The Seventh Son

by Ashley York

Tadhg paused on the words. He read it again.

  The walls of the chapel closed in on him and he rubbed at his eyes. There was no mistaking what it said.

  Brighit was the daughter of Roland O’Brien? She was not the daughter of Padraig MacNaughton?

  Blood rushed in Tadhg’s ears. His heart pounded faster and stronger as if trying to break free of his chest. How could his sister have been conceived by the O’Brien? Like oncoming storm clouds rushing forward, dread washed over him. There was only one answer. His mother had not been faithful to her husband. She had lain with another.

  Tadhg dropped onto the bench, no longer able to stand. Did his father know of this betrayal? He glanced again at the death date for his mother. It was written in his father’s hand and none other.

  Tadhg rubbed his ice cold fingers. His heart slammed against his ribs.

  Did his father learn of her betrayal after her death? Just as Tadhg was learning of it now? Could this be the reason for the break with the O’Brien Clan?

  If Brighit had been wed to an O’Brien, she would have been marrying her half-brother. To avoid that sin they had instilled fear in Brighit about her treatment at their hands. At first, it had been their mother who discouraged Brighit. Since her death, Padraig had maligned them. Mercilessly.

  Tadhg’s mouth dropped open with an inaudible gasp. Clarity struck at his heart with the force of a hammer.

  His mother had betrayed his father and his father never knew, not until he saw the entry. It must have driven him to lose all sense. It must have infuriated him beyond control. It must have made him want his closest friend’s blood.

  Tadhg closed the book tight as if the secret could somehow disappear if the words were no longer seen. He placed it in the chest before the table. The implications staggered his mind. He turned the key in the iron lock on the chest and placed the key in his sack with the ink and quill. No one could know about this betrayal. No one.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ~

  TISA O’BRIEN ALLOWED THE hint of a smile for her friend, Caireann, who stared at her with wide eyes. “I’ll ken soon enough about the marriage bed.”

  “How can ye say such things?” The smaller red-headed woman’s jaw dropped. “How can ye not be frightened?”

  Tisa rolled her eyes, waved her hand dismissively, and turned to continue down the path that led to the little brook. This was where the fiddleheads they sought grew the best. “How else can I get with child, Caireann. Dunna be daft.”

  Caireann scrunched up her nose and her smattering of freckles shifted. “Ye do want a lot of children. ‘Tis all ye ever speak of.”

  Tisa laughed, the sound blending with the trickling water as they neared the strand. “Well, ye’ve also heard me speak of my handsome Tadhg, have ye not?” She glanced toward her friend as they plopped down beside the stream. “He is a great warrior and will protect me...and get me with child, I am most certain.”

  Caireann swept her bare feet through the chilling water before facing her friend with a worried expression. “With yer Ma passed, who can tell ye what to expect?”

  “My many married sisters?” Tisa sat tall beside her friend. Caireann did not need to know how little they actually spoke to her. “And I trust Tadhg will take care of me...in every way.”

  “Ye sound like an old married woman.”

  Tisa’s eyes crinkled with her smile. “‘Tis how I feel as well. We’ve been betrothed for a long while. Time has passed slowly. I’ve waited forever for this.”

  “Well, it will not be long now.”

  In companionable silence, they sat beside the brook, enjoying the last warm spell of the summer and taking a respite from the reaping that had begun in earnest at her father’s word. Tisa would miss quiet times like these with her close friend when she moved to the MacNaughton’s land. Perhaps her friend could marry one of the other MacNaughton warriors—like Sean. She glanced toward her friend. No, Sean was too...hard a man for Caireann. She would require a gentle touch, a slow coaxing, or she’d be running scared as a rabbit.

  “I’ll miss ye.” Caireann spoke as if reading her thoughts.

  “I’ll miss ye. I was just thinking if ye wed someone from Tadhg’s clan, ye would be close.” She pushed a wayward strand of red hair from her friend’s face. “I would like us to remain friends. Ye are closer to me even than my own sisters.”

  Caireann rested her head against Tisa’s shoulder, hugging her arm, and looking down at the brook. “I will still be happy for ye to be with such a grand warrior. He’s a handsome one, that Tadhg.”

  Tisa covered Caireann’s hand where it rested in the crook of her arm. “Aye. He is that. His kind eyes.” She impulsively kissed the top of her friend’s head. “I could not love him if he were cruel.”

  Caireann tipped her face up and smiled. “True enough. Ye see a kindness in him for certain for ye to love him as ye do.”

  A call in the distance sent Tisa’s heart to pounding. “What’s tha—”

  Young Liam burst through the trees, his breath coming in such great gasps he could not speak. He shook his head, bent forward, steadying his hands on his knees. “I...ran...”

  Tisa stood, her breaths coming quicker. “Well, I can see that ye ran, Liam. What are ye about?”

  Liam looked to the heavens, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His dark hair hung in limp clumps, soaked through with sweat. “Yer da—”

  Dread tore through her like an arrow. She moved in closer. “What? What about my da? Oh speak!”

  Her frustration grew with each passing second. Liam’s face was blotched bright red from his exertion. She covered her mouth with her fingertips, trying to practice patience as she’d been trained. She tried to believe her father was fine. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat but it remained lodged there. Something was amiss and had been since spring but no one felt the need to share any news with her. She wasn’t to question or speak until asked to speak but she could still listen and she did—to everyone. She’d learned nothing.

  Tisa pressed her lips together to keep from prompting the boy to speak. Looking toward Caireann, she saw her own fear reflected there.

  “He’s probably fine, Tisa.” Caireann tried to reassure her but her widened eyes did little to ease the discomfort.

  Tisa grabbed Liam’s arm. “Is my father hurt?”

  Liam shook his head, wincing slightly at the tight grip she had on his arm. “Nae.” His breath finally returned. “Nae. He’s fine, Tisa. Sorry I am that I frightened ye.”

  She released him and he exhaled a slow, steady breath. “I was sent to retrieve ye. He wants to see ye ‘immediately if not sooner’. I ran the whole way.”

  Tisa’s trepidation now shifted from fear for her father’s well-being to why the sudden need to summon her when they would see each other after Vespers. Was she about to learn what had transpired the spring past? Her breathing was shallow. The axe was about to fall.

  Immediately if not sooner—it meant only one thing. Her father was angry. Guilt nibbled away at her insides. Had she done something? No. It must have to do with whatever happened.

  Standing erect, she proceeded with stately grace toward the village. She would remain outwardly calm as was expected of her. Caireann came up behind her, following at the same slow speed.

  “Well, be sure yer da knows where I found ye,” young Liam called. “I dunna want him to think I dinna hurry to locate ye.”

  Tisa did not respond. She looked neither left nor right. The view from the gradual descent to the little cluster of houses usually filled her heart to overflowing. A peaceful area of unmatched beauty. The water in the distance. The rolling, green hills. Not this time. Mayhap never again. The tension building in the pit of her stomach hardened like a rock. She’d been avoiding the uneasiness around her, the whispers of her father’s trusted men, the glances from the elder women. Tisa could not even imagine what had happened but felt certain she was about to find out. Good or bad, her life was about to change.
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  The O’Brien’s youngest took a brave step into the Great Hall but stilled. Her courage fled when she sensed the tension. She couldn’t move another step.

  “Please, Caireann,” her voice quivered when she spoke. “Go to yer home and see to yer chores. I will find ye if I am allowed to.”

  When Caireann opened her mouth to speak, Tisa put a finger to her lips. Their eyes held and Tisa shook her head very slowly. Her friend backed out the way they’d come, her head hung low.

  The stone in Tisa’s gut doubled in size. Her feet refused to move. Across the hall, past the raised fire pit filling the middle of the Great Hall, and through the open door against the far wall sat her father. Waiting. She swallowed, forcing the lump back down her throat.

  I have done nothing wrong.

  Tisa closed her eyes, imagining herself again as a little child, still fair-haired and well-freckled. The look on her father’s face as she dropped back down into his arms after he tossed her into the air. He was a strong, young man and loved her dearly. She needed to believe it was still true but things had changed as she’d grown. The flash of her father’s expression when she’d found her kissing Tadhg set her heart to racing. She’d never seen him so angry.

  Perhaps that’s what this was about. Her father didn’t like the idea of her being a grown woman and marrying. He’d even insisted Tadhg not see her again. Could this be the end of the banishment? Could her father be ready to finally see her wed?

  Tisa exhaled, her shoulders rounding in relief. That must be what this was all about. Opening her eyes, she smiled. Surely that was what he was upset about. He may appear angry but he knew she must marry someday. The bond between the two clans would be secured by the marriage. The fulfillment of generations working side by side. With Tisa as the future chieftain’s wife, the MacNaughton and O’Brien would be bound as one. Well, she may as well get on with this. She could admit she was sad to be leaving her home but she was also happy to be marrying the love of her life.

  With more spring to her step, she crossed the hall. It was a moment before her father noticed her. He sat before a long table, leaning over vellum documents that were spread across it. Men surrounding him. Most she knew by name but one man sat to the side, separate. Men did not sit in her father’s presence. This man must be his equal.

  The unknown man was quite large in the chest and he did seem familiar. Strange skins she didn’t recognize draped across his shoulders. Chieftain of some other clan, no doubt. A strange, dark material, stretched tight across his muscled legs that spread slightly at the knee. Her breath caught when she found him looking at her. His eyes tightened as he smiled.

  “And is this yer youngest?”

  She jumped at his loud voice and felt as if she’d been caught doing something she ought not. Roland O’Brien jerked his head up. He impaled her with his look. There was no welcoming smile. His irritation was all encompassing. Blood rushed in her ears as she moved past the men who opened a clear path to her father. She kissed his cheek.

  “Father.” She curtseyed and moved away slightly.

  Her father grabbed her arm. It shook slightly. “Hasten not away, daughter.”

  The men beside her, her father’s men, exchanged confused glances. Perhaps they’d heard the anger in his tone as well. His grip loosened and he smiled at them.

  “If ye’ll excuse us, I have much to discuss with my daughter.”

  The captain of his men, Fergus, offered her a reassuring smile. His bushy, gray cheeks rose slightly with the movement.

  “Of course, sir.” He took her hand, kissing it lightly. “Ye’re more lovely every time I see ye, sweet Tisa. Ye’ve grown into a beautiful woman.”

  Tisa felt nothing like a grown woman at this moment. She felt like someone who was suddenly drowning in guilt but she had no idea what sin she had committed. Attempting to smile back, bile rose in the back of her throat.

  Fergus winked, almost as if sensing her trepidation, before leaving. His men followed him out the door. The stranger leaned forward slightly in his chair. His eyes surveyed her in a most intimate fashion, his thumb rubbing against his lower lip as if assessing her worth. She started to move away but her father held her fast, his arm now around her waist.

  “Where have ye been?” He sounded more himself and the fierce look of anger had left his face.

  She swallowed. “I searched for more fiddleheads beside the river.”

  “Tisa, they’re long past now. Why do ye waste yer time?”

  It was a reoccurring argument and her nervousness eased somewhat. No matter how many times she was able to find his much loved food still growing in tender shoots, he would tell her she would not. She secretly believed he deliberately goaded her so she would try harder to find it.

  “I did find them, Father.”

  The O’Brien raised his brows in mock surprise. Then looking to her left and to her right in expectation, he said, “Where? I dunna see them.”

  A genuine smile at his silliness, she said, “Ye ordered my immediate presence. I put them all aside in my haste to do yer bidding.” Her father’s eyes seemed to cloud slightly at the reminder. She glanced at the other man.

  “Ronan, I would have ye know my youngest—Tisa.”

  “Tisa.” The strange man tipped his head. “It has been a long while.”

  Unsure of exactly who he was, she was unsure how to address him.

  “Do ye remember Ronan?”

  “I do not.” She shifted against her father. “What is amiss, Father?”

  He leaned back in his chair, his shoulders rounded as one in defeat. Alarm bells sounded in her head. When he motioned her to move to the other side of the table, her pulse quickened. That was where the villagers who came before him for judgment stood. Eyes downcast, her ears ringing, she took the place of dishonor and clasped her hands before her.

  The chair scraped along the stone floor as Ronan finally stood. When he approached her, she held her breath. He was quite tall and had the look of an islander. That would explain the strange clothing. He circled her, surveying her, and glancing to her father occasionally with a slight nod and a smile. Her father steepled his fingers before his mouth, appearing merely thoughtful but she sensed his tension.

  Fear replaced the rock in her stomach. Fear for herself. Fear for her father. Fear for whatever was about to happen. Something was very wrong—something to do with her.

  “I think she’ll do nicely.” The words sounded loud as if he was used to speaking over the sound of the ocean. “Methinks we have an agreement.”

  The man reached across the table and her father stood to accept his outstretched arm. Each clasping the other at the wrist in solemn agreement. An unbreakable agreement. Then the man left the room without a backward glance or another word.

  Tisa did not move. “Father?”

  Her father strode past her to the narrow table beneath the small opening in the stone wall that faced the ocean to the east. He poured a generous amount of libations into a wooden cup. He didn’t speak or turn toward her until he had refilled it a third time.

  His eyes were pained. Something was terribly wrong. All other concerns fled. Her compassion for her father propelled her toward him but he held his hand up in a commanding fashion. “Nae! I will not allow ye to comfort me.”

  His tone was thick with regret. The way he sounded when he had to sentence one of their own clan to death. Was it her? Had she just been sentenced to death?

  He sat in his seat, leaning back as if in exhaustion. She dare not speak. She dare not move. She dare not breathe.

  “Tisa. Yer betrothal to the MacNaughton has been severed. Ye’ll marry into the Meic Lochlainn Clan of Inishowen. They’ll be here in two days’ time.”

  The pain in her chest intensified with every word he spoke, like nails hammering into her heart, but her brain refused to understand his meaning beyond his first statement.

  Yer betrothal to the MacNaughton has been severed.

  Her betrothal to Tadhg? The
y’d been betrothed forever. They grew up knowing they would one day be wed. Tadhg was all she wanted in a husband.

  Her father’s eyes never wavered from her face. Surely he measured her reaction as if he cared.

  “Ronan came here to make the agreement on their behalf. He has been a great help to our clan.”

  The kind eyes seemed familiar, but no. Those would have been the eyes of her father that loved her. A father that wanted her to be happy. A father that wanted her settled nearby. This? This was a man that cared nothing for her. A man that would rip away her future dreams of happiness. A man that would send her away from him. A man that would give her to strangers. Strangers that saw her as nothing more than...breeding stock.

  No. She was more than that. She would not stand here and be handed off to a stranger without even a word of protest.

  “Why?” Damn her eyes. The tears swelled and her father became a blurry figure. “How?”

  He looked away. “The MacNaughton broke our agreement.”

  Her jaw dropped. A slap to the face would have hurt less. “Nae!”

  “After Moira died, Padraig sent word he would not see his son married to an O’Brien.”

  “And ye did not think to tell me this?”

  Her head reeled with the implications.

  “And Moira? Tadhg’s mother is dead?” Her breath hitched. Moira had been like a mother to her. “When was she buried? I wish to pay my resp—”

  “Ye will not! Padraig would not allow us to come. None of us.” Her father finally faced her. “We are no longer welcome on his land. He wants nothing to do with us.”

  “Nothing to do with us? They are our kinsmen.”

  “No longer.”

  “Ye canna just let him cut us off like this.”

  “I was given little choice in the matter.”

  “Then go to him! Beg his forgiveness for whatever ye have done!”

  “I have done nothing wrong! ‘Twas Padraig’s doing. He chose to give me no reason. I will abide by his decree.”

  Tisa’s mind struggled to make sense of what her father was saying. There must be something he was not saying. “Why would Padraig treat us like this?”