“I need to add somethin’,” Gemma said sheepishly.
“Go on,” said Ruarc. “Go ahead, let’s hear it.”
“Well,” she began, “I can attest to what the boy said. I had my…uh…spies…doin’ their own reconnaissance, and they brought back news of Odetta—and Tragus.”
“What sort of news?” asked Patrick.
“Well, they saw her jest off the northwest crest, nigh the shore. She had apparently attempted to drown herself, according to me spies anaway. Then they saw Tragus, I’ll have to assume the mon was Tragus, come out into the water and he rescued her; carried her back up on shore and then later into the cave they are hidin’ in. So—he’s tellin’ us the truth.”
“I am no’ at all sure what to do,” Patrick remarked, before sitting back down at the council chamber. “Does anyone have anathang else to add?” The silence stretched on for several minutes, each council member sat shaking their head and drinking their wine, perplexed and uncomfortable.
“Well, ordinarily,” began Galen from the corner of the room, “ordinarily, in a situation such as this, the party requesting sanctuary would put up a bond or have some other clansmon swear an oath of security o’er the person…um…seeking sanctuary. However, I am quite sure that none of the Burke refugees may be willing to do so in the case of Odetta.”
“Well, why no’?” asked Patrick, clearly ruffled. “She did see to their safety by sending ’em here and makin’ arrangements for their sanctuary.”
“Well, milord,” said Ruarc, “I s’pose it might have somethin’ to do with the fact that the reason they had to leave their lands is a’cause of what she herself has done.”
“I see yer point,” Patrick replied, tracing the outline of his mug with his right thumb.
“I’ll do it,” came Jamie’s reply, “I will swear security and take a bond for Odetta. After all, as ye say, she is me mathair.”
“And what have ye got for security?” asked Lucian. “Ye live here, on our lands, as our guest.”
“Well, Lucian,” Jamie replied sarcastically, “I s’pose the fact that I am the true Lord of Burke lands means nothin’ to ye? If ’tis as ye say, I’m verra well-endowed with me own territory, thank ye verra much,” he said rising from his seated position and placing his hands on the table before him, leaning towards the scribe. “And make no mistake; I fully intend to take back that territory from this Easal person, whoever he is.”
“Daenal is here,” the guard interrupted. Jamie took his seat and Patrick motioned to let her in.
“Patrick,” Daenal asked, walking into the large council chamber, “If this is about what ’happint t’day, I thought we agreed no’ to discuss that with any—”
“Nay, nay, Daenal, that is no’ it. Please have a seat won’t ye? We have somethin’ to discuss with ye. A matter of certain—relevance—for ye; we want yer approval.”
“Me approval?” she asked.
“Aye, yer approval,” he replied. “It has to do with the contest. It seems that one of the clans has a special request to add an additional contestant. ’Tis quite outa’ the ordinary to do so, and we willna’ allow it unless ye say ’tis alright with ye.”
“Okay, Patrick. Is this mon an honorable mon?”
“Well, o’ course, I believe he is.”
“Will the match be a good one, for the both of the clans, I mean?”
“The best possible match, Daenal, ’twould be an unexpected blessin’ I believe.”
“Well, Patrick,” she said, “I see no reason why no’ then if it pleases the council, then I’m amenable to whatever ye like.”
“There is a small matter, however, that ye should be aware of. Ye are related—distantly—to this mon, he would be yer…uh…third cousin, I believe.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, “I do no’ believe there is any rule that would prevent me from marryin’ me third cousin.”
“There is not,” said Galen.
“Verra well,” she said, “So be it then.”
***
Patrick returned to the dance in time to see clearly just how exhausted his wife had become. Taken to her seat again, she rubbed at the bottom of her heels and moaned. Dareca nodded to him as he strode up behind her, and placed a tender kiss against her collarbone.
“Are ye ready for bed, my sweets?” he whispered in her ear, sending chills down her neck.
“Aye, I thought ye’d neva’ ask,” she replied, struggling to right herself. Taking her by the hand, he led her not up the stairs of the castle, but back into the great hall.
“Patrick, I’m so verra tired,” she started, “I thought we were goin’ to bed.”
“We are, Darina. I’ve somethin’ special to show ye. Jest follow me lass,” he said, “Jest follow me.”
TWENTY-SIX
O’Malley Territory—Bealtaine Celebrations
“I willna’ take nay for an answer,” the man said to a very perplexed Daenal. “I intend to dance with ye, so let’s be off.”
“I mean ye nay disrespect, really,” she replied, “’Tis jest that I’m awful tired, could we no’ take a short walk instead?” Her aura was turning a bright red, and Jamie could tell Daenal was getting angrier by the second.
Now, why would anyone want to upset Daenal? he thought. She was positively the sweetest lass he’d ever met, and had been more than accommodating to the demands of her various dancing partners. She had spent the better part of the last hour dancing with every single man in the courtyard. Well, at the very least, all the ones signed up for the contest, several of the guards, with their wives’ permission of course, most of her family, and Braeden at least a half-dozen times.
“The lass has said nay,” Jamie repeated, now standing only a short distance away from the two. A distance he intended to close quickly if the man couldn’t see to reasoning. Jamie watched as Daenal’s coloring changed into a soft blue momentarily, and flickered there between blue and golden, finally relinquishing the red hue. She feels safe now, he thought.
“I dinna’ believe I consulted with ye,” the man retorted angrily, wrapping his right hand around Daenal’s arm, intent on dragging her to dance. Red again. Oh no.
Before he could intercede, Daenal stamped her booted heal on the man’s sandaled foot, and her guard had him lying flat out on the ground. “The lady said nay,” the guard repeated. Looking up from the ground, the now haggard man clutched his throbbing foot, waved an insincere apology, tipped his head at Daenal and struggled to make his feet.
“Shall we have that walk?” asked Jamie softly.
“Please,” she said, laughing at the scene before them. “I would so verra much like a walk.”
Thrusting his elbow out, he gave her his arm and waited. Sure enough, the same jolt of what could only be described as power, cascaded through him and settled in the middle of his chest, warming his blood with her touch. “Would ye like some wine, Daenal?” he asked hesitantly.
“Aye, I would,” she replied, “I’m awful thirsty, after all that dancin’. I’m so verra glad that’s o’er.”
“What?” he asked.
“All that dancin’. Darina said ’twas a must that I have at least one dance with ev’ry mon signed up for the contest. So that they could get a good look at me and I ’em, and I could see if I had any favorites.”
“And do ye?” he asked.
“Do I what?
“Do ye have any favorites?” he asked.
“Nay,” she chuckled. “I havna’ found a favorite mon t’day, at least not amongst the contestants,” she added. “But o’ course, none of ’em have saved me from a catamount, or forgiven me for ruining their dinner either,” she said, squeezing his arm playfully.
She’s flirting with me, he thought, well I s’pose now’s as good a time as any.
“Well,” he began, “ye’ve missed a dance, then.”
“What do ye mean?” she asked, sounding disappointed and looking around at the faces of those in the crowd.
“There is on
e mon yet, ye havna’ danced with.”
“Another?” she asked, clearly unhappy at the idea.
“Aye, but this one, methinks he prefers a walk instead,” he added, leading them further away from the courtyard.
“Ye?” she asked. “Yer the other contestant?”
“Aye, I am the one,” he replied. She turned a color he had never seen before this time; it was a sort of a light pink, with a translucent feel to it. What does this mean? he wondered as she looked up at him. He felt her grip him tightly around his waist, and he returned the hug excitedly, touching the tip of her head with the underside of his chin.
“I take it ye are no’ sore with me on account of the contest?” he asked.
“Oh heaven’s no, any mon who can send off a catamount with jest a few words gets my confidence, for sure. And, it seems ye can bear me cookin’, at least when ’tis on yer plate and not yer lap,” she laughed. “I canna’ speak to me company, I couldna’ tell ye if I make good company or no’, I’ve neva’ courted a’fore, ye see…”
“Ye make wonderful company, Daenal,” he said gently, stroking the back of her head with his hand. Slowly, he relinquished his embrace and placed his hands on her shoulders, tipping her chin up to meet his eyes. Her eyes glowed, vibrant with life and pulsing with energy. “Ye should know I fully intend to win yer hand.”
She hesitated, unsure what to say or how to respond. “But Jamie, ye dinna’ even know what I look like, ye could be getting’ an ole’ hag,” she chuckled.
“That is no’ so,” he repeated. “I see the way the others look at ye, and I know the way ye make me feel, and if ye can get past the fact that I have no’ sight, methinks we can make a verra good match.”
“Oh, what on earth has yer sight to do with anathang?” she asked. “All these other men, all they do is look at women, and they neva’ stop, not even after they have a woman of their own. And when their lovelies grow older and a bit thick in the middle from bearing ’em sons, they dinna’ even look at ‘em anamore.”
“That willna’ happen,” he assured her.
“And, how do ye know that?” she asked.
“A’cause, I see yer spirit Daenal, and ’tis the loveliest thang I ever did see.” Bringing her hand up to place a chaste kiss atop it, he bowed courteously and backed away.
“I see how’tis,” the rude man shot at them, getting closer. “I am no’ to have a dance, but ye are to get a kiss. She must feel sorry for ye, ye ole’ blind goat. Either that or she is some kind of common whore.”
Jamie was faster even than Daenal’s guard. Before she could be certain what had occurred, her guard was wiping blood from the man’s nose and escorting him, quite quickly at that, to the back side of the bonfire. “He willna’ be botherin’ ye anamore, milady,” Jamie said, and Daenal rewarded him in kind, with a chaste kiss of her own, only this time—it was on his tender lips.
***
“Patrick, oh god, Patrick,” Darina breathed. “Good lord.”
“Am I hurting ye?” he whispered tenderly in her ear. She shook her head back and forth and side to side, and clenched the bed sheets between both hands. Their mouths met again in a rapturous frenzy. Oh, his tongue. That tongue, that he had just done wondrously wicked things to her with, snaked along the inside of her mouth and claimed it as his own. Tenderly, he turned her over on her knees before resuming his gentle thrusts. Her beautiful red ringlets fell across her back and down past the half-way point on her spine. Running his fingers through the golden-red mane, he wrapped it around his wrist and pulled it to the side, to afford himself a better view of their coupling.
“Ye like that?” he asked, nearly out of breath, sweat dripping down his own back.
“Oh, Aye, Patrick,” she replied. “Verra much.”
Placing his right hand around the most swollen part of her belly, and clutching her left shoulder, he lay them both down on their sides and spooned her, careful to avoid jarring her too much. He gently stroked her throbbing nub, eliciting the most erotic sounds imaginable from her beautiful pink mouth.
“Darina,” he whispered in her ear, biting and nipping at her tender neck. “Darina, love, I canna’ hold on much longer,” he breathed.
“Ah….” she groaned, succumbing to his attentions, “then dinna’, Patrick, dinna’.”
It wasn’t long before they both lie, face up, breathing heavily in unison and staring at the canopy that draped atop their new bed. It was golden and matched the coverlet perfectly. The back wall of the bed boasted red and gold curtains that, when arranged properly, hid them from external view, completely encasing the entire bed in privacy.
“Ye like the new chamber?” he ventured, huffing between deep breaths.
“Aye, Patrick, I love it.”
“I have one more thang to show ye,” he added, sitting up and looking over at his wife, transfixed on her milky white skin, now crimson in afterglow. “But, ye wouldna’ let me show ye the ante-chambers a’fore ye had me here, holdin’ me down on the new bed.”
“Are ye complainin’, milord? she asked, equally out of breath. “Cause, if ye are, I shall have to punish ye further.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
O’Malley High Castle—Early Morning
Patrick left his sleeping wife and climbed the back stairwell towards the main entry leading up from the underground chambers. It was early yet, but he knew where to find Parkin, and he would gather Payton on his way. But first, a bit of warm cider and fresh bread called to him. Odhran met him at the rear entry of the kitchens, and sent him towards the sick house, a freshly packed basket of warm oatcakes draped over his left forearm.
Braeden sauntered out sleepy-eyed and weary right behind him. “Patrick,” he called, running to catch up with his brother-in-law. “Patrick, can I go with ye? Ye are goin’ to see the babes, are ye no’?” he asked.
“Aye, I am,” Patrick replied, “but ye best be verra quiet this time, else Vynae will have yer head. No’ that I could blame her, mind ye, but its work getting’ those two to sleep, they dinna’ need the likes of ye waking ’em up too early—now do they?”
“I s’pose no’,” he agreed, falling in step with Patrick’s lengthy stride.
“Patrick,” Braeden began, “Yer married now, and Parkin’s married now and Daenal, well—she’ll be married soon. When do ye s’pose ’twill be me turn?”
“Braeden, ye are only but a young lad yet. There’s several more years a’fore ye need to be thinkin’ about marriage. There is still Payton to go, and Darcy and Dareca, yet. Ye ken—the lasses, they always seem to marry first. I would think ye have at least ten more summers to spend as a single lad. If no’ more,” he added matter-of-factly.
“Good,” Braeden sighed. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Whatever for?” asked Patrick.
“Well, ye know I am verra fond of the lasses,” Braeden admitted, kicking a stone forward along the path, “and I have me eyes on many of ’em, ye ken? I was rather busy last night, what with all the dancin’ and celebratin’.”
“I see,” responded Patrick.
“Well, there would be an awful lot of disappointed lasses should I decide to get married anatime soon,” said the twelve-year-old. “At least the ones I dinna’ marry, ye ken?”
Patrick nodded and grinned.
“Anahow,” Braeden continued, “Orla has it all up in her head that she is to be the one, while I’m not exactly sold on the idea as of yet.”
“Oh, she has, has she?” asked Patrick. “Well, that girl definitely has some ideas about how thangs should be, and Braeden, she normally gets her way, from what I can tell.”
“I ken, Patrick—that’s what scares me. Do ye think she will get her way this time?”
“Braeden,” Patrick said, stopping and turning around to stoop eye-level with the boy, “Orla canna’ make ye marry her.”
“She canna’?” he asked, obviously ecstatic.
“Nay, she canna’.”
“But Daenal, she is being fo
rced to marry someone, and Darina and ye, well ye two were forced to marry each other, and now she’s gone and forced ye to be a papa. Did ye want to be a papa, Patrick?”
“Braeden, nobody forced me to do anathang. ’Twas me choice, jest like ‘tis Daenal’s choice. She agreed to the contest, no one is makin’ her do anathang. I promise.”
“Thank the gods, Patrick. Daenal is such a nice lass, I was so afraid she was being bullied into doin’ somethin’ she didna’ want. That’s a relief. Patrick, did ye want to be a papa though? Did ye even get a choice in the matter, or did me seesta jest decide for ye like?”
“Braeden, I wanted to be a papa more than anathang in the world. Jest like Parkin did, and he was so blessed—now he’s a papa of twins. ’Isna that nice?”
“Well, I guess I s’pose ’tis,” said Braeden, opening the door to the sick house for Patrick. The twins were up and making their presence known. Vynae was rushing about, and Parkin rubbed his sleepy eyes and pushed away from the kitchen table, leaving the bulk of his breakfast untouched.
“Mayhap, not today though,” Braeden whispered.
***
Dervilla found Daenal working in the gardens, just as she thought she would. No matter where she found vegetation faltering, Daenal had the touch. Just a few simple words and a gentle touch from Daenal, and the plants seemed to spring back to life before her very eyes.
“Daenal,” Dervilla called, “Daenal, come here a minute.”
Putting her basket down, Daenal wiped the dirt off on her aprons, and joined her sister under the gazebo. “What ’tis it?” she asked.
“Daenal, ye need to be gettin’ ready for the games. Have ye forgotten?” Dervilla asked.
“Oh, by the gods—I have!” Daenal exclaimed, “How much time do I have?”
“Not long,” Dervilla said, flashing her sister a puzzled look. “What is the matter with ye?”
“Oh, I’m jest a pinch tired,” replied Daenal. “I stayed up quite late last night dancin’ and visitin’.”
Celtic Skies, Book 3 in the Celtic Steel Series Page 15