As he described the places, he acted them out in silly gestures, making Orlagh smile despite herself. His body moved in impossible ways, twisting and turning so much Orlagh was certain it must be painful. Yet throughout his story, his enthusiasm and joy came through, washing over her like a balm. The story, funny and ridiculous, lightened her mood to the point she almost forgot her own shameful behavior.
Temuirr laughed, and her brief respite vanished. She loved his deep, melodious laugh. Yana squeezed her shoulder, and she had to once again fight down the sorrow. This time it was less at her own stupidity and for Yana’s sweetness and support. Had her own mother been so compassionate? Orlagh could barely remember. Certainly, her grandfather had tried to fill the void when her mother had died. However, it took another woman to understand the despair in a spurned girl’s heart.
Orlagh ran into the woods before she bawled in front of everyone.
She settled on a large mossy log next to a small pond. Staring into the murky water, Orlagh studied her own reflection with detached analysis. She wasn’t a bad looking girl. She wasn’t tall and elegant like Yana, but her blonde hair was pretty enough. Her freckles made her look even younger than she was. She wasn’t skinny, but her bosom had been admired by young men in the past. Everyone said she had her grandmother’s eyes.
Her evaluation was interrupted by the appearance of a face over her reflection’s shoulder.
Temuirr had followed her.
Standing up quickly, she turned to confront him, but had no idea what she should say. Was she angry? Absolutely. Afraid? Definitely. Disgusted with her own idiocy? Positively. Yet, he had expressed interest in her, encouraged her actions. He’d kissed her, and perhaps more would have happened if her grandfather hadn’t burst in like a maddened bull.
He stretched out his hand to hers. She just stared at it.
“Orlagh, please, we must talk. Will you sit with me?”
Rather than agree, she just sat on the big log, plopping down with all the grace of a bear. She rested her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands, staring into the pond. If Temuirr cared to join her, he would. She couldn’t stop him from talking.
“Orlagh, I never meant for any of this to happen. You must believe me.”
She picked up a small branch. With a glare, she threw it at his head. He ducked with a yell. “What did you expect would happen? That I’d simply forget about you and we’d never meet each other again? That you would bed me and go your merry way into the sunset?”
He pulled back slightly, his eyes wide. “I certainly didn’t plan it this way, Orlagh! We had a lovely time. It would have been even lovelier if we hadn’t been interrupted.”
“And that’s all I am to you? A lovely time? How dare you!”
She stood now, thoroughly incensed. “You take me into your room, trifle with my affections, talk sweetly to me like a lover, and then you disappear without a trace! Is that the way an honorable man treats his lady?”
Temuirr put his hands out to stave her fury. “Orlagh, Orlagh, I waited a fortnight for you to recover. I did! I tried to stay, but your grandfather convinced the chief to push us out, despite guest-right. Did he tell you that?”
Orlagh swallowed the angry retort she ached to shout at him, but Yana had told her. Suddenly it didn’t seem like a clear-cut case of blame and guilt. The situation became muddled and her fury deflated. She sat again and put her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
He put his arm around her shoulders, and she let him. Soon, she turned toward him and cried on his shoulder.
Through her sniffles, she said, “Oh, God’s bones, what have I done? I’ve thrown away my entire life!”
“Shh, dear heart. All is not lost. Now, look at me.” He held her out at arms-length and gazed into her eyes. “I care for you, I truly do. I don’t know if I love you yet. I need to get to know you first, but I’m willing to give it a try. Would you like to travel with us for a while? To discover if it will work between us?”
Stay with him? To give them a chance to love each other? Hope blossomed within her, like the warmth in the standing stones on Eolande’s hill. Orlagh didn’t need to answer him with words. Her smile and her fierce hug were all that was necessary.
As the wind soughed through the spring-green branches, they clung to each other in the late afternoon forest clearing for an eternity before the caw of a raven brought her back to reality.
Temuirr cupped her chin, making her look up at him. “Now, shall we have a sweet kiss to seal the deal?”
She closed her eyes, and his lips were even softer than she remembered.
Chapter 8
Life became an odd mixture of romantic dream and harsh reality over the next few moons. Orlagh had been on a campaign before. Most Gaelic children went on a couple as part of their training, and her more than most with her grandfather being warchief. Most training campaigns, however, tended to be in areas close to home. Other than a trading delegation to the Ui Conchobar three winters before, Orlagh had never been very far from Ceann-Coradh. They’d only traveled in this area a couple of days, but the land they traveled in appeared bizarre and alien.
They called this area the Boireann. The name meant “great rock,” and rock was about all that existed in this area. The land consisted of crinkled stone with vast areas of wasteland, punctuated by tiny pockets of verdant lushness. They camped from green pocket to green pocket, entertaining as they went, sometimes crisscrossing the areas of empty stone to find new villages or towns.
Orlagh enjoyed being part of a group, a group who accepted her. Yana taught her how to increase her singing precision, and worked with her most mornings on voice control and breathing exercises. Tam and Cam gave her pointers on stance, movement, and facial expressions to help communicate her message while singing. Even old Finnegan chatted to her about some of the older stories and taught her one or two for practice. Perhaps one day she’d be good enough to perform one in front of an audience.
Eolande refused to perform anything on stage, but she was more than willing to repair costumes, cook, clean, and do anything else which didn’t require people watching her every move. Yana lamented such a lovely face would be a fantastic addition to their performances, but she allowed Eolande’s refusal to stand. She did ask if Tawnith might be trained to do any tricks, but Eolande glared at the suggestion.
Once, on a warm, dry day, Temuirr brought out his enormous grandmother harp. With gentle hands, he unwrapped the instrument, stroking the harp with affection. He even allowed Orlagh to touch the frame. She caressed the smooth, exquisitely carved designs on the frame. The harp felt warm, and her fingers tingled at the touch. He played a sweet, sad melody and Orlagh almost cried at the poignant tune.
His eyes brimmed with love as he packed her away again. “She sleeps much these days. If she’s played too much, she gets cranky and discordant. I wish I dared perform with her, but just having her around helps us all.”
He never brought the harp out to perform for others. Orlagh wondered if he had a reason other than the harp’s incredible age. The frame had definitely been warm to the touch, even in the chilly air. At her touch, a burst of hope and love washed through her, and Temuirr’s eyes had lit up as well. The harp was such an incredible instrument, she didn’t doubt it had a profound effect on them both.
After he lovingly stowed the grandmother harp away once again, Temuirr took her hand and lifted her to her feet. “Today is our day.”
“Our day?”
“We must have some time away if we are to know each other, true? We need a break from practice and chopping wood, after all. A poor life is all work and no play. Come to the seaside with me for a lazy day.”
Orlagh grinned. That sounded delightful! She practically skipped after him as they left the clearing.
They walked about an hour to the ocean. Most of the shore was flat, rocky, and barren. Small spaces of white sandy beach popped up now and then. Rock surrounded the one they found on all sides, forming a pr
ivate, secluded beach.
The air stilled, unusual for the Hibernia coast. The ever-present ocean wind took a rare rest, and the sun beat on her skin. She pushed up the sleeves of her léine and wiggled her toes in the sand as Temuirr settled. His arm touched hers, and her skin rose in goosebumps at the casual contact. The scent of seaweed reminded her of a time her grandfather had taken her to the ocean, many winters ago. They’d collected oysters and spent all day on the beach. Her heart suddenly ached for home.
Temuirr swung around the basket he’d brought and pulled out two loaves of barley bread, handing her one, as well as a chunk of aged cheese.
The loaf still steamed with warmth and the cheese he gave her melted within. Orlagh closed her eyes in appreciation of the treat. After a swig of ale, she leaned back and let the sun warm her face.
A sudden coolness made her open her eyes to find Temuirr leaning in for a kiss. Startled, she fell back into the sand, amidst many giggles. He smiled and kissed her lips. She closed her eyes again.
“Orlagh, your laugh is musical. The sound makes me want to do silly things just to evoke your giggle.”
Her giggle turned into a chuckle. “You’re no acrobat like Tam and Cam are.”
He stroked her cheek. “What can I do but try? My mission is to make you smile.”
She gulped and smiled, praying she wouldn’t ruin the moment with any clumsy move. “Perhaps you can tell me a funny tale?”
“Hmm. I tell funny tales at every performance. Something special is needed today. Let me think.”
He posed with his eyebrows raised and his finger on his chin, an exaggerated gesture which made her giggle.
He spread his arms out. “Aha! I didn’t even need to speak!”
“I love hearing your voice!”
“Ah, then, I shall speak more often to you. What should I say? I know, I’ll discover your flower.”
She furrowed her brow. “My flower? What does that mean?”
He chuckled and opened his pack, pulling out his grandmother harp. With loving caresses, he touched the strings, emitting a gentle wave of notes which mimicked the waves lapping on the shore. “It means, mo chuisle, that I shall search for a flower which suits you, one which matches your soul.”
“Let me think. A rose? No, not a rose. Too much grandeur and snobbery. You are no snob, my Orlagh.”
She didn’t think he complimented her, but she nodded. She was curious what his choice would be.
“Perhaps angelica? The flower is beautiful and sweet, true enough, but much too delicate. You are no delicate flower, either.”
Orlagh frowned and narrowed her eyes. Did he just call her fat?
“Hmm. The bilberry is a nice, solid flower, and a loner. Practical, as well, due to the berries. Bilberry is a possibility. Let me think some more.
“Laurel is lovely, with shiny leaves, but the stalk stands tall, and you are many things, mo chuisle, but tall is not one of them.”
She threw a loaf of the bread at him for his comment, and he deftly caught the loaf and took a big bite, chewing as he pondered further.
“Now, the periwinkle is a possibility. The flower lies close to the ground,” He ducked as she feinted another throw and chuckled, “but the purple is delightful in the morning light.”
He took another bite and chewed some more, gazing out at the waves lapping onto the shore.
“Aha! I know which flower suits you best.”
She waited as he chewed some more. “Well? Are you going to tell me or make me wait forever?”
He smiled and leaned over to kiss her on the mouth. She leaned back. “Not until you tell me my flower!”
Chuckling, he said, “The flower which most suits you, my dear Orlagh, is gorse.”
“Gorse! Gorse? Why gorse? The thorns are horrible!”
“Gorse is prickly and dangerous, yes, but when the yellow flowers cover the land on a spring morn like butter spilled across the island, the sight can take your breath away.”
Orlagh wanted to throw something else at him and at the same time, she wished to fall into his arms. He was both maddening and wonderful. She settled for letting him kiss her at last.
The air grew cool, and the sky grew dim, and she glanced up to notice dark, angry clouds roiling toward them. Temuirr followed her gaze, and they grabbed their things and ran from the beach. The first heavy drops splatted on her head before they reached the shelter of the trees. Though the day had been warm, the rain chilled her. They got thoroughly soaked by the time they reached the camp.
She changed her clothes in her small green tent, one which Tam and Cam had crafted for her after her first day. She had few possessions, but she slowly amassed things. A couple basic léine, some bowls, a finely carved wooden mug courtesy of Finnegan, and a fire starting kit from Yana.
Still, her tent didn’t have what she most craved: Temuirr.
She emerged when the rain slacked in the capricious way of summer storms. Temuirr came out at the same time. With a rueful grin, Temuirr brought her a warm wool blanket and wrapped her tight.
He kissed her on her head. “Perhaps next time we’ll have a longer day to ourselves.”
That night they stayed in Fánóir, perched on the black northwest shore of the Boireann. Fánóir was a tiny place, not even a village. The tavern, though, held several people gathered in the evening to partake of the entertainment the bards offered.
To think of herself as a bard felt strange. Of course, she had no formal training. Only someone who had trained in memorizing the lore, history, and the law of the land could be a true bard. Many singers still took the name, a general title of bard, despite having only learned to sing a couple of songs. Temuirr had the only official bard training in their group.
Orlagh asked Yana about her bardic path the next morning as they sliced turnips for the day’s stew.
“I’d always loved the stories and tales. I pestered my father for a new one every day. Stories are the glue that holds humans together, after all. A special magic lives in stories that hold the world as one with a shared history. Without stories, we would have no society, no civilization, no common ground.
She took a sip from her mug and looked off into the distance. “I’d begged my father to allow me to find a grove and become a bard. Every day for a cycle of seasons, I begged him, but he just laughed and said women couldn’t be bards.”
Orlagh frowned. “Certainly, I’ve only seen males, but a female bard worked in the Ui Conchobar Court in my grandfather’s time. I remember him telling me about her last winter.”
“Oh, there certainly may be female bards. But my father didn’t believe the truth, and I had no way to argue the case. In the end, I married a local lad and kept the goats. Fergal had been a sweet boy, but he died young, and we had no children. After that, I decided to travel with my little brother when he finished his own bardic training, and we’ve been doing so ever since.”
Finnegan piped up from his carving. “She forgets to add this leaves her free to flirt with all the blacksmiths in the land.”
Yana laughed and threw a piece of turnip at the old man. “I do have to admit I have a weakness for muscular men. Especially if they’re nice and hairy.”
Orlagh giggled and shivered at the same time. She didn’t care for lots of hair on men so Yana could have any they came across. Temuirr had a smooth chest, only marred by a few stray hairs around his nipples. She’d seen him shirtless on several occasions by now. She longed to feel the smooth skin, but he’d resisted her advances for the most part.
She’d managed to steal a few kisses from him. Despite his prior eagerness, he insisted they take their courtship slowly. Orlagh did her best to touch him subtly whenever she could and to be with him on any task, each time her skin tingling with the clandestine caress. Still, she remained frustrated. She simply needed to be with him. He’d desired that himself, at one point. The whole situation was twisted. She growled in frustration.
Eolande joined them with a wide basket full of wi
ld strawberries. “Look what I found!”
Orlagh clapped her hands with delight and reached for one, but Yana slapped her hand away. “Not yet, child!”
Her face must have darkened, for Yana quickly corrected herself. “My apologies, Orlagh. Not yet, young lady. I have a bit of cream, and we’ll make a sweet from them for after our performance tonight. Then we shall have a lovely treat, aye? Once we finish cutting these turnips and start them simmering. Eolande, can you cut up the turnip greens? They’ll add a nice flavor.”
Orlagh had mixed feelings about Yana. Not that she didn’t already love the older woman, but Yana felt like a mother. Yet the older woman was sister to the man Orlagh loved, which would make her a sister if Orlagh married Temuirr.
The man in question joined them, carrying an axe over his shoulder. “I’m off for more wood. Send Tam and Cam over when they’re back from the river, aye?”
Orlagh fought the urge to say she’d come instead, but carrying firewood remained backbreaking work, and even her need to be with Temuirr had limits. Besides, she might be able to tease some tidbits of information out of Yana.
She’d already learned Temuirr loved blueberries and dark, bitter ale. He whistled while he worked. Yana told her his last two women had been blonde like Orlagh. Orlagh didn’t like hearing about past lovers, but at least his preference came clear. Better information was that he loved having his shoulders rubbed and his hair brushed or played with. She’d not yet had the chance to test those particular details, but she would, first chance she got.
Eolande finished her pile of turnip greens and attacked the strawberries. Not to eat them, but to pull the green bits and slice them. Tawnith helped by occasionally picking at the berries. Orlagh sneaked a small piece when no one looked. The tiny tart fruit made her mouth pucker, but she managed to school her face before they turned back.
Orlagh finished her pile of turnips and tipped the bowl into the cauldron of steaming water. A bit of the hot water still splashed up and caught her on the hand, but she didn’t drop the bowl. Instead, she rubbed the burning spot and stuck the finger in her mouth to cool the burn.
Misfortune of Song: Druid's Brooch Series: #5 Page 13