“We beseech the spirits of the north, the south, the east and the west, to breathe over our gathering a breath of anointing, and to witness the covenant these two make with each other. We bid the spirits bind and seal the vows they take in duty to this clan, their clan, our clan.”
The guests replied with a hallowed, “Aye,” in response, and formed a line to the right of Patrick. Then, one at a time, they stepped forward onto the dais and lay bouquets of lavender-colored minscoth in a spherical pattern around the two, until a perfect circle was formed about them, with only Patrick and Darina inside.
Lucian continued,
“We pray to the powers of the earth, the sea and the sky—our beacons of life. The earth, which feeds us and shelters us—may it continue to bring bountiful harvest upon not just these two, but also to our lands and all of O’Malley territory. The sea, which washes us new every morning and upon whom the sun rises and descends; may every mortal blessing ride upon yer waves until they have made their home, here with us. The sky, whose sun lights our way during the day and whose stars brighten our path at night—continue to reign over us and guide us with yer all-knowing presence. As our ancestors honor the three beacons of life; so we shall do the same.”
Galen passed two goblets of elderberry wine to Patrick and took Lucian’s place at the altar.
“Patrick and Darina; may these two goblets of wine represent each of yer souls; full, fresh and alive.” He gestured for Patrick to mix them and continued as Patrick poured part of his into her goblet and then poured part of hers into his goblet. Galen continued,
“May yer marriage be filled with every miracle and blessing that Father God will endow to ye. May yer light be like the wine ye held— perfect alone, but complete when together. These guests are witnesses to the sacred oath ye two make to one another and to yer people. Drink now, and taste that the union is good,” he said as he raised his goblet in a toast, as did the other guests in the hall.
Patrick and Darina drank their fill from the goblets and turned to stand facing one another, hands clasped together, their eyes meeting.
“Let us pray,” Galen instructed and clasped his hand with Lucian’s. All the guests in the hall formed a circle around the ring of lavender-colored minscoth that set the two apart from the rest of the hall.
“We c-call upon the sp-spirits of l-love, hum-hum-humility and hon-honor to guide our hear-hearts to do wh-what is ri-right in all th-things.”
Darina’s heart leapt in her chest. Patrick is praying?
Aye luv, he responded with his mind, as he clasped her hand tighter, reassuring her of his sincerity before he raised his right hand to the sky in petition.
“We invoke the bl-blessings of the sp-spirits of the north, the south, the east and the w-we-west; and the beacons of our l-liv-lives—the earth, the sea and the sk-sky—and we c-ca-call upon the Chr-Christ-Christian G-God to consecr-crate our union f-for the s-service of all that is n-no-noble and j-just. May our j-joining br-bring with it, p-peace to our l-land, pr-prosperity to our p-people and passion for our p-pur-purpose.”
“So be it,” said Galen. “So be it,” replied the guests. When every head was once again raised and turned towards the couple on the dais, Lucian spoke again.
“Darina O’Malley, be it yer wish to join with Patrick MacCahan this day? To be his wife, companion and champion all the days of yer life? Do ye heretofore take him to wed and pledge to him yer heart, yer hand and yer spirit in the name of the god that resides with ye?”
“It is me wish,” Darina said with a bright smile and happy tears pooling in her eyes.
Galen spoke, “Patrick MacCahan, is it yer wish to join with Darina O’Malley this day? To be her husband, companion and champion all the days of yer life? Do ye heretofore take her to wed and pledge to her yer heart, yer hand and yer spirit in the name of the god that resides with ye? And do ye further, Patrick, take the name of O’Malley as yer own, and pledge to carry the noble line of the O’Malley clan for generations to come?”
“It. Is. My. Wish,” he stated slowly, loudly, and deliberately with pride on his face. Darina turned and removed the MacCahan tartan from his shoulder, replaced it with her own O’Malley plaid, and secured it with the brooch her father left her.
Patrick let his left hand cup her chin and cheek and leaned down to kiss his new bride. Not an innocent brotherly kiss; that just wouldn’t do. He meant to claim her, in front of the gods and every guest in the room. She was his and she would know it, and they would too.
***
“Where are ye taking me?” Braeden demanded of the burly man carrying him over his shoulders like a bag of wool. “I demand ye take me to yer leader at once!” he shouted, now banging the man’s backside as fiercely as he could with his childlike fists.
“Culver, I swear mon, lest ye get a grip o’ that boy he will fall, and Odetta won’t like that ye’ve marred her sacrifice—she won’t,” said another man Braeden presumed was not far from them. But he couldn’t be sure because they had covered his face with some type of sack so he couldn’t see.
“Hush child,” the first man demanded, as he straightened Braeden’s position over his shoulder after applying a swift pat on his bottom meant to threaten him.
Braeden giggled under his breath. This will be all too easy, he said to himself, remembering the training in self-defense that both Airard and Patrick insisted upon. Just give me time, he thought.
After leaving the boat on the shore, the men forced Braeden to walk beside them, head covered and holding a rope for balance for what seemed hours. Then it began to storm and they agreed, reluctantly at first, to allow him to remove the cover; permitting him to count off steps and make notations in his mind as to where they were going and where they came from. Little did they know that his observations began hours before when they first left the safety of the watercraft.
Braeden was no fool. He was drilled his entire life about what to do if he were to be captured, kidnapped, or come upon a hazardous situation. For a boy his age, he was well-educated in hand-to-hand combat, and was even able to wield a small sword without much problem—provided it was light weight, of course.
Patrick and Parkin took him hunting and fishing regularly; and sleeping out under the stars was a favorite activity for which Braeden looked forward with much anticipation. He knew how to select a slumber spot, start a fire, hunt for game, clean and dress the food, find the right herbs to season, and how to set up a campsite to avoid predatory animals. He was skilled in tracking as well, and won two contests in a row the prior year during the annual huntsman games.
No fool indeed. These men have no idea who they are dealing with, he thought to himself as he feigned submission. No idea.
TWELVE
Burke Territory — Samhain Celebration
“Do ye have all yer masks Orla?” questioned Reni. “And yer cloak, and the extra cloak to cover ye, cause it looks like it might rain. Child? Did ye hear me?”
“Aye, Reni, I have all me masks here in me basket and I have both of these infernal cloaks as well. Now, let me be off, Shanleigh is a’ waiting on me she is,” replied Orla indignantly, stomping her foot for emphasis.
“Do ye have yer dagger, Orla?”
“Aye. I have me dagger right here in me basket.”
“Alrighty then, off ye go, but ye best be getting back a’fore the bonfire lights go out. Yer mam will be awaiting ye in the kitchens—to see what goodies ye collect. Ye ken?” Reni asked.
“Aye,” Orla retorted, before hastily draping herself with a cloak, and covering her head and basket with the other.
The rain began to fall in short, shallow bursts just as Orla stepped from the covering of the castle doors into the unusually warm night air. Thankfully her leather boots would carry her through the paths and village byways without problems. No doubt her friend Shanleigh would be at a disadvantage, having only slippers for shoes. At least she was smart enough to bring an extra cloak and a pair of boots for Shanleigh. Nothing wou
ld hold up their good time this eve, especially not the rain.
Orla traversed the castle grounds proper as fast as her young feet would carry her. Shanleigh was waiting, and she wasn’t the most patient individual. Just two summers her senior, Shanleigh was thirteen, and already her father was searching for suitable matches for his only daughter. Orla had made up her mind already that she was not the kind to marry; and knowing her mam, it seemed unlikely that Odetta would force her into any such match.
Shanleigh’s father, Dirk, was the armory overseer for the Burke forces and was highly praised among the Burke clan. Although he and Odetta shared words on several occasions, Dirk believing her addled, it was his relationship with Easal that smoothed things a bit. At least it hadn’t affected Orla’s ability to maintain her friendship with Shanleigh yet.
Orla rapped at the thick wooden door to Dirk’s cottage and called for Shanleigh. The door opened and the smell of fresh mutton stew caught her nostrils. Shanleigh’s mam was one of the best cooks in Burke territory, and Orla took every opportunity she could to have her evening meal with the family. It was nice to just sit in a cottage with the feel of family about her; with her not having a father, and her mother, Odetta, being gone so much. Eating with Reni was more like a chore and wasn’t pleasant at all. Besides, Shanleigh’s two elder brothers always had something entertaining to speak of, and vied for her affection to the extent she never had to lift a finger when visiting.
“Orla, dear, do come in won’t ye?” spoke Orla’s mam. “Shanleigh is almost ready. I made her change her overdress twice now. She doesn’t seem to understand the weather is turning and it will be coming down in sheets soon. She insists on heading outdoors anyway.”
Shanleigh barreled from the back of the cottage, hesitantly grasping a handful of masks in her arms and juggling two baskets on her other elbow. Always one to make an entrance, she caught Orla’s eye and bid her to watch as she agitated her mam. “Mam, just where do ye s’pose that lanthorn is that Da set out for me?” she asked, dropping the contents of her arms on the long trestle table where her mother was setting out a late evening meal.
“Shanleigh, ye know verra well yer da set the lanthorn near the hearth. Now git yer things off me table a’fore I refuse ye to go t’nite.”
Shanleigh ran her hand down the length of her golden-blonde mane and motioned for Orla to help her with the baskets and masks. “Aye, I see it now mam. Won’t ye help me light it?” she asked slyly. Shanleigh was accustomed to getting her way and getting help with every menial task she could push off on somebody else. Trouble was, her mother wasn’t one of those kinds of people to humor such feigned helplessness.
“Light it yerself ye lazy lass,” she replied. “I’ve work to do,” she said as she winked at Orla. “Mayhap Orla can assist ye, if ye be half-witted, methinks Orla might make up for the other half,” she cackled as she smacked Orla on the back of her shoulder in jest.
“Here, I brought me extra boots,” Orla said and motioned for Shanleigh to change her slippers, “and me other cloak.” Orla selected a mask for herself and Shanleigh and placed the others in the baskets, neatly tucked between the oatcakes and apples.
“Now then Shanleigh, ye can share the oatcakes and apples with yer friends, but the other baskets are for gathering offerings for the poor,” scolded Shanleigh’s mam, “Ye ken, dear one? I will be taking them to the market on the morrow.”
“Aye, mammy, we ken,” replied Shanleigh as she motioned for Orla to grab the lanthorn and open the cottage door.
“And be back a’fore the midnight rites. Before we run through the bonfires; I need ye back here to watch yer younger brathair,” she added, bouncing a curly-headed toddler on her hip.
“Aye, we will,” replied Orla, “But we best be leaving now if we are to make it all the way to the north side of the villages to fill our baskets.”
“Off ye go then,” she replied, “Off ye go.”
***
Braeden was enjoying his role-play. He was quite an experienced actor, to say the least. His ability to maintain a straight face while jesting, propelled him into the most curious of situations. Patrick often remarked that his ability to fool somebody might just save his life one day.
Today was that day. Braeden became a compliant and submissive prisoner in dealing with his captives. He gave them no reason to believe that he was anything less than obedient and wouldn’t render himself to any trouble. They even believed him to be asleep when the sky grew dark and the rain started coming down harder. When he sensed he was being led down stairs, underground, he peeked through his eyelids. His captors had long since removed the head covering and now he employed a birds-eye view of all the goings-on.
It was the smell that greeted him first, the dreadful stench of rancid food and fetid flesh. Just the thought made his stomach heave. The rattling of metal broke his attention and he realized he was not alone in this underground prison. He struggled a bit to sit up—draped over the shoulder of one of his captors.
“Let me up!” he demanded as if he were the captor. “I mean to get up!” he repeated in as high-a-pitched voice as he could muster, intending to emphasize his youth.
“Hold still ye rascally bastard,” his captor exclaimed, grasping Braeden about the waist and setting him down on the bottom stair rung which lead to the caverns beneath the monastery. “There, am I ever glad to have ye off me back!”
“What is the meaning of this? Why have ye brought me here?” Braeden demanded again into the silence.
“Just ye hush now! This once, else we will see to it ye don’t live long enough to become Odetta’s sacrifice this eve. Ye should count yer blessings we haven’t the stomach to do her dirty work for her, else we would have already bled ye dry.”
“Bleed me dry! What on earth are ye talking about? Do ye ken who I am? Ye will regret the day ye ever met me! Ye have no idea how much trouble ye are going to be in once P….”
A loud clanging arose from the far, left corner of the cavernous underground dungeon, and a shadow appeared before them. “What is all this fuss about?” demanded the shadow.
“Sit yerself back down now Cordal, we’ve no need for yer assistance,” said the man known as Culver. “Ye,” he continued, grabbing Braeden about the shoulders and hurling him down the last of the stairs to the far wall of the dungeon, “will do as ye are told, or else ye will meet yer end with two fewer little fingers.”
Braeden gasped and complied, watching in horror as the man chained him to the wall beside a weeping woman and another boy who lay unconscious against the cold wet stones. “Now, drink this here boy, it will make things less painful for ye, trust me,” said Culver as he thrust a small cup containing some type of elixir into Braeden’s hands. “We’ll be back soon enough, ye best make yer peace son, rest and prepare for what is to come.”
The very minute the door to the dungeons closed behind the men, Braeden’s senses heightened. He may have the lost advantage of sight, but his sense of smell, hearing and feeling took over in an almost wraithlike fashion. From where he was sitting, he could tell he was not alone with the other boy or the crying woman. Even the man who spoke earlier from the back of the cavern wasn’t the only other person sharing the dank prison.
When his mouth caught up with his mind, Braeden spewed the contents of the elixir straight out in front of him several feet, the majority of which struck an unintended target. The now drenched prisoner roused a bit and sat up from its slovenly crumple on the barren rock floor.
THIRTEEN
O’Malley Territory
Patrick tightened his grip about Darina’s waist and pulled her closer against him as they continued their ride up the steep terrain. Moya prepared the best climbing steed she had, at his request; and Minea packed a basket of wine and fruit to enjoy on their “adventure” as she called it. It wasn’t so much that Darina didn’t enjoy a surprise every now and then—it was more that riding with her eyes covered was beginning to make her feel dizzy. As if she spoke it out l
oud, Patrick removed the sash tied across her eyes and softly pulled her cheek towards his shoulder, an indication she should relax against him, safe in his arms.
“Where are ye taking me?” she asked him again, for about the third time since they set out from the Castle after the reception.
I have a surprise for ye, and there is a friend I wish ye to meet. A dear old friend of me mam’s; and I ken he wishes to meet me lovely new bride as well.
Darina blushed and a peculiar warmth filled her from the top of her head to the middle of her chest where her heart beat in tandem with Patrick’s. She nuzzled closer in to him and he wrapped the edges of his cloak about her, fully encompassing her with his arms. When she sensed their climb was slowing she asked, “Can I look now, Patrick?”
“Aye,” he responded as he untangled his cloak from around her shoulders, permitting her to gaze forward across the rocky pinnacle they had spent so long climbing towards. The night air was warm and moist, and the moon was high and full over the summit. She watched in amazement as the stars seemed to twinkle overhead in welcome and noticed the sound of pipes and celebration had all but disappeared. They had traveled a good way from the Castle and they were alone; save for the two sentries that Patrick bade follow two forrach’s back on either side of them.
When they finally met with level ground, Patrick slowed. Darina could barely make out the shadows of a stone formation in the moonlight. Almost spherical in shape, the stone pillars were nearly as tall as Patrick and twice as wide. Seven flat stones for stepping lead to a break in the circle, and a flat table-like stone sat in the midst of the coil.
Patrick brought the horse to a halt and jumped down to secure him to a nearby yew tree before assisting Darina in dismounting. She was now wearing creamy-colored silken riding truis with a long plum colored velveteen tunic, a gift from Sanjay and his sister.
Celtic Shores, Book 2 in the Celtic Steel Series Page 8