The man arched a brow in surprise.
“I am the High Priestess of Tara,” she continued steadily, “and if you seek to remain in this village, then you will keep me informed. Perhaps if such was done during my time in Rúnda, I would not have so easily turned my back on you.”
The shadow of a smile crossed Ceallach’s lips. “As you wish, my lady,” he said, catching her hand within her own and bringing it to his lips.
They were interrupted by a soft knock on the door before it opened and Daire stepped into the cottage. He met his father’s gaze firmly for a moment before turning his attention to Shiovra. “The festival is about to begin. Ainmire wants you present.”
Nodding, Shiovra waited for Ceallach to release her hand before slipping her cloak around her shoulders and following Daire from the cottage. The village was quiet as they walked along the well-worn path to the Banqueting House. Shiovra could hear Ceallach following, but did not turn to him.
As they neared the long building, the din of merriment reached their ears, quiet and muffled at first, but steadily growing louder the closer they came to the Banqueting House. Light flooded through the open doors, bright and welcoming.
Shiovra hardly set foot through the door before Daire ushered her to the head table where Ainmire waited with Mahon, Earnán and Naal. She quickly found her companions sitting at table flanking Ainmire’s. Eiladyr and Odhrán sat on the left while Meara and Úna were on the right.
Daire gestured for her to sit beside Mahon before taking his place beside her.
Sitting, Shiovra looked around at the cheerful faces of the villagers as they laughed and drank heartily. She wondered just how much the villagers knew of the dangers that lurked outside Tara’s reach.
“Smile,” Daire whispered, handing her a bowl of fruit.
Popping a few berries into her mouth, she offered him a mocking smile. “I find it difficult to show merriment under the circumstances,” replied Shiovra.
“They need the reassurance of their priestess,” he said, nodding thanks as bread was handed to him. Breaking the loaf in half, he handed her one and kept the other for himself. “Besides, you are much lovelier when you smile.” Chuckling, he took a large bite of his bread.
Shiovra reached for a cup of water and sipped at it. Her eyes shifted over the faces of her companions, studying each in turn as she ate. Meara leaned towards Úna, speaking quietly in the woman’s ear behind her hand while a vibrant flush crossed the maids face. A mischievous grin stretched wide across Eiladyr’s face as he spoke to Odhrán, hands moving in exaggerated gestures. The Milidh man nodded his head, but his eyes remained fixed on Shiovra.
She felt her heart skip a beat under the intensity of his gaze and her thoughts turned to the memory of his lips against her skin. Wetting her lips, Shiovra unconsciously ran her fingers along her hand, following the path they had taken.
The priestess started slightly, pulled from her thoughts, when a hand touched her shoulder gently. Glancing up, she found that Ainmire had risen and come to stand behind her, cup of mead in hand.
“We welcome the return of our High Priestess and her warriors,” Ainmire began, gesturing to the companions. “Her return brings good tidings. Not only has Caher Dearg has fallen, but Shiovra brings the promise of more warriors to protect our village.” He waited for the joyous roar from the villagers to subside before raising his cup in the air and declaring, “Now, back to the celebration!”
The villagers raised their cups in turn and took a drink.
Patting Shiovra shoulder, Ainmire returned to his seat as lively music and laughter filled the air.
Shiovra finished her meal quietly and, as the night stretched on, rose from her seat. She glanced down at Daire when he touched her hand, looking at her in question. Leaning down, she told him she was weary before excusing herself from the festivities.
She had not taken but a few steps from the banqueting hall before it began to rain lightly. The wind stirred gently, licking at her skin as she walked along the path away from the festivities and back to her cottage. Two warriors stood posted at the door, nodding to her as she slipped between them.
A small fire burned in the hearth, dimly lighting the tiny cottage.
Sitting her cloak aside, Shiovra added wood to the fire and sat down on a bench beside it. Watching the flames dance upon the wood, she stifled a yawn. Though she was weary, she feared sleep would only bring more nightmares.
“You should rest.”
Shiovra startled at Odhrán’s voice, not having heard him enter. Looking up, she watched as he stepped into the firelight and moved to lean against a support post. “I am afraid to sleep,” she told him, turning her attention back to the fire as she poked at it. “To see Ainmire alive and well reminds me that his death looms not far at hand. If he dies, Tara will suffer greatly.”
Odhrán regarded her silently for a moment and then said, “Aye, the village will suffer, but that does not mean it will fall.”
The patter of rainfall became heavier, the sound loud against the thatch roof as a damp gust of wind blew through the open door.
“A village does not need a chieftain to remain strong. It needs men and women willing enough to protect it,” the Milidh man continued.
Shiovra glanced up, meeting his gaze. “Ainmire’s death will give a heavy blow to the High Chieftains,” she stated. “It will be a battle won for Ailill. We cannot allow him to get the upper hand, not when peace with the Milidh is already unstable. Éire has suffered much death already; the Parthalon, the Neimidh, the Fir Bolg…the Túath. Each of the Great Invasions brought death and bloodshed” She paused, biting her lip. “If Ainmire dies, that will put us one step closer to war with the Milidh…”
Odhrán moved to crouch down in front of her. Running his thumb along her bottom lip, he soothed the aggravated flesh. “Whether or not Ainmire dies will not change the fact that the sons of Míl seek war,” he told her gently. “What matters is keeping these people safe.”
Nodding slowly, Shiovra fought to calm her heart. His slight touch was enough to send it racing in her chest. She was not sure when it had begun, but she found that his closeness, his touch, no longer frightened her. And, in a way, Shiovra found that far more dangerous.
Abruptly, Odhrán dropped his hand and straightened, shifting away. “I trust you have already spoken to Ceallach Neáll about what you have foreseen?” he questioned as he circled the fire.
“Aye,” replied Shiovra, touching her lips where his thumb had been but moment before.
“All that remains then is to wait for the attack and hope it fails.” Odhrán continued to round the fire till he was stood behind her. “I will do what I can to prevent Ainmire’s foreseen death, but keep in mind that I cannot promise anything.”
Her fingers fell away from her lips as she felt his hands touch her shoulders gently, giving them a slight squeeze. His breath was hot in her ear when he spoke again.
“It is late. You should sleep,” he whispered, lips brushing against her skin.
Shiovra fought a shiver that raced up her spine. “Aye…” she breathed. Though she could not see his face, she felt Odhrán’s smile before his hands left her shoulders. She turned to him, watching as he slipped out the door. For a long while she did not move, even after his form disappeared into the night and rain.
Standing, Shiovra rose to her feet and walked to her bed. Letting her body fall carelessly down onto the layers of blankets, she looked up at the dark roof above her. Her entire body tingled from even his slightest touch. Closing her eyes, Shiovra took a long, deep breath and released it. The man was indeed dangerous, but she could not help the desire to have his presence beside her; a desire that grew in strength with each passing day. “Dana help me…”
10. OF FRIENDSHIP AND LOVERS
Warm sunlight stretched through the open cottage door, warming Shiovra’s face as she stirred from her sleep. She could hear the crackle and popping of a fire and smell a sweet scent in the air. Taking
a deep breath and releasing it, the priestess rolled onto her side and opened her eyes.
She found Meara crouched beside the hearth, stirring a small cauldron that stood suspended over the flames. Shiovra sat up slowly and pushed the blankets aside. A quick glance around the cottage told her that they were alone. Her handmaid, Úna was nowhere to be seen.
The Neimidh woman glanced up. “Good morning, Lady Shiovra,” Meara said with a warm smile.
Shiovra smiled and nodded. “That smells delightful,” she replied. “Did you make that yourself?”
Meara shook her head. “Ainmire brought this earlier, while you slept,” she replied. “I was just keeping it warm.” Grabbing a clay bowl, she filled it with the steaming oatmeal before handing it to the priestess.
Thanking her, Shiovra brought it up and breathed in the aroma deeply, welcoming the sweet smell. Bringing the bowl to her lips, she blew on the oatmeal to cool it before taking a sip. It tasted as sweet as it smelled. “Where is Úna?” she asked after a while.
“I am unsure,” Meara replied. “I have not seen her since I retired for the evening. She had ventured to sit beside Daire after several cups of mead. The poor thing is completely enamored with him.”
The priestess smiled, taking another drink. She could only hope her cousin had not done anything foolish. Silence filled the cottage as Meara began to eat as well. “Is it late in the morning?” Shiovra asked after a while.
Meara shook her head. “Nay. Worry not,” she replied. “The day is still early. Most of the village still sleeps.”
Shiovra nodded and finished off her food.
Standing, Meara gathered up their bowls and kicked some dirt onto the fire. “I must return to my duties for now,” she said, walking to the door. Pausing, she turned back to Shiovra and smiled mischievously. “If you find Daire, could you please inform him that he is late for his morning rounds along the village borders?”
“Aye, that I will.” Shiovra watched as Meara ducked through the door and closed it behind her. Standing, she stretched before stripping off her shift rumpled from sleep and donning fresh clothing. Unweaving her disheveled braid, Shiovra ran a comb through her hair before opening the door and setting out to find her errant handmaid.
Though Meara had stated that most of the villagers still slept, she found the emptiness of Tara to be quite surprising. After a quick look around, she found but a few villagers awake, warriors whose duty was to walk the grounds. While a few men sat slumped against cottage walls with empty cups in hand, Shiovra did not doubt that the Banqueting House would be full of sleeping villagers.
Questioning some of the warriors about Úna, she was pointed to the main cottage. After words of thanks, she walked along the path leading up the gentle slope of the hill. Men posted guard at the cottage door greeted her and stepped aside, allowing her passage.
Reaching out, Shiovra pushed open the door and slipped in.
A dying fire struggled in the central hearth while heavy snores filled the air. Garments were strewn across the floor while empty mead cups littered the low table. A soft, muffled moan came from behind one of the curtained beds, bringing a pause to Shiovra’s step.
Listening, she heard another moan. As she neared the curtain she knew concealed her cousin’s bed, she could not push back the feeling that Daire had indeed done something very, very unwise.
Another moan sounded, louder and most certainly feminine.
Reaching a hand out, Shiovra began to pull the curtain slowly aside. As dim light fell upon the narrow bed, her eyes fell upon a sight that proved Daire’s foolishness.
Daire stopped mid-thrust and scrambled off of Úna, hastily grabbing a discarded blanket to cover them with. Yet, it was too late, the priestess had seen more than she had desired. For a moment, they simply looked at each other in silence. Úna flushed a deep shade of crimson under Shiovra’s narrowed gaze while Daire’s face fell into an odd mixture of embarrassment and fear.
“Shiovra…I…I…” stammered Daire. Groaning, he rubbed his face and unleashed a long string of curses.
“Daire,” Shiovra began, catching his complete attention. “Ciúin. Quiet.”
The man obeyed without question.
Shiovra shifted her eyes between the two, focusing upon each in turn. She knew the maid held strong feelings for her cousin, but from what she had seen Daire did not returned those feelings. That was, until she had come upon them just then while amidst the throes of passion. She took careful note of the tears threatening to spill from Úna’s eyes and the small quiver of her hands which clutched the blanket tightly to her chest.
“If you had such an interest in my handmaid, you could have told me, cousin, or did the mead quicken your resolve?” Her tone was hard as she spoke, demanding truth. Shiovra would not allow Daire to brush aside the deflowering of her handmaid easily, cousin or no. Crossing her arms, she demanded, “Answer me.”
Daire opened his mouth to speak, faltering a bit. “Aye and nay,” he admitted, bowing his head.
“The morning grows late,” Shiovra told Daire firmly. “I suggest you dress and prepare to face Ainmire’s judgment, cousin.” Shifting her gaze to Úna, the maid instantly looked away, her flush deepening. “Úna, please find Meara and inform her that Daire that he will not be able to make his morning rounds.”
The Neimidh woman nodded swiftly.
Sighing, Shiovra rubbed her face. “It is too early in the day for this,” she muttered before turning her attention back to Daire. “After you have dressed and had a moment to set your head right, I would like to speak with you, Daire. Alone.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Meara could not say that she was surprised. She had, after all, seen the beginnings and had done nothing to stop it. As her eyes fell upon Úna, who sat timidly before her, she felt a small pang of remorse. The younger woman refused to meet her gaze, instead focusing her eyes intently upon her hands she kept clasped tightly in her lap as she chewed nervously upon her bottom lip.
After a long silence, Meara released a heavy sigh. “I doubt the Lady Shiovra is angered with you,” she said softly. “If anything, she is angered at Daire for being so foolish.”
Úna clenched her hands tighter. “I was foolish as well…I did not stop him from taking me to his bed…” she admitted hesitantly. “When she found us, we were…we…” Úna’s cheeks flared brightly. “I fear I will be relieved of my duties and sent back home to my clan.”
Meara considered the maid for a moment. She knew what was going through the woman’s head. It was written plainly across her face. “Lady Shiovra only has your best interests in mind. You are her charge, her responsibility,” she continued. “It appears to me, that the one she is angry with is Daire himself. His actions could bring a damper upon the alliance with your village. Finding a husband will be difficult with your maidenhood gone. And if a child is to come, that will only complicate things further.”
Úna flinched, looking up.
“What Daire did, taking you to his bed, should not have happened,” continued Meara. She knew her words were a bit harsh, but they held truth. “Though Daire’s position allows him to take lovers if he should desire, he should have also shown your clan respect by taking you as his wife instead of lover. That is why Lady Shiovra is angry.”
“Do you believe so?” she queried softly, bringing a hand up to wipe away fresh tears.
Meara nodded. “Do not fret so much, it will upset your stomach,” she said comfortingly. “Lady Shiovra only worries about you.” Grinning, a small laugh passed her lips. “It is your lover who must face her wrath. I do not pity him in the least.” Shaking her head, Meara added, “I am afraid you will have your hands full with Daire, Úna. Best of luck to you.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Shiovra sat in the grass near the Sloping Trenches, leaning against a tree while Daire pace back and forth. Eyes closed, she listened as his feet rustled the grass, first in one direction, then back in the other, only to repeat over and over. At fir
st she had found his nervousness mildly amusing, yet the longer he paced the more it grated her nerves. “Daire…” she began firmly, keeping her eyes closed. “If you continue doing that, you shall wear a bare spot in the grass.”
She heard her cousin abruptly stop and exhale deeply. Opening her eyes, Shiovra looked up at Daire as he stood with his back to her. She opened her mouth to speak again, yet it was Daire who spoke first.
“I want to apologize for bedding Úna,” he began, “but I must admit this was not the first time.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned to face her. “The morning we departed for Dún Fiáin was the first time, and then twice during my return to Tara to inform Ainmire of Caher Dearg’s fall.”
Shiovra remained silent for a while, his words completely taking her off guard. She had assumed that her cousin had taken an interest in the maid after the effects of mead and had thus lain with her, but what came from his mouth had taken her completely by surprise. Meeting his gaze firmly, she asked, “Do you love her?”
His hesitation did not go unnoticed.
“So you took an innocent girl to bed whom you have no feelings for?” she scolded, voice hard.
Daire flinched at the bite in her tone and he dropped down to his knees in front of her. “I know I cannot ask you to forgive me. I know I cannot ask Úna to forgive me…” he breathed. “I am afraid of what to say to her now.” He rubbed his face wearily. “What should I do? Tell me and I will do it.”
“Úna is my handmaid, my responsibility,” Shiovra told him. “You have not only defiled her trust, but that of her clan. We rely on the alliance with her village for trade. Did you not consider the consequences of bedding her?”
“Allow me to take her as my wife,” he suggested, touching her shoulders. “I will wed her today, if that is what your wish. That way there will be no worry of broken trust of alliance.”
Shiovra thought over his words and replied sharply, “You would have her wed to a man whose only desire is to bed her?”
Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) Page 22