Opened window shutters invited in the night air. Silk drapes around the bed billowed.
The stone floor cooled his feet. Anger built within him, boiled his blood. He adjusted his black linen cloak. How he had dreamed of this, harbored the image of his father’s death for so long.
Drawing the sword from the scabbard, his victim’s sword, shivers raced down his back. When Rhiannon sent word of it in her possession, his heart had leapt with joy. He would avenge the only woman who had ever touched his heart. He did not see what grew there from her bitter touch.
His mother.
Damn his father for ripping their family apart. Feoras brought the tip of the sword’s blade to his lips and then kissed the metal. He could taste the blood of revenge and the wealth of the spoil to come.
Soon, he would bring her back home. His eyes misted over, imagining Rhiannon back home where she belonged.
Feoras smiled.
His brother, Bearach, would demand justice for this—his father’s death. And justice would be taken from the Liannon clan and Kaireen’s fair hide.
To avoid distrust, he would allow his brother a brief rule.
In the distance, an owl hooted and Feoras trembled with excitement. But all the better if Bearach died in battle with the Liannons. Have a hero’s burial and the clan would look to their new laird, Feoras.
He would bring Rhiannon back to the clan, home. Together they would rule both the O’Neill and Liannon lands.
Feoras raised the sword and stalked closer to the bed. His hand trembled as he drew the curtain back from the bed post.
Clouds shifted away from the moon, lighting the room, like the heavens showed the way.
Feoras snarled and drove the sword through the body.
A gasp escaped from the victim. Feeble, wrinkled hands gripped his arms. Recognition of his killer flared in his eyes. Choking on blood, his father struggled to speak, struggled to breathe.
Feoras might end his life sooner. But the pleasure of seeing his father’s pain thrilled him deeper than he imagined.
In his father’s dying eyes, Feoras saw his reflection. Power surged through him as life seeped from his father.
How he longed to prolong this man’s suffering. Watch his beating heart strain to continue. He left the sword in the body, proof of the Liannon clan’s guilt.
Ancient Greek custom called to inhale the last breath of a dying person then you absorb their power, their prestige…like a blessing.
Feoras saw the light fading from the old man’s eyes. So he covered his father’s mouth with his. He inhaled, drawing in the last breath. Holding his father’s breath, he believed the gesture empowered him. His fingers tingled. His father’s blood dripped from his mouth.
This, he received as a blessing from death, of his succession in the clan. Feoras would rule, as his mother promised him.
The first step was completed. His father was dead.
Eventually, he would rule all of Ireland. First would be to break the Liannon clan under his will. Feoras yanked the black hood back and then crept from the room.
A leer froze on his face and he mused if anyone saw his expression, they would run the other way. In his hand he held a torn piece of cloth he stole from the Lochlann the day of the battle they fought for that girl. He left it wedged in the door to his father’s chamber.
Stepping over the sleeping guards, he snuck back into his chambers.
Inside, he undressed. He wiped his mouth and tossed the blood stained cloak into the hearth. The fabric caught on the flames and then crinkled into ash. He removed each garment he wore and threw them one at a time into the flames until he stood naked before the hearth.
All was well. His father was dead. And he was reborn.
Chapter Twenty-two
Since Shay’s stillborn son, Kaireen’s parents had given her a reprieve from her punishment to rest and mourn with her sister. She was allowed three and half days before she would be sent to work at the monastery. In truth, she would have been glad to leave as planned.
No longer did Bram kiss or hold her. For hours at a time, he would disappear, and she found herself wandering the halls unable to sit still. Where did he go? Perhaps he was indeed the spy?
In such a short length of punishment, she had forgotten simple freedoms like having time to herself. She was supposed to be keeping her sister company, but disliked hearing her talk nonstop about her new husband to be and from what country he would be from since they would be on a ship most of their marriage. Kaireen wanted to strangle Elva for putting lunacy into her sister’s head. After she broke her fast with her sister, she could hear no more and would take her leave for the rest of the day. Her sister didn’t seem to mind and would continue her story wherever she had left off the day before the next morning.
In the courtyard, she spotted Bram teaching Megan swordplay. They used wooden swords and she could tell he sometimes let her niece win, and would encourage her when he did not.
“What has you smiling so?,” he asked.
“I’m just remembering my father and how he taught me.”
“With swords?”
“No. Well, a little. It was mostly with the bow. I could shoot any target.” She laughed remembering. “But I could not sew straight no matter how hard I tried. I think because I was strong like the son my father always wanted, he taught me things like archery and a little with the sword. This he never did for my other two sisters. Mother was scandalized when she found out about it.”
“Why? Sometimes it’s best if a woman knows how to fight. In my country we have shieldmaidens who fought in battles and are heard about in our legends and sagas.”
And she had no doubt they did. An image of her and Bram’s daughter, if they were to marry, popped into her thoughts. She would have golden hair like her father and would wield the sword better than him and carry a bow with her everywhere she ran. Kaireen shook her head.
“Care to have a go?” He waggled his sword toward her.
“Why not?”
They spared and joked the afternoon away. Kaireen laughed so much her stomach hurt. But not once did Bram mention their wedding or attempt to kiss her. She felt as if a weight had lifted off her shoulders.
• • •
More and more Bram filled Kaireen’s thoughts during the days and nights. She would now wake in the middle of the night and long for his arms around her as he had in her dream. Since the day of Shay’s stillborn lost on the cliffs, he had not once tried to touch her. She missed his kisses more than she wanted to admit. Now there was less than a day left before she would complete her time at the monastery. Her parents were throwing another dance this evening to send her off for her last punishment before she was to marry. They still had not relented in their wishes.
Elva dressed her in an emerald gown that hung too low for her tastes. She colored when she wondered what Bram would think of the dress. After her hair was tied back, she stood. This would be the last night she would see Bram for days. Part of her was relieved, but another part buried deep inside her missed him already. She thought about bringing her dagger, but dismissed the idea. With Bram recent actions as though resigned not to touch her body or lips, she did not think it necessary to bring the blade to the evening meal.
At the great hall, Kaireen picked at her food. Bram sat at another table with Rebecca on his right. She was back at her parent’s high table. They did not seem concerned that he did not eat the evening meal with them. After what seemed like the meal was never going to end, the servants moved the lower tables and the musicians set up for the dance. She waited for Bram to come to her and ask for a dance, but he did not. Instead, he danced with Rebecca and Kaireen’s mother. Whatever he said to them made both women laugh, but it was when Rebecca giggled and put her hand on his shoulder that Kaireen stomped toward them.
“I think your leine is showing.” She snapped at Rebecca.
Embarrassed, the woman scuttled off to tend her dress.
Alone except for the o
ther dancers and musicians, Kaireen nodded to Bram and waited for him to take her hand and continue the dance. When he bowed slightly and left her, she gaped after him.
He went to the balcony where he had first tried to kiss her. Smoothing down her skirts, she followed him.
“I still think about that night when we were here last. Do you?” She bumped against his shoulder.
Only the sounds of a wood grouse, crickets, and the lively tune from inside answered.
“Bram?” Trepidation flooded her.
“I was going to tell you tomorrow, but it’s probably best that you know it now.”
He took a breath and Kaireen felt as if she stopped. A gnawing fear inside her made her want to double over, but she locked her legs.
“I have wronged you.” He held up a hand at the shake of her head. “In my country we believe that an individual’s freedom can overshadow the rights of kings. Even though I am no king, I have not given you your freedom to choose. Consistently you have told me that you do not wish to marry me. I’ve only wished to make you happy, and it is evident to me now that I cannot. I will honor your wishes and I release you from our marriage commitment.”
“Will you and Rebec-?” she couldn’t get the words out.
He grasped her hand turning it over to bring the palm up to his lips. His kiss there brought shivers through her body. “No. I will not marry her or anyone. Goodbye Kaireen and good journey in the morning.”
Without another word, he left. Moments went by and she could not stand to be outside any longer. She flew past dancers, not stopping when her father bellowed her name. She ran. It wasn’t until she was at her sister’s bed room did she stop.
“Oh good, you’re here.” Her sister answered. “Stay with Megan for me? I haven’t been able to dance tonight because her stomach’s been ailing her, but I think she’s over the brunt of it.”
She nodded woodenly. Megan lay on her side with her mouth open as she slept.
Her thoughts shifted to self-pity. What was wrong with her? Wasn’t this what she wanted? To be rid of Bram and not have to marry him? Then why did she feel so wretched?
Chapter Twenty-three
Bells pealed from the monastery’s bell tower to signal the morning meal. Within this square sanctuary, candles stood in gold candelabras. The scent of beeswax mingled with the smell of soap, and earth from stone and wood. Oak benches lined the wooden walls. Kaireen would move the seating back after the floor dried.
Kaireen rubbed her back, never imagining a stone floor could be so filthy. She vowed to have her servants mop hers and Bram’s keep once a day. She smiled at the notion.
But she had not seen him for three days since he told her goodbye. She spent those days and nights here, at the monastery.
The admittance to herself of her wanting his kisses angered her. After the first day of scrubbing the floors here like she thought the devil would rise out of a stain, she let her mind wander. It was a tedious task, but no thinking was needed to complete them. She should have felt relief at Bram’s words; instead, she yearned for things she did not yet want to admit. She longed for his arms to hold her, his lips upon hers. She bit her lower lip. Had he forgotten her?
Her parents left strict instructions with Friar Connell. She should serve the church well and earn her repentance.
Friar Connell’s eyes told her how excited he was to oversee her punishment. Now Kaireen no longer wondered why. They gave her all the duties no one else wanted.
She grasped the wooden bucket full of gritty water and then slumped outside. At least here it smelled of old paper, mud, and goats. She would never go to the dyes again.
The bells continued their clanging. Kaireen’s felt ill at the thought of the simple breakfast they had here. Eggs, milk, and slices of bread donated from the serfs as part of their tithe. Since the last time she had seen Bram, her appetite had vanished. Still she forced the food down.
Working for hours before the sun rose did not help her appetite. Neither did it help her sleep. She tossed and turned every night.
Brisk wind flung her brown robes against her skin. The wool itched her. Another necessity for her punishment, and the damask gown she arrived in was locked away until her departure.
With one hand she shielded her eyes from the eastern sun, and held the robe away from her front with the other.
Strands of her auburn hair loosened from her braid and wisped across her face. Strange, she did not smell the eggs sizzling from the great hall, nor did smoke rise outside from the hearth.
She dumped the bucket. Water sloshed across the grass. Then she swung the bucket as she went back inside the nave.
Opening the wooden cupboard, she replaced the empty bucket alongside the damp mop.
Again the bells rang, as if they forgot they already called everyone to the first meal.
She held handfuls of her robe as not to trip and raced outside. Friar Connell prohibited tardiness. She did not want him to deny her penance served because of lateness.
She stumbled forward. Grumbling, she hiked her robe higher.
Monks scrambled through the courtyard with anxious looks on their faces. The bells’ peal echoed in her ears. She winced at the sense of urgency of their sound vibrating through the air.
Friar Connell raced toward her, waving his thin arms. His face flushed. His brown robe bulged outward from the wind making his thin frame seem to skitter forward a step. He grasped Kaireen’s elbow and dragged her forward.
“Did you not hear the bells?” He did not wait for her answer. “To the tower basement before they are upon us, in case they come this way after the battle.”
Smoke billowed in the distance, from direction of her father’s keep. Kaireen jerked to a stop. “Lochlanns attacked our keep?” Her bow and dagger were at her parent’s keep. The monks did not allow women to have weapons or anyone who did penance to have them here.
“No, no.” Friar patted her hand. He managed a weak smile which did not reach his grey eyes. He sighed as though realizing she was not placated by his answer. “’Tis another clan. Not sure who, but blood trails behind them.”
Lead weight plunged to the pit of Kaireen’s stomach. Warring clans proved worse than even the Lochlanns at times. This was the purpose of her marriage to Bram to help guard against future Lochlann and other Irish clan attacks. If she had agreed, she and Bram would have been married now and together they would have faced this foe.
She ran toward the stable with Friar Connell on her heels.
“You can do no good, lass,” he panted, chasing after her. “This is in God’s hands.”
Inside, the monks had left the stables abandoned. Kaireen snatched her saddle from the stall wall.
Hauling the leather saddle onto her mare, the horse neighed as though sensing the urgency of her mistress.
The saddle situated, Kaireen tightened the girth underneath the horse’s belly.
Friar Connell, red-faced, flapped his jaws, but she ignored him. His words drifted on the air of foolish girls and having faith.
She snatched a bridle and slipped it over her mare’s head, adjusting the bit. Ready, she placed her foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself up. She settled into the saddle hiking her monk’s robe out of the way and tightening her hands on the reins.
Friar Connell stood defiant, blocking her way. “Get off that horse, or you do penance for a month—married or not.”
“Despite if this cost me a lifetime, I will not abandon my clan by cowering in the safety of your monastery.” The chestnut mare pranced within the stall, anxious to get out and gallop. “Move, my good friar or I shall jump through you.” She had to see Bram. Somehow she knew he was still at the keep, that he had not left yet. It consumed her to know for herself that he was unharmed. She could scarcely think of little else.
He harrumphed at her, but she kneed her horse forward.
With a yelp, Friar Connell dove sideways as Kaireen’s horse jumped past where he had stood and raced from the stables.
<
br /> But Kaireen did not know how she could help. Her bow and arrow were out of reach within her quarters at the keep. If the warring clan recognized her, they would hold her for ransom or as bait.
Ancient oaks and ash streamed passed her as her horse galloped forward. Kaireen clutched the reins, hoping to calm her nerves.
Suddenly her horse altered their path, and headed for a cluster of elm trees. Kaireen jerked on the reins to redirect her to the keep, but the mare continued on her new route.
“Turn around.” She kneed the animal and tugged the reins. The horse took a few side steps, but kept on the path toward the trees.
At their approach, a group of crows took flight, cawing at the intrusion. Kaireen leaned back in the saddle to turn the possessed beast around.
Past the first row of elm and shrubs, her horse stopped within a clearing in the center of the trees. Kaireen slipped backward, landing on the ground, her horse whinnying at her for not holding on.
Kaireen rose and dusted her brown robe. “I would not have fallen if you had obeyed,” she scolded her horse. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh and she rubbed her arms.
Distant shouts drifted from the battle carried on the wind. Kaireen shook her head and heard the rustling of leaves stuck in her auburn hair. She had no time for formalities.
“Enough.” She strode to her mare.
To turn the stubborn beast around she tugged on the bridle. Her horse locked its legs, and refused to move one step forward.
“If you do not move this instant,” Kaireen struggled with the reins, “I will leave you here and go afoot.”
Still the animal would not budge.
A murmur behind her sent her heart slamming into her chest.
Had an enemy seen her and followed her? She dropped the reins, glaring at her horse for getting them into this mess, and looked behind her.
On a fallen log faded silver by time, Elva sat with her back straight and hands crossed in her lap. A bemused smile twitched at the corner of her handmaid’s mouth.
Kaireen gasped. What was her handmaid doing outside, here in a splattering of trees?
Viking Fire Page 11