. The dismay must have shown in her expression. He stood and took both her hands, his skin soft against hers. “Worry not, my dear Clíodhna. I will return, hopefully soon. Perhaps even in a few days, but it might be as long as a moon. My Queen needs me, and I must obey.”
Clíodhna hugged him, wishing with all her heart that he didn’t have to leave. The clouds blocked out the sun, and the wind picked up as they released each other. She stared into his bright blue eyes, wanting to kiss him before he left but not daring lest they part in conflict.
She expected him to walk away. She did not expect him to dissolve in her arms. Her skin tingled where they had touched. Clíodhna sat down on the viewing rock and cried in a mixture of grief and frustration.
Chapter Three
Her days no longer occupied with lessons, Clíodhna took some much-needed rest. Now that the weather warmed and Bealtaine approached, she did repairs on the roundhouse, prepared her garden for new growth, and attended many other tasks to keep her mind busy.
Clíodhna still needed someone to honor the spring season, but if Adhna might be back in time, she must keep herself for him. No one else in the village came close to being suitable or as attractive. Odhrán, though she would have delighted in sharing his body, had made his position clear, and it would be unfair to him for her to pursue that avenue. Besides, she didn’t see much of him since the Abbot arrived. They stole a few moments of treasured discourse when she picked her children up, but the Abbot had given him new duties, which kept his days well full.
She attended another sermon to discover more about Abbot Pátraic’s intentions. His words sounded reasonable enough, if strident. He didn’t seem to have any room in his philosophy for those who didn’t wish to become part of his church. Clíodhna didn’t care for that assumption. She’d never been good at obeying commands from authority figures. They normally made her want to do the opposite out of spite.
However, he outlined several worthy projects, including regular instruction for all the children of a certain age, community workshops to spread knowledge, and charitable projects for those in need.
These reflected the precepts Odhrán had spoken to her many times, so she felt confident the new religion valued such ideas. Druí also had such ideals, but higher education only came to those dedicated to the path.
To fill her now-empty mornings, she assisted the monks with their
projects. Clíodhna volunteered to help with the food garden, and using the techniques Adhna had taught her, encouraged them to grow quick and strong. Several monks remarked at how well the garden grew under her care. She found it ironic that the Abbot had once told her she’d require permission to enter.
Occasionally, she helped make soup for the abbey, earning her a nod of approval from the new Abbot as he passed. They distributed soup to some of the poorer people in the village, an activity which Clíodhna heartily approved of. When she stood at the table, handing out bread with the soup, she considered this a change for the better. Not that the village would ever let someone die of starvation, but many did scrape to fill their bellies, especially in the spring when nothing yet grew in the gardens and the autumn slaughter was long since devoured.
Another area where the Abbot had changed tradition was in the acceptable behavior of unmarried women. He dictated that they should remain modest and protected by their fathers or brothers until they married.
Clíodhna did not like this change one bit.
Not only did it affect her directly, as a widow, but she seethed at the inequity of it. How dare he dictate women’s behavior and abilities? Did they not equal men in wisdom and reason? Under Brehon Law, women could hold property, divorce, and stand equal to her husband in the eyes of the law. The Druí had no such disdain for females. How dare he come into their land, their society, and begin making demands of change?
Clíodhna hadn’t been to that sermon, so she didn’t discover the news until Ita brought her the gossip. When Clíodhna discovered this change, she sought Odhrán’s counsel after dropping off the children the morning before Bealtaine.
The young monk didn’t appear to be in his normal place, near the stables, nor did he work in the blacksmithy. She checked the leather workshop, and found him in the practice field. He sparred with another monk, both using wooden quarterstaffs. The clack clack of the weapons sounded gentle. They only played at fighting, barely touching the stout poles.
When he noticed her watching, Odhrán bowed to his opponent, replaced his staff on a rack, and mopped the sweat from his forehead. “Good day, Clíodhna! How are you on this fine morning?”
She pursed her lips, glaring at him. “What do you know about this new edict by your Abbot?”
His cheerful expression dissolved into a grim line. “Oh, yes. That. I expected to hear from you on this.”
She waited. “Well?”
With a shrug, he wiped his face again. “It’s a rule in Rome that Abbot Pátraic and other leaders are charged to implement throughout the Christian lands.”
Clíodhna refused to grant him leniency, despite their friendship. “These are not Christian lands. These are Eirish lands, and not subject to rule by your empire. They don’t even call it by the proper name, renaming it Hibernia. We are not Rome’s to take. The Abbot would do well to remember that fact.”
He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. When he let the breath out, his eyes opened, full of entreaty. “Please understand, Clíodhna. I have no say in this decision, and no way of changing his mind. His superiors have ordered him to do this. I’ve been ordered to support him.”
She clenched her jaw in frustration. “Then who do I appeal to in Rome?”
He stared at his feet, his hands clasped. “They would not heed your appeal. You are a woman, and women do not have the right.”
Clouds blocked out the morning sun, shrouding them in shadow. The wind began to whip through the practice yard, and the first fat drops of an impending downpour fell. Odhrán glanced up and gestured toward the armory to seek shelter. With poor grace, Clíodhna followed him as the storm grew in fury.
No one else had sought the safety of the small armory. They shared the space with staves, leather armor and barding, horse tack in for repair, and a few old, pitted swords. The smells of rust, leather, and dust tickled her nose, warring with the musty odor of the rainstorm.
A crack of lightning struck the well-flattened dirt of the empty practice yard, making Odhrán jump.
He turned to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. Clíodhna shrugged them off. “Don’t patronize me, Odhrán. You know better than that.”
“I do, and I didn’t intend to patronize you. Will you calm your prickles for just a moment? I have news for you.”
She pressed her lips together.
“I’m to go away in six days.”
Startled, she blinked. “Away? But this is your home. How long must you travel?”
“Away for good. I’ve been reassigned to another community.”
Suddenly realizing how much she’d miss her friend and their conversations, her anger cooled. “Where? How far away?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not sure. Someplace north, called Ard Mhacha. I’m to help establish a church for Abbot Pátraic. He’s charged me with finding the best site to build one and organize the construction.”
Ard Mhacha. She’d heard of it in the Druí tales, a sacred place to the goddess Macha. Clíodhna remembered it lay far to the north and east. It must be at least six days’ travel from here in Loch Rí. She might never see Odhrán again.
Needing to keep him close, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. He hesitated at first, but then hugged her, his hands strong on her spine. She drew back, their faces but an inch apart. With tender affection, she kissed him softly on the lips. The kiss lasted much longer than she’d intended, though she never wanted it to stop. Bealtaine came tomorrow, and she owed it to the gods to honor them.
His hands caressed her back, her waist, and she increased the depth of the kiss with an open mouth. She pulled him against her body, feeling his need rise between them. He dug his fingers into her hair, and her own desire responded, tingling through her like the lightning outside.
The whooshing wind made the door swing shut. They stopped, startled from their passion, but then continued with increased vigor and hunger. Clíodhna released the urges she’d repressed for moons, eager to enfold him in her ardor. A willing participant, he pulled her down to the floor of the armory, amidst the hay and the dust.
Odhrán ran his hand down her waist to her thigh, pushing up under her léine. The soft skin of his palm against her breasts made her shiver in delighted anticipation. She moaned when he kissed her neck and shoulder. Clíodhna pushed up his léine and cupped her hands on his buttocks, caressing the downy hair and strong muscles.
His eyes widened as she pushed him to the ground. She grinned and yanked up his léine all the way up, pulled hers up around her waist, and straddled him. He groaned and closed his eyes, and she rocked with gentle motion, rubbing against his manhood with a barely controlled craving to feel him inside her.
Clíodhna, unable to wait any longer, lifted and guided him in. He let out a deep grunt and clasped her hips. With measured rhythm, she moved up and down, controlling their lovemaking with precise passion. He shuddered and wriggled beneath her, making her peak more quickly. She didn’t want it to be over yet, so she stopped, squeezing deep within her. His hands tightened on her hips, his nails digging into her skin. Clíodhna placed her hands on his chest, raking them across his breast and nipples, bending in for a savage kiss, biting his neck. He grabbed her head and stole a kiss from her, just as filled with need.
She moved again, stroking up and down with her hips as his cries rose in a crescendo, matching her own need and fervor. They both shrieked in time with a massive roll of thunder, the storm outside masking their own passionate fury.
The aftermath of her climax rippled through her body, still connected to his. He twitched and let out a whimper. With careful movements, she dismounted him and cleaned herself of his seed, rearranging their clothing with practiced hands. Clíodhna lay beside him, holding his hand to her chest as his breathing slowed from frantic to normal.
“Clíodhna! Oh, my dear sweet God, what have you done to me?”
Confused, she turned to him. “Did I imagine your enjoyment, Odhrán?”
He
turned, leaning his head on his hand. “Oh, I enjoyed it! You stole my very essence and I loved every second. But I must leave in a week. I don’t wish to leave you. At this moment, I don’t think I could walk if I tried.”
She giggled and stroked his cheek, her finger tracing a line of sweat. He grabbed her finger and kissed it.
Another boom of thunder shook the ground. He glanced at the door. “Perhaps we should get up. As much as I’d love to spend hours in your arms, someone will come looking for me when the storm eases.”
“That would be wise.”
The door slammed open and the wind rushed in. Abbot Pátraic stood in the opening, his face filled with thunderous anger as he took in their positions. “How dare you? How dare you corrupt my faithful monks with your wanton, hedonistic ways!”
They both scrambled to their feet. Clíodhna brushed the hay from her clothing and patted her hair into a semblance of order while Odhrán fell on his knees, his head bowed before his Abbot.
“My Lord Abbot, I—”
“Silence! You will go to your cell, now. I shall deal with you forthwith.”
Odhrán glanced at Clíodhna, fear patent in his eyes. She gripped his shoulder to reassure him, but the fear didn’t go. He rose and tried once again to plead with the Abbot. “Please be merciful, my Lord Abbot. Clíodhna wasn’t the transgressor. I am at fault. I—”
“I said silence! Go now, or you will simply make things worse for the wanton!” Odhrán slunk out the door into the storm and disappeared in the downpour.
Her spine straightening at this pejorative, Clíodhna said, “I request that you speak of me with more respect, Abbot Pátraic. I am a member of this community, and—”
Clíodhna didn’t see the slap coming. Her cheekbone exploded with sharp pain as her head rocked to the side. Clenching her fists and her jaw, she glared at the Abbot. “How dare you strike me! How dare you insult me! I will not allow such treatment from a stranger!”
He laughed.
As the last echo of his nasty mirth died, lightning struck the doorway behind him, making him jump away. Flames licked the wooden frame. Clíodhna dove into the darkness and ran from the irrational Abbot and his abbey as fast as she could. She knew the path well, even without the benefit of visibility. After slipping several times, she slowed her pace, confident Pátraic wouldn’t follow her.
Age of Druids: Druid's Brooch Series: #9 Page 6