“This is not Normandy,” she answered, lifting her gaze to meet his again. “I haven’t had to fight for what you call ‘my position.’ Perhaps that’s why I don’t want it.”
“Position,” Colton went on, his eyes fixed on the horizon as if he hadn’t heard her, “is obtained through commitment, and obedience must follow. Obedience, however, requires inconvenient and unpleasant sacrifices. No doubt your father has discovered this…as have you.”
She stared at the trail, thinking of her father’s haggard face. Ever since he had inherited the mantle of leadership, worry stole his sleep and sapped his strength. He had not worn a smile since Richard had come to Connacht.
“Cahira, like it or not, you are a king’s daughter. Out of respect for him, I want to ask for your hand. He will respect me if I go—”
“He will kill you!” She stared at him, her heart pounding. “This position you hold in such high regard will require him to sacrifice my happiness!”
“Perhaps not.” His voice was low and soothing; apparently he had given his argument a great deal of thought. “I have faith in God and in your father. My love toward you is honorable.”
“Colton, my father does not trust any Norman, especially none affiliated with Richard de Burgo. I have faith in God too, faith that he will bless us if we follow our hearts. After we are married, time will soften my father’s heart. I cannot speak for your master, but I know my people will accept us…in time.”
He looked at her, his eyes dark and remote, as if he had pulled away to consider her words. He did not leave her comfortless, however, for he reached out and pressed his hand over hers, squeezed it tight, then pulled away and urged his horse forward.
She followed, knowing that he wanted time to think.
The slanting rays of the sun had streaked the water crimson by the time Cahira pointed toward a curving path that cut through the sweeping willows and thick hawthorn that edged the river. Colton pulled back on his reins, allowing Cahira to lead the way to a clearing on the riverbank. She dismounted in a flurry of skirts, then stepped forward and lifted her face to the lowering sun, allowing its rays to gild her skin with radiant beauty.
Colton dismounted as well, then gestured for Oswald and Sorcha to do the same. Before dismounting, Oswald pointed to Colton and lifted a brow. “You will pay for this, my friend. I had not planned on a full day in the saddle.”
“Be a man—and be quiet,” Colton retorted, waving his friend away.
Leaving Oswald to help the maid, Colton jogged after Cahira, who had wandered down a path along the water’s edge. He followed her to the shoreline, then gazed in amazement at the shining surface of the water. The river seemed to end here, for the shoreline curved away toward the east and then southward again, forming a nearly perfect circle. Yet there were no waterfalls, no mountains, no obvious source of such a great river.
He ran his hand through his hair. “Is this the source?”
Cahira nodded. “’Tis Log na Sionna, the heart of the river. A sacred place.”
Colton stared at the watery landscape, understanding how such a beautiful spot could well be considered holy. A pair of dragonflies hung over the water near the shore, shining like emeralds. In unison, they dipped toward the still water like a pair of lovers curious about their reflection, then rose and vanished into the mist.
“It is beautiful here.” He reached out and took Cahira’s hand, and something in him melted in relief when she did not pull away. Their disagreement on the trail could not tear them apart. There had to be a way for them to be together, and he would find it.
“There’s a log over here where we can sit.” Cahira tugged on his hand and beckoned him with a shy smile. “And if you’re careful, you won’t get a bit wet.”
He saw what she meant in the next moment. An ancient tree, as thick as a man’s shoulders, had toppled into the water so that it rested half in, half out of the tarn. It was not so much a tree now as a skeleton of one, leafless and scoured stone gray by the wind. But its surface was smooth and inviting.
He went first, stepping into the shallows as he swung one leg over the tree trunk. Straddling the trunk like a horse, he scooted toward the far end, then heard Cahira laughing softly as she lifted her skirts and followed. The skirt of her gown was full, he noticed ruefully, so he’d get no more than another glimpse of ankle as she inched her way toward him.
“Don’t be looking at me, and mind where you’re going,” she scolded, catching his eye as she sidled toward him. “You’ll be falling in the lake before you know it, and with all that metal on you’re likely to sink like a rock.”
“I’ve been wearing this armor for years,” Colton retorted, grinning back at her. “It’s like a second skin. Besides, the water’s not deep.”
“’Tis a bottomless pit.”
“Impossible.”
“Are you not believing me? I’d not think it possible that you, a knight, could doubt a woman of my position—”
He looked back and saw wicked glee dancing in her green eyes. The sight was so irresistible that he reached back, intending to pull her toward him for a kiss. His hand caught nothing but empty air, however, and the sudden change in position threw him dangerously off balance. He grappled for something to cling to, but the tree trunk was as smooth as polished glass. There was nothing to keep him from slipping into empty space.
“Cahira!” No sooner had her name slipped from his lips than he fell, head and shoulders first, into the lake. The cold water slapped at his face, then flooded his heavy mail tunic, pulling him down into darkness.
Staring upward, he saw Cahira’s startled eyes through the sun-streaked water, then her image receded and blended into a slivery brightness broken only by the submerged branches of the dark tree. These reached out to him like twisted arms, but all too quickly he slipped past their grasp. A cloud of silvery bubbles shot out of his mail armor and rushed past his face, while his feet, weighted by his heavy boots, carried him ever downward into a black abyss.
He struggled, churning his arms in sluggish movements that sounded muffled in his ears. The bright surface fled away at an increasing speed, the light growing dimmer as the waters around him thickened and pressed upon his ears and chest. In a moment of mindless panic he felt a scream rise at the back of his throat then choked it off, pressing his lips together to imprison his last breath. His chest burned with hot pinpricks from beneath his skin, and his ears pounded and roared. Then something cold pushed at him from the darkness and sent him hurtling back toward the light.
For an instant he thought he had met death. He wondered if the approaching light was a heavenly beacon, then the sound of watery movement filled his throbbing ears. His eyes widened as he rode a cold current upward toward the tree branches, then he bobbed up in the water only inches from the spot where he had fallen in.
Cahira was leaning toward him, one hand extended, her eyes large with concern. “Are you all right?” she asked, grasping his hand as he reached for her. “In faith, I should have warned you.”
Colton took a deep, shuddering breath, then hooked his other arm over one of the tree branches. The steady pressure beneath him eased like a sigh of the river’s breath, and again he felt the tug of gravity at his boots. But he had a strong grip on the tree, and he wouldn’t let go.
With his blood still pounding thickly in his ears, he rested his cheek on the log’s smooth surface and turned to Cahira. “Forgive me for not believing you. You did say the water was deep.”
“Aye. But I should have added that no one ever drowns in Log na Sionna. Even the cattle rise back up to the surface.”
“A sacred place,” he repeated, panting. She straightened her posture and nodded primly, and Colton noticed that she had been certain enough of his ascent that she hadn’t even bothered to call for help. Though Sorcha stood on the shore, wide-eyed and pale, Oswald had remained on the trail with the horses. The lazy lout was probably fast asleep.
Taking another breath, he summoned streng
th from some place that hadn’t been paralyzed by fear and began to pull himself onto the log.
“Now you see,” Cahira said, and though her mouth smiled, her eyes did not, “that I would not lie to you, Colton. I know this land, and I know its people. And though I love you for wanting to speak to my father, I know ’twould be foolish. Believe me, love, and take my advice to heart.”
Looking up at her through a tumble of his drenched, dripping hair, Colton could only nod his agreement.
On the fourth day Cahira brought her own dire news to their meeting place at the river. “I’ve just learned that my father sent for Lorcan, the brehon,” she explained breathlessly as Colton dismounted. “I’m not certain, for no one has spoken directly to me, but I’m thinking he intends me to marry my kinsman Rian once the brehon arrives. Lorcan must be present to record important events, so I’m thinking ’tis marriage my father has in mind.”
Colton blinked in bafflement, then took her arm and drew her away from Oswald and Sorcha. “Did you assent to this marriage? Does a vow exist between you and this Rian?”
“Of course not!” Cahira cried, hurt that Colton could even think such a thing. “But Rian is in line for my father’s position, and ’tis only natural that he should marry me in order to confirm his claim. We are friends, so I am fond of him, but I never promised him my love!”
“Then you shall not be required to give it.” Colton fell silent for a moment, then his brow wrinkled with an idea. “This brehon—has he the authority to perform a marriage as well as to record it?”
Cahira nodded absently. “Sure. The brehons are the keepers of Irish law. If he adjudicates a matter, the matter will stand.”
“Then let him judge us to be truly married. And we will let the matter stand.”
Her heart singing with delight, Cahira reached out and touched his surcoat.
“So tell me.” Colton’s dark eyes held more than a hint of flirtation. “Where might we find this brehon?”
Cahira shook her head. “I don’t know, but I think he will be already on his way. My father sent a messenger to find him, and the rider returned last night with news that Lorcan would arrive in two days. He and his student walk from rath to rath.”
Colton lifted his chin and called to the other knight. “Oswald! Care to go hunting for a brehon?”
“A what?” The dour knight quirked his eyebrow. “Is it something good to eat?”
“It’s a man, very much like a priest.” Colton glanced down at Cahira, then slipped his arm about her waist. “’Twill be the man who marries us, if we can find him.”
Oswald’s lips twisted into a cynical smile. “I’ve yet to meet a man I couldn’t capture. I could bring Lord Richard himself if you want a witness.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Cahira spoke softly, thrilled by the knowledge that her dreams were about to become reality. “Sorcha will be with me, and you will have Oswald. If you can find Lorcan, bring him to the stone lodge at Carnfree. Sorcha and I will meet you there tomorrow.”
Colton shot her a twisted smile. “Carnfree?”
“’Tis our ancient place, where the kings of Connacht are crowned.” Cahira smiled. “Lorcan will know the way. Find him, tell him what we propose, and meet me there on the morrow. I will be waiting.”
“I shall do nothing, then, until I find this brehon,” Colton answered, sealing his promise with a quick kiss.
“One more thing.” Cahira pulled out of his embrace, then tipped her head back to look him in the eye. “Have you any news of my father’s dead cattle? I had hoped to be able to tell him something that might ease his mind about you.”
A muscle flicked at his jaw, but he kept a gallant smile on his face. “I’m sorry, Cahira. Oswald and I have asked every man in the garrison, but all plead innocent or ignorant. No one seems to know anything about it.”
She dropped her lashes quickly to hide her disappointment. “Sure, and perhaps my father was wrong,” she whispered, placing her hands on his chest. “’Tis just as well. Think no more of it. We’ll be wanting to dwell on more important things now.”
His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. “Until tomorrow.”
“Aye. Until then.”
Thinking of the day to come, Cahira barely slept at all that night. At sunup she rose, washed her face and hair, and donned one of her best gowns. After dressing, she picked up a book and pretended to read until the other maids woke and slipped from the chamber. Then she dropped the book and lightly swatted the only sleeping lump still abed. She had just awakened Sorcha and asked her to pack a bundle with a few personal possessions when her mother strode into the chamber, a pair of village women trailing in her wake.
“I hope you have made no plans today,” her mother said, gesturing for one of the women to lower her basket. “I was thinking ’tis time we began to sew your wedding dress. Though I know you hate frills and veils, you will want something special when you marry.”
Cahira stared across the chamber, her heart going into sudden shock. For a moment she feared she had talked in her sleep or Sorcha had babbled Cahira’s secret throughout the kitchen, then her mind cleared. These women weren’t here to make a dress for today. They were preparing a dress for the wedding to come. The wedding to Rian.
She straightened, her eyes meeting Sorcha’s horrified gaze. Say nothing, she silently warned her maid with a glance, do nothing unusual.
“Cahira?” Her mother’s voice echoed with concern. “Are you well? You look pale.”
“I am fine, Mother.” Her voice was low and controlled, but even she could hear the undertone of desolation in it. Somewhere outside, beyond Rathcroghan, Colton and Oswald sat in the early morning sun and waited for Lorcan. Before the day was half gone they would take Lorcan and his student to Carnfree, where the four men would loiter in a stone hut and wait for Cahira…while she stood here and prepared for marriage to another man.
She pressed her hands together and tried on a smile that felt a size too small. “Mother, I do not want a special wedding dress. I have so many lovely gowns, I will wear one of those—even this one suits me well.”
“Nonsense. Rian has seen you in everything else, and he so rarely sees you properly dressed.” Her mother gestured toward the woman with a roll of fabric in her arms. “See this lovely silk from Waterford? The color would be quite nice against your fair skin.”
Cahira gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to scream. Her mother did not often impose her ideas, but when she spoke, she expected her voice to be obeyed. And unless Cahira thought of something quickly, she would be held in this chamber for the better part of the afternoon while women draped her with fabric and set about their stitching.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear to wait here while the walls closed in upon her, nor could she continue this charade. Her mother was no king; a woman’s heart still beat in that slender frame.
“Mother!” Risking everything, Cahira rushed forward and reached for her mother’s hands. “Please, I beg you, don’t make me do this. I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long. Truth be told, Mother, I can’t marry Rian.”
Her mother sank to a stool, her face a mask of disbelief. “Not marry Rian? But I thought—you said—you asked me about love.”
Cahira released her mother’s hands and sank to the floor. “I know, ’tis true. But I wasn’t thinking of Rian when I asked. I was thinking of someone else.”
Her mother’s face crumpled as the words took hold. Cahira held her breath, but then her mother’s expression cleared and she shook her head. “Sure, and you’re talking nothing but nonsense. Perhaps you fancy someone else, but love, as I’ve told you, follows marriage. You can’t put the cart before the pony, lass, and you can’t love a man until after you’ve married him.”
“It’s not mere fancy, mother.” Cahira glanced back at Sorcha for help, but the maid’s face had gone blank with fear.
“It has to be mere fancy, my dear.” Her mother’s voice trembled slightly a
s she turned and looked at the two workwomen. “’Twould break my heart to think I had misread you. I was so sure you had begun to fancy Rian. Your father and I would not have chosen him for you if he weren’t a fierce good man.”
Cahira hid a thick swallow in her throat and lowered herself to the floor in the posture of a penitent. If her mother would not even consider the fact that Cahira might love someone else, she certainly would not be pleased to hear Cahira loved a Norman. And while she might be able to stall this marriage with Rian by raising a fuss, ’twould only mean days of storming and ranting and bearing up under her father’s fierce temper…when she could be with Colton, and safe in his embrace.
Cahira pushed herself up from the floor, then turned toward the window and studied the slanting rays of the morning sun. The hour was early, time just beginning to flood the day. She would have to keep her chin up and bear this foolishness quietly. Perhaps, if she were attentive and good, the gown could be fitted upon Cahira, then draped over a serving maid for the finer points of alteration.
Feeling like one of the martyrs of the Church, Cahira turned and walked to the center of the room, then lifted one arm as the seamstress unrolled a measure of shining silk.
From his hiding place behind a large gray rock overlooking the trail to Rathcroghan, Colton tossed another pebble into a standing puddle and stared at the blooming circle of rings. In the past six hours, at least twenty men had passed over the worn and rutted boreen, yet not a single pair of them had fitted the description of the brehon and his student. Cahira had described the elderly brehon as a thin, balding man with an air of dignity and pride. Several elderly men had passed, yet none of them had been precisely thin, and none had been traveling in the company of a younger companion.
“You’re wasting your time, you know,” Oswald called from the grass beyond. He lay on his back in the sun, his cloak shielding his face from the sun’s bright rays. He had slept through most of the afternoon, blissfully slumbering amid the weeds and wildflowers while Colton’s heart quickened at the sound of every footfall, then slowed when the men on the trail proved to be insignificant.
The Emerald Isle Page 25