by Erin O'Quinn
I thought I knew who was playing the lute. It had to be the graceful, quiet Silver Weaver, the one who held a world of sad songs behind his pale blue eyes.
The songs went on, and on, and at last I slumbered next to Liam while the fire twisted and crackled and sent its bright tendrils to meet a dark sky.
I awoke, as usual, before any of my colleagues. The dawn had not yet ringed the treetops surrounding us, but I heard the subtle welcome of the birds well before I saw the light.
Liam was sleeping with his head nestled between my breasts, and I could feel them straining for his soft mouth. I very softly pulled the deerskin down enough to feel his warm breath on my skin and lay very still, my thighs hot, thinking about his mouth. As if thinking made it so, I felt his lips move on one of my nipples, and a sudden spark flared between my legs. Holding his head close to my tunic, I let him explore and suck like a little animal while I became more and more aroused.
He knew just what I wanted, and he quietly sank lower beneath our blanket. Soon I felt him licking my groin, sucking and biting—all under the cover of our blanket. At last, overcome with desire, I gave up all fear of being seen and lay with my eyes shut, straining toward a climax. When it happened, I curled and rolled, his head still between my legs, my cries muffled by my own fist in my mouth.
At last, his head emerged from the blanket, his voice husky with desire. “I love ye, Cat,” he murmured, and my desire flared again. We lay kissing very deeply, his tongue asking me again and again to suck him. I, too, sank deeply below the blanket and sought his groin. I clasped him as close as I could and began to lick and suck him, wanting to give him as much pleasure as he had given me. When my hands began to stroke his testicles and the special spot in his butt, he began to climax, pushing and straining against me so hard I could barely keep him in my mouth. Tasting his tartness, I sucked until he held my head hard against himself, and we lay close for several minutes.
At last he lifted me up toward his shoulders and kissed my mouth and throat. “Dia duit, I love you,” I whispered, and I heard his soft laugh as he held me close against his body.
Not wanting to move, we held each other until dawn finally lit the treetops.
Chapter 23:
A Touch of Angels
The final morning of our trip, we were all assembled very early around a shifting, wavering fire. By this time on our trip, there were few trees. We had encamped in a boulder-filled ravine, as much out of the wind as we could find. The last two days, we had traveled in rain and mud. I was as weary as I had ever been in my life, even after drinking my gruit with every meal.
When dawn had finally burst, it was just that—a sudden, glorious lighting of the sky with tones of orange and saffron that I always saw after a good rain. Squatting around our fire after morning meal, we all listened gravely to Flann as he spoke of what lay ahead.
“This is the last leg, me friends, the final trek. In a few hours, we will tether our horses, an’ ye must be ready for walking, for the rocky ground will try our horses’ hooves till they are sore and will walk no more with a heavy load.
“We seek a certain bay, one sheltered on all but the sea side, an’ there we will leave a land party.” He paused and looked at Liam. I saw Liam flush slightly. Immediately, I was alarmed. What would make my husband blush like that?
Liam looked directly at Thom. “Ah, we…decide now on the first part. Will ye speak?”
“Um, thank you Liam,” said Thom, who also seemed somehow uneasy. I caught Brindl’s eye and she shook her head slightly as if to tell me, “I am confused also.”
“If, um, if you remember Black Knife’s report, the nine-mile trip to Tory is one that will rattle our very bones.” Thom’s voice trailed off a bit as he looked quickly at Brindl. “And once we land our currachs, we will need to crawl on our bellies to the other side of the island. And even when we reach the other side, we will need to slowly work our way down the face of dangerous cliffs.”
He stopped talking, and a long silence ensued as we all tried to envision such a dangerous undertaking. Finally, Flann broke the uneasy silence. “What Thom is saying is this. We can take only the most seasoned warriors. I am sure ye’ll agree that some of us will need to stay behind an’ take care of each other, our horses, an’ our supplies, wi’ no shame to those who wait.”
And then I understood the reason for Liam’s and Thom’s reluctance to speak. They meant to leave their wives cowering on a beachhead somewhere!
“Tell me,” I said levelly, looking into Flann’s eyes. “Who will remain?”
“Lass, the land party will be the lovely twin ladies, the blacksmith, an’ the monk. An’ two soon-to-be mothers.”
“Excuse me?” asked Brindl, and she tried to stand up quickly, but her round frame would not allow it. She was forced to center herself on her hands and knees, and to rise from that ungainly position. As soon as I saw her try to stand, I knew with a dread certainty that Flann and our husbands were right. Brindl and I must stay behind.
I tried to rise gracefully to stand alongside my friend, and I almost succeeded. But the effort caused me to breathe a bit too heavily, and my legs to tremble ever so slightly. “If I understand you—you warriors, you think we are not capable of sharing the burden.”
“There are two burdens to share, lass,” said Flann. “There is the burden of withstanding the assault itself an’ rescuing the hapless women. An’ there is the burden of keeping others safe. Our dear friends—an’ our cherished children.” He stared at me and then at Brindl, as if to dare us to put our unborn children to the test.
“I see,” I said. “Tá go maith.” The Gaelic statement of inevitability had become my accustomed response to any situation I could not overcome by sheer force of will or of muscle.
I sat back down, very carefully, hoping to keep my dignity intact. But even the act of sitting gracefully was well beyond me at this stage in my pregnancy, and I ended up flopping and sighing at one and the same time. They were right, of course. If I had ever once thought seriously about our mission, I would have known my own function even before we began the trip. Liam was allowing me to go—on the condition that I keep our child safe.
I began to fume inwardly, blaming Liam for not speaking sooner. He put his arm around me, and I pulled away stiffly. Leave me alone to fester and cry inside, I told him with my petulant silence, and I refused to lift my head to meet his eyes.
Falcon, who had rarely spoken publicly, lifted his voice now. “My friends, let us all give deep thought to what we should do as soon as our boots fall on Tory Island. I think if each of us were to formulate a plan, we could discuss our individual solutions later, once we reach the haven that Flann speaks of. And then we may decide on one inevitable course of action. The brain of many is better than the genius of one.”
I knew Falcon was right. Back when we were feeling our way in the dark years ago, when my companions and I had confronted unknown perils, we had often used the “Sophocles brain” to think our way out of trouble. I, too, could be—and should be—part of the Sophocles brain now.
My mood lightened a bit, and I leaned forward and gave a hidden hand signal to my old coconspirator Brindl. “See me later, alone,” I said with my thumbs pointed inward. She managed a small smile and a quick nod of her head.
“Before we leave,” said Flann, “I must warn ye about me old friend Splanc Thintrí, Lightning Thrower. The closer we get to the coast, the more we may expect him to visit. I speak fondly of him so as not to invoke his fury.
“As we travel today, we must always stay close to outcroppings, to large, sheltering rocks. When he comes, we must seek immediate shelter. D’ye understand? An’ even as he visits, ye must raise your head an’ laugh at his tricks. Then he will leave soon, an’ well satisfied.”
I nodded, along with my companions, but I could not honestly understand how a few bolts of lightning could make even the stalwart Flann so uneasy.
“Tell us about the haven we seek,” I said.
I had noticed from the beginning that Flann spoke of nature in ways that most people spoke of fellow humans—encircling, holding, comforting, and even enticing and warning. To him, the land, the sea, and the sky were like his own parents, at once loving and chastising, or even like lovers to whom he could yield, whose rough kiss he feared yet welcomed.
When at last we had put out our fires and saddled our horses, we rode largely in silence, each of us thinking about the challenge of Tory Island. As if nature itself were not daunting enough—the roiling sea, the cliffs, the destructive wind—the warriors who descended on the clay huts would have to face an unknown number of strong assailants, ones who well knew every rock and every ravine.
What would we do if they suddenly scattered? Or if they wisely left and ran for their moored currachs? In a sense, we had come to think of them as slow and stupid. But what if they were actually not simpletons? It was possible that they had correctly interpreted Thom’s diversionary fire a week or so ago and had begun to post sentries and to plan an escape. It was even possible that they had already fled with their captives.
I urged Macha to the vanguard and called out to Brindl. Soon we were riding close together and discussing my ideas. “Cay, you have thought of something important. We must plan as though our enemy were worthy of our attack. What if—?” And Brindl and I talked earnestly for a long time while we pointed our horses’ manes toward the unseen ocean.
Just after the sun crossed the meridian, I noticed that the wind had begun to pick up, and the once high, white clouds had begun to lower their brows and scowl. Suddenly, I saw a jagged streak of lightning part the clouds, and seconds later, I heard a clap of thunder that made me rise out of the saddle with its unexpected power. I heard Brindl shouting at me, “Quick, Cay, find shelter!”
I felt Macha’s flanks trembling. And then Liam was riding close to me. “Cat, follow me,” he said, and I did. I was grateful for Fintan’s white tail, for the rain had begun to hammer down, and I could see only a few feet ahead. Liam stopped, and I reined Macha back. The next thing I knew, Liam was lifting me from the saddle, and I heard his voice in my ear, “Hold tight to Macha.”
I clenched Macha’s reins in one hand while Liam, his arm encircling my shoulders, led me to the nearest tall outcropping of tumbled boulders. And then we stood, each of us holding our frightened horses, watching a spectacle I hoped I would never witness again.
The lightning strikes did not simply come one after another. They seemed to be blazing white fingers that tried to scratch the face of the earth, five and ten at a time, hands of angels gone mad. It was as though God had ordered his legions to show their might, for the streaks of lightning danced until the air itself seemed to be burning. Booming thunder shook the very boulders where we stood, our faces to the sky, both of us laughing like madmen, in reluctant admiration of the sky’s fury.
At last the lightning stopped, and I buried my head in Liam’s protective chest and cried tears of relief.
He put both arms around me and lowered his head to my ear. “A Cháit, I am glad ye are safe. I mean only to shelter ye and the child. I need ye to trust me.”
One arm around Liam, the other still clenching Macha’s reins, I stood immobile, letting the rain soak me, grateful for his love and comfort, yet saying nothing.
As if already knowing what to do, Liam began to lead Fintan slowly from the outcropping, and I followed with Macha. The rain was falling more softly now, like a child who has forgotten its tantrum and now was crying in small whimpers. I saw that all our party was following an invisible lead—Flann and the marines—and I led my mare slowly through the slick rocks, trying not to stumble. Liam stayed very close, turning to watch me often as we walked, not trying to speak.
As I walked, I tried to understand my own reluctance to speak to Liam. He had done nothing wrong. He had not talked about my staying behind because—because I would not have accepted it. I would have unleashed my own fury. Like the implacable white lightning, I would have lashed out until I spent myself in a frenzy of burnt air. And nothing I could have said would deny one simple truth. The safety of our unborn child was more important than our own lives.
Thus my anger at Liam was really my own self-loathing—the anger I felt at my own lack of foresight, my own almost whimsical attitude toward little Cuileann. As I walked, I wept tears of anger, all directed inward, and the tears became one with the raindrops that were left in the wake of the visit by warning angels.
After a few hours I had walked out most of my anger, and the rain had stopped completely. The wind was only a sigh, like my own breath. And then Liam said, “Flann signals us, Cat. We ha’ found the great ocean.”
I thought it more likely that the ocean had found us, but I managed a weak smile and followed him to where Flann stood.
* * * *
Flann told us that he had named the bay “Storm Haven” because the way the cliffs and rocks were formed, his stallion Storm had shelter from the wind and fodder for grazing, too. We had upwards of fifty horses, including our pack animals, and we hobbled them where Flann directed us.
We stowed our supplies and horses’ gear in a gorge at the end of a long escarpment, not far from where a small stream emptied into the bay. Our fire site, too, was perfect. We were able to build a comfortable fire in the shelter of a shallow ravine, where I could envision wild sheep finding both nourishment and refuge from the steady wind. There were no sheep, nor any cattle or other grazing animals. But I thought that someday, this wildly beautiful coastland would harbor both livestock and settlers, too.
The sun was still at least two hours from setting. I walked away from my companions and made my careful way up a gradual incline until I found a spot to sit and look down over the shore below.
In the distance to my left, the humpbacked mountain they called the Muckish rose almost from the level ground. Flann was right. If it was the back of a pig, that creature belonged to a vanished race of giants. And far off, almost too far to distinguish, I saw what looked like a pinkish pyramid. It, too, was a mountain but so far away that it was merely a point on the horizon, its peak caught by rays of the late-afternoon sun. That was Errigal, tallest of the Sisters, Flann’s beloved mountain.
The sky by now was a filled with long, rose-bottomed clouds that seemed like vanishing fingers. I still felt, even hours after the strange storm, that I was in the presence of angels.
I thought I saw a fisherman’s vessel off toward the horizon, and I imagined that somewhere close by there was a small settlement of fishermen, not unlike the little place where Father Patrick had grown up, before he was taken from his home by invaders. I wondered how they managed to subsist out here, so far from other people. Did they fish merely to eat? Or did they ply their catch up and down the coast, or perhaps inland?
Far off, beyond the horizon, beyond the fishermen’s currachs, lay the brooding island of Tory. The King’s Tower, with its deadly pinnacles like drawn knives, seemed in my imagination to be warning us away.
I sat watching the long swells of the Sea of Éire, almost black green here at the shoreline, foam and crash against the cliffs on each side of the bay. I watched the waves overtake the shore, then recede as though sorry for their sudden disturbing of the sand and rocks, and I began to breathe in unison with the tidewater.
I felt a movement close by, and I turned my head only slightly, loath to take my eyes from the scene that played out below. It was Liam. He arranged his long frame about a foot from me, his knees up, his arms hugging his knees like a small child. We sat quietly in the warming sun, letting our clothes dry, as the shadows lengthened around us. Still not speaking, I put my hand on one of his arms, and h
e laid his opposite hand on mine very lightly.
“Say nothing, Cat,” I heard him say, very low. “Since I met ye, I ha’ wanted to speak, with…tongue of angels, as Paul said. So ye would know me thoughts, me feelings. But no, I cannot. Can hardly speak in your tongue.”
I thought, as I often did, that he spoke more eloquently with every passing day. As he had asked, I said nothing.
“But want ye to know…I see your sorrow. I feel your love for mother. An’ I understand.”
He took my hand in both of his then, and he bowed his head for a moment, his face touching my skin. I could feel a bit of wetness, as though he had been crying. And yet I directed my eyes down the cliffside to the ocean below, not trusting myself to look at him fully just yet.
He lifted his head. I saw from the corner of my eye how the wind, strong on this high point of land, furled the hair around his face. “I know our child be precious to ye, Cat. Ye would not put him in the way of harm. An’ yet ye also want to save do mháthair somehow, as ye save the women. Will ye let me take your place, just this once? Let me save her, as though I be the arm and heart of Caitlín. Will ye let me?”
“Yes, Liam,” I whispered. And then I spoke louder, turning to his dear face. “Yes, darling Liam. Save her, tell her how much I love her. How sorry I am she had to suffer all that long time, and even now—”
“Shush, sweet Cat. We…say no more of it. But know that I love ye.”
Somewhere in that strong, handsome face lay a hint of the child he had once been. I saw an eagerness to be comforted as well as to comfort, a kind of stubborn daring even while frightened of the unknown.
“You are the heart of Caitlín. You are all my joy, Liam. I love you so much I hurt to tell you.”
“Shush,” he said again, and he kissed my hand very gently. Then his eyes, too, began to move with the ebb and flow of the waves. We sat together in silence, but a silence now replete with throat-closing emotion.