by Erin O'Quinn
After Michael had told me more, I changed my mind about all the windows being “glass.” Michael had reminded me that I would be able to see light through them, but that was all. I would need regular shuttered windows, like Mama’s, if I wanted a wide view of the outdoors. If Michael’s crew could indeed construct it, I would be content to have my dreamed-of skylight made of the mysterious substance. I would not be able to gaze at the stars. But during the day our bedchamber, somehow constructed on top of the others, would be suffused with daylight without our needing to light candles. The skylight, yes, and a few others would be “glass,” perhaps in the baths.
Now I really was beginning to daydream, and I rose from the floor, stretching. Michael would never be able to fulfill my visions of the new homestead if I let my imagination conjure up too many specific images. It were best if I kept the dreams with a hazy edge, like elfish pavilions, their silken flaps billowing in the wind.
I had cleaned more than half the floor, and I looked around at the result. Light from the windows created squares of bright, almost blond color. If we owned a cat, it would be curled up right about there, I decided, where the slowly moving sun would give the spot warmth for perhaps half an hour before moving on. The half I had cleaned was bright and cheerful, and I settled back onto my knees to finish. As I bent my back to the task, I heard a smart rap at our door.
I opened the door to find the flaxen-haired Brigid standing at the portal with an armful of clothing.
I was delighted to see her, and it showed. “Bree! Come in! Ah, let me bring in a bench for you.” I had almost forgotten that our few pieces of furniture were clustered outside, waiting for the floor cleaning to be completed.
“Nonsense, Cay,” she said. “Let me put these down—over there, on the chest—and the two of us will make short work of this floor.”
“Then I will put some water on for tea while you do that,” I told her. I fairly ran to the Foyle, bringing back clear, cold river water in my earthenware jug. Pouring it into a tea cauldron, I set it on the grate to boil. Brigid and I actually sat on the floor while we visited together, exactly as we had done in her own teach yesterday.
“Cay, let me explain the clothing. While I was in Britannia, I am shamed to admit that I had easy access to one of the best tailors in all of Londinium. I had many, many gowns and léines made, and as it turned out I rarely wore any of them. There were not many grand balls and afternoon teas to attend at the Biblio-kathedra, I assure you!”
She hitched her léine up past her knees and accepted an extra cleaning cloth from me. While we were scrubbing, she talked. “After Michael left, I had even less reason to look nice, and so I put most of my clothing away in an old chest. Just a month or so before we left the Neagh to travel here, Michael brought the chest from Father’s house. I sorted through it. The clothes I brought for you are ones I have grown out of. I have worn them perhaps a time or two, that is all. And some of them never.”
I crawled to where she knelt and gave her a warm hug. “They will be new to me, even if you had worn them practically to threads. Go raibh maith agat, my darling Bree.”
“The water is boiling,” she said. “And your Gaelige is coming along nicely.”
Bree and I scrubbed and drank tea and talked. In spite of the lack of furniture, we both had a very amusing afternoon.
When the floor was dry, she helped me drag in the table and benches, and we sat drinking a second cup of marigold mint tea. “Cay, I want to remind you to be sure Liam comes to church tomorrow.”
“Ah, I would have forgotten, Bree. He usually does not come to Sunday rites. But that is simply out of old habit. In the past, it was because he could not understand what the priest was saying. Now I think he just likes to loll around after six hard days at the trenches.”
“Well, Liam is the very reason Michael is coming tomorrow. It would be a dream come true if Michael would begin to accept Christ. This is the first step. ”
“I think the first step was when he agreed to abstain before marriage,” I observed.
“Perhaps you are right, mo chara.”
“We will be there,” I promised her.
As she was standing at the door to leave, Brigid said, “Ryan leaves us early Monday. Will you and Liam come to our house? Michael and I want his friends and family to send him off in style.”
“Barley beer style?”
“How did you guess? We want to make sure he rides out of Derry with a massive headache to remember us by. Come any time after church. We will drink and eat and sing all day long.”
We hugged again, and I stood watching her ride away, erect and graceful in the saddle. Fortuna had been kind, I thought, to make sure it was Michael MacCool standing one day in the shipyards of Newport just when I was looking for a shipbuilder to take me and the pilgrims to Éire. Then it was taken out of Fortuna’s hands and placed in the more sure hands of the Lord himself, who made sure I met Michael’s cousin Liam. From there, I was able to see that Liam brought Michael back to his lovely Brigid.
Today I had worn my old torn deerskin tunic, and I thought it was the perfect clothing to wear while hunting a bit of supper. I went inside and seized my old hunting bow, more a toy now than a serious bow. It was the same bow I had been carrying from place to place since way before I left Britannia, even before my first reluctant trip to visit my Auntie Marrie when I was barely fifteen years old.
Yes, unbelievably, I have grown a bit since then, I thought as I felt its heft and pulled it across one shoulder. Back in those days, I had fretted and sulked over my short stature and slight build, my flat chest and ungroomable hair. And all the while, Brindie had assured me over and over that I should not worry, for after all I was a fairy princess.
I grinned, remembering my frolicking, game-filled days at our family villa—back before Father had died in a hunting accident arranged by the vile Duke of Deva, back before the same man paid to have our villa gutted and burned and Mama killed.
The Duke had been brought low by Brindl and Thom and me. With a long knife aimed at his bum, the duke had stood before his cheering people and ceded his duchy to me. And later, in my own fine play of sharpened stick and rose thorns, he had been the victim of a thousand cuts.
Now, somehow, life was sweeter than ever before, and both dear Mama and Brindl were still with me. Nothing could bring back Father. But Glaedwine was more than acceptable as a nurturing, gentle man who would always protect Mama and me.
I sought the woods along the river bank, keeping my ears open and my eyes ahead. I had only two unbroken arrows left in my ancient, age-cracked quiver, and so I meant to keep my aim true. Soon, I promised myself, I would have a new bow made, and slender polished arrows. Even a new quiver. That would be an interesting sideline for Liam and me to follow, among all the other interesting pursuits we were always dreaming up together.
I stopped and notched an arrow into my bow, and I slowed to a warrior’s stealthy pace. I saw a brief flash of silver gray just there, near a stand of rowans, and I crouched, drawing the bow, waiting. The motion was that of a hare, nibbling and rising, nibbling and rising, turning his head and his ears, sure I was not watching.
He raised his head and twitched his ears one last time before I let the arrow fly. A moment later, I was kneeling in the yielding earth, gutting and skinning my prey. I buried the innards and tied the hare on one side of my belt and the skin on the other. Then the triumphant warrior made her way home, bearing supper and soon a new pelt for our bed of wild animals.
As I approached our teach, I saw that Liam had arrived, and he was currying the gelding Angus. He looked up as I walked out of the cover of a grove of birches, and he stood immobile, watching me until I was next to him. He looked down at me and asked, “Not hide any more, Cat?”
Then I remembered that when I drew my arrow back a while ago, I had felt a ripping of my deerskin. I looked down at myself and saw that my right breast was bared almost completely, hanging from its hiding place like a wild hare sud
denly caught unawares.
“Oh!” I felt a sudden heat suffuse my face, and then I saw that even my chest had turned bright red from embarrassment.
I started to cover myself, and he took my hand away. “No. Let me look.” He bent his head and caught my breast in his mouth then stepped close to me, nuzzling me like a kid on its mother. “Cat, I could suck ye forever.” After a long moment he stepped back, perhaps sensing my acute discomfort. I turned away, trying to regain my composure.
He came up behind me as I fussed with the tunic, and he put his mouth in my ear. “I…fix it. Repair for you, later. Tá go maith? All right?”
I decided to try to ignore my sudden nakedness as best I could. I turned around. “All right, Liam. And show me how to make a pelt.” I took the hide off my belt and laid it across one of the trestles of our hay haggard.
He grinned. “Kiss me first, ye mighty hunter.” He bent his head again, this time seizing my lower lip, and he began to suck on it, very sensually, as though it were the nipple he had been deprived of a moment ago. I caught fire, not able to resist his insistent maleness, and I pushed my hips farther into his close-fitting bríste.
After a while, I broke away with some effort. “Show me.”
He laid the hide out on the ground and held his hand toward me. “Scian,” he said. I handed him my long knife. Squatting, he took the edge of the knife, holding it at an angle and began to carefully scrape off the bits of blood and meat that clung to the hide. After a while, he handed the knife to me, bidding me finish. I squatted in the same place while he watched me. At last it was clean, and he stretched it as much as possible, setting river rocks on it to hold it taut. I knew from watching him on our trip to Derry that, barring rain, it would dry quickly.
“An-dheas,” he told me. Very nice. It was dark gray tipped with silver and would make a pretty addition to our collection.
“Go raibh maith agat, a Liam.” If I could say “thank you” at least once a day, surely I would be able to remember it. I smiled at him, and we joined hands, walking to our home together.
We made supper together, Liam cutting and I wrapping the meat in reeds and setting it to roast in the fire. As we prepared the meal, I told him about Bree’s visit. “She says be sure to come to church tomorrow, Liam.”
He looked at me with a question in his eyes. I said, “Michael will be there. Remember?”
He nodded, remembering. “I go for Michael. But for meself, too. It is time.”
I reached my hand out and stroked his downy cheek. “I am glad.”
He took my hand and put it in his mouth, gently nuzzling each finger. “Mmnn. Hungry.” His eyes were smoldering, and I laughed softly. I hoped that his appetite would never change, and I went to the garden to gather greens for supper.
Chapter 10:
Plain Speaking
Sunday dawned gentle and clear. I stood at our large clothes chest, sorting through the clothing Brigid had brought for me, while Liam was making pan bread and eggs for our morning meal. I held up each lovely gown and léine, marveling at the fine, rich material and the subtle colors. At last I selected a long-sleeved tunic made of fine wool, light brown as a bird’s egg with a trim of darker brown and deep red. The gúna I chose was woolen, too, a sable brown to match the trim of the léine.
I walked to the table near our bed and stood pouring water from the ewer into a washbasin, daydreaming about the bathing tub Luke was making for us. I had not told Liam about it, for I wanted it to be a pleasant surprise. I wondered how long it would take for him to make a tub. I understood it could not be metal, so I imagined it would look somewhat like a half barrel. If only the river were ten degrees warmer! I would rather stand naked in the January dawn than try to clean myself from an ewer and a shallow basin inside a warm teach.
Liam walked behind me and cupped my breasts, bending to kiss my shoulder at the neck line. “Tá tú álainn. So beautiful,” he murmured.
I turned in his arms, thrilling to his touch. He held my chin and put his mouth on mine, sucking my lips slowly, very provocatively. I was naked, and so I pushed myself close to him, trying to cover myself somewhat. As usual, he did not like my hiding myself. He held me out at arm’s length, and his bold eyes traveled over my entire body. “Want you,” he said.
“Later, love. We need to eat, then go to church.”
“After church.”
I stood on tiptoes and kissed him. “After church we go to Michael’s. We eat, we drink beer, we sing. We say good-bye to Ryan. Then we come home and make love.”
“Too much,” he said, and he bent me down onto the bed. “Too long to wait.” His mouth took a hundred little bites, from my face to my neck and shoulders.
Liam was not yet dressed. He wore his nakedness as though it were an ermine robe, and his very naturalness aroused me. My breasts were taut and my nipples erect with desire. I managed to slip out from under his large chest and escape to the other side of the bed, crawling through the animal pelts as though I were myself in flight from his hunter’s pursuit.
He came around to the other side of the bed, and soon both of us were laughing and rolling on the soft skins. He pinned my arms above my head and lowered himself onto me. I struggled to free myself, hating to be held down, ever. “Stop, stop it,” I said.
“Hold still,” he said gruffly. “Need you now.”
“Téigh go mall, a mo ghrá. Go slow. Let go of me.” He released my arms, and I put them around his shoulders and drew his head down to my chest. “Oh, yes, that is good, that is good, suck me.”
He was very aroused, sucking my nipples and inserting himself at the same time, rocking me and licking me. There would be no going slow this morning, so I gave in to his fierce needs and let him overwhelm me. “Cat, Cat, tell me how you love it.”
“Oh, I love it, Liam. I love you.” Stroking, then squeezing his butt, I told him how good it was. I felt his climax, and I let his cries of pleasure be my own enjoyment. We lay on the bed for long minutes, embracing each other very close and hard. Sometimes it would be furious, like now. And sometimes I would give in to it, for I loved him completely.
* * * *
Brother Galen stood before the altar, the tall candle sconces behind him even taller than he, so that flickers and flames seemed to rise above his shoulders like wings of fire. His léine was pure white, the sleeves unadorned. Only his prayer shawl added color to the great pale expanse that was Séamas Gallagher, preaching to the assembled pilgrims.
“O beloved friends, me heart is warmed to see your faces…to know ye have assembled here in the Lord’s presence to hallow his name. I want to tell ye about a time in Jesus’s life when he, too, stood before a multitude. I will tell ye today of the prayer that Jesus would have us utter in his name.
“For lo, he stood on a mountain, and the people gathered to hear the pearls that rolled from his tongue. Like all of us today, they wondered how to talk to the Father, the high king, he of mien so bright that the world was blinded by the light.
“How can we pray to him on high, so far from our daily lives? How can we hope he will hear our words, among the words of so many? And so Jesus taught us how to talk to his father, the father of us all. With these words, said Jesus, shall ye pray.
O Father, who dwell on high, hallowed is your name.
Your kingdom come, your will be done
on earth, just as it is on high.
Father, give us our bread each day.
Father, forgive our debts, just as we forgive those who owe us.
Father, keep us from temptation
And save us from evil.
Yours is the kingdom, yours the power,
And yours is the glory, O Father,
For all time and eternity. Amen.
“And each time we come together here in his house, we shall repeat Jesus’s words. And be not loath to say the same prayer every day, alone, or in company, wherever ye may be. For he will hear, and he will rejoice that ye so honor him, according to the words of his
own son Jesus.”
Galen turned from the assembled people and knelt before the small stone cross. My heart was pounding, so taken was I with Galen’s simple words. I had never known how to talk to God. In fact, after I met Patrick, I began to address my silent prayers to the priest, for I felt that his wise blue eyes could see into my heart, and he would tell the Lord on my behalf.
Now that I knew the words, I would talk to God, starting today. I looked sideways at Liam, and I saw that his head was bowed, like Galen’s. Perhaps, I thought, he is praying even now.
Almost one hundred souls milled outside the church after the rite of the holy wine and bread. Brother Galen stood near the portal, talking with everyone as they left the building. Grinning, he grasped Liam’s hand very hard. “Liam, me boy, the joy is on me to see ye. Caylith, lovely Caylith, ye bring the sun from behind the clouds.”
Michael and Brigid were behind us, and I lingered close to hear the words spoken among them. “Ye gladden me heart, Michael. An’ sure I know the Lord smiles to see ye here today.”
“Your words , the words of your Lord, have gladdened me, too, O brother. Go raibh maith agat. Ye know how to talk to the soul.”
“Yes, thank you, Brother Galen,” said Brigid’s lilting voice.
After visiting with many of our friends on the church grounds, we all four walked slowly to the spreading oak where our horses stood tethered.
“Ryan will be at our teach by the time we get home,” said Michael. “Will ye come, Liam?”
“Ah, ’tis true he will be there—so close he lives, ye could spit and hit his house.”
Michael laughed at his cousin’s lively speech and clapped his shoulder. “Liam, how is it ye talk now better than I meself?”
“I listen,” said Liam with his characteristic half smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Cat and I…meet in the bata ring. And then your teach. Ride with us.”