“Do not,” he said, when she began to weep. “No’ a sound now.”
Mama cat screeched a warning at her cubs, and they retreated to the brush again, nipping and biting one another. Returning her attention to Daenal she prowled forward, a step at a time, until she was mere feet from her, locking eyes in the process. Mama growled and showed her teeth again, and then flared her shoulder blades.
Before she knew what had happened, the man appeared in front of her, landing with a thud between her and the cat. “Oogo snotchka pyl!” he barked at the frazzled beast. “Oogo snotchka pyl!” he barked again, raising his hand shoulder level and pointing behind the cougar, “Go on!” he shouted, “get outta here!”
It took a moment for Daenal’s eyes to adjust, but it almost seemed like the man was raising a stick at the cat, and the cat wasn’t exactly pleased with the idea. He stamped his foot hard against the ground, and repeated the unfamiliar phrase once more, slicing a hard line through the air with the stick, and crashing it hard to the ground with a thud.
The cubs yelped and took off running in the other direction, followed shortly behind by mama cat, who scampered off with them. Neither of them moved for some time. He—hand still raised holding the stick, and she—holding up the heavy oak tree, breathing heavily.
“Are ye alright?” his voice finally said.
“I…aye…I guess so,” she sighed. “Methinks I will be anaway.”
“Pick up yer thangs,” he said sternly.
“Oh…oh…alright,” she replied to his back, frantically gathering what was left of the contents of her basket, and finally securing the dagger again on her belt with trembling hands.
“Where do ye belong?” he asked, more gently this time.
“Belong?” she asked.
“Where do ye live?” he corrected, agitation in his voice.
“Oh, I live at the castle, the O’Malley castle,” she returned. “But I can get me…”
“Nonsense,” he interrupted, “Follow me,” he said, before he trudged forward through the brush swinging his stick this way and that, clearing a path for them through the trees.
They walked on like this, her scurrying to keep up with him, wondering to herself about the giant of a man who just sent an angry catamount on its way with only his words. But, why wouldn’t he look at her? She thought silently to herself. He wasn’t the first man to be rude to her, but he was the first to be so blatant about it. Most men were that way—with her. None would ever dare look her in the eye. She knew she didn’t look like most of the women in her clan, but her mother had tried to convince her she was simply too beautiful for them to bear. “Intimidating”, her father once said, “an exotic beauty with a keen mind.”
“I’m so verra sorry,” she said, speaking to his back, struggling to keep up and then tripping over a stump, landing with a thud at his feet. “Can ye jest help me up?” she begged, reaching out and placing her hand on the back of his leg, as he motioned behind him for her to continue on.
“I have fallen,” she shouted this time, tears beginning to run down her face. Am I really so terrible?
***
She was someone extremely important. Of that he was certain. Why else would she belong in the castle? A servant perhaps, to the Lord himself? No—that couldn’t be it. She was far more refined. Now that he was responsible for her well-being, he was not going to just stand around. They had to get back to that castle swiftly. He wasn’t sure if the catamount would reappear hoping for more dinner, or worse yet, if there were bears lurking in forest.
He hadn’t meant to follow her. Not really, there was just something enchanting about her voice and the way she sang, out loud, in the open for any to hear; that had him transfixed. He waited while she slept, propped up against the oak tree, taking shallow breaths. She was clearly worn out, and the cool shade of the forest made a comfortable enough bed for her. As soon as her belly was full from the delicious smelling fish, she practically sang herself to sleep. How did she know that song though?
A priestess! That was it, she must be a priestess. He should have known by her aura. Surrounded by a deep golden light that transformed occasionally to a deep violet hue, it was mesmerizing—almost as much as her haunting melody. Yes, of all the people he had ever “seen” in his limited ability to do such, she was the most intense, the most unusual, and definitely the most pure of them all. He had to get her back safely, how would the Lord react if he let something happen to their priestess? He couldn’t bear the thought.
Lost in concentration and practically running through the trees, he suddenly realized he didn’t hear the sound of her feet thrashing about, or her basket striking tree limbs any longer. Now I’ve done it. I’m lost in my head again and I took off without her! Oh Lord, have I lost her?
At just a bit over six foot, six inches tall, it was rather simple to get ahead of others. His legs were too long, of that he was aware, having been told too many times to count. His stride, therefore, must be imposing and nearly impossible to keep up with for a lass who barely hit him square in the chest. “Shite!” he bellowed, stopping briefly, and allowing the sway of his forward motion to settle before deciding what to do.
I still don’t hear her, he thought. He stood still for a moment, raising his hands to both sides, and twisting slowly to permit his senses to tune. He felt something touch his legs, and a jolt shook him from his shins to his heart. Boom! It shook him again, and filled his chest with an overpowering warmth that glided through his veins.
Boom! Again it shook him. He remained still.
“I’ve fallen,” came the teary voice behind him . He turned, but sensed nothing. Stooping down in the deep thicket, he scanned the general area before his eyes cast over a muddy blue form on the forest floor.
“I’ve fallen,” she said again, “can ye help me up?” she asked in between choking sobs.
She’s terrified, he thought to himself. Bending down, he placed his hand in front of her and waited for her to reach for him. “I willna’ hurt ye lass,” he said. “I’m sorry I took off so fast, I was afraid the creature would come back,” he began.
She wiped her face on the sleeve of her tunic and started to get up.
“Wait, please,” he said to her. “Please dinna’ get up, let me check ye, make sure ye are not hurt,” he said softly.
Well, at least he’s not in a hurry now, she thought to herself, before turning to look up at the giant bully who had taken off like lightning. Couldn’t get away fast enough, eh?
She grabbed ahold of her basket and struggled to right herself on the forest floor. Patting at her arms and legs, she noticed she only had minor scratches about her ankles. “Methinks I’m alright,” she began, “I’ve only a few scratches on me legs. I should be okay.”
“But, yer cryin’, are ye no’?” he asked sheepishly.
“Aye, I’m sorry but aye, I’m cryin’, but ye can see that I presume,” she responded, embarrassed at her foolishness. Always too sensitive, her sister would say.
“Nay,” he replied, “actually, I canna’.”
“Wh-what?” she asked, looking up into the crystal blue eyes of Jamie Burke.
TWENTY-TWO
O’Malley High Castle—Bealtaine—Oath Ceremony
The atmosphere in the great hall was one of excitement and anticipation. It was the first night that the sub-dais’ had been used, and the first time that the Lord’s loyal and noble subjects had seen it. Patrick and Lucian spent weeks designing the layout of the great hall, and extended the north-facing wall of the high castle by nearly twenty feet to accommodate the construction. Closed off behind curtains for a fortnight, all wondered, but none could imagine the scene. Patrick had been the one to insist that the Burke Ten be represented, with all due respect afforded to them, in the great hall, and that Bealtaine and the oath ceremony be the first eve they should join their counterparts in celebration.
The main dais remained at the back of the newly remodeled hall, and sat in front of an impressive
twenty-foot wide hearth. It was situated five steps up from the main wooden floor. Tapestries depicting the O’Malley clan crest and family hung to the right of the large fireplace, while Burke tapestries hung on the left. There were places for twenty people altogether at the Lord’s table on the main dais, and Patrick and Darina were to be seated directly in the middle facing the hall.
The sub-dais’ were each situated two steps up and set off to either the right or left of the main dais, with a ten-foot clearing between the two directly in-between them. In the flat space between the two sub-dais’, sat the Lord’s throne and Darina’s as well, the place where the clan business would be formerly pronounced, and where the oaths of fealty would take place during this, the Bealtaine celebration. There was room for each of the Burke Ten on either of the sub-dais’, along with their children and wives. Jamie Burke was to be seated at the sub-dais to the right of the Lord when facing towards the great hall. The seat directly to his right was to remain empty for the time being, as he was yet unmarried.
It was to remain empty that is, until Braeden determined the seat next to Jamie was his for the taking, and haggled his way into joining Jamie for dinner instead of sitting next to Dareca. Darina, long known for her patience, finally relented when Jamie reassured her that no harm would come to the boy simply eating with the Burkes, and he would ensure that Braeden had no more of the elderberry wine than appropriate.
“Now, ye’ll promise Jamie, won’t ye?” she asked, gripping him tightly about the forearm.
“Aye, I promise,” he chuckled, “I’ll keep a sharp eye on him,” he declared sarcastically.
“The last time Braeden dined elsewhere, he got hisself nigh on sloshed on the wine. He is much too young for such nonsense,” she added tight-lipped.
“I promise,” Jamie stated again, before sitting down at his post on the sub-dais.
There was all manner of activity in the great hall. Servants and wine bearers rushed to and fro, with trenchers and platters of food piled high with exotic seafoods and delicate meats; Odhran overseeing them all. Braeden prattled on and on about his hunting prowess and his excitement for the games tomorrow. He had been accepted into the tournament to compete against boys two to three years older than he, because of his abilities, and he was to make sure the entire hall was aware.
The Burke Ten were pleased to find the sub-dais would be a permanent fixture, and that they would always have a place to dine with the Lord for supper. Finding themselves represented via their tapestries was an unexpected compliment, for which they didn’t fail to thank their industrious wives. Certainly, that had to be from where the tapestries had come. They noticed the older tapestries as well as the newer ones, and were glad that the “work” the ladies had been doing at the castle was as much for the benefit of their good name, as it was their soon-to-be new Lord’s.
Soon the noise level in the great hall dimmed from a loud crackle to a low hum as the occupants enjoyed the meal placed before them. All were present, each of the O’Malley lasses, their uncles and their families, as well as Flynn Montgomery, introduced to be the new chieftain of the military forces. Flynn sat next to Dervilla on her left, and beside her on the right, there was an empty seat, which piqued Jamie’s interest immensely.
“Braeden,” Jamie began, “why is the seat next to Dervilla empty?”
“Aye…aye well…ye can see that far, can ye?” asked Braeden.
“Aye, I can see shapes and lights, Braeden, ye know that.”
“How do ye know who sits where then?” he asked quizzically.
“Ah,‘tis simply a matter of counting, lad. Ye see,” he said pointing in the general direction of the Lord’s table, “the Lord’s direct family, or in this case, Darina, ye seesta’s family, would sit jest to the right of his Lord, while any extended family, yer uncles I presume, would sit jest to his left.”
“Ah, I guess I neva’ thought of that,” said Braeden. “Yer a keen mon, Jamie Burke.”
“Anaway, Braeden, I was asking ye—” he started, before reaching forward to grab his mug and being shot with a jolt like before. Someone reached for his mug the same time he did, and instead ended up grabbing his hand as well. The overwhelming feeling of warmth trickling through his veins struck him again, and he released his hold on the cup, sending it clattering onto the table, spilling its contents all over his trencher of food.
“I’m so verra sorry, milord,” the feminine voice rang in his ears. Her voice, he recognized. “Here, I’ll get ye a new plate, milord,” she said, curtsying beside him. “Do ye fancy anathang in particular? Mayhap some more lobster or shrimp, or do ye prefer the roast mutton? I seem to be nothin’ but trouble for ye t’day, Master Burke.”
“Daenal, what on earth are ye doin’ servin’ the meal?” gasped Braeden. “Go take yer seat, I’m sure that Darina wouldna’ approve of this, specially since ye are to be presented later this eve for the contest.”
“Oh, neva’ ye mind, Braeden,” Daenal responded. “We seem to be a bit shorthanded, and I’m only to get the first round served, and then I will change and take my seat next to Dervilla.” She turned sharply to address Jamie again and said, “I’ll have yer new plate in jest a moment, milord,” before filling Braeden’s mug again.
“That’s water, Braeden,” she laughed, “jest in case ye were thinkin’ ye’d get anamore of me elderberry wine.”
Jamie breathed a deep sigh, and wiped at his mouth with the linen she had placed in his lap. “So,” he sighed, “that is Daenal O’Malley?”
“Aye, have ye no’ been prop’ly introduced yet?” Braeden asked. “Well anaway, aye, and she is not a servin’ girl, although she likes to pretend that she is.”
“She is a priestess then?” asked Jamie.
“Nay,” Braeden chuckled, “she is me seesta, and she is the castle cook!” he exclaimed, “and the verra best cook I’ve had the pleasure of knowin’.”
“The cook?” Jamie repeated, disbelievingly. “The cook,” he said again fiddling with his napkin.
“What is this about a contest?” Jamie asked nonchalantly.
“Aye, she has taken Dervilla’s place.”
“What do ye mean, Braeden?” asked Jamie.
“Aye, she is goin’ to be the lass, the one, she is the offerin’ for the betrothal contest between the clans to’morra. She is goin’ to marry the clansmon who wins the competition, instead of Dervilla. Dervilla decided to commit to the military for another year. She is no’ ready to marry, at least that’s what Darina said, but what do I know about such thangs?”
Braeden grabbed a big bite of roast turkey and wiped his mouth on his napkin. Daenal returned shortly with the new trencher of food for Jamie, and patted him gently on the shoulder, sending another shudder through his body. “I really am verra sorry about that, Master Jamie, is there anathang else I can get ye?” she asked.
“Nay, thank ye verra much, Daenal,” he said slowly, patting her hand with his own. She flinched momentarily, because it was the first time a man had ever touched her, except her father, at least—voluntarily. Was that kindness she read in his voice? Or was it something else? Pity, she thought, that must be pity.
***
“But, it’s Bealtaine,” gasped Odetta. “Surely, we canna’ travel while ’tis Bealtaine. The borders are undoubtedly heavily guarded, and all the ferries are docked, there will be no entry into O’Malley territory. The McTierneys willna’ have me, I’m sure. The MacDugals and the McClintocks already barred me from their lands, and I ken the O’Malleys will kill me on sight; I jest ken it.”
Tragus placed a knowing hand on Odetta’s shoulder, and bade her to sit down on the makeshift bed he created for her in the damp cavern. Handing her a piece of stale bread, he started in, “Odetta, we canna’ stay here. ’Tis jest not safe anamore. Easal will return from the northern country in the morn, my spies told me so. I also ken that as soon as they do return, he’ll send someone out lookin’ for us. Jest how long do ye think we can stay hidden here?”
“That’s not exactly so,” he replied.
“What do ye mean?”
“Well, I heard tell that Patrick MacCahan, I mean Lord O’Malley, he is a reasonable mon—and he’s kind. Verra kind from what they say, and he is fair and just, and —”
Odetta interrupted him, “Tragus, ye dinna’ mean to ask for refuge in O’Malley lands?” she asked sternly.
“Nay, I dinna’ mean to do anathang,” he began.
“Well, good,” she said.
“Odetta, I already have.”
TWENTY-THREE
O’Malley Lands—Great Hall—the High Castle
Dervilla watched in wonder as the tall, handsome Scotsman took to his knee and repeated the oath, accepting his commission as the new clan chieftan. Their polite dinner conversation had taken a slight turn when their eyes met, and they sat mesmerized, not knowing what else to say. Their attraction was palpable; he, the strong, soft-spoken military leader, and she the strong, outspoken scribe slash nautical strategist. His thick Scots accent did nothing to dissuade her ardor, and when he began speaking in Gaelic with Patrick, she knew she was done for. Was she ever glad she refused the betrothal games? Whew…
“Dervilla, are ye alright dear?” asked Darina softly, twisting behind her to look up at her sister still sitting at the Lord’s table. “Dervilla,” she repeated, “are ye alright?”
“O’ course I’m alright,” she retorted. “What’s yer bother?” she whispered back.
“Yer face is all red, ye look a might flush”, Darina mouthed to her.
“I’m jest fine, leave me be,” she snapped back. Darina followed her sister’s eyes to the man kneeling before her husband. So intent on following her gaze, Darina had yet to realize Patrick hadn’t stammered, not once all evening, and he was nearly halfway through with the oath taking.
Celtic Skies, Book 3 in the Celtic Steel Series Page 13