He couldn’t fathom what that might be, except her presence had brought rare smiles to the faces of many of her Tuathan warriors. A few marched with the Gaelicians.
It was dangerous to doubt her. Success against Moqorr depended to a large degree on the combined efforts of both clans. Yet the questions kept niggling at him.
The prolonged period at sea might explain his infatuation.
Millas had taunted him often enough that as the second-born son he would have no hope of attracting a worthy woman. Memories of his vain older brother churned in his gut, and he was irritated they had surfaced at this time. He’d have been a better monarch for Gaelicia, but such had never been a possibility, and what did it matter now?
Vengeance had been the principal reason for his coming to Inisfail, but it was Aislinn who had made his destiny clear, caused him to give voice to the long-buried desire to be a king. With her it was possible, not simply a dream. He had to hold fast to that truth. She roused more than his body. If she didn’t love him, he might go mad with grief.
Iago’s voice intruded into his reverie. “Yonder lie your mountains.”
Sibrán looked east. Off in the distance, brown rolling hills rose against the clear blue sky.
“Beyond is Cualu,” Aislinn said, linking her arm with his.
He hadn’t heard her approach. Such inattention might cost a man his life, but she had spoken with great reverence and he pulled her closer. “Will we cross the mountains?”
She shook her head. “We follow the valley, but from there you’ll see Cualu’s grandeur. I’ve heard tell of rushing streams, majestic waterfalls, lakes like ribbons of silver, and magnificent birds—merlins and falcons. Legend has it there are tombs where ancient kings lay buried.” Her bracelets jangled as she shook her arm. “Cualu is rich in copper.”
He fingered the torc around his neck. “Gold too?”
“Yes, but the gold is hard to find and thus costly. Moqorr has decreed only he is worthy of the most precious of metals.”
Sibrán’s disgust for the cruel king who kept the riches of his land for himself intensified. If Moqorr had planted the doubts about Aislinn, it was to further his own ends. He made a silent promise to the gods to one day gift his queen with a torc forged from the gold of Cualu. Perhaps at the end of a long and fruitful life, he and Aislinn might rest in peace side by side with those ancient kings.
Cualu
Aislinn tied back the curtains of her litter, elated Sibrán had chosen to walk beside the conveyance as they trekked through the valley. Lop trotted along at his heels. “Now I have a better view of majestic Cualu,” she said with a smile, “and the magnificent Prince of Gaelicia.”
He looked to the mountains. “My homeland is hilly, with high cliffs along the coast. Yet, Cualu intrigues me.”
A chill stole over Aislinn’s nape—often a sign of an impending vision. Lop whimpered. She closed her eyes and opened her mind. The message came quickly. “We must travel to the mountains,” she declared.
Sibrán furrowed his brow. “But you told me the fastest and easiest route to Tara lies by way of the valley.”
She opened her eyes and commanded her bearers to halt. She hadn’t fully understood the warning in the vision, but had to convince him to heed her. “It does, but you are meant to survey every part of the kingdom that will be yours from the plateau at the summit. Your destiny has decreed it.”
Sibrán raised a foot to the boards of the litter and took her hand. “Will we see Tara?”
She assumed they would, but didn’t hesitate. “Yes, and much more. You will rule over a far-flung realm.”
“You have seen this clearly?”
She was spared the necessity to reply when Lop growled at Iago’s approach. “Why have we stopped?” he asked, breathing heavily.
Sibrán pointed to Cualu. “Change of plan. We are going into the mountains.”
Fury contorted the older man’s features. “Aislinn’s suggestion, I’ve no doubt. A ploy to lead us round in circles until we drop from exhaustion. We must continue to follow the valley.”
Aislinn sensed Iago was indeed close to the end of his stamina. “You are welcome to ride in my litter,” she told him, but he only scowled and strode away.
“I offended him,” she murmured.
Sibrán shrugged. “Nothing you say will convince him of your sincerity,” he replied. “There is too much bitterness in his heart.”
“Do not blame him. He and a handful of comrades barely escaped the massacre.” She hesitated before asking, “Do you trust me still?”
He looked into her eyes. “I’m changing course and heading for the mountains. Have I answered your question?”
His response wasn’t the strong affirmation she’d hoped to hear, but he walked away, Lop at his side. It seemed the hound preferred his company. She closed her eyes again, hoping to revisit the vision.
It was gone.
A guard assisted her to step down from the litter. She looked up at Cualu. “Hold him in your safekeeping,” she whispered to the spirit of the mountains.
She turned back to the litter. The heavy conveyance would be an impediment to their progress on the thickly wooded slopes. “Gather my belongings from inside,” she told the guard. “We’ll leave it here.”
He nodded, a momentary glint of relief showing in his eyes. It was a measure of how things had changed since Sibrán had freed them from Moqorr’s yoke. The soldier’s assurance that he would locate a donkey for her was further proof the spell had been lifted. A fragile hope for the future blossomed in her heart.
Sibrán followed Lop’s frantically wagging tail through thick heather that blanketed the moorland on the lower flanks of the tallest mountain. He glanced around from time to time to make sure Aislinn was still mounted atop the donkey. She had an inner strength he admired and obviously wasn’t too proud to ride a lowly beast, though he suspected she’d have to dismount later in the trek.
The army halted briefly to pick and eat the dark blue berries he called arandos. One of the Tuathans uttered the word fraughans. It would be an advantage to learn their language, and the giant smiled encouragingly at his attempt to give voice to the unfamiliar word.
When they encountered boggy hollows of wet moss, he cupped his hands to his mouth and called out, “Pass the warning to Amergin. Swamps ahead.”
Raucous male laughter came to his ears and Aislinn’s smile warmed him.
A few deer watched from a distance, apparently curious about the men in their territory. He questioned again how a human could change into an animal. It was impossible, yet Aislinn had the ability. He fretted over the possibility she might transform one day and be unable to change back, but quickly banished the notion. “Moqorr planting doubts again,” he muttered. A strong ruler couldn’t be constantly assailed by misgivings.
The going became rockier, the sedge grass more slippery. Giant boulders often blocked the path. Aislinn dismounted and walked with the aid of one of his men. He shaded his eyes to watch birds of prey circling overhead. A eagle swooped without warning and grasped a frantic hare fleeing its hiding place. This land wasn’t much different from Gaelicia, except he’d never seen frogs hopping here and there high in the mountains of his homeland.
They scaled steep-sided corries as they neared the plateau. He had a peculiar sense he’d travelled this route before, but grew dismayed when a thick mist suddenly obscured the summit. His heart thudded in his ears. He felt lost, unsure of which way to proceed. A glimpse of his destiny was close, yet…
Aislinn caught up to him when he paused. “Do not be discouraged,” she panted, clinging to his arm. “We must persevere. The fog will clear. I’m sure of it.”
She was dishevelled from the long, arduous climb, but her inner beauty shone in her eyes. He grasped her hand tightly. “No wonder I couldn’t find my way,” he rasped. “I need you by my side to guide me.”
The grey fog rolled away as quickly as it had come. They climbed to the summit of Cualu. He
thrust out his chest and took hold of Aislinn’s hand. Inhaling deeply, he proudly surveyed the magnificent kingdom the gods had bestowed upon him.
We Would Have Drowned
Aislinn pointed to the east. “Another land lies across the Dark Waters. Travelers say the people who dwell there are called Celts.”
Sibrán stared across the watery expanse, into the far, far distance. “Not part of my realm, then” he quipped. “Since I cannot see it.”
She spread her arms wide. “All the green land before you will be yours.”
“And where is Tara?”
She pointed north. “Do you see the ramparts?”
He didn’t reply, disappointed when he was barely able to make out a small settlement with a thick forest beyond it. Soon his gaze roamed south along the coast. “That’s a sizeable river wending its way to the sea,” he said.
“The Liphe,” she replied.
“Liphe,” he repeated. “It empties into a large sheltered bay. A good place for a village in the future if we are to trade with other peoples, mayhap these Celts you speak of.”
He scanned the miles and miles of meadows and forest between where he stood and Tara. Black stone walls dotted the landscape, close to the few settlements he saw. “Some of the fields are cultivated.”
She nodded. “Fomorian thralls sow wheat and barley for the people of Tara and villages nearby.”
He scratched the stubble on his chin, assuming the slaves of whom she spoke were a race of people the Tuathans had conquered. “Seeing the lay of the land changes my thinking. We should bypass Tara and attack from the forest to the north.”
An ominous rumbling drowned out Aislinn’s reply. Instinctively, Sibrán braced his legs and gathered her into his embrace as the ground trembled and cracked beneath their feet.
Aislinn clung to Sibrán, too terrified to flee. Lop squeezed between them and crushed against her, whimpering. Boulders danced like pebbles. She feared the mountain was about to crumble and swallow them up. Why had she not foreseen this cataclysmic event?
She buried her face against Sibrán’s shoulder as he folded her in his embrace. “It will pass,” he said calmly. “Sometimes when one of the gods visits the earth his giant footsteps cause such tremors.”
“Moqorr,” she replied hoarsely, feeling the torc tighten though she knew she was free of it. “I should have paid more attention to the frogs.”
He shook his head as the din ceased and the shaking stopped. “It’s true I didn’t hear the little creatures croak, but I do not believe the High King is a god.” He gently eased her hand away from her neck. “Remember, you are mine now. We hold the power.”
Lop ran off after a panicked donkey, barking loudly. They looked down the mountain. Men were getting to their feet, coughing as they blinked away clouds of dust. Iago emerged from behind a boulder and strode towards them, jaw clenched. “Terremoto,” he spat. “The gods are angry we’ve taken this route.”
Aislinn instantly missed the strength of Sibrán’s strong arms when he stepped away to confront his navigator. “Your responsibility is to see to the men and animals, not to question my decisions.”
Iago pointed an accusing finger at her. “When will you understand she is leading us to destruction?”
“Enough,” Sibrán shouted. “Aislinn is to be my queen, and you will show the respect she deserves.”
Iago narrowed his eyes. “Seems my prince is more interested in becoming a king than in avenging Lord Nith’s murder.” He gritted his teeth and stormed off, coming close to losing his footing as he descended the steep corrie.
Trembling, Aislinn folded her arms across her body as she looked across the land to Tara. It was impossible to tell if the Fort of Kings had suffered damage.
Conflicting emotions tore at her heart. Had she led Sibrán astray? The earth might move again and devour them. She had lost the gift of foresight and was adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Moqorr had perhaps taken away the power because he was angry with her. Yet his prediction she would die if the torc was removed hadn’t come true.
Sibrán took her into his embrace once more. “You’re shivering.”
“Old fears are hard to put to rest,” she conceded, inhaling the scent of truth and goodness that clung to him. “I have been afraid of Moqorr for a long time.”
“Your entire life,” he agreed. “But those days are—”
When his grip tightened she startled and looked up at his face. Jaw clenched, he stared out to sea. She followed his gaze and her knees buckled at the sight of the Dark Waters slowly but gradually invading the land.
Sibrán held Aislinn to his body when she swooned. He watched in disbelief as the sea drowned the land to the north, then moved inexorably to swirl around the base of the mountains. The Liphe was swallowed up. Villages disappeared. Cualu became an island, water lapping at the foothills they’d traversed not long before.
Gaelicians and Tuathans gaped. Lop tilted his head in puzzlement. Not a word was spoken, until a troubled voice shouted, “Look! Below.”
Aislinn rallied at the cry. She gasped when she espied her heavy litter floating away like a flimsy raft.
He looked south. Unable to see the mouth of the Bhearù he nevertheless worried for the rest of his fleet.
The silent soldiers exchanged cautious glances. It seemed they too recognized what was clear to Sibrán. “We would have drowned if you hadn’t caused us to change course,” he murmured, nibbling Aislinn’s ear. “You are the one with the power, and Moqorr has always known it.”
Chaperone
As darkness fell, they were left with no choice but to remain on the mountain. They made their way down to a treed area still above the water and slung up what canvas they had.
“It augurs well our clans are helping each other,” Sibrán remarked to Aislinn as he oversaw the activity.
As usual, his crewmen erected his shelter in a more private location. “It’s a far cry from your palanquin,” he lamented as he hunkered down to spread his cloak over the bed of heather. “Do you think it will rain?”
He regretted the words when he glanced up and saw she was close to tears. He got to his feet and put his hands on her waist.
“I fear I have lost any ability I had to predict events,” she said sadly. “It was never a case of searching for visions. They simply came.”
He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to look into the future for every trivial thing.”
“The rough conditions are of no concern,” she assured him, inhaling deeply. “As long as I have you beside me.”
He chuckled. She didn’t want to spend the night alone. It was understandable after the tumultuous events of the day. “I will be at your side forever, Aislinn. I doubt either of us will get much sleep this night. Lie down and rest. I will come to you after I make sure all is secure with the men and animals. I’ll send Lop—if I can find him.”
She did as he bade and he folded the cloak over her. “Don’t take long,” she whispered.
He stroked her hair, unsuccessfully willing away the pleasant tingling at the base of his spine brought on by the need in her sultry voice. “I won’t.”
He set off in the darkness, carefully feeling his way between the trees, contemplating the night ahead with a mixture of anticipation and frustration. He cursed when he came close to stumbling into Iago. “We’ll have to find a solution for torches on the morrow,” he said sternly. “Only the gods can decide how long we’ll be forced to remain on this mountain.”
“Yes, my prince,” his navigator replied with unusual humility.
Sibrán expected his comrade to move out of the way, but Iago went down on his knees and bowed his head. “I beg forgiveness,” he rasped. “If we hadn’t changed our route we would have perished.”
It was an important admission, one that hopefully meant Iago now accepted Aislinn meant them no harm. “I am not the one whose forgiveness you should seek. Speak to your future queen on the morrow. She is sleeping now.”
Iago rose, nodded and disappeared into the night. There was still no sign of the hound, which was worrisome, so Sibrán carried on, working his way from one group of men to another. He posted a perimeter guard, though it hardly seemed necessary.
Satisfied everything was in order, he climbed back up to his secluded shelter. He had to chuckle at the sight of Lop sleeping soundly, snuggled into his mistress’s back. “Just as well,” he admitted as he lay down beside the snoring hound. “But don’t think you can come between me and Aislinn once she is my queen.”
Aislinn stared at the worn canvas suspended over her head. It took a moment or two for the memory of the previous day’s terrifying events to return. She was outdoors on the side of a mountain.
Surprised she’d enjoyed a deep sleep untroubled by dark visions, she turned her head. Lop sat on his haunches next to her, his gaze fixed on a sleeping Sibrán. She fisted her hands in the red cloak, pulled it to her nose and inhaled his scent. She put a finger to her lips when Lop looked at her. “Let him rest,” she whispered.
The stern lines of grim determination and resolve that sometimes marred his beauty were absent in slumber. She watched him for a while then nestled her palm against the soft bristles of his dark beard. Lop evidently took this as permission to land both front paws heavily on Sibrán’s chest and lick his face.
“Silly dog,” she chided as Sibrán grimaced.
“It’s all right,” he said, rubbing the dog’s ears. “I wasn’t asleep.”
She leaned over to peck a kiss on his lips. “Yes, you were. I watched you.”
He smiled a crooked smile and winked, causing her heart to do a peculiar flip. “You knew I was watching you.”
He elbowed Lop out of the way, much to the dog’s whining annoyance, took her into his arms and lifted her on top of him, pulling the cloak tight around them. “I liked it.”
She nestled her head on his chest, inhaling the woodsy scent of the heather. “How long have you been awake?”
He stroked her hair. “Since dawn. I watched you sleep for a long while. The men are up and about. Cook will bring something soon to break our fast.”
Lords of Ireland II Page 68