The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vincent, Renee

  She held it up, smoothing it over her chest as she imagined what it would look like on herself. But before she could get too attached to the gown, her eyes caught sight of two brooches lying atop the folded cloak. They were oval in shape, with colors of green and amber glass beads between silver filigree. She noticed the green in the brooches matched the emeralds in the dress, probably the work of an expert artisan, if not the finicky demand of a merchant buyer, like her Dægan. There was no doubt that it probably took a good number of silver coins from his pockets to acquire this gown—one that was probably made from Torvald’s Byzantium brocade—for it did not pale in comparison to any noble lady’s gown.

  Mara spun in excitement, wishing Dægan was present so she could thank him for his lovely gifts, and happily put them on, braiding her hair before leaving the longhouse.

  As she opened the wooden door and stepped outside, she caught sight of the crystal blue ocean lapping at the gray shoreline of the island several yards away. It was sparkling in the sun, gladly wrapping its waves around the hulls of the many warships that lined the water’s edge. Amazingly, there were more ships here than in Luimneach. Too many to count.

  The dragon heads stood just as proudly from their perches, but lacked the brutish stare in the daylight hours. She smiled, no longer feeling the threat of their stiffly petrified visage.

  Mara took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The air was different. Smelled different. It was an aroma unlike any other, but she remembered the scent from when they had left the ports of Luimneach. Again she breathed in the clean air, memorizing its salty fragrance. She liked it, even preferred it to the grassy meadows of Connacht.

  When Mara turned around, she saw several rows of longhouses, a strange familiarity of Luimneach’s harbor, except here, each longhouse was partitioned off by stone walls that wrapped around its perimeter, sectioning off a parcel of land for each house. The walls were less than a meter high, and were present everywhere throughout the island, even where houses no longer stood.

  As she walked around the settlement, she noticed that the island was quite flat and without the blessing of trees. But what it lacked in trees, it made up for in limestone—rocky terrain that pressed up through her sandals between tuffs of turf and wild flowers.

  Mara bent down and picked a few, like in her days on the Shannon, noting that the flora was very unique to her eyes. With the flowers to her nose, she walked on, eager to see what more the isle had to offer.

  A few houses down, there were several people working in their gardens; some tending to sheep in the fields, and some beating floor rugs on the stone walls. They were all dressed very simply, contrary to the fine apparel she was now wearing. But without any resentment, they nodded and smiled, acknowledging their new guest and continuing with their chores. Everyone seemed comfortable with her presence and it became very apparent that the entire settlement knew of the proposed marriage arrangement, not just Dægan’s close friends and family. The thought of such a grand assembly didn’t bother her in the least. In fact, it lifted her smile to even higher heights.

  Suddenly, a woman servant burst through the front door of a nearby longhouse, crying and screaming at someone inside. She spun around, pleading for the gods to help her, and then opened the door again. After shouting some more, she backed away from the door with her head in her hands, sobbing.

  Mara ran to her and touched her shoulder tenderly. “Do you need help? What is the matter?”

  The woman whirled in surprise and started pleading with Mara to help her. “We must stop her! She has a knife!”

  “Who has a knife?” Mara asked gripping the woman’s arms.

  “Lillemor!” she shouted, falling to her knees. “She threatens to take her life! Dægan will have my head on a spit!”

  Mara’s mouth dropped. She turned to stare at the door of the longhouse, hearing the cries from behind it. She would know that cry anywhere and flashed her eyes back to the servant ranting on the ground. “Please, calm yourself. You are not helping Lillemor with your crying.”

  The woman bawled in utter panic, seemingly only worried that Dægan would snuff the life from her upon his return. “‘Tis my head he’ll want! He will kill me on the spot! Help me please! We must stop her!”

  Mara grabbed the woman and shook her. “You must stop this yelling! Naught will happen to you, I promise!”

  “By the gods, what is the matter!” Another woman ran over to Mara seeing the lowly servant crying at her feet.

  “What is your name?” Mara asked.

  “Kari, my lady. I serve Dægan’s mother.”

  Perfect. Mara knew Kari had to be more than capable of assisting her if she were skilled enough to be Nana’s servant. “Lillemor is threatening to take her life,” she said. “Please, keep this woman away.”

  “What about Lillemor?” Kari questioned, her eyes wide with concern.

  “I will go to her,” Mara whispered.

  Kari obediently pulled the servant woman away and led her a few houses down where her cries could no longer be heard.

  Nervously, Mara stepped toward the door and placed her hand on the wood. The haunting silence she feared worst.

  Slowly she opened the door and peeked inside. Sitting in the chair was Lillemor, whose arms were wrapped around her barely-there stomach and the silver dagger lying on the table, without the stain of blood on its edge.

  Mara spoke softly. “Lillemor?”

  But Lillemor stood with a jerk and grabbed the knife, pointing it at Mara. “Get out! Leave me be!”

  Mara ignored her and slowly stepped inside. “You have many people worried about you.”

  “I care not!” she screamed back.

  “But I do,” Mara replied. “I cannot let you do this.”

  “Not another step—or I shall do it right now!” Lillemor turned the knife on herself, holding the point close at her heart. “I will! I swear I will!”

  Mara stopped, but refused to leave her. “I shall sit…and we can talk. All right?”

  “I have naught to say.”

  Mara sat slowly on the boxbed to her right. “You have much to say it seems, but let not your death speak for you.”

  Lillemor twisted her face at Mara. “I have naught to say to you!”

  “Fair enough,” Mara said. “I deserve not any pleasantries from you. I, too, know that if it were not for me, Eirik would still be here. I can look in your eyes and know you see me as the cause for his death. But you must believe me, I wish with all of my heart I could turn back the day.”

  Lillemor eyes narrowed. “What is done is done, and I have lost everything because of you!”

  “Not everything,” Mara corrected.

  “Everything!” Lillemor argued, squeezing out a line of tears from her eyes, and threatening to shove the dagger deep in her chest. “Everything! I have nothing!”

  “Is the babe that stirs within you nothing?”

  “‘Tis a curse! A constant reminder that Eirik is gone!” Lillemor gripped the handle of the knife so tightly her knuckles turned white.

  “Lillemor, dear, ‘tis not a curse. ‘Tis a gift from Eirik. He has given you a child…a part of him that will always be with you.” Mara stood, seeing the small change in Lillemor’s eyes, and took one step at a time, inching closer with each new reason. “This child is something you can hold in your arms. ‘Tis even better than a fleeting memory of Eirik. He lives in you, Lillemor. He lives in you.”

  Lillemor closed her eyes even tighter and sobbed like a child. Mara was close enough now and she reached for the knife, cupping Lillemor’s hand with her own while carefully prying the blade with the other.

  “Let me have this, Lillemor. You need not this anymore. You have Eirik inside you. Hold fast to that.”

  Lillemor released the dagger and collapsed against Mara, crying even harder. Mara threw the blade to the far wall and both women dropped to the floor in a tangled heap. Mara rocked her like a baby, stroking her hair and thanking God that no harm was
done. And just like the broken Northern woman, Mara’s tears spilled down her cheeks, not only in deep sorrow, but in relief as well.

  The front door opened and Kari peaked in. “My lady?”

  Mara quickly wiped her tears from her face and nodded with great reprieve. “All is well, Kari. Could you fetch Lillemor some food and drink and bring it to Dægan’s house. She will stay with us from now on.”

  “As you wish. Should I send for her clothes?”

  Again Mara nodded. “And please see to any gossip that may travel to Dægan’s mother. She needn’t hear of this with her weakened heart.”

  Mara watched the diligent servant woman leave, feeling genuinely good inside. She had done something of great importance while Dægan was away and without much practice beforehand. Finally she had done something good for him.

  “Come,” Mara whispered to Lillemor. “I will see to you now.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The rest of the afternoon Dægan made his brother’s grave a priority, but he never strayed too far from the thought of Rutland in the barrel. It was a sinister vision that seemed to surface many times throughout his day, making it harder for him to concentrate—not that digging required much of it, but he’d rather his thoughts roam into other places of sweeter venue, like Mara’s naked embrace.

  Sundown was fast approaching and he and the men were returning from their long day’s work of preparing the grave and setting the ship. The longship, chosen to hold Eirik’s body, was one that Eirik made himself. And given the grandeur of the vessel, it was not an easy task to haul it across the roughened terrain of the isle on rolling timbers. But the chosen place was of strict importance, a site deemed as hallowed ground, and no obstacle, large or small, would stand in Dægan’s way of giving his brother the burial he deserved.

  In silence, Dægan and his men marched back across the land, exhausted and weak, dragging their shovels behind them. They were a hungry, grumpy group, but unbeknownst to them, a feast was being prepared.

  Tables and benches were set around a large fire, and breads, cheeses, and stewed meat lined the trays, close to falling off. Servants rushed from table to table, setting the trenchers and filling the cups with drink. Behind the display were musicians strumming out their songs, and poets practicing their orations with gestures and dance, all of whom were dressed in their finest apparel.

  Dægan looked around at all the fuss, thinking his mother had become better and resumed her plans for the feast. Although glad of the possibility of his mother’s improved health, he was somewhat disappointed that her plans were still carried out, which meant he’d have to play host for a few more hours before being able to retire to his bed.

  “Well, men, I guess we should get cleaned up. It looks as though we have a feast to attend.”

  Tait shared the same wide eye stare as his chieftain. “I am certainly privy to that, but there is no sense in getting cleaned up when I plan on getting dirt drunk.”

  “Some of us more than others!” Steinar said enthusiastically before making a beeline for his longhouse.

  Dægan rushed straight to his as well, thinking he would find his mother with Mara, doing what mothers do best—cooking a fine meal. It didn’t take him long to hurdle a few rock walls and burst through the door. Upon his entering, he stopped dead in his tracks.

  There at the hearth was Mara in the green dress, jeweled from head to toe with her hair braided down her back. He stood there, breath caught and mouth gaping, stunned by the transformation of his betrothed.

  Dægan swelled with pride at his choice of color in both the dress and the beads that enhanced the green in her eyes gleaming in the fire light. Without realizing, he flashed a mouth full of teeth and crossed his arms to his chest. “You look absolutely beautiful!”

  “Sh…” Mara shushed, waving her hands in front of her. “You will wake her!”

  Dægan crowded his brows upon seeing Lillemor sleeping in his very own bed chambers. “What is she doing in there?” he asked in a grizzly whisper.

  Mara closed the doors of his chamber and motioned for him to follow her into the living quarters so as not to wake their guest.

  “Lillemor should not be left alone. She is mourning her husband and the last thing she needs is to think no one cares about her grief. I thought it best to let her stay with us.”

  Dægan looked over his shoulder, slightly discontented. “How is the babe?”

  “Hungry,” Mara said. “Lillemor ate as if she were feeding twins.”

  Dægan’s voice rattled a bit as he repeated her. “Twins?”

  “Ah, Dægan, ‘tis too early to tell. I was only jesting.”

  “Right,” he half smiled.

  “Now dawdle not. Your mother wanted a feast and a feast she shall have.” Mara crinkled her nose in disgust and stepped back. “But, I dare say even your mother would prefer you to bathe first.”

  Dægan’s mood lifted. “My mother is well?”

  Mara hesitated. “I went to her but she did not awaken. Kari says her condition should improve by tomorrow.”

  “Then who may I ask prepared the feast?”

  “I did,” Mara stated with a smile. “Kari also told me your mother had cooked so much meat this morning, and for it not to be eaten, ‘twould be a waste. So we finished what she started. I hope you mind not. I just figured since the men had been working all day, a festive meal would do everyone some good.”

  Dægan’s face lit up. “You truly did all of this?”

  “Why does it surprise you? Do you think my father never feasts as you?”

  “I am sure your father could host an even bigger feast, but I doubt he would make you prepare it all. How would you come to know of such things?”

  Mara saw both admiration and astonishment twinkling in his eyes. “Perhaps, ‘tis my little secret.”

  “Secret or not, ‘tis a bit daring to sport an outdoor celebration. We are currently within the rainy season.”

  “You should take what small blessings are given you. I know I do.”

  Dægan grabbed her around the waist. “Speaking of blessings, where shall I sleep this night considering you gave my bed to Lillemor?”

  Mara sniffed and scrunched her nose again in repulsion. “I have not thought of that yet.”

  “I suggest you make those arrangements, and make them well, dear love. I refuse to lie without you tonight.” Dægan released her from his arms, and with a lustful look, glanced over Mara’s body one last time before walking out the back door to the bathhouse.

  ****

  Dægan had taken his place at the middle of table, with Mara at his right and Tait and Steinar at his left. He looked around at the festivities and noticed that everything was better than he could have imagined. Everyone had eaten their fill and was still drinking and laughing as if the mead had already gone to their heads.

  There were musicians with lutes, drums, clochetes, and flutes; poets painted to mimic their part; acrobats flipping and juggling; and ladies dancing in a circle to the cheerful melody. Even the servants were organized in their duties, instead of running around like headless chickens.

  The feast was more than good, it was perfect. A little too perfect, Dægan thought, for no one seemed to remember they had just dug a grave for his brother.

  Dægan looked to his left and although the seat was not empty, it still didn’t seem right to see Steinar seated in it. Normally, Eirik would be the one to fill it during feasts and gatherings, and it suddenly became real that he would have to get used to it.

  Lately, he tried to dismiss any thoughts of his brother, for with Eirik, came the thought of Rutland and his betrayal. How much he wished he could rid that memory from his mind. Nay, sink it to the bottom of the sea! And that’s when it occurred to him. He still had to rid Rutland from the barrel and it would have to be done tonight, else he’d risk someone happening upon him.

  But how could he, the host, get away from the festivities? How could he do it without anyone knowing, for it w
as a job that would require a lot of time and a strong stomach, both of which he feared he lacked.

  Dægan grabbed the chalice in front of him, drinking it to calm his raging head. After a few large gulps, he stopped and tasted the liquid in his mouth. It was mead, as it always was in his cup, and suddenly he didn’t wish to drink anymore of the honeyed brew. With much repugnance, he pushed the cup aside

  “Is everything all right, m’lord?” Mara asked, touching his hand to get his attention. “You look quite disturbed.”

  Dægan dismissed the urge to explain and used an easy excuse. “I am merely tired.”

  “I will gladly see to the rest of the feast for you if you would rather retire to your bed.”

  “My bed?” Dægan asked curiously. “Or should I become accustomed to the rigidity of this bench as any other bed would boast about the same degree of discomfort?”

  Mara rolled her eyes. “Are you truly that fond of it?”

  Dægan peered up into the sky. “How long did you sleep this morning? Or was it afternoon when you awoke? I cannot be too certain.”

  Mara seemed humored by his subtle sarcasm. “Enough said, Dægan. I will see that you regain your bed. Besides, there is more than enough room in your longhouse to accommodate Lillemor and even six others if need be. You never know, she just may birth those twins after all.”

  Dægan grinned and warmly took Mara’s hand. “Honestly, I could be anywhere with you, and I would be a happy man. Your generosity astounds me and I am very grateful for the many sacrifices you have made. I know I have not been myself here lately and you have had to take on more than what you probably expected since arriving on this isle. But this feast has helped my people more than you know. And I thank you for going to the trouble of making it happen. They are most pleased.”