The priestess bent down to look the wound over carefully. “I need to remove this,” she told him quietly.
Closing his eyes, Odhrán braced himself. He heard the priestess take a breath and release it before she tugged the cloth free. Odhrán winced, cursing Cúmhéa thoroughly under his breath. Opening his eyes, he found Shiovra tearing the hem from the tunic she wore.
Hesitantly, she began to bind his wound with gentle and deft hands.
Odhrán leaned against the tree, every breath painful. He watched her face as she wrapped the makeshift bandage about him. Worry knit her brow and locks of her red-gold hair clung to her face. When she finished securing the binding, he shifted and pulled his bloodied shirt back on.
Blue eyes suddenly snapped up to meet his. “Odhrán…”
“Thank you,” he said in a low voice. “We have to move on.” Though Caher Dearg lay in ruins, he refused to take the risk. More distance needed to be placed between them and the ring-fort before he would be willing to rest.
Shiovra only watched him with a guarded gaze.
Odhrán held his hand out to her. “Come,” he urged, voice hard. “They are still after us, those that have survived.”
Her eyes looked from his bloodied hand to his face before she took a step back.
He could see it in her eyes: fear. A short laugh escaped him. “You are afraid of me now, are you not?” he asked in a low tone. Odhrán could not blame her. He was one of the Milidh, a clan known for their dangerous lust for war and revenge. She hated him and now even feared him. It would be far more difficult to gain the woman’s trust than he had initially thought.
Shiovra remained still, but did not speak.
Odhrán looked away. “I can understand your fear,” he told her in an even tone. “It is only natural you would have a difficult time trusting me. The alliance between our clans is a strained one at most.” He paused. “But, all that matters at the moment is getting a safe distance away.”
The priestess remained silent.
“I made a promise not only to the chieftain of Dún Fiáin to protect you, but to your brother as well,” he told her firmly, eyes remaining on the trees to his left. “Once we reach Dún Fiáin you can do with me as your wish, but till then…just trust me.”
“Aye.”
Odhrán turned at her voice. She met his gaze unwaveringly, her hands clenched tightly together. He could still see fear in her eyes, but she seemed to have calmed herself a bit. “We have a long way to go still.” Turning, he began to lead the way once more. Odhrán could hear her following closely behind.
He continued to keep the pace slow, a heavy silence settling between them. Thunder rumbled lowly in the distance and the scent of oncoming rain hung heavily in the air, promising further hindrance to their escape. They had not gotten far before slight movement ahead of them caught his attention.
Leaning against the tree with blood streaming down his face was Daire. At his feet lay his bow, quiver, and blood covered sword.
Odhrán cursed in response and quickened his pace.
“Daire!” cried out Shiovra, running past him to her cousin’s side.
“Shiovra…” Daire breathed weakly. “I have been waiting…I was about to fall asleep…the two of you took…so long…” His voice trailed off as he slumped to the ground.
Shiovra began calling the man’s name out frantically, “Daire! Daire!”
Crouching down beside the woman, Odhrán helped Shiovra roll Daire onto his back.
The priestess bent over her cousin, bringing an ear to his chest then placing a hand near his nose. “He lives…” she breathed in relief. Shiovra shook the man roughly. “Open your eyes, Daire! You need to open your eyes!”
“I’m only resting…” groaned Daire.
“You can rest later,” countered Odhrán. “If you slip into unconsciousness now, you just might not wake again.” He helped Shiovra pull the man into a sitting position.
The priestess threw the bow and quiver over her shoulder before turning back to her cousin. “Come, Daire,” Shiovra said gently. “We have to get out of here.”
After securing the man’s sword on his belt, Odhrán helped Shiovra bring Daire to his feet together. Daire’s protest went unnoticed.
“Heed your cousin’s words. We need to keep moving,” instructed Odhrán, ignoring the strain on his own wound.
With his arms flung around their shoulders, Daire allowed himself to be led through the woods. The man’s breathing was labored and pain was written clearly across his face.
“Ah…!” he hissed. “Walk more slowly, please…”
Thunder rumbled once more and lightning flashing in the distance, briefly illuminating the woods around them. Not long after rain began to fall, lightly at first, then quickly turning into a vigorous downpour.
Odhrán relished the cooling sensation the rain offered as it soaked through his clothing. The fevered feeling that had been growing from his wound began to wash away by the rain. In the distance ahead of them, he could see the end of the woods and grassy hills that were both welcoming but completely out in the open.
He found himself hesitating as he tried to gain his bearing. Odhrán was not entirely sure of where they were. And, until the clouds cleared, he would be unable to guide them in the correct direction.
Beside him Daire groaned in pain.
Odhrán exhaled. “We will have to rest here,” he said. He looked down at Daire. “You can rest for now, but you must stay awake.”
The man mumbled an indistinguishable reply.
Odhrán helped Shiovra settle Daire down comfortably against a tree where he sat with his eyes half open. He watched Shiovra knelt beside her cousin, gently patting his forehead with a piece of cloth wet from the rain. Concern marred the woman’s lovely face. Odhrán realized that she expressed that same amount of concern for the man as she had for him.
He took a deep breath and weighed their options. The wounds he and Daire carried would only continue to slow them down and they could not be certain how soon Meara and her men would reach them. The direness of their situation only continued to grow. Closing his eyes, Odhrán called to the priestess, “Shiovra.”
She looked up, her hand pausing in its ministrations. “Hmm?”
“It is impossible to cross this field quickly with both Daire and myself wounded as we are,” Odhrán explained. “Meara and her group are still missing. We cannot be certain that none of Méav’s men escaped Caher Dearg’s fall. They could be approaching us as we speak.”
“And?” questioned the woman, a slight frown crossing her face.
“Daire and I shall remain here as bait. I want you to keep going. Find the nearest village and send word to Tara as well as Dún Fiáin.”
A surprised look crossed Shiovra’s face, only to be quickly replaced with anger. “What?!”
“You need to be safe.”
She rose quickly to her feet, her hands clenched. “You cannot possibly be telling me that you and Daire are…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “No.”
“Do not worry about us,” Odhrán said sternly. He was growing weary of arguing with the priestess. “It is my duty to protect you…”
“You keep saying that,” snapped Shiovra harshly.
“That is because I speak the truth,” he countered angrily. Odhrán leaned against the tree himself, tired and in pain. “If you stay with us, you will be caught. We are moving far too slowly.” He watched her carefully. It was not his desire to resort to such means, but necessity demanded it.
“Listen to him,” added Daire in a rough voice.
She stood stiffly, unmoving. “No,” she refused simply.
Odhrán found he was a bit surprised by the harshness in her voice. “No?”
Shiovra raised her chin defiantly. “No,” she repeated. “I will not abandon you here to possibly die.”
He exhaled in irritation, running his hands through his hair. Though he found it admirable that the woman refused to leave
them injured as they were, he was quickly losing his patience. “Shiovra…”
“No.” She held his gaze without waver. “Are you both so willing to sacrifice yourselves for me? You want me to turn my back on Daire, who lies on the dangerous borders of unconsciousness, just to keep myself safe? And you, a Milidh man who risked his life for a woman he hardly knows and carries the wound to prove it…you want me to turn my back on you as well?!” she demanded. “Do not jest with me!”
Setting his face firm, Odhrán took a step towards the woman.
Shiovra sighed and shook her head. “Do not needlessly sacrifice your own lives,” the priestess continued in a calmer tone. “We will find a way, but not like this.” She glanced down at Daire briefly before meeting his gaze once more. “Caher Dearg has fallen. Méav’s men, those who escaped, are scattered. I am not going to just walk away and leave you here. The three of us will make it to safety together.”
Odhrán studied the determined look on her face for a moment. “Shiovra,” he said quietly. “I understand how you feel, but your will is not enough to change the current situation. So at least you…”
“No.”
Exhaling in frustration, he pulled his dagger swiftly from his belt and held it pointed at her throat. Odhrán’s hand remained steady on the handle.
Shiovra frowned, her eyes narrowing, but she did not move. “So you are willing to kill me if I do not heed your orders?”
Odhrán cocked his head to the side slightly, slightly amused by her words. “Kill is a strong word to use, priestess. More like threaten,” he replied in a steady tone. “You need to go, even wounded as we are, we can hold our own long enough for you to get a safe distance away.” He gestured to dagger towards the field.
Shiovra hesitated a moment, then slowly made her way towards him with careful steps.
To Odhrán’s surprise the priestess reached out, placing her hand lightly upon the one that held the dagger. Her fingers were cold against his skin, but they did not tremble, resting steadily upon his hand. Whatever fear she had felt towards him before was replaced by the fires of defiance.
“I am not afraid,” she told him, stepping close enough that the tip of the blade was touching her throat. “I do not doubt you could hold your own, but I will not leave you injured as you are. I am a priestess. My duty is to protect the lives of others, even those of my guardian warriors,” she breathed then closed her eyes. “Force me to abandon you and you shall never have my trust.”
His hand did not waver, his eyes narrowed on her face. If he wanted, he could take the woman’s life easily at that moment. With an aggravated exhale, Odhrán lowered his hand and let the dagger fall to the ground with a thud.
Shiovra opened her eyes. “For ten years I have only know the Milidh to be an enemy,” she began softly. “If your aspiration is to gain my trust, then you should consider rethinking your actions. Idle threats help by no means.” Shiovra sighed and turned away. “We must keep moving. Together.”
Odhrán watched as the priestess returned to Daire’s side, patting his face with the wet cloth. The man continued to sit with a half-lidded gaze, struggling to maintain consciousness.
Daire groaned, flinching as Shiovra focused on cleaning his head wound. “What are we going to do now?” he asked weekly. “Where can we go?”
“I might be able to help with that,” came another voice.
Odhrán tensed, pulling his other dagger from his belt.
A figure walked towards them through the rain.
Shiovra lurched to her feet. “Eiladyr!”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Meara had pulled her warriors quickly from Caher Dearg when the ground beneath their feet began to tremble. They made haste for the woods, pulling their wounded along. None of the men had been gravely injured, but their wounds would hinder their retreat, but her warriors had fared much better than Méav’s feared huntsmen. When the trembling had begun, many of Méav’s men were faced with a barrier of white hot flames that blocked any escape. Only Meara’s men and huntsmen who were not within the gates managed to flee. Once Caher Dearg had fallen, Méav’s remaining men scattered, not bothering to finish the battle.
Meara paused slightly to glance back at the ruins of the once loathed ring-fort. Her heart was heavy as she fidgeted with the sleeve of her shirt. She could only hope the rescue attempt had not been in vain and that the High Priestess, as well as Daire and Odhrán, had made it out safely. Yet, for now, she could only trust that they had.
Turning back to the forest, she faced her warriors who waited patiently for orders. Taking a deep breath, she began, “Ainnle! I want you to help Orla tend to the wounded. Once that is done, we will focus on finding our lost priestess and her guardians. We need to search for any signs that can lead us to their whereabouts.” She paused as her men nodded. “Finding them is of the utmost importance. We cannot assume they have not obtained any injuries!”
Meara received an approving roar from her men. Nodding, she began to help Ainnle and Orla tend to the wounded, worry working at the back of her mind.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Progress across the field was slow, hindered by the injuries Odhrán and Daire had sustained. The rain had begun to slacken, leaving them with a thick milky fog as Eiladyr led them from the field and into more trees. The fog drifted through the trees making it increasingly difficult to make their way safely through. The dense woods themselves were quiet, save for the soft rustling of wind and occasional chirp of birds. The sun had begun to rise, casting its radiant glow through the thick canopy of leaves. The damp, earthy scent from the passing storm lingered refreshingly in the air.
“I cannot believe…Meara’s idea worked…we managed to get you out…” Daire said through labored breaths and they slowly made their way along.
Eiladyr looked Daire over. “Barely,” he muttered under his breath.
Shiovra looked down at her hand. She had fared much better than Odhrán and Daire, but her wound would need tending to as well. The bleeding had stopped, but it still needed cleaned and wrapped with clean binding to heal properly. “We are alive, that is what matters,” Shiovra said quietly.
“Where did you say you were leading us?” asked Odhrán.
“Ráth Faolchú, which is…somewhere around here,” replied Eiladyr, scratching the back of his head. “If this fog was not so damned thick, I would be able to find my way through…”
Odhrán paused, holding his hand out for them all to stop.
Shiovra watched the Milidh man carefully as he took a few slow steps around them, then reach a hand out and ran his fingers along the rough bark of a tree. “What are you…?” she began, her voice trailing off as he motioned for silence.
Crouching down, he brushed his fingers lightly over the ground and then titled his head slightly, listening. Abruptly straightening, Odhrán began walking to their right. “This way.”
The priestess quickly followed. “How can you be sure?” she asked.
Odhrán did not turn back and replied simply, “I trained there years ago.”
Eiladyr brushed past Shiovra, catching pace with Odhrán. “I remember you…” he remarked. “It has been over two years since we met, but you found me and brought me to Ráth Faolchú when I had nowhere else to go. Even though I did not understand the language of Éire then, you helped me.”
The Milidh man nodded. “I understood how it felt.”
Shiovra rubbed her wounded hand as she followed the two men, Daire keeping pace beside her. She had never thought of how it must have been for Odhrán when he came to Éire, a strange land with a language unknown to him. And to have been a child at the time. Shiovra wondered if, perhaps, he had been as frightened coming to Éire as she had been with the Milidh’s arrival.
She did not have the opportunity, though, to dwell further into her thoughts as a sudden chill raced up Shiovra’s spine. She stopped abruptly, clenching her hand at her chest. The cold of the fog licked at her skin, sending shivers through her body
.
Daire, noticing she no long walked beside her, paused and turned. “Shiovra?”
Shiovra looked at the surrounding trees. At first she saw nothing to warrant the cold feeling that gripped her. Then she saw it, the unnatural shift of shadows. She could feel their eyes on her; watching, waiting. “Huntsmen,” she breathed, taking a step back closer to Daire. “They are closing in around us.”
“What?!” shouted Eiladyr, drawing his blade.
“Be quiet!” hissed Odhrán, taking hold of both his daggers.
“Daire, give me your bow,” ordered Shiovra.
He looked at her in question, but obeyed nonetheless. Stringing the bow, he handed it to the woman.
Pulling an arrow from Daire’s quiver, Shiovra knocked the arrow ready and waited. She could not shake the feeling of eyes upon her, filling her with a sense of fear. Taking slow breaths, Shiovra tried to calm the beating of her heart.
“Listen,” whispered Odhrán’s voice beside her ear, warm against her skin.
Nodding, she closed her eyes and tried to focus. The forest remained silent; the fog growing thicker, colder.
“Where are they?” Daire asked softly from her left.
“All around us,” replied Odhrán’s low voice. “They use the fog to their advantage.”
“Survivors of Caher Dearg?” Daire asked.
“Quite,” warned Odhrán harshly.
A branch snapped to Shiovra’s right. Opening her eyes, she turned towards it and let loose her arrow. It whistled through the fog and silence followed. “Where are they?” she muttered under her breath.
“There!” Odhrán shouted, pointing westward.
Shiovra let loose another arrow.
Silence persisted.
Eiladyr swore under his breath.
The fog parted briefly as a bird cried out in warning, flying past them.
Shiovra spun to where the bird had come from. An arrow screamed through the air, landing at her feet. She stumbled back in surprise and was caught by Odhrán, who held onto her for a moment. She could see the huntsmen now. Their filthy faces smirking with malice. Despite the distance that separated them, Shiovra could smell them; the horrible reek of unwashed bodies and garments assaulting her nose. Their hair was unkempt and filthy.
Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) Page 13