by Marlow Kelly
“No, I—”
“This isn’t your decision to make. Our fathers had a falling out, and old grudges take a long time to fade. Your people…To be honest, I don’t know how they feel, but I can’t imagine they’d welcome me back with open arms. Perhaps if I’d been a better wife we wouldn’t—”
“No, it wasn’t you.”
“But—”
“A few months after our marriage my father lost a bet to his cousin in Connacht. He’d been dropping a few hints here and there about your being a bad rider. I remember him actually coming out and saying you were worthless, and should be dropped in the river.”
“I remember. I know he was your father, but he was an evil, spiteful man.”
“Aye, he was. I couldn’t let him kill you.”
“Would he have really gone that far?”
“Oh yes. Our marriage contract stated that if you died in the first year, then he wouldn’t have to pay your bride-price.”
“But why would—?”
“Finn asked for a large settlement at the time of our marriage because you are so valuable. Seamus couldn’t afford to pay his debt to his cousin, and your bride price. When I realized you were in danger I told him I’d divorce you. So Seamus lied about you, and accused your father of deceit. He told everyone who would listen you were worthless. Finn had lied about your attributes to trick me into marriage. Seamus never would have understood how I felt. For him wives were an ornament, something to hang on his arm whenever convenient. He never loved any woman. He saw such love as a weakness. I should have stood up to him, but I was young, just nineteen. I didn’t want to appear inadequate in front of my father.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. After all this time, with everything that had been said and done. Had it all been based on a lie? No, she must have misheard.
“Are you saying—?”
“None of it was your fault.”
“But you said I was a terrible wife, that you didn’t love me, that…that…I…How could you? I was humiliated.” Red-hot anger swam before her eyes. She put her hands against his chest, and shoved, venting some of her rage.
He didn’t budge.
“I believed I wasn’t good enough—wasn’t woman enough to be your wife. You bastard. I suffered.”
He didn’t interrupt. He stood there while she ranted.
“Say something…anything. Women…women looked at me like I—” She turned away not wanting him to see her pain but knew it was too late.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry.” She rounded on him again. “That’s all you can say. You even managed to take my son from me. Seamus said I’d do a poor job teaching him to be a man so he arranged for you to take over his care on his seventh birthday.
“He would have been fostered to a noble family anyway.”
“Yes, but they would have been a family I could have visited.”
“I never meant to take—”
“All this happened because you couldn’t or wouldn’t stand up to your father.” Part of her wanted to hurt him the way he’d hurt her.
“I know I should have done things differently. What was I supposed to do? The idea of you dead—I thought you’d be safe if I divorced you. I wanted to protect you. I should have run away with you, but—”
“You should have trusted me. I would’ve understood. If you’d told me, then at least I would’ve known it wasn’t….”
What was the point in talking when it wouldn’t make any difference? They couldn’t change the past.
She spun on her heel and ran. She wondered if Connell would come after her but the thud of horse hooves on the dry dirt told her he was leaving. Hot, salty tears leaked from her eyes. He didn’t love her enough to deal with her anger, just as he hadn’t loved her enough to trust her twelve years ago. Would she ever be able to forgive him? Had she been too hard on him? Had he really protected her?
Seamus had been a wicked old man, and she had no doubt about the truth of Connell’s claims that the king had wanted to kill her. Seamus didn’t value women, and when she’d lived with the O’Neills she had argued with him daily. She needed time to think. Not that it made any difference. Her reasons for making an alliance with the McGuires were still valid.
She rubbed away the tears with the back of her hand. She cleared the woods, and ran along the riverbank, heading downstream, toward Rathtrean. She rounded a bend, and stopped. On the river, rowing toward her was a massive boat with the head of a monster.
Chapter Seven
From a safe distance, Fianna spied on the Norsemen as they departed the boat, and took the trail to Duncarraig. The track meandered through the forest, following the safest path for horses, but it wasn’t the most direct route. She ran, tossing low-hanging branches out of her way.
The Norsemen didn’t seem in a hurry. Were they so sure of their victory they had become complacent? Maybe, but in truth she didn’t know enough about the foreigners to understand their reasoning.
She cleared the woods, tumbling into the O’Neills’ fields. There was no sign of the enemy. She needed to give Connell’s people a chance to get to safety. Did they have a cave hidden in their fort? No. Connell had been surprised when he’d seen the one at Rathtrean. Dear God, that meant she had to delay the Vikings until Connell and his men could stop them. Fire. A big, terrifying blaze would delay them. The land was as dry as a dead man’s bones, but would it burn with enough heat to form a blockade. She didn’t know. How the hell could she know something like that? But no man could walk through a wall of flame.
Clawing at the dried vegetation, she scrambled to her feet and ran. Tallow. They had been melting fat on the rise before the fort. She could use it to strengthen the blaze.
She reached two women who were still hard at work, liquefying the cow fat.
“They’re coming.” Her lungs burned with the effort of running, and shouting at the same time.
The women stared at her with open curiosity
“Who?” the younger of the two asked.
“The Norsemen. Go warn your king.” Fianna grabbed a cloth from the young woman’s hand, dismissing her.
****
Connell thudded up the steps of the palisade, and turned his attention to the dark clouds gathering in the western horizon. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular. He just didn’t want to talk to anyone. Did he think he could show Fianna his heart, tell her the truth, and all would be forgiven? He had been a fool to think she would forget twelve years of hurt because they had spent the afternoon together. She was angry, and rightly so. She had been wronged, not because of her failings, but because of his. He should have trusted her. She was a strong, practical, caring woman, and she would have seen the wisdom of their divorce. It would have been easier for her to take, knowing it was Seamus’ idea not his. And now it was too late to repair. The pounding of Quinn’s footfalls on the wooden rampart dragged him back to the present.
“So are we to have a new queen?”
“No. The Byrne will make a pact with the McGuires. They’re expecting a better harvest.”
“Will there be any compensation for our help?”
“I haven’t asked for any, no.”
“Shall I evict the ones that are here?”
“They’re women and children. They can stay until she can arrange help. We will see this as an act of hospitality. We’ll not take advantage of their plight.”
“Have you gone insane?”
“No, I’m tired. I want the hostilities between our two clans to end. My father made mistakes. I have to fix them.”
“She’s not worthy of your love, you know.”
Connell did not want to discuss his feelings with Quinn. In some ways he was very much like Connell’s father. He had never been in love, and as far as Connell knew, no woman had ever held a special place in his heart.
A shout from below caught his attention. The women who had been making tallow were running toward the fort, shouting. The breeze, and the nois
e from everyday life in the fort swallowed their words, making it impossible to hear.
Using a rag, Fianna grabbed the pot, and a stick from the fire, and dragged the tallow across the field toward the forest.
Quinn shook his head. “She’s a handful. I’ll give you that.”
“What’s she doing?”
“Oh my God, do you think she’s planning to pour fat on our fields, and set them alight? What the hell did you say to get her this mad?” Quinn said.
“I didn’t…” Damn. Was she so angry she would destroy their crops? No, the Fianna he knew would never be spiteful. If she was mad at him she would tell him to his face, not take it out on his clan. Something must be wrong. He made a mistake twelve years ago by not trusting her. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
He strode toward the steps. “Tell everyone to get inside in case there’s more to this.”
“Do you need help trying to stop her?”
“Stop her, no, but something’s wrong. Secure the fort, and then have the warriors join me.”
****
Fianna halted at the spot where the path entered the forest, and plunged the burning stick into the dirt, flame end up. Then, she poured the melted tallow over the ground. It would make the flames burn with intense heat, providing an impenetrable barrier. This was the line she had to hold, if she was to delay the Norsemen long enough for the O’Neills to muster their forces. The Vikings had successfully used fire to destroy her home. Now she would use it to hold them back.
An eerie howling echoed through the woods. The Vikings were using fear as a tactic. They were trying to frighten and intimidate anyone in their path. It was a common battle ploy, one her warriors had been known to use. A cold tingle raced down her spine, telling her the strategy worked. But it was also useful, she could tell from their calls they were halfway through the forest, moving at a steady pace.
Her body trembled while she emptied the pot. She wanted to run and hide in the fort. Let someone else protect the O’Neills. They had caused her nothing but pain from the first moment she arrived all those years ago. No, that wasn’t true. She had Lorcan, and despite everything, she still loved Connell.
Over her shoulder she could see people in the fields, some were sauntering, taking their time to finish their tasks. Were they deaf? Couldn’t they hear what was happening? Why hadn’t Connell’s lookout sounded the alarm? Had the Norsemen found a blind spot on the river? A place where they could come ashore, and not be seen from the fort? Oh God, there was going to be another massacre.
She sucked in a deep breath and held it, trying to calm her heartbeat. She wouldn’t, and couldn’t run. She had to make a stand. How could she live with herself if she allowed these people to be slaughtered, and did nothing to stop it?
Her father’s voice echoed through her mind “A coward faces a thousand deaths of shame, but a brave man only dies once.”
She had to stay and fight, because if she didn’t she would never be able to face her son. She grabbed the burning stick, trying to set fire to the tallow. The flame didn’t roar to life as expected but fizzled, and died. A sob erupted from her throat. This couldn’t happen. No, she would not accept failure. The Vikings had destroyed her home, and for her the battle was not over. She grabbed handfuls of dried grass from the edge of the field, spreading them over the tallow, and held the burning stick against them. Flames sprang and danced, devouring the grass. The wind picked up, sparks flew into the air, tiny, gyrating spheres of fire that landed on the fat and hay, igniting it into a scorching inferno.
Fianna stepped back while the blaze spread. Through the haze of smoke and flames she could see the outline of the invaders when they stopped at the edge of the forest. As much as their howls had terrified her, their silence was more threatening. The man she took to be their leader pointed at her. He shook his shield, and raised his sword to the sky, shouting guttural words she didn’t understand. He spat on the ground. Oh yes, this was a threat. Thank God the fire held them at bay.
But sooner or later they would realize they could go around it. The blaze only stretched a few hundred feet but it did prevent them from making a head-on charge. If she could use her bow to pick them off maybe she could delay them further. She stretched her arm over her shoulder, lifting the lid of her quiver, to feel the arrows, forming a quick count. Twelve. She only had twelve chances to take down the enemy. It wasn’t enough. By her estimate there were at least twenty, maybe twenty-five Vikings, and she couldn’t be at both ends of the ever-increasing fire. Whichever end she ran to, they were bound to go in the opposite direction. That’s what she would do. She stood staring at her enemy, paralyzed by indecision.
Her heart stopped when a hand grabbed her arm. She swung around, ready to fight, and let fly, realizing too late that it was Connell. He caught her fist easily in his.
“Run,” he shouted.
“Get your people to safety.”
“They’re taking cover now. I’ll hold them back, you go.”
“No, they’ll go around the fire. You go to that end.” She pointed to her right. “I’ll take the other.” the Vikings divided into two columns while she spoke.
She didn’t wait for him to agree. She ran to the edge of the burning flames, skidding to a halt as a raider roared toward her. She shot her first arrow, and was relieved when it hit its mark. He fell to be replaced by another. Fear tingled down her spine. She needed to hit them before they got near enough to use their swords. She didn’t have the strength or weapons to defeat them in hand-to-hand combat. She readied another arrow in her bow, aimed, and fired. Once again, she was relieved when another Norseman fell.
Ready, aim, fire, ready, aim, fire. Time slowed. She chanted the words while she blocked out her fear, the flames, and the choking smoke. There was no way out. No chance for her to retreat as they charged, roaring past the ever-extending flames into the path of her bow.
Soon there were too many to hold back.
She took down one raider as another charged past him, sword held high, set to strike. She ducked when a blade whispered past her head, and forced her body to keep rolling, stopping on top of a fallen Viking. She grabbed a sword out of his limp hand. It was different from the swords the Irish used. It was longer and heavier. Using both hands she hoisted it above her head. She roared as she charged toward the Norsemen.
Was this how it was going to end? Were the O’Neills safe, or had she failed again?
One face flashed through her mind. One regret. Connell.
Someone kicked her in the knee, and she fell. Peaty dirt filled her mouth. She spat it out. Heat from the blaze seared her skin. She twisted trying to escape the inferno. The sharp ring of metal on metal echoed in her ears. Smoke stung her eyes. A warrior with long, dark hair battled a raider. Connell. Had he kicked out her knee to prevent her from charging?
She scrambled to her feet, readying her sword, covering his back. Another Viking charged, screaming. He held his shield high, slamming it into her in a downward motion. She managed to turn in time to deflect the blow, blocking it with her shoulder. She put her arm under the shield, pushing it up. Then, she ducked low, plunging her blade into his gut.
Connell dispatched his opponent, grabbed her arm, and pulled her behind him.
“The other end. They’ll get through,” she croaked, her voice hoarse from the fumes.
“Quinn’s there.”
More O’Neill warriors rushed to their aid, finishing off the last of the raiders. She stood, shaking. The strain of the last two days and the battle had taken their toll on her body and her mind. She had been forced to revisit her feelings for Connell only to find nothing had changed. She was still as much in love with him as she had been twelve years ago. And there was no hope for them to be together.
“We need to distance ourselves from the flames.” He put a hand on her shoulder, and tugged her close to his side. She wished she could spend an eternity in his arms but some things weren’t meant to be. That didn’t mean she couldn
’t tell him the truth. When she thought she was going to die, she had only one regret. She had never told him how she felt.
“The wind’s picking up. It’s fanning the blaze,” Quinn shouted above the crackling roar of the flames.
Where was her mind? Why hadn’t she noticed Quinn approach, or the wind for that matter? The squall blew from all directions, making the smoke whirl around them. Her eyes burned and watered. Connell dragged her even further away from the expanding inferno. She had started the fire to stop the raid, and save the O’Neills. Now it appeared she might have inadvertently destroyed them.
A loud boom resonated through the air causing a tremor so powerful her ribs vibrated in her chest. She turned her face to the sky but could see nothing but a dense, black, burning cloud.
A drop touched her head, then another. Fat drops of summer rain hit the ground, making tiny explosions in the baked earth. The trickle of water became more insistent until it poured to the ground like a waterfall. The deluge soaked into her clothing, wetting her skin in seconds. The air hissed as the storm extinguished the flames.
She withdrew from Connell, holding her hands to the sky enjoying the feel of the cool, fresh, sweet rain against her skin. The Vikings were defeated, and it was raining. The rain not only doused the fire, but it would also water the crops. They wouldn’t be hungry this winter.
She dropped her arms when Connell, Quinn, and the rest of the O’Neill warriors bowed before her.
“What are you doing?” Fianna squinted, trying to see while water ran into her eyes, blurring her vision.
“We are honoured to fight by your side.” Connell stood, grabbed her hand, hauling her toward him.
“You saved us. Some will even say your bravery brought the rain,” Quinn explained, standing next to his king. He had the most vibrant blue eyes she had ever seen. They contrasted with his tanned complexion and dark hair. He was a handsome man, but Connell was the man she loved. The only man she’d ever loved. But her feelings would have to wait.