The Emerald Isle

by Angela Elwell Hunt

  Colton glared back over his shoulder. “I’m not wasting my time. This is the road to Rathcroghan, and this is the trail he will take.”

  “I was speaking of the marriage. ’Twill come to nothing. Her father will have it annulled, for certain. If she returns tonight to her house, her father can rightly say that no marriage took place.” Oswald lifted the edge of the cloak and rose up on one elbow, then plucked a sprig of ragwort and paused as if hesitant about saying his next thought. “You haven’t thought this through, friend. You’ll have to hide for a time, mayhap a full week. Only when you can return her good and married will her father give the wedding any credence.”

  Colton tossed another pebble, his uneasiness spiced with irritation. Oswald was brazen, but he did have a point. Colton couldn’t very well keep Cahira out under the stars all night, but if he returned her to Rathcroghan with the marriage only a few hours old, her father would laugh in Colton’s face. But neither could he take her to Athlone, for Richard would doubtless see Colton’s Irish bride as little more than a political prisoner.

  “Cahira will know what to do,” he muttered, half ashamed he had no answers himself. “Or God will reveal a way for us to be together. What matters is that we vow ourselves to one another before this man of the law. He may have the answer.”

  “You’d best pray he does.” Oswald dropped his head back to the earth and laced his fingers together upon his chest. “Or all of this will have been for naught.”

  Colton closed his eyes and resisted the tide of guilt that washed up from his bones. Though his duties of late had been few, he felt he had been bereft in them. In an effort to use the tools of diplomacy instead of warfare, Lord Richard had been content to give his knights lax schedules and tasks, but they were supposed to intimidate the populace by openly training in the knightly arts of sword fighting, archery, and horsemanship. Though Colton was as skilled as any man in Richard’s service, of late his riding had consisted only of clandestine journeys to and from the River Shannon. He had spent more time honing his skills in the art of love than his swordsmanship, and regarding archery—well, even his intended bride had proven herself his equal in that field.

  He tossed another pebble, then the sound of voices sent a thunderbolt jagging through him. Rising to his feet, Colton peered around the edge of the rock and saw two men approaching on the path—one elderly, bald, and stooped, and the other younger and with a full head of auburn hair.

  Colton flattened himself against the rock and drew a deep breath, then bent and pitched a pebble so that it landed squarely in the center of Oswald’s forehead. Oswald scowled, then tossed off his cloak and sat up, one brow lifted in a silent question.

  Colton nodded, held up two fingers, then pointed toward the trail. Without a word, Oswald stood and pulled his sword from its scabbard.

  Colton stepped out into the path and planted both feet firmly in the soft earth. The travelers halted, the younger man’s face flushing to a crimson shade. The older man merely looked at Colton, his mouth twisting in what looked like bitter amusement.

  With his hands at his belt, Colton looked the brehon directly in the eye. “Greetings, sir. Are you Lorcan, the brehon of Connacht?”

  The old man gave Colton a bright-eyed glance, full of shrewdness. “Who asks—you or the sword?”

  Puzzled, Colton glanced behind him. Oswald stood there, his sword drawn and ready, its blade shimmering in the sun.

  Colton gestured for Oswald to put the weapon away. “If you are Lorcan, we have no need of a sword. I have heard that you are a man of good sense, generous spirit, and unexcelled wisdom.”

  The old man snorted with the half-choked mirth of a man who seldom laughs. “Faith, can this be a Norman spewing such golden words?” He tilted his brow and looked at Colton uncertainly. “Perhaps you should tell me why you have need of a man with wisdom. I was under the impression you Normans were the sole possessors of that quality.”

  “I need a wise man acquainted with Gaelic law,” Colton continued, his words pouring forth in a rush. “Cahira O’Connor asked me to find you. She waits at a place called Carnfree. I am to take you there so you may unite us in the rites of holy marriage.”

  Colton saw a tiny flicker of shock widen the brehon’s eyes. “I know Carnfree, and I know Cahira.” He smiled with a distracted, inward look, as though he were listening to some voice only he could hear. He remained in that odd posture for a moment, then his brows flickered as his eyes focused and came to rest upon Colton’s face. “It seems the Almighty approves. So I suppose I can get to know you as we journey to that ancient place.” He turned, then extended his hand in the direction from which he had come. “Shall we go?”

  Colton scrubbed his head in confusion. Was it to be this simple? He had feared a protest, he had half expected he’d have to bodily carry the man to Carnfree. The brehon, however, seemed completely at ease with this unexpected development.

  “You would unite the daughter of an Irish king and a Norman?” he asked, his thoughts spinning. “You find no fault in this union?”

  “I’m not the one to be answering that question.” The brehon dropped his arm and looked at Colton with warm and gentle eyes. “That question is for you and the lass to decide. But I cannot help but believe this union may work for God’s greater good.”

  Colton’s mind whirled at the brehon’s dry response, then he whistled for his horse and joined Oswald in following the brehon away from Rathcroghan.

  As the afternoon progressed, Cahira almost believed her mother was actually encouraging the seamstresses to work slowly. Though her words and manner were gentle, she criticized every idea, every seam, every stitch. Idle gossip, fairy stories, and soft feminine giggles overflowed the tedious hours until Cahira was ready to drown in a flood of frustration. Not until sunset stretched glowing fingers across the western sky did the women finish their work and quit her chamber.

  Biting back a scream of rage, Cahira slipped from the room and hurried through the twilight to the stables. In the golden light of a torch, she found a bridle and expertly slipped it into her favorite gelding’s mouth, then pulled the leather straps up and over his ears. When the bridle was in place, she climbed the fence and climbed upon the animal’s knife-edged spine, ignoring the idle piping of the stable boy in the next stall. He paid her no attention, probably thinking she had come out to give the horse a treat before bedtime.

  “Whist, little one,” she warned the horse, ducking as he whickered and made his way out of the stall and through the doorway of the barn. “Quiet now, through the courtyard. No calling to the others, there’s a good lad. Be silent, be swift, and get me to Carnfree!”

  Unsettled by the unusual routine and the urgency in her voice, the gelding snorted and danced his way through the fortress gate, then responded eagerly to the prodding of her heels. Cahira let him set a pace of his own choosing on the main trail, knowing that freedom would work the restlessness out of him.

  While her mount flew over the path in a relaxed canter, Cahira’s heart raced ahead, praying that Colton had not given up and departed for Athlone. How she had tried to get away! She pretended to have a headache—a pretense that quickly proved true when it became clear her mother would not let her leave. She complained of weariness, she fidgeted and fretted. Even now she wore the silk wedding gown, a simple creation truly fit for a queen, but one which would never be worn in marriage to Rian o’ the Connors.

  A score of questions niggled at her brain. What if Colton had not found the brehon? The old man had not yet appeared at Rathcroghan, which was a good sign, but he could have been detained on the road by any sort of emergency. But what if Colton had found him and the brehon refused to grant Colton’s request? Or what if Lorcan’s student resisted, and in the scuffle someone had been injured…or killed?

  Oh, what a risk they were taking! Though she thought Lorcan a fair-minded man, she might have been foolish to think he would condone a marriage between two people of opposite races. He might have been
offended by the very idea, and, if so, would certainly tell her father. Perhaps he would speak to Rian, too, who would be so affronted by the thought that Cahira preferred a foreigner’s love to his own that he would turn his back even on their friendship.

  The dark sky hovered over the horizon, and streamers of night were already falling by the time she caught sight of the elevated mound at Carnfree. The ancient holy place had been used for crowning O’Connor kings since time immemorial, and the ring of beehive-shaped huts, used only during the festive times of coronation, looked like dark burial mounds in the gathering gloom.

  Please, God, let him be there.

  Tugging on the reins, she turned the gelding up the pebbled trail, then leaned forward in anticipation. A light glowed before one of the huts, and a man walked there—no, two! Four men! He had waited!

  When the horse trotted into the circle, she slipped from his back and ran to Colton. A thrill shivered through her senses as he wrapped his arms around her and asked no questions.

  She babbled the answers anyway. “My mother detained me! I had to sneak away!”

  Colton wore an expression as relieved as her own, but his arms were strong and sure. “I knew you’d come.”

  “Cahira?” She turned at the sound of Lorcan’s voice. The brehon stood beside the small crackling fire, his lined face lifting in a smile. “You truly wish to marry this Norman, and not the man of your father’s choosing?”

  “I do, Lorcan. I wish it with all my heart.”

  “You know this will cause strife in your family?”

  “We are hoping,” Colton answered, “that in time our marriage will bring peace to our people. We need time, sir, to calm hearts and cool passions. Then, perhaps, peace will come.”

  Lorcan’s lined, narrow face showed no more than mild interest, but his eyes were alert in their deep caves of bone. His questioning gaze shifted from Cahira’s face to Colton’s, then he seemed to reach a decision. “The highest provinces of peace are bought with sacrificial blood, dear ones. Something in me wonders if you have blood enough to pay.”

  Cahira swallowed against the unfamiliar constriction in her throat and forced a confident note into her voice. “No one will die here today, Lorcan, nor tomorrow. Our people are at peace now—we just want to insure it.”

  She saw the Adam’s apple bob in the brehon’s throat as he swallowed. “Then it is time to fulfill what God has ordained.”

  Suddenly shy, Cahira looked at Colton. He took her hand and followed the brehon, who entered the circle of standing stones and moved toward the stone altar. When he turned and extended his hands, they knelt before him, side by side.

  “Do you, Norman knight, promise to love the woman God has given to you? Will you honor her above all others, keep you only unto her, comfort and cherish her for as long as God grants you the gift of life?”

  “I will.”

  Lorcan turned to Cahira. “Do you, Cahira o’ the Connors, promise to love the man God has given to you? Will you obey him, honor him as your lord and husband, and keep only unto him for as long as God grants you the gift of life?”

  “I will.”

  “Do you bring a gift, sir, to seal this vow?”

  Cahira turned in surprise as Colton fumbled with the leather bag hanging from a strap around his waist. After a moment, he pulled out a wide silver band that shone in the moonlight. She gasped in delight as he turned the ring and allowed her to read the inscription. “Gaol, Dilseachd, Cairdeas,” she read, then looked up at him. “Gaelic for love, loyalty, friendship.”

  “I asked one of Philip’s servants for the words,” he confessed, a flush of pleasure rising to his cheeks as he slipped the ring onto her finger. “Because I pray our love will lead to loyalty between our houses and friendship between our people.”

  With a sigh louder than the rising wind, Lorcan clapped his hands together. “Then I hereby ordain what God decreed before the earth was born. Go you into the world, my children, and live according to God’s holy laws. Be you kind to one another, honest in your dealings, true in your expectations, and faithful in your friendship. And may love grow between you from this day forward, until we meet him who is the Author of love.”

  The brehon stepped forward and pressed the flat of his thumb against Cahira’s forehead. She closed her eyes while he made the sign of the cross, then looked up to see him make the same sign above Colton’s brow.

  This done, Lorcan stepped back and clasped his hands again. “It is done; you are one.” He glanced at his student. “Peadar and I should now be on our way to Rathcroghan.”

  Sudden fear seized Cahira’s heart. “You won’t—tell my father?”

  “I shall have to tell him something,” Lorcan answered, drawing his cloak closer about his lined throat. “I shall certainly tell him I married you. But I don’t think I shall tell him where you are.”

  The old man’s eyes moved into Colton’s. “What you do now is important, lad. Felim O’Connor is a man of great personal restraint, but no one has ever taken his daughter before. I’m thinking he will want Cahira returned, and no number of counselors will be able to reason with him.”

  Colton’s hand flew automatically to his sword, but the brehon shook his head. “You must not even think of violence. Felim will want his daughter, but he will not know where to find her. If I were in your situation, I would send my companion back to Athlone and charge him to say nothing for the space of three days. By the time Richard learns one of his men has married Felim’s daughter, I will have had time to help Felim see reason. Both our peoples can find a way to dwell peaceably in this province.”

  A faint light twinkled in the depths of his dark eyes. “You can remain here tonight—the huts are dry and warm. But on the morrow, move across the river and into the province of Meath, away from your Lord Richard and Cahira’s father. I will arrive at Rathcroghan tomorrow and will not divulge your whereabouts until Felim is able to see the wisdom in uniting two powerful peoples…and two young lovers. Perhaps then he will be willing to parlay with Richard and put an end to this impasse.” His eyes glinted with merriment as he looked at Cahira. “Don’t you be worrying about your father, lass. I’ll tell him I’ve talked to your knight and found him a good man.”

  Cahira shyly wrapped her hands around Colton’s arm and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “Thank you, Lorcan. I trust you.”

  The brehon turned to Oswald, who watched with Lorcan’s student from the periphery of the stone circle. “I think perhaps you should return to Athlone, Sir Knight. Do you think you could cover your comrade’s absence for a few days?”

  Oswald’s mouth twitched with wry amusement. “On my word of honor, no one will miss him.”

  Nodding in satisfaction, the brehon gestured to his student, then began to move over the rocky trail in small, careful steps. “Spend time together, my children, so none can say you were not rightfully and legally married,” he called, his voice echoing over the barren hilltop. “And may God’s peace go with you.”

  Cahira and Colton stood in the stone circle until the brehon, the student, and the knight had moved away, then Cahira closed her eyes, listening for the last footfall and clomp of hooves. When all was silent save for the snapping fire outside the huts, she opened her eyes and found Colton watching her, his eyes watering in the wind.

  Her husband. Her love.

  He opened his arms, and she stepped into them, then he raised her head and cupped her face between his hands, love glowing strong in his dark eyes. And when they kissed and he lifted her into his arms, Cahira rested in the knowledge that she had finally found a place to belong.

  Only two days from full, the moon lit the soft hills of the western horizon with a cold radiance and threw black shadows on the south-winding trail. Oswald kept his horse at a slow walk, willing himself to give the brehon time to become fully at ease beneath the vast plain of evening. Lorcan and the student were walking in the opposite direction, toward Rathcroghan, but they would never arrive.


  Oswald reined in his horse and sat in the silence, thinking. The old man and his companion would not walk far, for they had to be tired. He could not tarry too long, for if they bedded down in a pile of brush, Oswald might never find them in the shadows of the dark. And it was important that he find them quickly—and without attracting attention.

  The horse whickered and shook his head, setting the bit to jangling in his mouth. “Patience,” Oswald murmured, slowly turning the beast, “easy now.”

  He made a clucking sound with his tongue and started the horse off again at a quick pace. With a flick of his hand he guided the animal to the soft earth beside the hardened trail, effectively muffling the sound of the stallion’s hooves. The animal broke into a canter, eating up the distance as smoothly as a shadow. Within a few moments the mound of Carnfree passed at Oswald’s right hand; within a few moments more he spied the white robes of the men he sought. He immediately pulled his mount to a halt, leaning forward to pat the skittish stallion on the neck as the animal pranced forward.

  The brehon and his student were walking in silence, but the younger man seemed to be searching the open fields, presumably seeking shelter for the night. The brehon’s head did not move, but remained forward, not stirring even when Oswald’s horse blew gustily and nodded its great head in impatience.

  The student turned, however, and tugged on his master’s sleeve. Recognizing danger, Oswald slipped from his mount and drew his sword.

  “So,” the brehon called, his voice juicy with contempt as he turned slowly, “this is how you plan to begin the story? Do you not know, Sir Knight, that a tale that begins with blood must also end with blood?”

  “Master, do you think he intends—?” The student’s voice braked to a halt as his features filled with a sudden shock of sick realization.

  “His intent is obvious, Peadar. If I were you, I would leave immediately.”