Wild Moonlight (The O'Byrne Brides Book 3)

by Minger,Miriam

  So Nora had called him, begging Magnus with desolate tears in her eyes to reconsider the marriage though he had turned a deaf ear to her.

  How could he not what with Agnes’s incessant harping? His shrewish second wife had threatened to make his life a misery if he did not fully support the match!

  Magnus shuddered, wondering what Agnes would say at this surprising news. At least Nora hadn’t drowned, but he still knew so little. Sigurd had left his side to approach one of the corpses. With a terrible howl, the enraged Norseman brought down his broad axe and buried the blade in what was left of poor Father Edmund.

  Now Magnus did become sick, dropping to his knees to vomit upon the ground. As he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, Sigurd’s men began to jeer his weakness and beat their weapons upon their painted wooden shields.

  “Get up, MacTorkil!”

  Magnus began to rise but he wasn’t fast enough for Sigurd, the hulking giant grasping him by the collar of his tunic and hauling him to his feet.

  “Do you not wish to hear what I learned from those bastards before I set them aflame?”

  Magnus nodded while Sigurd’s face grew bright red, spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth.

  “The two priests were fleeing to the stable, but my men caught them and dragged them to me. The fat one said he’d found this ring, Nora’s ring! Do you recognize it?”

  Again Magnus nodded at the blue sapphire ring sparkling in Sigurd’s huge callused hand, until the Norseman clenched his fist around it.

  “The old priest refused to say much at first—told me that he’d sworn a sacred vow not to utter a word of what had transpired until I threatened to cut the fat one’s throat. Your daughter was carried near drowned to the church by this Niall O’Byrne, who must have been the man that dove from the dock to save her. He revived her and then decided to marry her. My promised bride!”

  Shouts of derision erupted around them at Sigurd’s words, his men once more striking their shields with intensifying fury. All it took was one wave from the huge Norseman to silence them. Sigurd grabbed Magnus by the front of his tunic and pulled him to within inches of his pox-marked face.

  “Tell me of Niall O’Byrne! Who is he? Where will I find him?”

  Magnus tried not to grimace, Sigurd’s breath was so foul. “If it’s the same man I know of, he’s Tanist to his elder brother Ronan Black O’Byrne, chieftain of the Glenmalure O’Byrnes.”

  “Tanist?”

  “Aye, he would succeed as chieftain if anything befell Black O’Byrne, a legendary rebel in Éire. The Normans fear him. Hate him and his clansmen for their fierce raiding against them.”

  “By Odin, how did Niall O’Byrne come to be in Ostmentown? The man who saw him jump into the river after my bride said he lived at a tavern for weeks! Others called him a drunkard—”

  “I-I don’t know, Lord Knutson…unless the rumor heard from Dublin was true.”

  “Rumor?”

  “Aye, that the woman he was pledged to wed, the daughter of Donal MacMurrough, chose another and spurned him. Mayhap that drove him here to drink, to forget—ah, God!”

  Sigurd had shoved him away so violently that Magnus fell backward to the ground, the Norseman towering over him.

  “How far a march to Glenmalure?”

  Sigurd’s voice sunk to a growl, Magnus blanched at the axe hovering so close to his head. “Three days…but by horseback, mayhap less than a day if you know the land and ride hard. It’s treacherous country. Mountainous. Dangerous. The rebel clans suffer no one trespassing upon their domain—”

  “I fear no rebel clans! We fear no rebel clans!”

  Sigurd’s roar echoing around them, his axe now raised above his head, he turned to his men who roared right back at him and brandished their weapons.

  “We march at dawn to retrieve my bride! I swear if these O’Byrnes refuse to give her over to me, we will destroy them!”

  Sigurd spun back around and leveled his axe at Magnus’s face. “When we return with your daughter to Ostmentown, you will send your swiftest ship to Rome to seek an annulment from the Pope for this heinous marriage. Do you understand me?”

  Magnus nodded, the ominous blade hovering a mere inch from his nose, though a troubling thought suddenly occurred to him. “If the marriage has been consummated, Nora may already be with—”

  “Silence!” His face mottled with rage, Sigurd bent down to hiss at Magnus, “What do I care if another man’s seed bears fruit? When I sail home to Norway, I will have your gold, your daughter, and mayhap an heir I will claim as my own blood growing in her womb! Now get up!”

  Shaking, Magnus struggled to his feet only to have Sigurd shove him toward his horse.

  “Back to the stronghold, MacTorkil! There is much to prepare before dawn. We’ll need wagons, horses, provisions! Summon as many of your men as are able to wield a sword to fight alongside us! Now go!”

  Fierce shouts for vengeance rent the air as Magnus hauled himself atop his mount, though the fresh pain in his chest made him suck in his breath.

  Yet it was nothing to the bitter regret stabbing at him for what he had done to Nora.

  He had wronged her unforgivably, he knew that now as he kicked his horse into a gallop and left Sigurd and his raucous men and their murderous atrocity behind him.

  Just as Magnus sensed, one hand clutching at his chest, that he was dying. Was there nothing at this terrible juncture that he could do to help her?

  ***

  “Oh, Triona, it’s so beautiful! I’ve never worn anything finer!”

  Nora spun around with excitement as the shimmering white silk of her gown caught the afternoon sunshine streaming in the windows, while the seamstresses oohed and aahed at their handiwork. A lavender overdress with a matching white silk bodice and appliqued sleeves completed the gown, which was unlike anything Nora had ever seen before.

  Even Deirdre propped on Triona’s hip clapped her chubby hands with delight.

  The half dozen new gowns that Nora had been fitted for yesterday hung finished as well in a dazzling array of colors in one corner of the sewing house. Aye, but this white and lavender one was the gown she had chosen to wear to the wedding feast tomorrow night. She couldn’t wait!

  “Do you think Niall will like it?” Nora glanced over her shoulder at Triona, who handed Deirdre to a maidservant come to fetch the child for her afternoon nap.

  “Like it? You’re as lovely a new bride as I’ve ever seen, Nora O’Byrne...hmm, but how shall we dress your hair? Would you like to wear a veil? A wreath of wildflowers?”

  “Aye, wildflowers,” Nora murmured, indeed feeling truly beautiful for the first time in her life. Did happiness make it so? Being so in love with her husband that she felt her heart might burst just in thinking of him?

  They had parted this morning when Niall, Ronan, and a host of clansmen had left the stronghold to hunt deer and wild boar for the feast. Already Nora felt like it had been a lifetime since she’d seen him. Did he miss her, too? She glanced down at the garnet ring he had given her at the lough, a symbol she now felt certain was of his growing feelings for her.

  If what Triona claimed at yesterday’s fitting was true, that Niall had been so reluctant to leave Nora at the sewing house that he couldn’t but be falling in love with her, then aye, he missed her!

  “Thinking of Niall?” Triona teased her as several seamstresses rushed forward to help Nora out of the gown. “You’re blushing again.”

  So she was, Nora realized, her face flushed with warmth. How could she not think constantly of Niall when he had become everything to her…her love, her life, her breath? Her smile seemed answer enough for Triona, who laughed and hastened to her side to hug her.

  “I’m so pleased to have another sister! I pray every night that someday we’ll see Maire again. You would love her just as I do.”

  Nora saw at once the wistfulness in Triona’s eyes, and nodded. “I’ll pray for that day, too.”

  “Good. With
both of us praying, that day will come, I know it!” With a soft sigh, Triona gestured to one of the seamstresses. “Now for the last fitting. Have you ever worn trousers before?”

  “No, never.” Nora laughed nervously, not sure what to think as a stout older woman came forward with a pair of brown trousers draped over her arm.

  “Go on, Nora, try them on!” Triona urged her, standing back now with her hands on her hips. “The trousers won’t bite you, I promise.”

  Nora did, slipping first one leg and then the other into the unfamiliar garment and then tucking in her camise, while Triona whooped with delight.

  “I could never convince Maire to wear them even when I was teaching her to ride, but look at you! They fit you perfectly!”

  Nora turned this way and that, eyeing the trousers skeptically. They felt comfortable enough, but yet so strange. As Triona beckoned to her, Nora took a few steps toward her beaming sister-in-law.

  “Aye, you can walk freely and run freely and ride like the wind without a ridiculous gown to fetter you. What do you think?”

  Nora laughed to herself, shaking her head in amazement. “I…I like them!”

  “Of course you like them! Now try this shirt and leather jerkin, too, and here’s a pair of my shoes I’ll loan to you until we have some made for you.”

  Within moments Nora was dressed wholly unlike she’d ever been before, while Triona grinned from ear-to-ear and appeared quite pleased with herself.

  “We’ll look like twins, Nora! The next time Ronan and Niall go hunting, we’ll wear our trousers and ride along with them so you can feel the difference for yourself. You’ll never want to wear a gown atop a horse again!”

  Triona’s delight was so infectious that Nora smiled too, though she felt a twinge of sadness thinking of her real twin, Kristina. Once they had laughed together and tried on new gowns together—

  “Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, I think I hear them riding into the stronghold now, but it’s too early. They weren’t expected back until dark.”

  Grateful to be wrested from her melancholy thoughts, Nora nonetheless felt alarm that Triona looked so concerned. “Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know yet. Come on!”

  Nora gasped as Triona grabbed her hand and together they hurried from the sewing house.

  Aye, it was true, Nora had never felt such freedom of movement as in her new trousers when they ran toward the opened gates, though Triona had to hold up her gown with her free hand.

  Yet Nora forgot altogether about what she wore at the commotion and fierce shouting all around them. Her heart leapt into her throat when she spied Niall jumping down from his lathered stallion to rush toward her.

  “Niall?”

  He said nothing but propelled her in the opposite direction as Ronan roared out above the din, “Everyone into the feasting-hall! Now!”

  Chapter 13

  “Sigurd Knutson is marching upon Glenmalure?” Shaking her head in disbelief, Nora felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

  She stood with Niall and Triona near the huge hearth, along with the several hundred O’Byrne clansmen, women, and children behind them who had rushed to the feasting-hall at Ronan’s command.

  All eyes were glued to their chieftain, faces grim, any crying from babes shushed at once as an air of foreboding hung over the massive room.

  The Ostman standing next to Ronan, whom Nora recognized as one of her father’s personal guards, looked half dead from exhaustion, he’d ridden so hard to reach them. Dear God, to warn them. Ronan and Niall and their clansmen had come upon him not far from the stronghold, their hunt so successful they had turned early toward home.

  “Go on, man!” Ronan urged him after offering a cup of wine that the Ostman downed in one swallow. Drawing in a deep ragged breath, he rushed on.

  “Lord Knutson and his men are making camp for the night in Glendalough. The wagons with provisions could go no further over such rough terrain. Lord MacTorkil seized upon the commotion to send me here, God help him that no one noticed.”

  “How many men?” Ronan demanded.

  “Four hundred…along with a hundred or more Ostmen summoned by Lord MacTorkil.”

  A sudden rumble of voices and sharp curses among the O’Byrnes went up at that number, but Ronan waved his hand for silence.

  “Magnus MacTorkil marches upon us as well and yet he sent you here to warn us?”

  “Aye, my lord, he had no choice. Lord Knutson learned from a priest two days past that his promised bride, Nora MacTorkil, is among you. He has vowed to have her back or he will destroy you.”

  Fierce shouts erupted now among the O’Byrnes, clenched fists and brandished swords raised high in the air. Nora was certain her knees might give way beneath her, she felt so sickened, so stunned. The only thing that kept her standing was Niall drawing her against him, his arm firmly around her waist.

  “Not MacTorkil but Nora O’Byrne!” he roared above the melee, his expression furious. “No man shall take my bride from me! Not Sigurd Knutson! No one!”

  Again Ronan had to wave for silence, but it took longer now to quiet the gathered throng. Nora felt the O’Byrnes’ mounting defiance like a live thing in the feasting-hall, which helped to bolster her. That, and Triona reaching over to squeeze her hand.

  “This priest was the one that married my brother and his wife?” Ronan queried the Ostman in a harsh voice that once more made the feasting-hall grow still.

  “Aye, Father Edmund, but he was slain along with Father Gilbert, who found a ring at the church that proved Nora MacTor—O’Byrne hadn’t drowned. Lord Knutson was so incensed to hear of the marriage that he cut their throats and set their bodies ablaze…and torched the church as well.”

  Now Nora’s knees did give way, but Niall caught her and swept her into his arms. His gaze burned into hers.

  “A ring, Nora?”

  She nodded, her throat so tight she could hardly speak. “I…I prayed it had been lost in the river. I wanted to tell you, truly…but I could not. I was so afraid. Forgive me.”

  He embraced her so tightly then and kissed her brow that Nora knew with immense relief that he didn’t blame her. Yet his expression still looked so grave, no doubt Niall thinking about Father Edmund just as she couldn’t believe the old priest had been brutally murdered.

  “Enough! Give the man some food and a place to rest!” Ronan commanded, his expression grown even darker than Niall’s. “Clansmen, we prepare for battle! Sigurd Knutson and his Norsemen will be upon us tomorrow!”

  “Nora, stay with Triona!” Niall bade her as he set her on the ground. For a brief moment he held her close, kissing her forehead and then lifting her chin to press his lips to hers, and then he was gone to join Ronan.

  Nora stared after him, her heart aching, her mind spinning, until she started when she felt Triona squeeze her arm.

  Tears bit Nora’s eyes as she met Triona’s gaze. Such gut-wrenching pain gripped her that she lay at the heart of this nightmare threatening Niall, his clansmen, their innocent wives and children—

  “No, do not think it, Nora, not for another moment!” Triona told her fiercely as if reading Nora’s mind. “You’re an O’Byrne and we protect our own! Now come with me. There is much for all of us to do!”

  ***

  Hours later and well past dusk, Nora had never known such exhaustion as Triona pushed open the door to her and Niall’s dwelling-house. The torchlit yard beyond them was still filled with people rushing to and fro, dogs barking, and occasional shouts, though Nora hadn’t seen Niall since the gathering in the feasting-hall. Longing for him, she sighed and stepped inside the door.

  “Get some rest, Nora, that’s all we can do now until morning.”

  She nodded as Triona gave her a quick hug, and then closed the door behind her.

  Nora had wanted to do more, had begged Triona that she might remain with her to do more, but Triona had insisted firmly that Nora had more than done her part.

  Alone now, her head
spun from the number of storehouses she and Triona had visited to ensure all foodstuffs were in order for a potential siege. Then there had been the overseeing of linens cut and stacked for bandages. Last, they had made sure that the huge ovens in the kitchen flanking the feasting-hall were filled continuously with loaves of bread baking and the smokehouses stocked with dressed meat from the day’s hunt.

  Not for a wedding feast…but an impending battle the mere thought of which cut Nora to the quick. She forced herself to move further into the room, certain that if she remained by the door she would crumple there.

  All was empty and quiet, only a few lamps lit by the maidservants who had left a simple meal of bread and salted meat upon the table, and two cups filled with ale.

  Nora felt no hunger, but she stopped to take a few sips of ale to soothe her thirst. She looked around the room at the furnishings Niall had told her only this morning that she could arrange however she wanted, and to adorn their home as she saw fit with tapestries and carpets and anything she wished. He wanted her to be happy and comfortable here—ah, God!

  Nora grasped the table for support, feeling again as if her knees might buckle beneath her. So many times while she had accompanied Triona from place to place these past hours, she had begun to tremble at the thought that Sigurd Skullcrusher and his men were so close to Glenmalure.

  So close. Mayhap they were already making their way here in the dark. The moon was still ripe, though waning, casting plenty of light upon the countryside—no, God, no, she couldn’t think of it!

  Suddenly feeling she must lie down or once more risk collapsing to the floor, Nora ran into the adjoining room and threw herself upon the bed.

  Her and Niall’s bed. She had no strength left to change out of her shirt and trousers, but only flung off the leather jerkin and kicked off her borrowed pair of shoes. Then she curled herself up into a tight ball and stared blindly at the wall.

  She had no tears to weep, nor did she wish to. Weeping would gain her nothing, nor change the horror that tomorrow might bring.