by Brit Darby
He shook his head. “Alas, by the time I found the physic an’ convinced him to come, trouble had already descended on our humble home. By nightfall, O’Connor’s men had ridden out an’ taken Liam by force, where the lad had returned to tend my sick Sorcha. When I made it home, ’twas only to stumble upon smoking rubble, my cottage burned to the ground.”
Niall’s voice grew hoarse when he continued. “As the men rode off with Liam prisoner, they touched their torches to the thatch. My wife was trapped inside with my wee girlies. They ne’er came out.”
Alianor gasped. “Jesus wept,” she whispered, unable to comprehend the evil in some men’s hearts.
“Aye. Overcome with agony an’ grief, I rode like a demon possessed intent on killing the bastards. I caught up to O’Connor’s men an’ got Liam free. Together the pair of us made short work of Lady Duvessa’s errand boys. Five of O’Connor’s men died that day, as do any who’ve crossed us since.”
Niall looked up when thunder cracked above them, dark clouds rolling and churning angrily across the sky. “We’d best go, colleen. A storm’s brewing.”
They rode back to the camp in silence. Alianor’s mind dwelled on all she had learned from Niall. It started to rain before they reached the abbey, the downpour forming muddy puddles the horses splashed through.
After helping Alianor from her mount, Niall took the horses and lead them into their stalls and started drying them off. She placed Goliath upon his perch. He seemed to take little notice of the rain; his brilliant feathers repelled the wetness. He fluffed, and shook out his wings, the remaining droplets flying in the fading light filtering into the stables.
The spray of light reminded her of the moody landscape, and in turn the brooding man who occupied her mind so often. She could not help but remember the blazing passion when she and Liam made love. A flush warmed her. Alianor was thankful Niall couldn’t read her mind or see the blush heating her cheeks.
“Don’t tary colleen,” Niall said. “You’d best get in by the fire an’ dry out.”
Alinaor nodded and started for the abbey. The rain washed over her face and she welcomed its cooling effect. She loved the rain, and the mist rising from the earth as the cooler drops melted into its warmth. A shadow slipped from a building she passed and she greeted Turrean with an affectionate ruffle of the wolfhound’s shaggy fur. Turrean licked her hand with a big, warm tongue. Alianor laughed.
“How are you today, girl?” Alianor scratched Turrean behind the ears, while the wolfhound looked at her with soulful brown eyes.
Most people were inside seeking shelter from the storm, and Alianor enjoyed having the crude streets to herself. Deep in solemn thought, Alianor resumed her walk for the abbey, Turrean loping a few paces back at her heels.
“Do Sassenach whores have no shame?”
The intrusion upon her reverie startled Alianor. Rosaleen stood in front of her, blocking her entrance into the abbey. She balled her fist, shook it at Alianor. Rosaleen swung wide, but Alianor managed to duck out of the way.
“How could you betray Liam? You slut,” Rosaleen shrieked.
She lunged forward, grabbed Alianor by the shoulders, and her momentum hurled them both backwards into the mud. Alianor gasped with pain as she impacted the ground, the screaming Irish hellion on top of her.
“Get off,” she shouted, surprise giving way to her instinct for self-preservation and fighting back.
Alianor grabbed Rosaleen’s wrists and prevented her face from being scratched, but found it impossible to buck off the other woman. So, forced to improvise, she rolled over in the mud and pulled the struggling hellcat with her. She ended up straddled on top of Rosaleen. Panting from a rising fury of her own, Alianor let go of one hand and slapped Rosaleen hard across the face.
The stunned look on Rosaleen’s face told Alianor she hadn’t expected her to fight back. But the hand Alianor had freed wrapped into her damp hair. Rosaleen yanked hard, nearly ripping a fistful from its roots.
Alianor cried out. Rolling free, she scrambled to get to her feet. Her scalp throbbed and she saw a good number of strands in Rosaleen’s hand. The mud proved too slippery for Alianor to get far. Rosaleen tried getting up too, but her feet slid out from under her and she landed on her rump.
“God’s blood, not again,” Alianor cursed when Rosaleen managed her footing the second time, and hurled herself at Alianor again. Together they tumbled into the ooze in a thrashing pile of arms and legs. This time Rosaleen managed to seize the back of Alianor’s head and grind her rival’s face into the muck. Alianor choked and struggled for air, convinced the shrieking madwoman was going to kill her.
Through layers of slimy mud, she heard a feral-sounding snarl. Rosaleen froze, her grip loosening on the nape of Alianor’s neck. Sputtering, coughing, Alianor lifted her face from the mire and gasped for air while Turrean circled them, snarling. The wolfhound’s ruff bristled, yet somehow her dark eyes looked more human than canine. Turrean’s gaze locked on Rosaleen, her throaty growl leaving no doubt she intended to attack.
Alianor could feel Rosaleen’s thighs trembling where they straddle-gripped her sides. “Get away,” Rosaleen cried, slinging a fistful of mud at the dog. “Go on, you flea-bitten mongrel.”
As if sensing the woman’s fear Turrean solidified her stance, lips drawn back to expose canines of an impressive, gleaming length. She crouched, her intentions to protect Alianor made clear.
“Stad,” Niall yelled, diverting the dog’s attention as he hurried out from the barn. “Stop, Turrean.”
Alianor seized the distraction and dragged herself free. Rosaleen remained still, long enough to assure Turrean wasn’t going for her throat, and she yanked her rival’s sodden hair again, hard. Alianor’s scalp exploded with pain, and in one furious reflex, she balled her fist and swung around. She struck with surprising accuracy, hitting Rosaleen across the jaw and splitting her lip. The other woman gasped and touched her face, staring in shock at the blood on her hand.
Niall grabbed Turrean by the ruff to restrain her, and Liam appeared. He assessed the situation, and stepped in between the two women before either one could do more harm. “What the hell is going on here?”
Torin arrived on his heels, looking grave when he took in the scene and Rosaleen’s bleeding face.
Both women rose, shaking mud from their hands and gowns, rain running down their muddy countenances in what might have been comical to Liam if he weren’t so angry. His mood did not improve when Rosaleen slogged through the mire towards him, pouting, her eyes red with tears.
“Ask your strumpet where she’s been, and who’s she’s been doin’,” Rosy cried.
Alianor said nothing in her own defense. Her gaze remained cool and level on Rosy. Somehow, even covered in layers of mud, she managed to look dignified.
“Speak plainly, woman,” Liam barked at Rosy. He was losing what little patience he had to begin with.
Rosy took a step back at his outburst. “I-I saw them come out together from the stables,” she said, and pointed an accusing finger at Alianor and Niall. Her swelling lip puckered, and her eyes narrowed. “Rollin’ in the hay, they were. She’s a schemin’ slut, is it not plain enough for you, Liam? She’ll fuck any man here if she thinks he will help her escape. Malone was the first.”
“That’s not true,” Alianor said. “You were the one who lied and told Malone I wanted company that night.”
Others were gathering; the dastardly weather not enough to keep them away from a fight, especially between these two women. With Turrean settled, Niall released his hold on the dog.
Seeing Rosy worked up for another scene, Liam grabbed her elbow and pulled her towards the abbey. “Let’s take this inside.” He glanced back at his uncle, whose own look was so black Liam reconsidered saying anything more. Niall offered his arm to Alianor as escort and in silence they followed Liam, Rosy and Torin inside.
Once out of the sight of prying eyes and wagging tongues, Liam pushed Rosy ahead of him towards
a bench. “Sit,” he ordered, revealing his anger in the terse command. He looked from one woman to the other. “I don’t tolerate bickering among my men. I certainly won’t put up with catfights between you two.”
Thus far Alianor had said little, but she stepped forward, her eyes flashing blue fire. Again Liam was amazed at how regal she appeared even with mud clinging to her face.
“You do not dictate to me. And if this lying bitch dares touch me again, I’ll prove I am not someone to trifle with. If Turrean does not tear out her throat first and spare us all her tiresome hysterics and lies.”
The message was clear. Liam stared at Alianor, both annoyed and intrigued by her display of bravado. Yet he feared his aching head might split in two as the blood rushed to it. The conflicting need to both punish and protect Alianor was so intense he restrained himself from lashing out in frustration. Instead, he worked his clenched fists at his sides to relieve the tension. “Best watch your tongue, Alianor. It will do no good to make an enemy of me.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Enemy? I thought you already were, William. Remember, you hold me against my will, or is that insufficient reason to consider you my enemy?”
Rosy was not about to be left out. Her coarse snigger drew their attention. “For an enemy, you sure don’t mind spreadin’ your legs for him. Or for any other dog sniffing ’round your skirts.”
“Shut up, Rosy,” Liam ordered, putting his arm out to stop Niall when his uncle stepped forward, his rare growl of rage warning everyone he was close to losing control himself.
“Torin, are you goin’ to let him speak to me that way?” Rosaleen whined and looked to the third man standing back from the scene. Torin’s brows furrowed together in dismay, and his blond head ducked in shame.
“Rosy, do as you’re told,” Torin muttered, pleading with her. “You’ve caused enough trouble already. They’ll no’ believe your lies. Can you no’ see it?”
Rosy looked hurt. “You’re not goin’ to take her side, are you? Torin, how can you believe a Sassenach slut o’er me?”
Torin barely glanced at her as he dragged her from the room. “’Tis no’ the wench’s words, but Niall’s I believe. ’Twas plain enough on his face when you accused of him of betraying Liam. Say no’ another word, woman, lest I beat you for spewing filth.”
Rosy sniveled, wiping her nose on the back of her hand as she went, but she said no more. Obviously, she knew better than to provoke Torin further. It was plain she had lost this battle.
Looking after the couple, Liam shook his head in dismay. “I actually feel sorry for Torin. Knowing Rosy, there will be hell to pay later.”
Niall snorted in disgust. “Rosy best curb her wicked tongue. ’Tis foul, the lies she casts ’bout Alianor.”
Liam chuckled. “What of the lies she tells about you?”
Niall’s face reddened. “You cannot think —?”
“Of course not,” Liam said, suddenly weary. “We both know why Rosy’s causing trouble.”
“Because she’s in love with you.”
Both men turned to Alianor. She bluntly stated what neither of them would.
Liam wasn’t sure how to react in the wake of her honest statement. He felt awkward, his anger having fled. The only thing he could say was, “I’m sorry about Rosy.”
“She’s harmless.” Alianor rubbed her head and winced. “Except when it comes to her dramatics.” Her look turned serious. “It’s Torin you should beware.”
“Torin?” Liam was surprised. “He knows there has never been anything between me and Rosy. It’s not my way to move in on another man’s woman.”
Alianor sighed. “Aye, Torin knows it. But do not underestimate that quiet man, William. For he also senses that Rosaleen’s heart will never truly be his, not while you are around. That is what makes him dangerous.”
Chapter Sixteen
“BROTHER DONAL TOOK THE Jewel of Knowledge from the Viking warrior, and hid it within the folds of his robe.”
They had all heard Felicity tell the legend many times before, but nobody ever tired of it. Liam listened with the others as her voice rang with pride and conviction.
Everyone gathered for the evening meal, but instead of drifting apart after the sharing of bread, a familiar clamor started. Many begged Felicity to share the tale. At first she demurred, claiming weariness, but the children wheedled and the women pouted and she succumbed, laughing. Liam knew Felicity enjoyed it as much as they did. Her brown eyes sparkled and she quivered with anticipation of the retelling.
“One day when visitin’ his family, Brother Donal foolishly showed the stone t’ his brothers, Ronan and Peadar. They began t’ argue over which one of them would sell it and grow fat from its riches.
“In the end, neither had the privilege of owning the jewel. Donal slipped away while they argued and hid the stone. Later he sought the help of those who live in Tirn Aill, The Other Land. ’Tis how he found out how the stone had fallen into the hands of the Vik.”
Felicity paused in the tale, and a hush fell as her audience waited for her to continue.
“Many years before, fierce Northmen fell upon Innishmore. Within the great caves there lived Fand, a Faery Queen, who was called the Pearl of Beauty. Though wife to Manannan and lover to Cuchulain, she was the property of no man. She commanded a legion of mighty knights, all dressed in green trimmed with gold thread, golden helmets upon their heads and golden greaves upon each limb. The warriors sported solid gold spears and sat upon royal steeds made of fire and flame, their hooves polished silver and bridles gold.
“T’ keep the raiders from finding her secret lair, Queen Fand rode out with her army and, after a fierce battle, fought back the Vik. All but one; a great Viking warrior who had seen Queen Fand upon her horse, her silvery hair flying as she fought bravely and skillfully beside her men. He fell in love at first sight, and vowed she would be his.
“He followed as the faeries retreated back into their caves, and, when the Pearl of Beauty returned her royal steed t’ the stables, he kidnapped and took her t’ the frozen lands of the Northmen. Fand had the Jewel of Knowledge hidden within her girdle, the gift given by the Danu to the Faerykind. It seemed the stone was forever lost t’ the people of Eire.”
Deep sighs sounded in the hall as if each man, woman, and child experienced the loss personally. Liam saw Felicity’s shoulders slump.
“But, alas, Fand, a true and faithful daughter, could not forget her duty and loyalty to Eire. On her deathbed, she begged one of her Viking descendants t’ journey back to the land where she was born, and return the stone t’ its home, knowing he would not fail in the task.
“Now it was again among Eire’s own, and the faeries of The Other Land took the stone from Brother Donal and saw Seòd Fios given into the keeping of Fand’s eldest daughter by Manannan, Niamh of the Golden Hair. The girl was but six when her mother was stolen, but she was a woman grown now and had faery magick in her blood. She protected the stone for two-hundred human years.”
It was as if Felicity held the people in the crowded room captive, Liam noted, their attention riveted upon the small woman in the center of the circle.
“Then, for hundreds of years more, Seòd Fios was handed down through the generations in the female line of Fand. One day, a daughter of Fand will be called upon to bring its mighty power back t’ the mortal realms.
“There are markings in the Cave of Crachan at the entrance of Tirn Aill that tell of a true Prince of Eire who will rise from the mists of obscurity. An Emerald Prince of royal blood, yet whose heart and soul belongs t’ the common man. When Connacht is lost in darkness — when she is no longer free, only then will Seòd Fios be seen again.
“’Tis said a beautiful woman, a descendant of Fand, will bring the Jewel of Knowledge t’ Flaith Smaragaid, the Emerald Prince. Together they will unite the land and its people.”
Every so often, Liam’s gaze was drawn to where Alianor sat, reading one of her own books he had found amongst her things.
Books, like her gowns, had little value to starving wretches. It seemed inhumane, even to a blackguard like him, to take her few personal belongings, so he had returned them.
It surprised him how little Alianor possessed. Surely Sir Walter Coventry had not been poor. The dower offered de Lacy was generous enough. Yet aside from the plain golden wedding band she wore, and a few trinkets with semiprecious stones, she had no valuable jewelry. It seemed wrong somehow. A woman of her astonishing beauty deserved to be draped in rubies, sapphires — and aye, even emeralds.
Reminded of the legend, he studied Alianor. She remained absorbed in the book on her lap; the tale seemed to hold no interest for her. When Felicity went on with a more comical story, he rose and crossed the hall to sit on the bench beside her.
“Do romantic legends not appeal to you, Alianor?”
“Hmm,” she said, turning a page of her book, “a fine faerytale.”
“Faerytale?” The expression on her face told Liam she did not believe in the legend, or anything beyond the practical.
She sighed, closed her book and turned her full attention to him. “Perhaps one must be Irish to believe in things like faeries. The practical English do not hold with fanciful stories.”
Liam leaned back against the stone wall behind the bench, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I can see why you are skeptical. I’m not sure what I believe, either, and I’m Irish through and through. But,” he paused, looking at her, “I’d like to believe in that particular legend, with all my heart and soul.”
Alianor met his gaze. “They call you the Emerald Prince here. Are you the man who will save Connacht from a reign of darkness?”
Liam heard the dubious note in her voice, and laughed. “I don’t think so, Alianor. I appear to lack an important part of fulfilling the Seòd Fios prophecy.”
Her eyes questioned him. He leaned close to her and whispered, “I have yet to meet the daughter of Fand whose love will help unite Connacht again.”