Celtic Skies, Book 3 in the Celtic Steel Series

by Delaney Rhodes

  “Good mon,” replied Macklin. “How did ye happen to be adrift?” he added.

  “Aye. We drew straws. I made this makeshift raft and set to sea in search of help.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Seems to me, mayhap three nights have passed,” said Landers. “And I am fierce hungry,” he added smiling, and drinking the last of the water from the skin.

  “I’m sure ye are,” replied Macklin, pulling up alongside the ship. “Let’s get ye aboard.”

  FOUR

  O’Malley Sick House

  “Darina, she doesna’ wish to have visitors,” exclaimed Vynae. “Please, ye must no’ botha’ her!”

  Darina O’Malley stood face to face with the clan healer, Vynae, in front of Kyra’s door. At just over five feet nine inches tall, Darina O’Malley was an imposing figure against the small frame of the elderly woman, now blocking the only means of access to her screaming cousin, Kyra. If Darina’s fiery red hair wasn’t a clear reflection of her current state of mind, her beet-red face most surely was. The Lord’s wife was not accustomed to being ordered around, and she wasn’t about to begin that journey now.

  “Vynae, I’ve no intention of negotiatin’ this matter with ye,” she began, before huffing and rubbing her own swollen tummy, “Ye’ll hand me that key now, or I’ll toss ye in the dungeons.”

  “Darina, there is nay reason to speak to Vynae such, dear,” started her aunt Atilde.

  “There is ev’ry reason, and I will no’ be reprimanded by the likes of ye either. That’s Kyra in there a’ screamin’ her lungs out, and I intend to see her, this once! Now ye’ll open that door now, Vynae, if ye know what’s good for ye. Dinna’ think I willna’ call the guards on ye, I’ve done it a’fore and I’ll do it again.” Darina clutched her sides and leaned a hesitant arm against the thatched reed wall, before straightening up and poking her bony finger into Vynae’s face. “Do it!” she commanded.

  Vynae stepped forward, placed a gentle hand on Darina’s expanding belly, and shook her head. “Darina, ye shoudna’ be outa’ bed, dear. Yer own time is drawing nigh and ye need yer rest.”

  “Dinna’ ye think to change the subject, Vynae,” she retorted. “I’ve many weeks yet and I am no’ helpless, neither am I a patient woman. Open the damned door!” she shouted.

  “Verra well, but if I was ye, I would cover me head. No tellin’ what she may throw this direction,” said Vynae.

  She wasn’t wrong. No sooner had Darina entered the chamber, than she came inches from losing her head to a brass mug; still full of lukewarm broth. Kyra, that temper of yours will be your undoing someday, I swear it, she thought to herself. Standing at the foot of Kyra’s bed, Darina determined not to cry. Her closest friend and only female cousin, Kyra, was suffering mercilessly. And there didn’t seem to be much that anyone was able or willing to do about it. How could they stand by and do nothing? There must be something that can be done. Vynae was the eldest healer she knew, and surely there was something—anything—that they could give her—at least so she wouldn’t die in excruciating pain.

  She surveyed the scene before her. Kyra lying flat on her back against the makeshift straw mattress on the heavy wooden platform bed frame. Blood and amniotic fluid no doubt; smeared everywhere. It appeared the servants had attempted to wash the floors, but the stains remained. Chamber pots lined up against the far table. Crumpled piles of bloody rags and bed linens in the deep basket near the door, and no attempt had been made, it appeared, to change Kyra’s garments or provide new sheeting recently.

  “Kyra, ’tis Darina,” she ventured.

  “I dinna’care who’tis,” Kyra retorted. “I want ye outa’ here, at once. I wish to die in peace, in me own time in me own way.”

  “I dinna’ believe ye,” Darina responded calmly. “The Kyra I know wouldna’ jest give up.”

  “The Kyra ye knew is gone,” she grimaced, and rolled onto her side facing away from the door and her cousin.

  Darina walked to the west-facing window slit, and removed the heavy woolen curtain which shielded the room from the wind and elements. It was brisk for the season, but Darina removed it anyway, letting a soft breeze of chilly sea air fill the chamber. She grabbed a candlestick, lit it from the burning hearth, and made her way to each corner of the chamber, lighting the candelabras standing on each side.

  “She’ll be takin’ a fever, if ye dinna’ cover that window there,” Vynae interjected.

  “Well, I s’pose Vynae, since ye have already determined her to be a dead woman, it shallna’ matter one bit whether she die warm or cold, now should it?” she retorted loud enough for Kyra to hear.

  “Darina, I’m cold,” Kyra muttered, after pulling the filthy bed linens up over her blood-soaked form.

  “I dinna’ rightly care if yer cold, Kyra.”

  “Darina, how can ye be so cruel?” asked Atilde, stepping into the room behind Vynae.

  “Out with ye!” shouted Darina. “Both of ye, get out now! And fetch Elise for me, send for her at once! And Moya too, tell Elise to bring Moya.”

  “What will she be wantin’ with Moya, the stable o’seer?” whispered Ruarc to Atilde from the corridor. “And her maidservant? This is no’ the castle, why would she want her servant here?”

  Darina worked fast. She put out the fire burning in the hearth, after burning all the bloody bed linens. After calling for buckets of newly boiled fresh water, she sat down on a stool next to the trestle table, and clutched her aching lower back. So tired, she thought to herself. Kyra writhed in pain and rolled onto her right side, glowering at Darina from the corner of the room.

  “Vynae, come here, please,” Darina demanded. “I’ve made a list of some thangs I need, see that Elise takes the list and gathers the items. Some of ’em are in me locked chest in the antechamber next to me room. The others, well, she will have to get those from Lucian, I am afraid. Make sure to tell her that I said ’tis an order direct from me.”

  Moya arrived just as Vynae was exiting the chamber. “Darina, me dear,” she said. “What need have ye of me services?” asked the elder stablewoman, obviously confused.

  Darina grabbed Moya by the forearms and looked her straight in the eye. “I’ve need of a special kind of service, Moya,” she whispered. Kyra stirred and gripped her fists against the sides of the bed frame; screaming in pain. She held that position for what seemed like an eternity, as Darina and Moya clenched their fists together in sympathy. “Have ye brought the ropes?” she asked.

  Moya nodded her head and held out her right hand, still clutching the ropes. “Oh, by the gods, Darina,” responded Moya, “is she alright?”

  “Nay, Moya, she is no’,” she responded. “She most surely will die—I am told,” she added, before moving towards the trestle table and the buckets of clean soapy water. “Help me wash her,” she said.

  “Wash her?” asked Moya dumbfounded.

  “Aye,” she replied. “If she is to die, willna’ be as dirty and unkempt as this,” Darina stated, waving her hand over the filthy condition of her cousin. “I intend to change her garments, her bed linens and to feed her. Now, she will no’ cooperate, of that I’m most certain. However, with yer…uh…experience in birthin’ and nurturin’ horses, I’m sure ye are acquainted with the troubles of a new, or soon to be, mathair? Are ye no’?”

  “Well, o’ course, Darina, I’ve helped birth dozens o’ horses,” Moya whispered, aghast, “but Kyra is no’ a horse, Darina.”

  “Of that I am well aware,” Darina replied, dodging a wayward trencher thrown by Kyra. It landed on the table with a thud, and sent a bucket of water tumbling onto the chamber floor. “Well aware,” she added with a grimace, pinching her lips together and rolling her eyes at Kyra.

  “However, it appears to me, and I am no great scholar mind ye—but it appears to me, that anatomy being what’tis—there is no great difference between birthin’ a horse and birthin’ a bairn. Wee babes and wee horses, they all come from the same general…uh…
location, am I right?” she asked.

  “Well, I s’pose ye may be right on that account,” Moya conceded.

  “And seein’ as how, Moya, that ye are more than qualified to birth ahorse, and ye are a strong determined woman, as well; it makes perfect sense to me, that ye are the only person in this clan more qualified to birth this babe than Vynae.”

  “Well I canna’ argue with that,” Moya stated matter-of-factly.

  “I can,” interjected Vynae who stood in the doorway looking cross, Elise beside her. “I birth the babes in this clan, unless o’ course they decide to birth at home. In which case, their husbands—”

  Darina interrupted, “But ye have no’ birthed this babe yet now, have ye?” shouted Darina sarcastically. “And, as far as I’veheard, ye’ve given up, have ye no’?” she added.

  “Well, I’ve done evathang humanly possible—”

  “That’s jest it, isna’ Vynae?” retorted Darina.

  “Ye’ve done evathang humanly possible. Methinks mayhap ’tis time we dinna’ treat this as a human condition, but a natural condition requirin’ natural remedies and natural forces.”

  “Darina, I got a look at that list ye gave me for Elise, and I canna’ allow ye—”

  “Canna’ allow me?” screamed Darina. “Canna’ allow me? How dare ye speak to me this way! Get out this minute,” she shouted. “Moya,” she directed, “ask Murchadh to come in here, please.”

  “Ye intend to torture me beyond the sheer hell I have lived in for three full days?” grumbled Kyra from the bed. “Ye’ve no regard for me comfort, or me life? What have I done that ye would treat me thus?” she begged Darina between groans.

  “Kyra, as far as I can tell,” she responded gently, laying her warm hand on her cousin’s cold, wet forehead, “ye are still laborin’.”

  “Well, that is of no doubt,” Kyra quipped angrily, grasping her tightening belly through an angry contraction.

  “What this means, Kyra,” interrupted Moya, “is that the babe most likely still lives.”

  “And we have a chance at savin’ it,” Darina replied, “and mayhap ye as well, Kyra.”

  Kyra screamed through a long contraction, and finally melted into the bed, a tangled mess of bloody appendages. Darina shoved any fear she may have been holding regarding the perils of childbirth, into the furthest recesses of her mind. It wouldn’t do to think of herself now, if her cousin had any chance of surviving, it must be soon, and it must be quick.

  “Darina,” uttered Murchadh from the doorway. He looked a fright. Ashen and pasty, he was sweating profusely, and obviously agitated over the condition of his former daughter-in-law. He had seen her only a few times since Aiden’s death, the quiet discomfort between people grieving the same loss too much for him to bear. Kyra turned at the sound of his voice and wept quietly into the wilted pillow.

  “Darina,” he muttered again. “Darina, dear, did ye call for me?” he breathed.

  “Aye, Murchadh! I’m so glad ye are here. I need ye to remove Vynae and the others from the sick house immediately,” she said.

  “Aye. ‘Twill be done as ye ask,” he responded.

  “And I need ye to ensure that no others enter the sick house, save for Elise and Moya, and mayhap Parkin if he is found.” Murchadh nodded. “Elise will tend to the others,” she directed at Vynae, indicating Elise would watch over the other sick house occupants. “Oh, and be expectin’ mayhap Lucian and Patrick at some point, I’m not sure. And…oh…Macklin and Winnie, they can wait in the main room if they arrive. Other than that—no other visitors. Period.”

  “Aye, milady,” he responded.

  “Is there anathing else?” he asked.

  “Aye, Murchadh,” she said. “Pray. Pray to the ole’ gods or the new. It really doesna’ matter which. Both if ye wish. Jest pray,” she sighed.

  FIVE

  O’Malley Lands—Late Afternoon

  “That’s quite a varied vocabulary ye have there, lass,” spoke Moya. “Kyra, I’ve known ye since ye were a wee babe, and I would have neva’ dreamed such language could come from that wee pretty mouth of yers,” she added, stroking Kyra’s forehead with a clean linen cloth. “Tis a good thang I dinna’ know Gaelic, I presume,” she chuckled in response to Kyra’s last tirade.

  “I will speak horse if that suits ye better,” retorted Kyra under her breath. Rolling over to grab the edge of the bed, she gripped the sides of her swollen belly and lurched forward at a contraction.

  Darina let loose her own string of Gaelic niceties, and sat down next to Kyra on the bed. “Now, we are gonna do this, with or without yer cooperation, Kyra. Ye will drink the broth, or by the gods, I’ll tie ye down with this rope and pinch yer nose meself.”

  Having already endured a bucket bath, Kyra was in no condition to continue to fight the women caring for her. She had been examined at least a dozen times, and modesty was no longer an issue. She was bathed, her clothing was changed, and the bed linens were stripped and reapplied. The elixir that Elise prepared had begun to dull some of the pain, to the point she realized that she was, in fact, hungry, and relented to drinking the broth.

  The room took on an eerie chill, and Darina started a small fire in the hearth. The sun showed bright into the formerly dank chamber. Moya burned incense on the trestle table, and Elise was busy preparing some other type of concoction. How it would be ingested or applied she wasn’t sure, but she was thankful that the women were there. It would be better to die clean and surrounded by others, Kyra concurred in her mind, before rolling over to rest a bit between the unrelenting contractions. I’ll not have my children viewing a filthy dead body.

  Ruarc finally gave up fighting with Murchadh outside the sick house doors. It may have been the presence of six armed guards that finally persuaded him, or the fact that Patrick and Lucian arrived at just the right moment. After receiving Minea, who was caring for her two-year-old stepdaughter, Winnie, for a bit, Kyra asked Ruarc and Atilde to take her to the inn to wait for word. She wouldn’t let them watch her die, or hear the screaming she knew would come, and it was better to say goodbye at this point, than to subject them to the bloody horror she knew awaited her.

  Patrick and Lucian waited patiently in the front room, boiling water and preparing strips of linen and compresses for Elise. Praying, Kyra was sure that was what they were really doing, but she wouldn’t say it. Not out loud at least. Kyra knew the two druid priests held a special bond, and she was not about to dissuade their intentions. She needed all the prayers she could get right now. And that is why she also summoned Galen and Kurt MacArtrey as well. Kurt might no longer be a Catholic priest, but at some point in his life, he believed and followed a god he was convinced could help—and she was hedging her bets.

  Kyra’s chamber was bustling with activity and nervous energy she knew her cousin was hard-pressed to contain. Darina’s air of stoic responsibility was about to get the better of her. Kyra knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Darina’s overconfident, overbearing attitude was hiding a fear so deep, it frightened her to her core. Still—there was no one else she would trust her life too, or that of her unborn child. Kyra would withstand unimaginable pain if it meant her child would live. Pain and death were a part of life, she reminded herself. I must die at some point. Better to leave a child behind alive, than to survive with empty arms.

  Finally, Darina made her way to the stool beside Kyra’s bed, and sat to rest a bit. She rubbed her swollen belly. “I’m tired,” she whispered to Kyra beyond earshot of Elise and Moya. “I canna’ begin to imagine how tired and uncomfortable ye must be, Kyra.”

  “I’m feelin’ some better now,” Kyra replied. “I’m jest glad ye finally got Vynae outa’ here. I’ve no good idea why any lass would come here to give birth. The woman is atrocious, and as unhelpful as ye can imagine.”

  “I know,” she replied. “Kyra, I need ye to listen to me now. This is verra important. I ken ye are in a lot of pain, I ken that, I do. However, somethin’ must be done, and there
is no easy or delicate way to put this. Ye have to decide’Tis no’ fair, I know but there is no one more qualified to answer than ye are. Parkin is no’ here, and I dinna’ ken when or if he will be back, and I know that pains ye so.”

  Kyra wept openly. She wept for Aiden, the husband who died hunting. She wept for Parkin MacCahan, her new husband, who was now missing along with his ship. She wept for Macklin and Winnie, Parkin’s children who had become like her own. But most of all, she wept for the new life inside her struggling to be free of its confines, but unable to make its way into the world—at this point—unharmed.

  “Kyra,” said Moya. “Kyra, dear. Kyra, can ye hear me?” she repeated.

  “She’s losin’ consciousness,” said Elise, standing on the other side of the bed. “We’re losin’ her.”

  “Elise, go get Lucian and Patrick,” Darina cried, “we need to pray for her now, a’fore we do…uh…what must be done,” she finished solemnly. Kyra sank back onto the mattress and panted. There wasn’t much time left and she knew it. Terror shook her by the shoulders, but relented when stubborn calm took over. I can do this, she said to herself. I have to.

  ***

  “Parkin, we must hurry,” breathed Deasum, grabbing him by the arm and nearly throwing him on board. Parkin cast him a wary glance. Deasum helped the last of the eight lone survivors up the ragged rope ladder to the bow of the ship. “Sit, eat, wash, and let’s be off,” he yelled to Macklin. Deckhands scrambled, and Parkin and his crew clawed at the roast venison and dried fruit. The scraggly condition of the men, made it clear there was little sustenance to be found on the outer island which they called home for the past few days. Mostly rocks and caves, it was mainly limestone and thorn weeds, but they had managed to catch some birds and fish with handmade spears. Fresh water was another matter altogether.

  “Bring the men some water,” Deasum shouted, “and hurry!”

  Parkin sank down the side of the galley, and leaned heavily against the wooden fortress. “By the gods, I wasna’ sure Landers could do it,” he sighed. “Dear God, where is Landers?”