“I canna’ believe this wasna’ the first thang on yer mind this morn. Aren’t ye jest a bit anxious about it all?”
Daenal straightened her posture and threw her shoulders back. Moving a tiny wisp of wavy black hair from across her forehead, she breathed, “Nay, no’ really I s’pose. I have had other thangs on me mind.”
“Other thangs?” her sister shot back in shock, “What other thangs could ye possibly be havin’ on that mind of yers?” she asked. “Ye are to be promised for marriage t’day, and most likely married by t’nite, and ye have other thangs on yer mind? Have ye gone mad? Aren’t ye at least curious as to who ye’ll end up with?”
“Nay, no’ really,” Daenal returned, fidgeting with her skirts.
“No’ really, Daenal? Why is that?”
“A’cause I ken exactly who I’m marryin’ t’nite,” Daenal shot back, sounding perturbed.
“And how is that?” her sister asked.
“Well, a’cause—well because I’ve been prayin’ about it—that’s how I ken!” she insisted.
“Ye have?” asked Dervilla, “and how did ye know yer prayers will be answered to yer likin’?”
“ A’cause, I’m quite sure he’s been prayin’ about it too. The same as I, and Jamie says that…”
“Jamie! Jamie Burke?” Dervilla exclaimed, “Ye want to marry Jamie Burke? Daenal, what are ye thinkin’?”
“Dervilla, did ye know that Jamie Burke is our cousin, our third cousin to be exact. He is evidently the son of Odetta Burke…”
“He’s Odetta Burke’s son? Oh nay, Daenal—ye canna’ marry Jamie Burke. Is he even in the competition? Does Patrick know about this at all, or have ye got some foolish idea stuck in yer head? Gods! I knew ye were too young for this marriage business.”
“Dervilla, if ye will jest shut yer mouth long enough for someone else to speak, I will be glad to explain it to ye.”
Dervilla slammed her mouth shut, and stared in disbelief at her younger sister. Daenal had never spoken to her this way before. She might have deserved it, but she was only looking out for her. No reason to be that rude.
“Good,” said Daenal. “Now, dinna’ interrupt me.” Dervilla nodded but said nothing. “Verra well then, Jamie Burke is the son of Odetta Burke and Duncan O’Malley.”
“Duncan O’Malley? I dinna’ think we have a Duncan O’Malley here in our territory, Daenal.”
“I ken,” she sighed at her sister, “that is a’cause Duncan O’Malley is a second cousin of our da, Dervilla. He went back to Scotland, where his mathair’s family comes from many, many years ago. A’fore ye or I were even born.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Burke Lands—the Shores
The seals were back, and closer to the shore than Tragus remembered when they had come the once before. He knew he had downed a sufficient amount of whiskey, but was quite sure not enough to cause the obvious delusions he was having now. Seated on the flat rock jutting out from the rocky shoreline, he watched in disbelief as one, two, and now three of them sprang up from the surf and waddled towards him. It was a good thing he had left Odetta sleeping off the hottest part of the day in their cave, she wouldn’t believe this either, and think him a fool.
Rubbing his eyes again, he blinked and cast his gaze out towards the ocean. No black dots creeping his way he surmised. Overhead, he saw the pristine wing span of a peregrine falcon and heard the unmistakable call. I must be daft, he thought to himself, before standing up to stretch his legs. But this time, there were no seals frolicking in the surf. No, they were stationed directly in front of him, staring him down.
“Wh-what do ye want?” he asked, backing as far away from the creatures as he could. Closing his eyes, he repeated his question, “What do ye want with me?”
“We are here to help ye, Tragus.”
His heart stopped, and he choked on the last little bit of whiskey he had downed just moments before. Opening his eyes, he stared at the three naked women before him. “B-but, ye were seals, jest a moment ago,” he pleaded, hoping not to receive an answer.
“Tragus, they are selkies,” he heard Odetta’s voice call from behind him. “How much of that whiskey have ye had?”
“Selkies?” he gasped, “but they dinna’ exist!”
“Obviously they do, Tragus,” Odetta returned. “Obviously they do.”
Tragus watched in fascination as the falcon landed, not far from them, high up on the rocky cliff and stood watching on alert. “Is th-that with ye?” he questioned.
“Aye, she is our lookout,” the taller one responded.
“What do ye want with us?” Odetta asked.
“We responded to his request, milady,” the tall one replied.
“His request?” asked Odetta.
“Aye, Tragus sent a missive seeking refuge in O’Malley lands. We are here to tell ye the missive has been received, and ye have a sponsor, a bondsmon; a noblemon who is vouchin’ for ye and awaits yer arrival.”
“But—how are we to get there?” Tragus asked.
“We have a boat comin’; we came first to make the way and to ensure yer safety. There appear to be no encumbrances to the journey. If ye leave as soon as the boat comes, ye should arrive by early morn light.”
“When will the boat arrive?” Odetta asked.
“Within the hour, milady. We must leave now,” the selky said motioning to her friends, “but the falcon, Gemma, she will stay with ye until ye are safely in O’Malley territory.”
“Gemma, did ye say Gemma?” Odetta asked.
“Aye, Gemma,” the selky repeated, confused.
“Gemma Graham, is that…Gemma Graham?” Odetta asked pointing overhead to the cliff.
“Odetta, have ye lost yer mind?” interrupted Tragus, “what makes ye think that falcon has a last name? She is no’ a person after all.”
“Tragus, yer talking to a seal woman!” Odetta spat back.
“Well, is she Gemma Graham or no’?” Odetta directed to the tall selky, “Well—is she?” she demanded.
“Why, aye, I believe she is,” was the simple response.
Odetta sighed and sat down on the flat rock beside Tragus, cupping her hands to her head. “Is she…is she a shifter?” she asked softly.
“Aye. Aye, she is. She is the leader of our island, the Island of Women.”
“Do ye ken her or somethin’?” asked Tragus, looking first to Odetta and then back to the selky again. “Well, do ye?” he shouted.
“Aye, I do,” breathed Odetta, “she is me aunt, me mathair’s half-seesta to be exact. We’ve only met jest the once, when I was verra small, but I’d ken that name anawhere.”
“We must be goin’ now,” called the seal women over the crash of the waves on the beach. Transforming into their original form, they signaled to Gemma overhead, and she cried in return.
“Wait,” shouted Odetta, rushing into the waters behind them, “wait,” she called again. “Who is me benefactor? Please tell me, who has taken responsibility for us, for our bond?”
“Why Master Burke o’ course,” the tall one responded.
“Master Burke,” asked Odetta, “I dinna’ ken, who is Master Burke?”
“Why, Jamie Burke, o’ course,” was the reply.
Odetta stood paralyzed against the crashing waves rolling towards the shore. Jamie, she thought to herself, my son. “Jamie,” she repeated unconsciously to herself, before passing clean out amidst the tide.
TWENTY-NINE
O’Malley Lands—the Games
Dervilla and Lucian exchanged hesitant glances, each watching the afternoon sky with caution. It had taken on an orange-like haze, and looked remarkably as if it were on the fringes of a solar eclipse. That would have been a plausible explanation, except there wasn’t another eclipse due for at least another year. They knew this of course, because Dervilla and Lucian studied the skies faithfully and kept logs of all events, including the meteor shower that had occurred the month before; just prior to Parkin’s ship going missing
.
Not wishing to alarm anyone or cause unnecessary fear, they failed to mention the anomalies to the council, instead relying on their good sense and faith to explain the events away. Now though, it almost seemed to Dervilla that the council had a right to know. Something else could happen—an earthquake perhaps? Or a shooting star?
“What do ye make of that?” asked Flynn, who was seated next to her on the platform, enjoying the games.
“Of what?” she asked, lost in her own thoughts.
“Of the sky, jest look at that sun, and those clouds. Do ye think we are in for an eclipse?”
“Ye know about those?” she asked, surprised at his statement.
“Aye, o’course. I’ve seen an eclipse or two in me life. Me mathair watched the skies, and taught me what she knew at least. But, ye ken, I canna’ figure it for an eclipse, it canna’ be time for one. I am sure we have at least eleven moons a’fore we are due.”
“Yer right,” Dervilla breathed. “I have no good idea what this is,” she said hesitantly.
“Well, whatever ’tis, ’tis brought a bit o’ good luck to ole’ Jamie there. He’s won the last two contests with verra little effort. I jest hope he can defeat the MacDugal lad in the next round. Looks like Daenal will be sore disappointed if he doesna’.”
“What is the next round?” asked Dervilla.
“Archery,” he said frowning at her, “and he’s blind, Dervilla. I dinna’ know how he proposes to tackle that one. He can wield a sword better than any mon I’ve seen here today, but that’s close up. Archery is another matter altogether. For god’s sake, how will he see the target—’tis fifty paces out? Flynn squeezed Dervilla’s hand, and made to go for some wine. “Will ye have a cup?” he asked.
“Aye,” she replied. “Please.”
“I will be right back, dinna’ go anawhere.”
She nodded. I’m not going anawhere, she thought to herself, at least not anawhere that ye aren’t. They’d spent the entire prior eve together, dancing and flirting. Patrick said it was making the other girls jealous, not getting a go at the handsome Scotsman, who just happened to be the Lord’s own cousin.
“Share him a bit, won’t ye, Dervilla?” Darina had asked her. In the end though, it was Flynn who made his decision; and Dervilla was it. He had never met a more intelligent or fascinating lass. Her knowledge of sailing alone could take months to communicate, and she was handy with a sword as well. He knew this, because she had beat him out onto the practice field at first light, her long auburn hair glistening in the rising sun as she raised and lowered her broadsword with a delicate ease. Aisling who? he marveled, staring up at her from the faire ground.
“I may jest have met me match, Captain,” he said under his breath, secretly hoping he was right.
***
“Hear ye, hear ye,” the bard bellowed from further down the field, announcing that the final round of the competition would commence shortly. “’Tis time,” Daenal whispered to Darina. “The last event, and Jamie’s ahead, if he wins this one, he is to be mine,” she clapped with glee.
“Now dinna’ go gettin’ ahead of yerself, Daenal. I dinna’ want ye to be disappointed if Jamie doesna’ win.” Daenal looked crestfallen. “Ye realize, Daenal, that Jamie could actually lose? Ye wouldna’ want that look of disappointment on yer face if Robert MacDugal is the victor. That wouldna’ be fair to him. He has competed most admirably, and he is an honorable mon. Ye would have to accept the betrothal ye ken? Dinna’ ye?”
Daenal teared up and stiffened her shoulders, turning the other direction. “Daenal, ye know this, don’t ye?” Darina pressed. “Look Daenal, ye still have time to back out if ye wish. But ye better be doin’ it right now if ye wish to save any integrity for our clan. Otherwise, war could break out!”
“Nay, I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll be fine and I willna’ dishonor our clan. I’m sure that Robert is a fine mon, and would make a fine husband. I’m good with whatever the outcome. Although, I believe I have a really good idea that to’morra I will be wed to Jamie Burke,” she smiled again.
Darina sighed. There were reasons that girls as young and naïve as Daenal waited to be married. She was sure this unrealistic romantic blathering was one of them. She couldn’t quite remember the others, because her too-handsome-for-his-own-good husband had just walked by. This sent her senses into overdrive, remembering their encounter from the night before. She blushed, and felt a wave of desire hit her squarely beneath her skirt.
“Darina,” said Daenal. “Are ye alright, ye jest turned red as yer hair.”
“Aye, I’m alright. ’Tis this heat, I’m quite certain of it. Mayhap I should have a sit down.”
Robert went first. His arrow plunged into the target just barely one inch to the right of dead center. Everyone clapped, and the MacDugal clan cheered him on. He turned and bowed respectfully to Daenal, kissed her dainty hand, and resumed his seat on the first row of the benched risers, showing a wave of good luck to Jamie.
“What are we to do now?” asked Lucian to Patrick. “He is blind; he canna’ possibly see the center of the target from this far away. He hasna’ a chance,” the elderly scribe muttered. Patrick stroked his beard, and paced back and forth in front of the judges’ table, muttering to himself. A small argument broke out, and the Lord MacDugal unfortunately decided to step in.
“The word ’forfeit’ was tossed around by the judges one too many times for Jamie’s taste, and he slammed his fist on the table, surprising everyone in the crowd.
“What is it?” asked Daenal, obviously scared.
“They want Jamie to forfeit the games, but he refuses,” Dervilla whispered in her ear.
“Whatever for, why would Jamie forfeit, he is the best fighter out there?” said Daenal.
“Jamie canna’ see the target. ’Tis too far away and it has no…uh…light about it. ’Tis neither human nor animal, so there is no life force glowing, he canna’ even make out where the target is, let alone the center,” Flynn explained to the lasses.
“Oh no! Oh no!” cried Daenal. “That’s simply not fair. Flynn, ye go and tell ’em that they have to do somethin’ else, thats jest not fair.”
“They willna’ listen to me,” he said. “I am no’ one of the judges.”
Daenal watched in disbelief as the men carried on about them; fist-pounding, shouting, and stomping, escalating into a pre-war situation. Finally, it appeared that Jamie Burke had made some headway, and Patrick motioned for Daenal to join them at the table. Robert MacDugal nodded his head in agreement and bowing to Jamie, turned to bow to Daenal as well. He kissed her hand, and returned to his seat in the audience.
Darina watched as Patrick whispered something in Daenal’s ear. She looked affright, turned for confirmation to Jamie, turned back to look at Robert, who nodded as well and shrugged his shoulders before she reached over, grabbed a quill from the lead judge, and signed the parchment. All the color drained from her face, and her skin took on an ashen pallor. Patrick handed her an apple, and she made to walk towards the target, some fifty paces out in the field.
“What is she doin’?” asked Darina. Dervilla shook her head and Flynn stood up, not believing what he was seeing.
“Whatever is she doin’?” cried Darina towards Patrick, but she would have no response. They watched in shock and disbelief, as Daenal stood two paces to the right of the target, and held the apple in both hands, elbows splayed, the apple placed in the center of her chest, just in front of her.
“Oh nay!” shouted Darina. “She canna’! She must no’! I willna’ let her!” Climbing over the bench in front of her, Darina nearly lost her footing. Flynn braced her back up and helped her down to the ground. Wobbling as fast as her expanding belly would permit, she finally caught hold of Patrick.
“Jest, what…what exactly do ye think ye are doin’ here, Patrick? This has to be some kind of joke!” she said.
“Shhh…” he motioned to her holding up one finger in front of his mouth. “He has to
concentrate.”
“By the gods! Yer serious? Yer gonna let that mon kill me seesta? A’fore me verra eyes?”
“There is nothin’ to be done now, Daenal has made her decision and they’ve all agreed. If he hits the apple, he wins the contest.”
“If he doesna’ hit that apple, he may verra well kill her!” she shouted.
Patrick rubbed his throbbing right hand. He hadn’t said anything, but it had been burning all day. He wouldn’t dare mention it to Daenal. She believed him to be healed, and he wouldn’t question her about it now. No doubt they could discuss it later on that evening, or even tomorrow or the next day. His old injury seemed to be coming back, although it had never exactly burned before. Looking down at his right hand, he grimaced when the eyes of the dragon on his ring appeared to light up, and it tightened against his finger; nearly cutting off his circulation.
He heard Lucian wince in pain as well, and looked over to see his friend staring at his own dragon ring. Flinging his hand to his side as if it had fallen asleep, Lucian grabbed and pulled at the tightening ring, but couldn’t get it to budge. “Ahh….,” he groaned before meeting Patrick’s knowing eyes.
Darina pulled on Patrick’s arm until she thought she would faint, but alas, there was no stopping the suicidal contest. Daenal nodded to the judges, and the bard began the count down. Jamie raised his bow and searched ahead for Daenal’s form. Finding her in the distance, he wondered at her peaceful soft blue glow and took a deep breath.
Dervilla lunged forward as the sky grew dark, examining the clouds that surrounded the field. An ominous whirling sound enveloped the crowd, and overtook the words of the bard. Flynn took her hand and searched for cover, anything, anywhere, that might provide shelter; for surely a storm was coming. Daenal raised her eyes to the heavens and prayed—a simple, silent prayer for safety and release; and waited.
Jamie honed his senses, tuning out the humming noise, and ignoring the commotion he felt on the ground around him. He knew people were running, he just didn’t know why, and he had no intention of finding out now. His fate and that of his Daenal hung in the balance, and he would not be defeated. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck, and he let loose with the arrow.
Celtic Skies, Book 3 in the Celtic Steel Series Page 16