by Brit Darby
Deep inside, she sensed she somehow knew the two people. They seemed familiar to her, comfortable in the way one feels with people they know well. The woman had hair the color of her own, a silvery-blonde, and the man’s blue eyes matched hers and Camber’s.
Dreams were not literal, Alianor believed. But a dream resurfacing twice in the span of a day was disturbing. Images came unbidden to her, as if the near-drowning opened a floodgate of buried memories. Memories of what? She feared the answer. She only knew it had to do with water — crashing, pulling, claiming her breath, robbing life.
She cut off the thought at the source and rubbed her pounding temples. Alianor decided stress had prompted the nightmare, as it had the day before. She heard rain dripping off the abbey roof. She shrugged aside the dream, and the memory of fighting back waves of terror and a wall of water.
A soft knock drew her attention to the door. “Yes?” she called out, relieved by the distraction.
Felicity opened the door and poked her head inside. “Are you all right, milady? I thought I heard you call out.”
Had she? Alianor wasn’t sure. “I had a bad dream, mayhap I cried out. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
Stepping inside the room, Felicity closed the door behind her. She set the candle she held onto the table. When she reached the bed, she sat on its edge and took Alianor’s hands in her own. “What sort of nightmare, child?”
“I don’t know, but it’s so strange, like I’m dreaming somebody else’s dream. There are two people, a man and a woman, and I seem to know them, but cannot put names to their faces when awake. There is rising water, icy cold, and I’m afraid … so afraid.”
“You’ve had this dream before.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes, twice in the past day. And I’ve had it before but I had forgotten.” Alianor shivered and Felicity wrapped the blanket from the bed about her shoulders.
“O my! You are freezing, maighdean, and look so fearful pale.” Worried, Felicity touched Alianor’s damp forehead. “I pray you aren’t courtin’ a fever. Should I send for Brother Camber? I heard him tell Uilleam he’s skilled in the healing arts.”
“No, I am fine. Do not waken my brother; he has traveled far and is weary.”
Felicity still looked worried, but nodded. “As you wish.” She bit her lip, looking preoccupied. It was Alianor’s turn to listen, and she squeezed the older woman’s fingers in her own.
“What’s wrong, Felicity? There is something troubling you.”
“Aye.” Felicity sighed, her tone apologetic but her eyes filled with relief. She took a deep breath and blurted, “I wanted t’ say Uilleam is a good man, milady. He bears his people’s troubles upon his shoulders. ’Tis a great weight and drives him t’ do things he would otherwise not do. I fear you saw the worst of him today, and it troubles me.”
Alianor reached out and hugged Felicity, the sadness tugging at the woman’s face breaking her heart. “Do not worry,” she said, though the reassurance was shaky even to her own ears. “I know what is in Liam’s heart.”
Felicity smiled. “I believe you are in his heart, milady.”
“I cannot presume it, nor should you.”
Worry crinkled Felicity’s expression and tears glistened in her eyes. “Lady Alianor, do you think your Sasunn King will send soldiers after Uilleam? Will he be crushed amidst these troubled events you suffer?”
Aye, Alianor thought. Likely de Lacy had already sent a missive to King John, angrily relaying this latest turn of events. It was only a matter of time before the King sent someone after her. She didn’t foresee de Lacy giving up his claim on her, he had said as much. He would see her his wife, or see her dead.
Alianor shivered. Liam was already an outlaw in the eyes of Irish kings. Now, King John too had reason to subdue Caomhánach and his followers. Destroying Liam would strengthen the royal stranglehold already creeping across Ireland, and take away one of the few things remaining for the people to believe in.
De Lacy would tell King John of Liam’s influence over the common folk of Connacht. Any power wielded other than England’s was regarded as a threat. The King would take malicious delight in destroying Ireland’s fragile hope for the future. He was not a man who believed in or respected legends, unless they lauded him.
Alianor’s heart ached. If Liam was the Emerald Prince, his people needed him even more than she did.
She drew a ragged breath. This was hard beyond belief, for she needed Liam as surely as the air she breathed. She remembered how he had once plucked pale blue flowers for her at the lough, and how quickly the grà ì ceathach had wilted in her hand, once its tender roots had left the nourishing soil.
Like the love-in-a-mist, her heart needed the warmth of Liam’s love to survive. Otherwise, she would wither and die. She felt the faint hope of a future unravel like a tapestry, knowing what she must do.
“No, Felicity,” she whispered, making a silent vow to God, a vow to put others before herself. “I won’t let de Lacy or the King claim your Emerald Prince.”
“How can you stop them, milady?”
“There is only one way.”
FELICITY STARED AT ALIANOR in trepidation. “You don’t mean —”
“Yes. I must leave.”
“’Tis folly, milady! The King will not look kindly upon you even if you surrender.”
“Surrender?” Alianor was surprised. “No, Felicity, I’ve no intention of making it so easy for Lackland, nor am I returning to England. There may be somewhere I can go. My lord husband Walter had a dear friend, a fellow knight as honorable and strong as he. I know he has holdings south of here, in Leinster.”
Felicity’s gaze searched Alianor’s. “Can this man help you?”
“I pray so. He is one of the few men left with whom the King will not trifle, for he is too respected and powerful. I do not believe he would turn me away, for Walter’s sake if not my own. Had he not been away from court when the King ordered me to Ireland, I daresay I should have flung myself at his feet and begged for aid.”
Alianor expected Felicity’s face to reflect relief at this news, but instead the small woman sighed and looked down. Puzzled, Alianor waited. She sensed something monumental was about to happen when Felicity covered her face with her hands. “Oh, milady, I cannot look you in the eye.”
“Why not?”
Alianor tried to pull the woman’s hands down from her face, but Felicity shook her head. “’Twas wrong of me t’ keep it from you for so long, but I had to be sure.”
Confused, Alianor could only stare as Felicity jumped up and said, “Wait here, milady, I shall only be a moment.” She was gone before Alianor could protest or question her further.
She waited as bidden, her mind swirling with worry and anxiety at her strange outburst. She was on her feet, dressed and pacing, by the time the other woman returned. Felicity carried a small box in her hands, one like the kind fashioned for holding daggers. Alianor looked at it, curious. Did Felicity intend to give her a weapon to fend off a demon like de Lacy?
She was unprepared for what Felicity revealed when she lifted the lid. She gasped as the candlelight shimmered across the gleaming gold of a beautiful Celtic cross, a green jewel set in its center; an emerald.
Alianor’s hand went to her throat. “Is it …?”
Felicity nodded. “Seòd Fios, milady. The Jewel of Knowledge.”
“But ’tis just a legend, a faerytale.” Alianor took a step back, afraid to even look at it. Certainly she would not touch it, even though the woman proffered it to her.
“Is it? Do you not wonder, milady, about the dreams you have, about the people who haunt you? Why you feel you know them, and sense their loss? How is it you can sing in Gaelic and know the legend of Ailinn?”
“An Irish bard who once came to c-court —” Alianor stammered.
Felicity cut her off. “Nay, milady, I told you the tale. You are Ailinn.”
ALIANOR SANK DOWN UPON the bed. Her knees trembled an
d she feared they might buckle beneath her. A fervent gleam lit Felicity’s eyes — the woman believed every word she spoke. Or was she merely a bit mad as Liam had hinted?
At her stricken silence, Felicity set the box on the table beside the candle and came to sit beside her again. “Listen t’ me, child,” she said. “For many years I have borne this burden in secret, until Eire, and you, were both ready t’ take up the cause. You remember I told you a wee bit about my life afore at the convent.” She waited until Alianor nodded. “’Twas all true, including the story of the wee girlie with silver hair — Ailinn.” Taking a deep breath, Felicity continued:
“Ailinn and her little brother Faolán came t’ St. Mary’s, orphaned they were after a terrible shipwreck where their parents died. The rest on the boat perished; only the two children survived. I was assigned t’ tend them, for they were both ill from injury and shock. To my surprise I found the wee girlie wore a great golden cross on a chain about her neck.” Felicity nodded towards the box.
“I knew then Ailinn was a descendant of the Faery Queen Fand, and a true daughter of Eire. But I knew if the prioress saw the cross, she would take it from the child, so I hid it away and told nary a soul.
“When she recovered, Ailinn was able to tell us their first names, but little else. She spoke only Gaelic and could not tell us a surname, or remember if she had any kin. The boy Faolán would not speak at all, but scream he would, like a bloody banshee, whenever the nuns tried t’ bathe him.
“Only Ailinn could calm him at those times. Though soon enough, the prioress insisted they be kept apart and schooled in proper manners and the King’s English.” Felicity shook her head. “Same as she forbade the old stories, the prioress would not allow Gaelic spoken there. But Ailinn was quick t’ learn a new tongue, for she was bright as I said.” She looked at Alianor. “You were uncommon bright, milady.”
“Felicity — you believe Camber and I are these children — Irish by birth?” Doubt raced through her mind, clouding her judgment. It was too preposterous.
“Believe? ’Tis no doubt of it.” The woman sounded offended Alianor would question the claim. “I saw your brother’s birthmark earlier this eve and I knew for certain. The cross on his arm — I have seen it a’fore. The wee laddie Faolán bore the same mark. There’s no mistaking it.”
Alianor worried her lip in thought. “If this is true, how did we get from Ireland to England? How do you explain Sir Geoffrey and Lady Maud, our parents there?”
“Remember I asked you once if your Walter had ever been t’ Eire?”
“Yes.”
“About a year after you two arrived at the convent, fate played its hand. Faolán had never gotten over his fear of water and had creative ways t’ avoid it, but the prioress had equal resolve the lad should be submerged in a tub and scrubbed clean regardless. These pitched battles were oft violent. One day, the laddie escaped her clutches and ran out the door. He managed to get past the convent gates and into the streets, naked as the day he was born.”
Felicity chuckled at the memory. “Of course, the prioress and some of us set off in pursuit, but none could run faster than Ailinn — than you, who sprinted past everyone and caught him. You knew the prioress would beat him, as she had before, and you set up a defense in front of a cottage where someone had left a broom out on the steps.
“Faolán — Camber, I mean — clung t’ your skirts bawling while you wielded the broomstick like a sword, fending off the good sisters of St. Mary’s. ’Twas how Coventry found you, snarling protectively like a cat-a-mountain over her young.”
“Walter!” Alianor exclaimed in disbelief. “How …?”
Felicity shrugged. “Seems we’ll never know how he came t’ be in the village that day. Mayhap on his journey t’ find the parents of the squire you spoke of. All I know is God brought him t’ us — t’ you. As soon as you mentioned his name, I remembered ’twas a man named Coventry who offered t’ take you and Faolán. He said dear friends of his in England were unable t’ have children, and he would see their hearts eased.
“I still remember him kneeling down t’ your height. Something in his manner calmed you, assured you he did not intend harm. You made no attempt t’ strike out and dropped your makeshift weapon. He cupped your face with his big hands and gently wiped the tears and grime from your cheeks with his thumbs. You curled your arms trustingly about his neck, and the great knight scooped up both you and Faolán into his arms. These children go with me, he told us in a booming voice, and even the prioress dared not protest.”
Hot tears spilled down Alianor’s cheeks. She wanted to deny it, to claim it all false, but she knew it was true. When Felicity mentioned Walter wiping the tears from her cheeks, as he always had, she could no longer doubt the woman’s words.
She wiped the wetness away now, and looked at the shining emotion in Felicity’s eyes, then back to the box again. Something akin to fear rose in her breast. “You’ve hidden it all these years. Why show me now?”
“Coventry took you and Camber away before I could tell him the story and give him the cross, but I realized he would keep you safe. So, I guarded the cross instead, knowing, when the time was right, you would come back t’ me and claim Seòd Fios. The time has come, milady, t’ return it t’ the one who must show the Emerald Prince the light.”
ALIANOR SHOOK HER HEAD. “I cannot.”
“I do not ask,” Felicity said, laying a hand upon hers, “but beg it, for the sake of Connacht.”
“The timing does not seem right. Liam does not even believe he is this Emerald Prince.”
“Aye,” Felicity sighed, “stubborn he is, cut of the same cloth as O’Connor. But you, milady — you have his love. He will listen t’ you.”
“Do I?” The niggling doubt she had experienced when they arrived back at camp resurfaced. “It seems he does not care whether I stay or not.”
Felicity tsked. “As I said, he is a stubborn lad. Your brother touched upon his own guilt for having kidnapped you in the first place. ’Tis the way of himself, t’ put up a wall of indifference when uncomfortable. Do you not know he has given his heart in t’ your care?”
“Felicity, he has only to say what he feels,” Alianor shook her head, “but he has not.”
Overwhelmed by all Felicity told her and suggested, Alianor sought another recourse, something more sensible. “It seems the cross could aid all of you in a more practical way. The gold and the gem —”
“Nay!” Felicity cried, knowing where she intended to go with the suggestion. “’Tis a sacred trust the Tuatha de Danaan placed in you. Please, milady, take the cross. The stone will give you guidance and strength t’ do what you must. In time, Uilleam will believe as well.”
Sensing Felicity’s desperation, Alianor nodded to calm the woman, but she had already decided it was not the time to indulge in superstition. The cross was apparently hers by right of birth, so she would accept it, but she truly believed the only worth it had for the Irish was in its monetary value.
Felicity removed the cross from its box and handed it to her, all her hopes and beliefs shining on her face. Alianor dreaded disappointing the woman, for she doubted the legend was true.
She gazed down at the cross in her hands, a thousand more questions swirling in her head. Yet Alianor knew no more answers would be found this night. Misplaced or not, Felicity’s unflagging trust upset her. Drained by all she had been told, she tried not to let her dismay show as she hugged the little woman goodnight, and goodbye.
Chapter Twenty-three
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY we left in the middle of the night, Nora. Why this furtive slinking about?”
Camber’s troubled words carried too loudly in the dark woods. Alianor rode beside him, frustrated at the slower pace she was forced to take for her brother to keep up, for his seat upon the horse was uncertain.
Unwilling to accept her silence, Camber continued. “You’d think we were the thieves and outlaws, sneaking off in the middle of the night. St
ealing horses. Dear Lord … we are the thieves!”
“Sssh.” Alianor turned in her saddle and gave an exasperated look. She knew he saw her expression by moonlight, and hoped her glare told him she didn’t care for the conversation he pursued.
Camber didn’t heed the warning and rambled on. “Mind you, I bear no great love for Irish rebels, but Caomhánach’s people were kind enough. Somehow it seems wrong to sneak off like this.”
Still Alianor said nothing, but Camber was determined to break through the wall of silence. Something was wrong, he felt it.
“I heard you saved Caomhánach’s life, and you confessed to me you love him. Yet you didn’t say goodbye. Why?”
“It’s none of your affair, dear brother.” Alianor’s said sharply, not intending to lash out, but Cam’s badgering rubbed her the wrong way. The intense pain inside drove her to find a substitute emotion. Anger served well, though she despised herself for it.
Camber pulled on his mount’s reins, stopping the horse dead in his tracks. “Nora, please. I realize I have arrived in the middle of something but I need you to tell me what is going on. Please … let me help you, once, without argument.”
Alianor halted her horse. She realized she had never asked for his help before, and understood how much it meant to him to be there for her now. He had left everything he held dear to find her, and she owed him an explanation for dragging him out of his bed in the middle of the night. He oft said a shared burden weighed half as much. She knew Cam could do nothing, except offer words of comfort and love her unconditionally. But it was enough, and she gave a soft sigh of surrender. “What I said before is true, I love Liam.”
“I confess I tried to dismiss your earlier words as those uttered in a state of upset and exhaustion. I am not certain I understand how you can love a man like Caomhánach, not only a kidnapper of women, but a man who lives outside the law.”