She watched Dermot as he moved to stand beside the sideboard. Dagda Mór held himself stiffly, expectation a pulsing tension around him. Áine hadn’t looked her way since they’d returned to the scene of Mairéad’s murder. The hostility radiating from her assaulted Sidney. Seeking Zoe and Thomas, she found them standing in a corner with their arms around each other. Tears streaked her best friend’s cheeks. Sidney hurt for them, for everyone, especially for herself.
Dagda Mór began speaking, but his words didn’t register. She couldn’t make any sense of what he said. He could be talking about the weather for all she knew. Áine filled the goblets. Sidney’s head buzzed and her heart raced. She tried to breathe and could only manage shallow gulps of air. Fixing her eyes on Dermot, she tried to memorize everything about him.
The room was deathly silent as Áine drew intricate runes of smoke in the air before handing Dermot the first goblet. Each man walked to the sideboard and took his place in line. All the while Dagda Mór’s electric-blue gaze never left Sidney. What the hell did he want? What was she supposed to do?
Her mind churned with Mairéad’s memories. She watched the scene playing out before her. What had she missed? Testimony. Áine had given hers. Dermot had given his. Something was missing. That’s it! Mairéad’s side was never heard. Do something! Stop this. Now!
Grief and regret washed through her. Something inside her snapped. Dermot lifted the goblet in a toast to his men and brought it to his lips. Instinct took over, propelling her forward. “Stop!” Swinging hard, Sidney knocked the goblet from his hand. The dark red contents flew in an arc through the air and splashed across the stone floor. The pewter goblet bounced across the room, then rolled under a table.
Breathing hard, Sidney struggled for words. “I will not let this happen. Mairéad’s side in this whole mess was never heard. I hold all of her memories, and now it’s her turn to have a say.” Was she imagining things, or did Dagda Mór just release his breath? Sidney swore he relaxed a fraction.
“You cannot let this puny mortal interfere,” Áine hissed to her father.
Dagda Mór turned toward his daughter. “Can I not?”
Dermot came to stand next to her. “Sidney, stop. It’s all right, lass. You do no’ have to do this.”
“I do have to,” Sidney whispered.
“I won’t have it.” Áine stomped her foot, and the electric blue light crackled and skittered over her skin. “This case has already been tried. Conditions for the Druid’s release were set eons ago and cannot be changed. I don’t believe for a minute this…this thing holds my daughter’s memories, and neither should you.”
“It can be easily proved—or disproved.” Dagda Mór shrugged. “In this, your wishes matter not in the least. The mortal speaks the truth. From the start, Mairéad’s testimony was the only one worth listening to, and sadly, the only one not heard. I am grieved still that neither her husband nor her mother considered what she would have wanted.”
A look of shame suffused Dermot’s face, and Sidney had to fight the urge to leap to his defense. She hadn’t meant to place more blame on his shoulders.
“My granddaughter was the only one truly wronged. We will hear what Sidney has to say.”
“I’m your daughter. You should—”
“Enough.” The king’s tone brooked no dissent, and Áine fell silent. He turned to Sidney. “If indeed you hold my granddaughter’s memories, you will know what she called me when she was a child.”
“Mairéad called you Poppa Mór, father the great. It was the closest she could manage to grandfather.” Sidney raised her chin. “And you called her Princess Berry because she ate so many gooseberry turnovers once that she threw them all up in your lap.”
The king blinked rapidly as if trying to gain control over his emotions. Encouraged, Sidney continued. “You used to let her braid your beard.” She smiled. “It looked ridiculous, but you kept the braids in all day so her feelings wouldn’t be hurt. I can still remember the odd looks the nobles cast your way at court.” Dagda Mór’s expression softened, and his eyes filled with warmth as he looked at her. “None can doubt what you say is true.” Dagda Mór gestured to everyone. “Sit.”
Sidney leaned closer to whisper in the king’s ear. “You were the best grandfather in the universe, and Mairéad adored you. I hope you know that.”
The great king nodded, his eyes damp. Lachlan and Dermot rushed to bring him a chair. Once seated, he nodded for her to begin.
Racking her brain, Sidney considered where to start. Áine’s sullen expression helped her decide. “Mairéad never wanted immortality. She only drank the elixir of life because she knew how devastated Áine had been when her husband and sons refused the offer.”
She pointed to Áine. “The person Áine has become is nothing like the mother who raised Mairéad. When Mairéad was little, her mother filled their home with love and laughter. Mairéad hoped by becoming immortal, she could ease her mother’s sorrow. She hoped that, with time, Áine would return to the way she’d been when her husband and sons lived.”
Sidney shook her head. “By the time Mairéad met Dermot, Áine was already well on the way to becoming what she is today—cold and heartless. It was no great sacrifice for Mairéad to relinquish her birthright to marry the Druid Laird.”
“Lies.” Áine took a threatening step toward her.
“Not lies.” Sidney turned to Dagda Mór. “You know it’s true, Your Majesty. Mairéad told you what was in her heart before she and Dermot married.” Sidney reached out a tentative hand to place on the king’s arm. “Do you remember?”
“I do,” the high king said. “’Tis the shame I carry for my part in this. I told my granddaughter if she chose mortality, I would abandon her to whatever fate had in store. I swore not to intervene.” He covered Sidney’s hand with his. “’Twas my wounded pride that spoke those words. It pained me that she would choose a mortal over her own kith and kin.”
“Is…is that why you intervened after the murder? Did I have to relive Mairéad’s death to regain her memories?”
Dagda Mór nodded. “I had no choice but to punish the Druid and his men. You must understand, this took place during the fifth century. Times were very different then.”
It all began to make sense, and Sidney’s respect for the king rose several notches. Hope flared in her heart. Maybe there was a way to settle this without killing a room full of men who didn’t deserve to die.
Sidney straightened, raising her chin to continue. “Áine didn’t lie when she said she didn’t hear Dermot’s pleas for help, but she didn’t tell the truth either.”
“How dare you. Are you calling me a liar?” Áine’s eyes lit with malice. “You’re nothing but an insignificant insect compared to me, and you deserve to be squashed like one.” She lunged toward Sidney with her arms outstretched. Dermot stepped between them, and suddenly Sidney found herself surrounded by all of the men.
“You’ll have to get through me and my men first,” Dermot snarled.
Áine lifted her hands. Blue flames traced up her arms to her fingertips. “So be it.”
Dagda Mór flashed in front of Áine. “Cease.” His voice boomed and echoed off the stone walls like thunder.
Sidney blinked, unsure if what she’d seen had been real. The air in the room smelled of something hot and metallic. No one moved or made a sound. She clung to Dermot’s arm, grateful for his solid strength.
Áine’s body stiffened. Her arms became rigid and immobile against her sides. Eyes blazing with white-hot rage fixed upon Dermot, his men—and on her. A gurgling sound came out of Áine’s mouth as she tried to speak.
“I warned you.” Dagda Mór’s voice was laced with sadness as he regarded his daughter. “You will remain in your chambers until summoned.” With a flick of his wrist, Áine disappeared in a pulse of energy so strong, Sidney had to hold on to Dermot to stay upright.
“Shite,” one of the men muttered.
“Need a change of drawers, lad
?” someone teased, and the room erupted in nervous laughter.
This was the first time any of them had uttered a sound since Sidney had entered the room. She tried to move Dermot out of her way. He wouldn’t budge, but gestured to the rest of the men to return to their places. Peering around his broad shoulders she saw Zoe in the corner, her eyes wide with fright. She caught Sidney’s glance and opened her mouth as if to say something. Thomas covered it with his hand and tucked her up beside him. Were they all that afraid of Dagda Mór?
Clearing her throat, Sidney glanced at him for permission to continue. The faerie king’s posture spoke of long suffering heartache. In that moment, she forgot he was a supernatural being capable of unimaginable things. Her heart went out to the man who had once been the center of Mairéad’s world.
“Poppa Mór,” she whispered, wanting to soothe him.
He lifted his weary eyes and studied her for several moments. “The vessel is altered, but your spirit remains as bright and pure as it ever was.” He turned away. “Continue. I would hear the rest. Sit down, Druid. No harm shall come to your woman. You have my word.” He moved stiffly back to his chair.
Dermot’s woman? How she wished. Sidney’s heart flipped. She waited for everyone to sit before continuing. “Dermot wasn’t the only one who pleaded for Áine’s help that morning. Mairéad called to her, as well, and when Áine didn’t respond, she left her dying body and went to her. She found Áine drunk and passed out in the midst of an orgy.”
Dagda Mór ran his hand over his brow. “I suspected she kept some part of the tale from me.”
“I don’t blame Áine for what happened.” Sidney shook her head sadly. “The fact is, no one here is to blame. Mairéad shouldn’t have—”
Dermot rose from his place and came to stand before her. “I will no’ have you blaming Mairéad or yourself. I canna bear to hear those words come from your mouth. My wife was innocent of any wrongdoing. She was goodness itself and brought only joy to any who knew her.”
“Yes, but Mairéad knew forming an alliance between the Tuatha Dé Danann and your clan would cause trouble. And she never should’ve agreed to the terms Áine and Dagda Mór set forth. If it hadn’t been for her, none of this would’ve happened. She brought all of this down upon your heads, and all because—”
“Stop it.” Dermot shook her by the shoulders. “No’ another word. Your assumptions are false. The fault lies with the greedy bastards who envied what we had. Mairéad had naught tae do with it.” He pulled her into his arms and crushed her to his chest. “You bear no blame, lass. Mairéad bears no blame.”
The room and everyone in it were forgotten as Dermot held her. This is where I belong, and this is what I will never have. Sidney held him back for all she was worth.
Someone cleared his throat. Embarrassed, Sidney stepped away. They weren’t alone, and nothing had been resolved. She studied the floor, her shoes, his shoes, anything to keep from losing herself in the depths of his clear gray eyes.
“I’ve heard what I came to hear.” Dagda Mór rose from his place. “What would you have me do? An agreement was formed when Mairéad and Dermot wed, and the terms were not upheld.”
“Mairéad wouldn’t have wanted anyone punished, and you know it. These men had their lives stolen from them. She cared about them and their families and never would’ve tolerated this injustice.” Sidney drew in a large breath. “What I want is for you to give them back their mortality without ending their lives. If it’s possible, that is.” She waited for Dagda Mór to respond. When he didn’t, her nerves took over. “Will you let each man choose for himself what he wishes to do? Some may want to live, others might choose…” She couldn’t say it. “Every man here should have the right to choose for himself.”
“It is unheard of for the Tuatha Dé Danann to alter a decree made with humans. I must consider the ramifications before reaching a decision.” Dagda Mór closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “I have a great deal to think about. Áine and I shall return at dusk.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
A palpable tension filled the room. Every cell in her body on full alert, Sidney watched as Dagda Mór and Áine prepared the sideboard. Several small vials now sat by the pitcher and goblets. One formula for death, another for mortal life? God, she hoped so. The king and his daughter had arrived at dusk in silence, and neither uttered a word as they worked. Sidney clasped Zoe’s hand and huddled close. Like everyone else in the room, she held her breath.
Dagda Mór turned to face them, his blue eyes lit with the inner flame of the power coursing through him. “All is prepared.” Dagda Mór’s voice echoed through the dining hall. “Long have I waited for my granddaughter’s return.” His eyes settled on Sidney. “I have listened to her heart, and it is she who has decided your fate.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, Dagda Mór straightened to his full height and faced them with regal authority. “It is my decree that each man shall choose his own fate this night.”
Gasps and murmurs buzzed around her. Dagda Mór had granted her request, and instead of feeling relieved, a new apprehension pressed in. She had no idea what Dermot would choose, or Lachlan, Liam and Donald. She’d grown fond of Dermot’s men over the past weeks.
“Druid, come forth,” Dagda Mór commanded.
A surge of adrenaline shot through Sidney, and she sucked in her breath.
“With your permission, sire, my men come first,” Dermot said. “It is my desire that they have the honor before me.”
Dagda Mór inclined his head slightly. “As you wish.”
Dermot’s men lined up, and the first to approach was a man Sidney had hardly spoken to. She remembered his name was Fergus, and Thomas had told her he was the oldest of all of them.
Fergus spoke to Dagda Mór and turned to face Dermot. “I’ve never belonged in this century, Laird. We were no’ meant to live beyond our time. I have yearned for a mortal end for far too long, and it is with a glad heart that I go to my rest. Dinna mourn for me, lads.” Fergus lifted his goblet to everyone assembled. “I’ve nae doubt we’ll meet again.”
Fergus downed the antidote Áine gave him. Sidney covered her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out. With a loud hiss, like air escaping under pressure, he turned to dust and fragments of bone, settling on the floor at Áine’s feet.
Two of the men in line quickly gathered his remains. Placing them reverently in a wooden box, they moved him to the side of the room where one of them wrote his name on the side. It was then Sidney noticed thirteen boxes just like Fergus’s stacked in the corner. Why hadn’t she noticed them before? A chill went down her spine at the sight, and she started to tremble.
Thomas was next, and Zoe’s grip tightened on her hand. He never took his eyes from Zoe as he drank the antidote. When he rejoined them, he took Zoe into his arms and murmured something into her ear. He held her tight for a moment, and then stood beside her. His expression grew solemn as the next in line came forward, and Sidney noticed the red rimming his eyes.
So far, three men had chosen to return to dust. Sidney’s anxiety grew as the last four in line before Dermot took their turns. All but one chose life. Finally, Dermot stood alone before Áine and the king. He made his wishes known to Dagda Mór. Sidney strained to hear what he said, but the words were spoken in Gaelic. Everyone in the room stilled. His men bowed to him with their hands over their hearts. The gesture of fealty sent Sidney into a panic. They knew. She didn’t. Biting her lip to keep from begging him to choose life, she blinked her tears back and waited.
Dermot accepted his goblet and turned to face her. Their eyes met and time froze. Nothing else existed beyond this moment and the connection they shared. Sidney’s breath caught. Dermot lifted the antidote in salute to her and raised it to his lips.
“Hold, Druid,” Dagda Mór shouted. The king grasped Áine’s wrist so hard she grimaced, and the air crackled with power. “That goblet does not hold the antidote Diarmad requested. In this at least I had ho
ped you would prove honorable.” His face an angry mask, he shook his head. “You have betrayed my trust for the last time.”
Dermot placed the goblet down on the sideboard. “Sire, my men have suffered enough at Áine’s hand. Must they look over their shoulders in fear for the rest of their lives?”
Áine snorted, and derision darkened her features. “They should fear me, and so should your little pet.”
“Sidney spoke the truth.” The king regarded Áine sadly. “My daughter has lost all trace of the compassion she once possessed. I fear the heart beating within her has shriveled to naught. She will be punished for her actions. No harm shall come to anyone here because of her. You have my word.”
“Punished?” Áine’s shrill voice cut through the room. “I am your daughter and a direct descendent of the goddess Danu. You would punish me, your own flesh and blood, over a few minor transgressions against a group of miserable humans? What are they to us?”
“Silence. I am ashamed to call you kin.” Dagda Mór’s body began to glow from the inside out. “Though I cannot take your immortality from you, I can bind your powers and take your memory. You are banished to the mortal realm until I see proof that you have learned compassion and regained your heart.”
“No,” Áine screamed. “You can’t. I—” She vanished, and ripples of magic pulsed through the room.
Dagda Mór turned to the sideboard and prepared another goblet for Dermot. Handing it to him, the king nodded to Sidney. She nodded back just as he disappeared. Would she ever see him again?
Dermot raised the antidote and drank it. When he didn’t turn to dust, Sidney’s knees went weak with relief. More than anything, she needed him to come to her. Instead, he stood in the midst of his men as they slapped each other’s backs and laughed at their good fortune.
Heart of the Druid Laird Page 26