by Mia Pride
He was not as intense as Brocc. Collin had a cool head and even temper. And he was certainly more willing to share his feelings. There would be no guessing where Collin was concerned. His proclamation of love had been open and he spoke the words with such conviction that she knew them to be true. Una only wondered if she could ever love him in return…the way she feared she loved Brocc.
“I will pack my things. Perhaps you should go for now. I cannot leave until I have a chance to tell Brocc…and tis probably best if you are not here when I do.”
Una began to walk away, but Collin grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Nay. What sort of man do you take me for? I will not leave. I will stay and walk you back to my farm after we have told him...together.” He raised a brow at her and his tone brooked no argument. She nodded and forced a smile, wondering if she was making the biggest mistake of her life leaving Brocc’s home, but she had to try and change her circumstances if she was to ever make the right decision with a clear mind. Brocc would likely be relieved to have his home to himself again, and that would make her feel better about leaving…or so she convinced herself.
Chapter 8
“We have been traveling for hours and have not yet found the faery hill described by Patrick!” Gwynneth groaned as she restlessly shifted on top of her gray and white horse. They had left as soon as dawn broke and were instantly dismayed at the gray skies overhead. The sun was hidden behind a group of angry storm clouds and it was already promising to be a frigid, wet day. To make matters worse, they had only a vague idea what they were looking for. Patrick had given Garreth the direction in which to travel, telling him the faeries who had helped to relocate the sisters could be found on a large hill with a gnarly lone hawthorn tree atop, with the mountains visible in the distance to the northwest.
Using those mountains as a guide, following their silhouette on the horizon, they had successfully passed all the larger landmarks Patrick had described. They must be getting closer, but so many hills littered the rolling green earth that it was nearly impossible to discern one from the other. “How, amongst these tree-topped hills, are we supposed to recognize the accurate hill?” The hood of Ceara’s thick red cloak was pulled low over her head, soaked completely through from the rain that had finally broken through in the past hour and her wet hair hung about her face in fiery red tendrils.
“We are close, I am certain.” Garreth proclaimed with confidence, then looked over at Ceara with concern. “But it grows dark and this storm won’t relent. We need to find the women some shelter!” he shouted over the whistling wind.
Liam looked over at Gwynneth’s hunched over figure and then back at Garreth. “Aye. I know of a small tuath just to the south of here, though I have never visited.” Liam pointed in the direction they needed to travel. “Perhaps their king will be able to answer some questions about Mac Greine, or point us toward the faery hill.”
Relief washed over Gwynneth at the thought of a warm hearth and dry clothes. Even if it meant backtracking on the morrow, resting was the most logical option given the storm. Out here, all that awaited them was freezing cold rain and wide open skies.
Liam’s instincts did not lead them astray and, by the time the half-hidden sun was creeping below the mountains on the horizon, the tuath they sought came into view. They urged their tired horses forward, galloping through the storm as stinging drops of rain splattered against their faces and the wind blew their cloaks out to the side.
As they approached the entrance to the tuath, its smaller size was a startling contrast to their own. It did not reside in a hillfort, as was customary. It was nestled cozily into the hills of the beautiful green countryside, though the gloomy storm did little to compliment the current foliage, muting all the colors into varying shades of gray.
Liam and Garreth quickly dismounted from their over-worked horses and approached the two men standing guard at the front of the village. Gwynneth and Ceara watched their husbands slowly approach the gates as they stayed back, in case any resistance was met.
The words exchanged between the men were drowned out by the howling of the wind, but Gwynneth could see their arms moving with exaggerated motions as they tried to communicate with the guards. She chewed nervously on her lower lip, praying to the gods that they would receive a warm welcome. As if hearing her prayers, Liam and Garreth walked swiftly over to her and Ceara. “We must speak to their king, but we have been assured safe passage,” Liam shouted over the pelting of the rain as he mounted his horse again and signaled them all to follow him through the gates.
The rain stung Gwynneth’s face like pebbles falling from the sky, but seeing the flicker of firelight ahead and smoke billowing from thatched roofs as they walked along the rocky road leading into the village, made the relentless storm seem more tolerable. The guards opened the double doors to a large rectangular building as Liam and Garreth dismounted and helped their stiff wives down from their horses. Gwynneth and Ceara groaned in unison as their bodies were lifted from the saddle, and their aching backs and rears finally found relief.
As they entered, the loud laughter and amicable chatter came to an abrupt halt as the candles flickered from the intrusive wind blowing into the smoke-filled room.
Long wooden tables were scattered about the room with logs and benches used to sit upon, though most of the villagers seemed to be standing. Several pairs of eyes scanned up and down their bedraggled lengths, making Gwynneth feel uneasy. The combined scents of smoke, sour bodies, spilled ale, and old stew created an overall less than appealing assault on her nostrils, but she controlled the urge to crinkle her nose. Insulting these strangers would not help their cause.
The guards continued to guide them through the rows of rectangular tables, each one crowded with bearded men and curious women. Jugs of ale and mead covered the tabletops, but nobody drank as their gaze followed the newcomers all the way down the aisle and into the very back of the room, where a large bearded man sat in the shadows, eyes sunken into the darkness.
The flicker of tallow candles illuminated strands of his vibrant red hair, almost as bright as the fire that burned in the hearth. A tall guard with a long blonde plait leaned in to whisper in the man’s ear and his bushy eyebrows shot up quickly with interest as he waved his guests toward him and stood.
He silently signaled them to follow, as he pushed some leather hangings aside. This new room was far from interesting. It contained one long low rectangular table and a few dim tallow candles placed in tall bronze holders. No other decorations or furniture adorned the shallow, quiet room. Furs and cushions lined the floor around the table for seating.
A friendly smile spread across the red-haired man’s face as he pointed at the fur-strewn floor, inviting them all to sit. The simple sensation of sitting on a surface other than a horse’s back was a relief to Gwynneth’s exhausted limbs. Ceara sighed next to her as she sat, pulling her sodden woolen cloak away from her neck as she scratched the red, inflamed skin. Gwynneth rubbed her own neck in response. The itchy wool chafed the sensitive skin and she could not wait to be rid of it.
“My name is King Ewan of Manapii. My guard informed me that you are both kings of your own tuath. I know not why you have come, but I am eager to offer you shelter and guidance as I can.” He had thick animal pelts draped over his shoulders, and though he was large, King Ewan was at least a head shorter than Liam or Garreth. Most of his features were hidden beneath his scruffy braided beard, but his brown eyes crinkled at the corners as if he were smiling. He seemed kind enough and Gwynneth breathed deeply, trying to relax her stiff body and anxious mind.
Liam wrapped his strong, warm arm around her shoulder and placed his other hand on her abdomen. “We thank you for your hospitality. I am King Liam of Iverni and this is my wife, Gwynneth, her sister Ceara, and King Garreth of Coraindt. We have arrived here due to this unforeseen storm as we traveled to find a certain…hill.” He looked sideways at Garreth as if seeking help in explaining why they traveled.
; Garreth only shrugged in his usual nonchalant way, preferring to watch Liam squirm under King Ewan’s scrutiny. Just then, a tall flaxen-haired woman in a clean gray dress of simple wool came through the hanging curtain of hide with four steaming mugs of tea, distributing them with a smile. Ceara and Gwynneth both inhaled the peppermint in the tea and let out moans of pleasure at the same time as they picked up the mugs and sipped the healing warmth of the herbs.
King Ewan’s bushy red brows came together on his forehead as he, for the first time, paid close attention to the identical features and mannerisms of the two sisters sitting before him. “Identical sisters...with different colored hair? Well, I’ve never seen anything like it!”
Garreth grunted and took a sip of his tea with a smirk, his hazel eyes dancing with amusement. “Aye,” agreed Liam, “They are very special women.” He looked over at Gwynneth and smiled affectionately before explaining the legend of the Sisters of Danu, the druids that were sent to different tuatha to relocate the sisters, and the faery hill where they were to try and gain information on the last sister’s location. “We have only until the Eve of Beltane to locate the final sister, if the legend is true. And so far, it has been accurate on all accounts.”
“Aye, aye, I know the legend well! In truth, I always thought it was a load of horse shite!” Ewan snickered and then grimaced at his own rudeness, “Nay offense, lassies.”
“None taken,” they uttered in unison.
Ewan tilted his head back and laughed loudly, slapping his thigh in amusement. “Well, we are but a small tuath, as you can see. We are secluded and if not for our visits from the druids and poets, we would be quite ignorant on most matters.” He took a large gulp of his ale and wiped his hand along his red bearded mouth.
“As it happens, I have heard of the Legend of the Sisters of Danu. In fact, a druid named Patrick was here recently, retelling the tale. He said two of the sisters had already reunited. I will admit, I thought he must have eaten too many of the wild berries in the woods again…it would not be the first time, “he sniggered. “But I suppose he was in his right mind all along!”
“Aye, Patrick is the druid who told us the entire legend as well!” Ceara said excitedly. “He also happens to be one of the druids who helped relocate me and our missing sister. He didn’t know who the other druid was, or where our sister was sent. He had left her with the faeries, upon the mound we seek, until another druid came to take her away. If we can find those faeries, we hope to find our sister.”
Ewan was in mid-drink and almost spit out his ale as he finally understood what they meant to accomplish. He choked as he swallowed and banged on his chest. “My lady, those faeries are nasty wee buggers. The last group of people who went out to the mound to seek help from the faeries came back with horrible burns on their arms, quaking in fear!”
“We are aware of their less than affable nature, but we have to believe they are expecting our arrival at some point, aye?” Garreth finally decided to take part in the conversation. “After all, they know that the Sisters of Danu are direct descendants of Dana, the faery that escaped from their world and conformed to life with the humans. If they cooperated enough to help separate the sisters, surely they will help to unite them?” His blonde eyebrow quirked up, feeling his logic was unarguable.
“Indeed, that is logical reasoning, King Garreth. But you see, faeries do not care about the logic of humans. They only care about what the humans can offer them in return for their help. We live quite close to the faery mound you seek, which is most assuredly how you came to find us. If you truly wish it, I can arrange a party of men to accompany you to the mound. However, nay man from this tuath will step foot anywhere near that blasted mound after Joshua came back with the burns! All they will do is point it out to you in the distance.”
Gwynneth lit up and clapped her hands, “That would be wonder—”
“However…” Ewan interrupted, holding up a finger, “I would strongly urge you to reconsider seeking the help of the faeries from that mound. They are not fond of humans and I am not so certain even reuniting the Sisters of Danu will be reward enough for them. They thrive off material gains, not moral ones.”
“Well, how will we find our sister, if we cannot ask the faeries?” Gwynneth asked as she tapped her fingers nervously on the rough wooden table.
“I do have a few ideas,” Ewan said reassuringly. “There are several faery mounds scattered about our great island. They will all know of the legend. However, some are more amicable than others. Those faeries, out there,” Ewan pointed a fat crooked finger toward the door, “have a grudge against humans that has turned violent! If you can find a mound where human-friendly faeries reside, they will be much more inclined to help. Or,” he said in a suggestive tone, tapping his finger thoughtfully on the knobby table surface.
“Or, what?” Liam asked, listening intently as he leaned forward.
“Or, you can seek out the druid who delivered your sister. Nay faeries need to be disturbed and you can get straight answers without riddles.”
Ceara sighed. “Aye, tis a grand idea, but we do not know who that druid is. Only the faeries would know, and—”
“Nay. Not only the faeries,” Ewan winked. “A druid visited that mound on Beltane twenty summers ago to pick up an infant lass with brown hair and green eyes. Then, he sought shelter for himself and the babe here at Manapii.”
“You were king back then?” Gwynneth scrutinized King Ewan’s grizzled features. Sure, half of his face was covered with hair, but the half she could see seemed quite youthful. She would not expect him to be older than thirty summers, at most.
“Nay, my uncle was king. However, I was with him always, his ever-faithful companion, you see. And I will never forget the night when a strange man appeared in our village. I thought he must be a god, his pure white robes glowing in the blue light of the moon as he carried an infant in his arms. Her eyes were greener than any I had ever seen before, or since…until today.” He glared over the rim of his mug between Gwynneth and Ceara as they leaned forward in complete silence, soaking in every detail of his story.
“Three identical sisters, all with emerald eyes and different colored hair? Tis in the legend, is it not? I’m certain of the druid’s identity, as he did confide in my uncle that she was a very special lass, requiring relocation in the morning.”
Silence fell over the room. Only the crackle of the fire and the loud jovial sounds of the villagers just behind the curtains could be heard. Liam looked at Garreth and then Gwynneth, who was staring at Ewan, who was staring at Ceara, who was staring at Liam. Each person was waiting for the other to speak first, but nobody seemed to know what to say.
Taking a loud breath, Liam slowly released it, gathering his nerves. “Well, go on then. Do you remember his name?”
“Och, even better. I not only remember his name, but I know his whereabouts. He just left our tuath but a day ago. He was here on one of his usual visits, sharing stories and gossip from other tuatha in the area. His name is Deaglan. And he told me his next stop was Iverni.”
“Iverni? Deaglan?” Liam shot to his feet as if his backside were on fire and leaned closer to Ewan in surprise. He couldn’t believe his ears. “By the horns of Cernunnos! Are you telling me that the druid Deaglan, who I grew up listening to around the fires at night as a child, is the same druid we have sought all along?”
Ewan shrugged. “I suppose so. I know nay other druids named Deaglan. Mayhap he has gone to Iverni to seek you out. He must know the time has come to reunite the Sisters.”
“We need to get back right away! Before he leaves!” Ceara anxiously ringed her hands together looking at Garreth.
“We are not going anywhere in this weather, Ceara! I do not even like you being here in the first place!” Garreth roared unexpectedly, causing Gwynneth to jump. Garreth was always ready to fight, if it meant protecting his wife. It seemed his intensity had only increased now that she carried his child.
“But, tis
important!” she shouted back with blazing cheeks. “I am nay weak-willed woman! I can travel just as well as any man in this rain!”
“Och! Which is not well at all, Ceara! Nay man can see for their lives in a storm like this! And I never accused you of being weak-willed! By all the gods, there has never been a more strong–willed woman! And you will bring me to the brink of madness if you question my decisions at every turn!”
Before Ceara could blurt out another unsuccessful argument in her favor, King Ewan put up an authoritative hand to silence them both. “I do not mean to come between a man and his wife, but I would like to add my own agreement that traveling is not to be advised. I would be a poor host if I allowed you to go back out there tonight. We happen to have a vacant home that you can stay in for the night. The horses have already been taken to the stables to be fed and rested. I suggest you all do the same. Get dry, eat, and rest. You can continue at dawn. I am certain this storm has slowed Deaglan’s progress as well. He will not be far ahead of you.”
Liam and Garreth shook hands with King Ewan of Manapii and thanked him profusely for, not only is kind hospitality, but for the incredibly useful information he had willingly shared. They allowed a serving lass to guide them to the vacant home and started up the hearth’s fire. The rain had already tapered off, but the bitter chill of the night was sharp and had settled into their bones as they walked in their soaking wet clothes, feeling weighed down by water-logged cloaks and overwhelming thoughts.
Chapter 9
Brocc spent the rest of the night in the gathering hall brooding over Una’s stubbornness and as the hours slipped by, his mood only darkened. Frustration seeped further into his bones as he thought of the woman currently growing his child within her womb, yet he had no control over either of them.
“What am I going to do with the wee banshee?” he grumbled to himself. Running frustrated fingers through his loose black hair, he looked like a wild man and the villagers, usually finding their king quite approachable, accurately read his body language and left him alone to scowl in the darkest corner of the hall. He thought of his behavior earlier that day, ripping her clothing off in his rage and burning her horrid wool rags. He did not regret his destruction of the dress. In fact, he felt quite thrilled knowing he would never have to see her scrubbing his floors in that thing ever again. It was the destruction of her spirit that he regretted the most. Obviously, fighting fire with fire was an unsuccessful approach and he would need to reconsider his goals and his options for obtaining them.