Rowan dropped his eyes. “I don’t know. Father Tomás wasn’t there when I arrived, only Brude. But I will swear on my life that Tomás did not kill the druid. Perhaps whoever killed Brude killed the priest too and disposed of the body.”
“And perhaps bullfrogs fly.” Morlach’s facetious remark raised humor among the guards, but no one else. “Come, your majesty, the man was found covered in the blood with the emblem of his amulet burned into the victim’s forehead! The amulet itself was wrapped about Brude’s neck.”
“A blind man can see Gleannmara is guilty of the murder of one of our brotherhood,” Finead agreed.
“Only if that man chose to see,” Maire countered.
“We have heard enough. We cannot base our judgment on testimonies of people not present, but only on what we have already seen and heard. It’s best we finish this before the fires wither.”
The high king hid safely behind his law, content to watch an innocent man die, rather than stand up to Morlach of Rathcoe. He was a coward of the worst sort. But Maire was not. Like Adam, she didn’t want to live if that life was without the one she loved.
“Ach, we wouldn’t want to put these murderers to too much trouble, now, would we?” Her chin trembled with rage. “And you fancy yourself a just king.”
“Woman, you will hold your tongue, or be silenced and removed,” Finead warned. “You try the benevolence of the high king.”
Two guards came up on either side of Maire to reinforce their comrade’s words with the sword. They seized her arms with viselike grips. It was decided. Rowan was to burn—no matter what his God had shown him in his dreams, no matter what Brude had seen, no matter that her heart was being torn in two.
“Where are the angels?” she cried aloud at the gray heaven as she was dragged aside.
“Let the prisoner walk through the fire, that it may tell the truth.”
At the high king’s command, Rowan peered through the leaping, hungry flames. Tears of helpless rage and agony filled Maire’s eyes as she struggled with the guards, but like the fire, the men were unable to prevent his look from reaching her. He longed to tell her their love knew no barrier, not in this world or the next. They were one, made one in the eyes of the one God.
God, be merciful to her. I do not understand Your plan. I know Maire cannot. But I know You hold my future in the palm of Your hand. You are the truth and the light. As You had reason to witness Your own Son’s death, so You may have good reason for mine.
“I do not walk into darkness, beloved, but into the light.” Rowan’s shout rose above the roar and deadly crackle of the flames between them.
Unable to speak, Maire strained against the hold of the guards, leaning into the sword and toward the fire as though she too were ready to walk into its deadly mouth, even if it meant perishing with him. Behind him, Rowan heard Ciara wail. Turning he gave her and Lorcan a smile.
“This is just the beginning,” he told them, his voice dry from breathing the smoke-filled air. Taking a deep breath, he offered one last prayer with closed eyes. Father, have mercy on us all. Seeking Maire out through the inferno one last time, he mouthed, “I love you, Maire.”
Rowan stepped to the fire’s edge where the heat slapped him and reached into his lungs with invisible hands, clutching his breath. The perspiration on his forehead evaporated. Lord, use my example to Your glory. He lifted his foot, ready to take the final plunge from which there would be no return, when a voice of protest cut through the bonds of tension holding all in check, save the beasts of flame.
“Hold, in the name of God Almighty!”
TWENTY-SIX
The agonized quiet broke into chaos as the onlookers turned toward the outer rath gate, from whence the interruption came. No less confounded than the others, Rowan fell back a step from the blistering heat as the crowd opened up to admit someone. Whether human or spirit, he had no clue. All things were possible.
Instead of crusading angels, Morlach’s apprentice Cromthal led a shaggy pony bearing a bandaged and bruised Father Tomás into the clearing. The priest looked as though he’d fallen off a cliff and struck every rock on the way to its bottom. With them was Garret, who was not in much better condition, given the bandages on his neck and face. His shredded shirt hung in strips from his shoulders, exposing blood-encrusted gashes on his back and chest.
“What trickery is this?” Morlach’s beady eyes grew large, glittering black against the waning color of his usual swarthy complexion. He pointed an accusing finger at Rowan. “These be ghosts, summoned by his god.”
“I am no ghost, druid, nor is this the work of trickery or illusion.” Father Tomás’s rebuff was stronger and larger than he looked capable of offering.
“Faith,” Garret agreed, turning for all to see the marks cut into his flesh. “Sure no spirits ever hurt the likes of this!”
“My God!” Ciara broke free from the bonds of her surprise and ran with Lorcan to where her bedraggled grandson stood. “What happened to you?”
“But—” Morlach checked himself with an uneasy glance at Diarhmott, recovering quickly. “Your majesty, my apprentice has done well. He’s captured Gleannmara’s accomplices.”
“Seize them!” Finead commanded, following Morlach’s lead. “Druid blood stains them. Good man, Cromthal.” In an instant, two burly guards pulled Father Tomás off his steed’s back and ushered him before the high king’s company for his retribution. With the end of his journey at hand, Garret collapsed in his father’s arms, half-conscious from exhaustion and weakness before he could be taken as well.
“Indeed,” Morlach vowed. “You have saved the high king the inconvenience of two such trials, Cromthal. Well done.”
Cromthal sneered, clearly unappeased by the compliment. “We all know the price of spilling druid blood is death, isn’t it, Morlach?”
The insubordination of his inferior seemed to snap the druid’s composure. “You sniveling, pockmarked dimwit, how dare you mock me? Was the satire I put upon you for failure not enough to teach you the dangers of trying to deceive your master?”
“Pockmarked?” Cromthal laid the pony’s reins on its neck. Walking into the light so that all might see, he adjusted his robe, exposing his arms and legs to the view of the audience. “I purged your evil along with mine, Morlach. Look well, for I am clean of your darkness.”
Morlach satirized Cromthal…and the latter went untouched? Maire was as stunned as the others who saw Cromthal’s smooth, unmarked flesh. That the apprentice’s earlier satire against Rowan was in vain was nothing compared to the master druid’s failure. There were those who feared that a look from Morlach meant a terrible death.
Finead examined Cromthal. The man’s face usually looked as pliable as a stone mask, but incredulity shattered it. “You spoke against this man and he goes free of harm?” he asked of his fellow magi.
“I meant no real harm to him, Finead.” Morlach’s explanation was as weak as it was hasty. “But his disobedience demanded a good scare at the least.”
“May I speak, King Diarhmott?”
All gazes shifted to Father Tomás.
“Aye. Perhaps you can lend some sense to this murky cloud which has befallen us.”
“But your majesty—”
Diarhmott cut Morlach off. “Even a condemned man is allowed his say. Speak, priest.”
Tomás straightened his bent shoulders and smiled benevolently at Cromthal. “This man came to me covered with festering sores. Under my care, and with God’s grace, they vanished without trace.”
“You’d believe a murderer above one of your chief druids?” Morlach challenged.
“This priest has more the look of an intended victim than a murderer, your majesty,” Rowan offered. “As does my nephew.”
Garret looked as though a wild cat had torn into him with all four sets of claws.
Although it was evident it did not set well with him, Diarhmott could not help but agree. “Will you swear in the name of your god that you speak th
e truth, priest?”
“I so swear, for it was only by God’s providence that I am here to do so—I was there when Brude was slain.”
“Morlach’s men slayed Brude.” Cromthal nodded sharply at Brona. “She was there as well, with the Christian’s amulet. It was Morlach himself who branded Gleannmara’s druid with it. I saw it with my own eyes. I’d been gathering wood in the forest and had no choice, outnumbered as I was, but to watch Rathcoe’s brigands work their evil on Brude and the priest.”
Father Tomás took up the story. “They beat me senseless and when they thought me dead, they dropped my body into the lake, but Cromthal pulled me out in time. As we came to Gleannmara, we found another victim of Morlach’s evil on the side of the road near the Sacred Grove.”
The last thread of Morlach’s composure broke. “You swore he was dead, daughter!”
“’Twas your concoction I gave him, master. I believed it would work, even though he got away,” Brona countered in defiance. “Do not blame me for your failure.”
Daughter? Rowan looked at Brona in disbelief. He’d heard rumor of children being abandoned by women who’d unwillingly born the druid’s offspring from a dark seduction. What better watchman could there be than one’s own kin?
“’Twas her intent to kill me, to be sure.” Garret struggled to his feet. “She invited me for a picnic and then drugged the wine. In midst of her seduction, she turned into a wild hag, tryin’ to slash my throat with her knife.” The young man swayed against his father. “And when I knocked it from her hand, she came at me with her teeth and claws. ’Twas God’s mercy and nothin’ less that gave me the strength and wit to escape before I lost consciousness.”
Enraged, Morlach turned on the girl at his side. “I never fail, wench!” Before the stunned listeners or Brona herself knew what he was about, the druid plunged a dagger into her heart. Her eyes grew round and kindled with a curse that died on her lips.
“And are ye blind to that as well, your majesty?” Lorcan challenged, holding the bulk of Garret’s weight on his arm.
Rumbles of discontent and doubt swept over the crowd. Diarhmott had at last heard and seen enough. “Guards, seize Rathcoe.”
It was only natural for the guards and warriors to hesitate. The master druid’s reputation was formidable. Seizing the advantage, Morlach moved like lightning to where Rowan stood, still bound by chains. In the druid’s raised hand was the dagger, with Brona’s blood still dripping from it. No one moved to stop the man—all watched as though immobilized by some wretched spell.
His hasty prayer of thanksgiving for his deliverance cut short by the sudden vicious attack, Rowan managed to dodge the knife on the first pass, but the chains hobbling his ankles tripped him. Dirt ground into his face as he struck the earth. Rolling over, he spat grit from his teeth as Morlach turned on him again. Weapon raised, the druid lunged forward, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by something in the fire, just beyond Rowan’s head.
“Come, druid, taste the metal of my spear!”
Maire? Against all his instincts, Rowan took his gaze off Morlach, craning his neck to see the warrior queen leap through the fire like an avenging angel. Somehow shielded from the hungry tongues of flame, she landed clear of the blaze, lighting on the ground as though winged, the spear of one of her guards brandished in her hands. A snarl on her lips, Maire was as impervious to Rowan as he was to his former assailant. Fearing he might distract the queen, Rowan lay still, shifting his gaze back to their enemy. What he saw sent rivulets of ice up his spine, despite the singeing heat of the fire.
With a sinister smile, Morlach began to wave his arms in swirls, as if he drew art on thin air. From the ball of one foot to the other, he pranced, turning his back to Maire, his dark robe swirling playfully about his sandaled feet. The crowd closest to them, backed away from the druid’s strange dance, but it was the only movement allowed by the spell he cast in a singsong voice. Then he pivoted.
The movement was so fast, Rowan scarcely had time to speak. “Maire, the dagger—!”
But the warrior queen had been trained in a dance of her own, and that training came to the fore with equal speed. Maire deflected the crooked blade flying at her with the stem of the spear, as though batting a shuttlecock, and growled with the feral delight settling in her eyes. Or was it the reflection of flames leaping in them?
“I’ll skewer your heart, druid, and roast it over yon fire.”
“Wait, Maire! Let him face the justice he deserves.”
Her eyes still on Morlach, she argued with Rowan. “I want to see his black, brackish blood run!”
As Rowan struggled to his feet, Declan broke through the rattled line of guards to help him. “Best listen to the man, Maire. His God has certainly worked beyond all circumstance to see justice done. Ye’ve seen and heard the accounts.”
“Thou shalt not kill, Queen Maire,” Morlach taunted, a diabolical undertone infecting his voice. With his back to the fire, he swirled his hard cloak, spreading it so that he looked twice his size. “’Tis the law of the god you accepted… or haven’t you really accepted him?”
“It’s true, Maire,” Rowan said softly, stepping up to her side. “Give me the spear and leave justice to God’s law.”
“Did you ever wonder who betrayed your parents, Maire…whose soldiers failed to back up Gleannmara’s forces on the battlefield?”
Maire flinched. Rowan could almost see the anger and anguish racing to her mind to stomp out reason. If either won the race, there would be no stopping her. Father God, help her.
“No! Brude would have told me,” she said, clearly unconvinced of her words.
“Unless he feared you would try to avenge them against me. Even your old druid knew you were no match for my power,” Morlach taunted. “Nor, it seems, was he.”
“Y… you caused Maeve and Rhian’s death?” Diarhmott sputtered. “We knew there was a traitor among us but—I not only lost two of my bravest warriors, but nearly the battle as well because of your greed. By all the gods, men, I order you to seize him!”
The discomfited solders surrounded the druid, closing in with wary reluctance. To escape, Morlach would have to go through them, Maire, or the fire breathing at his back. Each was as dangerous and deadly as the other.
Father, help us. I can’t stop her without hurting her. Rowan’s prayer filled the eternity that froze the scene before Maire shattered it.
“Don’t filthy your hands,” she countered. “He admits to murdering all I hold dear save one and he nearly succeeded in that.” Her fingers tightened, knuckles bloodless, refusing to let the weapon go.
“Leave it to justice, Maire. He wants you to kill him,” Rowan warned her, trying to be still while Declan tried a key in the lock on the chains.
Conflicting emotions tore at her face, telling of the two wills battling for control of the woman: blood thirst versus submission.
The chains fell to the ground from Rowan’s hands with a loud chink. “Maire…” He spoke softly, firmly, stepping toward her. “I know the feeling of betrayal, I know the hunger for revenge, for blood, but what good is law, if you change it to suit your own needs. That smacks of Morlach’s reason, not yours.”
“The law was nearly your death,” she argued, teeth gritted, wavering still.
“The law may be wrong sometimes, little queen, but God’s judgment awaits eternal and true for all, saint and sinner alike.”
Finead joined the drama, well aware that the tide was no longer under his sway. “His fellow druids will deal with Morlach, Queen Maire. The druid who spills the blood of another will have no mercy, for he has slain knowledge. To willfully destroy knowledge is forbidden above all things.”
Morlach cocked his head and stuck out his lower lip. “But oh, the damage I can do with my powers until justice is met.” Without warning, he threw up both of his hands and the fire behind him danced higher and higher, as though in response. “First, I will curse the unborn child you carry.”
Ch
ild? The surprising word with all its implications battered Rowan’s conviction with the surge of an angry, protective tide. Heavenly Father, she is with child? He fought the urge to snatch away Maire’s spear and finish the man on the spot. God has brought us safe thus far, He will not fail us now.
But he knew that Maire’s communication with the Almighty was impeded by her newness to the faith. She’d had a lifetime of hearing of druid’s power and only a few months of God’s love. The darting look of panic she gave Rowan ran him through—and echoed his own panic that he’d not be able to stop her.
“God has let no harm come to us yet, muirnait. Why doubt His power now?” Rowan insisted gently. “Hand me the spear.”
“But he threatened our—your—my—”
Morlach began to chant again with strange words, part Latin, part the native tongue, but it was his tone, rather than the little Rowan could make out, that carried the sharpest threat.
“He can do nothing, Maire.” Rowan put his hand on her arm, ready to fight her again if he had to, to save her and their baby. “Morlach is a helpless charlatan. Don’t sink to his level. Let Finead and the Brehon decided his fate. He taunts you to make you a murderer too, to make the mother of Gleannmara’s heir a murderer.”
The meat of his words were enough to turn his knees to water, yet Rowan stood strong. Mother of Gleannmara’s heir—a son, perhaps? “Kill him, and he wins. You will have broken God’s law.”
Maire lifted her glittering gaze to meet his. Emotions warred; confusion reigned; her voice shook. “And our baby?”
“Is safe in God’s hands, Maire. He can protect it better than we can.”
Her grip slackened on the weapon. Carefully Rowan eased it from her hands. Once they’d given it up, they began to tremble.
“The light shows him for what he is, muirnait, a frightened, desperate soul drowning in his own darkness.”
After a moment, Maire nodded and went willingly into Rowan’s arms. Relieved, he drew her out of the way.
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