Daire cringed and leaned across the table, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Peace, cousin,” he pleaded with her. “We should be on our way to the High fort. You can bring your qualms before Ainmire. Let’s not bother these good people during their meal, aye?”
Shiovra sighed and nodded. Standing up, she followed Daire towards the door. Pausing, she looked back only to where the Milidh man had been sitting only to find he was gone.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Mahon stood by the hearth in the main cottage, watching the fire as it danced upon the wood. He grew anxious waiting for his sister’s arrival, many questions and memories tumbled through his mind. After ten years time, he could only wonder what kind of woman she had become. He worried that perhaps there wouldn’t even be the slightest glimmer of the sister he once know, that she would be a stranger to him. And so, when he had learned she was in the village, he found himself unable to leave the main cottage.
“Stop fretting,” a low voice filled with amusement said to his right.
Mahon glanced over.
Ainmire, chieftain of Tara, sat at a low table, cup of mead in hand. The man’s hazel-brown eyes looked into his cup with great interest. His shoulder-length brown hair and beard were streaked heavily with gray. He was getting old and showing every sign of it. Wrinkles distorted the spiral curling by his right eye, marking him as one of the Túath clan. “You fret like a child about to be scolded by his mother,” chuckled Ainmire as he took a long swig of his mead. “Have a drink, it will calm you.”
Exhaling, Mahon shook his head. “Nay, I would prefer to face my sister without the influence of mead,” he said with a small laugh of his own.
Before more could be said, the wicker door to the cottage burst open and Ceallach Neáll walked in, a cold breeze following him. The Fomorii man’s face clearly bore ill tidings.
Mahon was quick to notice that not only did the man look a little worse for the wear, but that he had entered the cottage alone. His heart sank as the worst possible thoughts invaded his mind.
“Ah, you have returned to us, Ceallach Neáll.,” said Ainmire with a grin. Quirking a brow, he leaned over to look around the man, and then straightened. “Where is my wife?”
When Ceallach remained silent, Ainmire sat his cup down, his lips becoming a firm line.
“We must speak,” Ceallach informed him simply.
Mahon studied Ceallach’s face closely. In all the years he had know the Fomorii man, he had hardly ever seen any emotion come across the man’s face. Yet now, though Ceallach stood firmly before the chieftain, Mahon could see something in the man’s eyes the betrayed him calm exterior.
“Cúlráid has been attacked. We had no warning. They came in swiftly as we slept, leaving very few survivors and setting fire to the village. Nothing remains but charred cottages and far too many corpses,” replied Ceallach in an even voice.
Ainmire maintained a calm composure as he asked, “Who brought upon such a deed?”
“Aichlinn, servant to Ailill,” replied Ceallach. “He had several warriors of the Milidh clan in his ranks, though I suspect they were hired swords.”
Mahon was surprised to hear genuine anger and bitterness in the Fomorii man’s voice. “For what reason was the village attacked?” he found himself asking.
“What other reason than to send warning?” said Ceallach coldly. “Blood was spilled that night, all to send a warning to the Túath clan.”
Mahon looked at him with utter disbelief. “An entire village destroyed just for…?” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. The atrocities of war never ceased to baffle him.
“Ailill has had years to bide his time and plot his vengeance upon the High Chieftains,” Ceallach stated. “And what better way than to slowly destroy the clan from within? Ainmire, you are kin to the High Chieftains. If Ailill cannot strike at you directly, he will do it where it hurts most: your family.”
Ainmire’s face went white.
“Ailill seeks for nothing but the destruction of the Túath clan so that he can have his vengeance. When he learned that your wife and child had left the safety of Tara, he found that very opportunity.” Ceallach paused. “I defended against the attack, but I lost sight of Deirdre in the battle. In the wake of the attack, while the village burned around me and its people lay dying, I searched for her…”
Though Ainmire’s gaze was steady when it met Ceallach’s, his voice shook slightly as he asked, “My wife and child. Are they…?”
Mahon watched as Ceallach looked away and shook his head.
“I regret to inform you that Deirdre and your child are dead.”
Ainmire nodded numbly. “It was as I feared.” He fell silent, resting his face in his hands. After a while, he looked up and met Ceallach’s gaze once more. “Over a fortnight ago, I heard the wails of the bean sidhe carried by the wind. I never thought those sorrow filled cries could have been for the loss of my wife and child.” He paused, a ragged sigh escaping him. “I thank you for telling me. I wish I could have mourned their deaths sooner…”
“Forgive me, I was…delayed,” Ceallach told him sincerely. “I thought it best to visit Rúnda before returning here.”
Ainmire nodded. “Aye…I heard rumors that your son had been seen arriving with the High Priestess earlier,” he said. “It is good that she is here.”
Ceallach did not respond, the emotionless mask slipping back into place.
As Mahon watched, he knew then that something had indeed happened with his sister. He wanted to ask what, but had no desire to upset Ainmire further. And so he remained silent, but to his surprise, Ainmire questioned the man in a surprisingly calm voice.
“Ah, but this displeases you, does it not?”
Ceallach’s eyes narrowed on the man.
“You went to fetch the priestess only to have her return with you son instead,” continued Ainmire. “What happened during your stay at Rúnda?”
The Fomorii man remained silent, his jaw tensing.
Ainmire leaned across the table towards Ceallach. “I have known you long enough, Ceallach Neáll of the Fomorii clan, to know when you are displeased,” he said, folding his fingers together. “And the manner in which Shiovra has returned to this village has indeed displeased you. And so I ask you: why?”
Mahon watched as Ceallach stiffened.
“Shiovra did not depart Rúnda under our guidance,” replied Ceallach in a hard voice. “She has defied the words of her mentor and turned her back on us.”
Ainmire’s face remained completely calm, free of any anger. “And will she defy her duties as High Priestess to this village?”
“No,” replied the Fomorii man bluntly. “She is adamant in her decision to protect Tara.”
Ainmire leaned back. “Then there is nothing to worry about,” he told Ceallach, taking another drink of his mead. “As long as Shiovra fulfills her duties as priestess, and holds up the betrothal arrangement for the sake of alliance, then all is well.” He paused, raising his eyes slowly to meet Ceallach’s, his own gaze hard. “Your anger stems from the matter that with Shiovra’s defiance, you and Réalta can no longer manipulate her to your desires.” Ainmire waved his hand in dismissal. “Trust in Shiovra, Ceallach Neáll. Perhaps she will surprise you in her defiance.”
Ceallach nodded and, giving a quick low bow, excused himself.
Mahon watched the man leave, wondering just how his sister had defied Réalta and why she had done so. Grabbing an empty cup from the table, he decided to take Ainmire up on his offer and filled it generously with mead. He had never seen Ceallach react the way he had that night. Seeing the man display such emotions honestly worried him and made him wonder just what had happened to make him so angry. He took a drink from the cup as the door opened once more and two men stepped into the cottage.
Naal was a tall and slim young man of twenty-two years with long, dark hair that shinned with hints of red and an odd streak of white by the right side of his face. A spiral curled by his right ey
e and another blue woad honor mark on his neck, partially hidden by his tunic. Naal’s father, Earnán, was man with dark brown hair that was cut short and dark eyes that flashed with warmth. Like his son, Earnán bore a spiral by his right eye.
The two men came in, talking and laughing, completely unaware of what had just transpired. Their entrance came to an abrupt pause, though, upon seeing the looks on Mahon and Ainmire’s faces.
Earnán bowed. “Please forgive the interruption, my lord,” he said respectfully.
Ainmire rose to his feet and approached the men, his face grave. “There have been grievous misdoings brought upon us,” he told them sadly.
Naal and Earnán look at him in concern.
“Cúlráid has been attacked,” he continued with a heavy voice. “Burned to the ground. And…and…” His voice trailed off, unable to continue. Emotions, deep and sorrowful, racked through his body.
Mahon stepped in. “Earnán, your sister Deirdre, and her son, are dead,” he said softly.
The look of disbelief, followed by grief crossed both men’s faces.
Earnán sat down roughly, face in his hands.
Mahon watched Earnán. The man had recently lost his wife to illness, and now to learn that his sister and nephew were dead, he could even begin imagining how Earnán must feel.
Naal stood by his father, maintaining better composure. “Was it…Ailill?” he asked after a moment.
Ainmire nodded. “Aye,” he replied.
“So it begins…” muttered Earnán. “Should we inform the High Chieftains?”
“No, as I said in the past, we shall deal with Ailill ourselves,” stated Ainmire firmly.
Suddenly, the cottage door was flung open and Daire strode in with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “I have brought her,” he said eagerly, moving aside and beckoning to a shadowed figure standing in the doorway.
As the young woman stepped into the cottage, she was washed over with the dancing firelight. She wore a pale gray shift with tight sleeves over a longer plain white one. Her hair fell down her back in a long braid with a few loose curls framing her face. As she entered the room, she looked up, turning her gaze upon everyone in the cottage in turn.
Mahon watched as those pale, silvery-blue eyes came to a rest on him, leaving him with a warm feeling of familiarity. Her eyes remained steady as she looked at him. Mahon studied the woman in turn, taking in everything from the features of her face, to the stubborn gleam in her eyes. It was then that, for a brief moment, he was looking at a determined eight-year old girl instead of the woman standing before him now.
The cup slipped from his fingers and clattered noisily to the ground, mead spilling onto the packed dirt, soaking in. Mahon found he stood there, mouth open as he fumbled to speak. “Shiovra…?” he breathed, struggling not to make a fool of him. “Shiovra, is that you?” It had been so long he wasn’t sure if she was his little sister or not. The woman before him looked so different from the girl her remembered, yet so much the same.
She nodded. “I have returned home, brother,” the woman said, a small smile curling her lips.
Mahon moved swiftly towards Shiovra, catching her hands within his own. “Why have you been away for so long?” he asked anxiously. “How did your training go on Rúnda? Did your journey here go unhindered? Why is Ceallach do angry?” All the questions that had tumbled through his mind, all his worries and fears, began flooding out of his mouth unrestrained.
Shiovra remained silent for a moment. “For the most part it was unhindered. There was one…delay…but it was dealt with quickly,” she answered.
He noticed she stiffened and her choice of words did not sit well with him. Mahon pressed further, “What happened?”
“I would rather not speak about such right now. I only just arrived, could I not rest first?” She paused, her eyes searching his face. “I know I have been away far too long, but I am here now.”
Mahon found that his worry was quickly replaced with anger. “You didn’t have to go in the first place!” he countered, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “You could have remained here!”
She glanced away, and took a deep breath to calm herself. “Forgive me if my decision as a child hurt you, Mahon, but I still believe it was for the best of this village.” Meeting his gaze once more, her eyes pleaded with him. “There are many lessons I learned on Rúnda, those more recent were the hardest, but I am home now. Can we put the past aside and look forward to tomorrow?”
“But…” began Mahon, only to be cut off as Ainmire placed a calming hand on his shoulder.
“Peace, Mahon,” urged the chieftain. “She has journeyed a long way.”
Mahon nodded reluctantly and sat down roughly on a low bench next to Earnán.
“There is a time and place for such question,” Ainmire reassured Mahon. “Hounding you sister as soon as you are reunited is not the right time. You have waited ten years to demand answers, you can wait a little longer before getting them.” He turned to Shiovra. “And I am sure, once you have rested, you would be more than happy to provide them, would you not, High Priestess?”
Shiovra nodded. “Aye, Lord Ainmire.”
Mahon looked away, unable to bring himself to look at his sister. He knew Ainmire’s words rang true. If he continued as he was, it would only result in him pushing her away and he did not want that to happen. He never wanted to see her turn away from him again as she had done ten years ago.
There was a gentle knock on the door-lintel before it opened and a young woman slipped in, bowing low. “Please forgive me,” she said in a softly spoken voice. “But the bath has been prepared for Lady Shiovra as requested.”
Daire nodded. “Thank you.” He turned to Shiovra. “Follow her and she shall take you to the bath house.”
Shiovra smiled softly. “Aye. Thank you.”
After blushing heavily, the handmaid bowed once more.
Shiovra turned and followed her from the cottage, the door closing quietly behind them.
Earnán turned to Mahon. “Give her time,” he told him. “The duties of a High Priestess will be a heavy burden. This entire village is going to look to her for protection.”
Mahon couldn’t tear his eyes from the door, hoping that perhaps she would return. He had envisioned their reunion many times and not once had it gone as terribly as it just had. He felt a genuine fool for letting his anger get the better of him when he should have welcomed his sister with open arms. “I am such a fool…” muttered Mahon with a short laugh.
“That you are,” chuckled Daire warmly. “But you are kin, she will forgive you."
3. TIES WHICH BIND
The bathing cottage was small and cozy. Warm and dimly lit, a strong sent of meadowsweet scent hung heavy in the air. Dried herbs hung along the cottage’s support posts, used to scent the bathing water. A cauldron hung above the hearth, where water warmed to be used for the bath. Everything was exactly as Shiovra had remembered it from her childhood.
Stripping off her clothing and setting it aside, Shiovra sat down on a low bench situated in the center of the room beside the hearth. A thick woven rug sat beneath her feet and what felt like a wicker mat beneath that. Beside her on the bench, a basin filled with water and wash cloth waited.
The maiden moved to tend to the fire. Her long, ash brown hair had been braided and fell over her shoulder. Her brown-green eyes shone brightly in the firelight and tanned skin seemed to glow. She hummed softly to herself as she poked at the wood, sending small embers to lift into the air.
“What is your name?” Shiovra queried, dipping her fingers into the warm water.
“My name, Lady Shiovra?” replied the maiden with a note of surprise. She straightened and turned to face the priestess, giving a quick bow. “I am Úna of the Neimidh clan. I come from a very small village to the south and am to be your handmaiden while you are here.”
“Please, do not call me Lady,” scoffed Shiovra, creating paths in the water with a fingertip. “I
do not like it. It makes me feel as if I am someone I am not.” Looking up, she smiled at the woman. Shiovra knew of another who imposed the undesired title upon her: Kieran, son of Dubheasa and her guardian on Rúnda.
Úna met her gaze with confusion. “As…as you wish, La…Shiovra.”
“Much better. I would rather be your companion than your mistress.” Dipping a cloth into the water, Shiovra began to wash her arms.
Úna offered a warm smile of her own. “Aye. I would like that as well. I do not have many companions here,” she admitted. “I have not been here very long…”
“Now then,” Shiovra continued, letting a touch of mischievousness slip into her voice. “I noticed that you seemed a bit flushed when Daire addressed you earlier.” She cast a sidelong glance at Úna to see the woman’s reaction.
As expected, the poor girl flushed a vibrant shade of crimson and nearly dropped the wash cloth she carried over.
“Do you take an interest in my cousin? Or is my question too bold?”
Úna turned an even deeper shade of crimson. “You are not too bold to say so…” Her voice trailed off. She busied herself with washing Shiovra’s hair, using the wet cloth. “I do have an interest in…Lord Daire…but…” She hesitated. “That can never be. I am not part of the Túath clan. I am Neimidh and come from a very poor family…”
“I am sure that Daire would not see it that way. He is not one to divide people for clan and rank.” She paused to look at the girl.
“Aye, that may be so, but his only concerns now are for you.”
Shiovra smiled sadly. “When we were children, Daire was very close to me. When he would visit from Rúnda, we would spend the time playing and running about,” she told her. “He and Mahon were much against me going to Rúnda for my training. I know his mother can be a hard person to understand, and till recently, I had not know the full extent of it.” Shiovra dipped her cloth back into the basin. “I understand that he also blames himself for not trying everything to stop me from leaving. Aye, his concerns may lie with me for the moment, but that is because I have only just returned.”
Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) Page 7