Celtic Shores, Book 2 in the Celtic Steel Series

by Delaney Rhodes

  “Oh no ye don’t,” said Orla as she shook her friend to revive her. “Now, listen to me,” she said, placing her hands on either side of Shanleigh’s horror-filled face. “Are ye listening?”

  Shanleigh nodded.

  “Go back to the brush and find the lanthorn. Take it to our cave near the docks, ye know the one?” she asked.

  Shanleigh nodded again.

  “Get to the cave, light a fire and wait for me there. Make sure no one follows ye, ye ken?” she asked.

  Shanleigh nodded a third time.

  “Leave me the baskets and the masks, except for yers. No matter what happens, don’t take off yer mask. Now go!” Orla commanded.

  ***

  Kyra ate the last bit of bread from her bowl and rose from the table in the great hall to greet her father. Vynae’s potion worked its magic and her stomach was no longer tied up in knots, waiting to explode. She still felt a might squeamish, but a hearty meal was serving its purpose, and she felt the color coming back in her face.

  “Are ye feeling better, luv?” asked Ruarc as he reached to hug his only daughter.

  “Aye, Father, I am much better indeed,” she replied as she wiped the crumbs from the corner of her mouth. “A good meal and I am good as new.”

  “Ye think it was that swim ye took in the river that gave ye the vapors?” he asked tugging at his beard and mentally castrating Payton MacCahan at the same time, for pushing her into the water.

  “Nay, and don’t ye go bothering that poor boy, Da. He had no idea who I was and I’m sure he feels a wee bit senseless after that stunt he pulled. Ye yerself didn’t recognize me the first time ye saw me in my chainmail. Besides, he is family now, ye need to let it rest.”

  “Ye sound more like yer mam every day, Kyra,” said Ruarc.

  “Now don’t say that Da. I’ll never hear the end of it if ye say that to mam,” Kyra chuckled as she rose to leave.

  “Now where do ye think ye are going lass?” asked her Uncle Rory, just as he was sitting down across from her to eat.

  “I have me rounds now,” she replied. “It’s me turn on the battlements, to watch the north-facing gates.

  “Nay. It isn’t.”

  “It isn’t?” she asked in surprise. “I’m fairly certain it is,” she countered.

  “I spoke with Murchadh,” said Ruarc. “And, we agreed that you are to rest, for at least the next fortnight. There will be no more chainmail for ye for a while. And, I want ye to stay off the horses, Kyra. No riding for now.”

  “Why am I being punished?” she growled.

  “I knew she would say that. I told you she would say that, Ruarc,” Rory admonished, shaking his head in disbelief between bites. “She is the most bull-headed female I have ever come to know.”

  Ruarc smiled and replied, “She gets that from her Uncle Rory.”

  FIFTEEN

  O’Malley Territory

  Darina lay comfortably on the soft ground beside Patrick, searching the stars for answers, but none came. There was nothing to explain the deep connection she had with Patrick, a man she had known only a few days; or the near spiritual moment they shared together under the canopy of the night sky. Nothing logical anyway.

  Darina, what troubles ye?

  “I’m not sure if it is this bond we seem to have that bothers me, or the possibility that it will no’ last,” she replied, and rolled over to lay her head atop his chest, to listen to his heartbeat. She lazily draped a leg over his and rooted her head into the crevice under his arm.

  He caught his breath and reached for her, grasping her hand in his. “There is n-no re-reason to f-fear we will l-lose our connection, D’rina,” he spoke calmly to her. Nothing will break our bond, except our own free will.

  She sat up to look him in the eye. “What do ye mean, Patrick?”

  Well, I mean that ye can choose to disconnect from me; and I can choose to disconnect from ye.

  “Why would I do that?” she asked.

  Well, I would hope that ye would’na, but I’m sure there could be reasons ye might want to. And there may be reasons for me to do the same as well.

  Give me an example, she demanded, clearly irritated.

  Patrick chuckled and sat up beside her. Suppose I have a secret I want to keep from ye?

  A secret ye want to keep from me, she pushed back, her ire clearly rising.

  Aye, a secret, he countered. Suppose I have purchased a gift as a surprise for ye. Then mayhap, I would need to close up that part of me memory from ye, just until it’s no longer a secret, ye ken?

  “I get yer point,” she replied. “So ye can choose what to reveal to me when ye want?”

  Aye. I can.

  And what about me? she asked. Am I just supposed to be an open well of information for ye? Can I no’ have any secrets of me own?

  Of course ye can, Darina. In time, ye will grow more comfortable with yer gift. It will come to ye, with practice. I will na always search yer mind. I respect ye lass. I know ye have need of private thoughts.

  “And just what am I thinking right now?” she asked aloud.

  Patrick drew her closer to him in a tight hug, wrapping his arms around her and placing his cheek on hers as if to whisper in her ear. I’m having trouble hearing ye, let me try harder, he pressed, before placing his forehead on hers and looking her in the eyes.

  “Well?” she whispered coyly. “Have ye guessed?” she ventured.

  “N-not quite,” he whispered back as he stroked the side of her face with the palm of his hand. I’ve one more trick though, he said.

  “Really, and what would that be?” she asked breathlessly.

  “T-this,” he said, before bringing his mouth down upon hers so gently she almost didn’t realize they had touched. He grasped the nape of her neck with his right hand and touched her temple with his left, holding her as if she would break.

  “Patrick,” she whispered into his mouth.

  Shhhhhhh, he replied with his mind. I’m working here. I almost have it.

  “Patrick,” she whispered again, tapping him on the shoulder this time. He continued to ignore her and tightened his grip on her bringing her closer to him, tipping her head to the side. “D’rina,” he groaned before parting her lips with his tongue, seeking entry. She responded in kind and suckled his bottom lip before pushing him away from her.

  What’s wrong, he asked.

  “Patrick, we are not alone,” she replied.

  Patrick grew wide-eyed and alert before immediately jumping to his feet. Never, had he ever, been snuck up on in his entire life. Where were the sentries he posted on either side of the ridge? Was it they that interrupted them?

  Darina smiled and pointed behind him as she stood to take her place at his side, grabbing his hand for support.

  Patrick, who is that, she asked unafraid.

  “I am Covar.” The ridge echoed and Darina raised her hands to cover her ears. Not twenty paces in front of them, stood the most magnificent being she had ever seen or could ever imagine. Nearly eight feet tall with long blond hair the color of golden wheat, Covar was a specimen indeed.

  “Patrick, so good to see ye again my friend,” said the being. Covered only at the waist, his well-defined form rivaled that of any Greek god she ever read about. Light shone from his crystal-blue eyes and tiny orbs of light swarmed around him like bees to honey.

  Covar, it’s been too long, Patrick replied with his mind, but Darina heard him as well. This is Darina O’Malley, me bride.

  Darina, can ye hear me? asked the being to her mind. Darina turned for instruction from Patrick, who nodded.

  “Aye, I can hear ye fine, me Lord,” she stated audibly as she bowed before him, unsure how one behaves in front of a god.

  Covar roared with laughter and doubled over clutching his side. “I am not a god,” he said out loud, continuing his chuckles and sending the tiny orbs of light spinning away from his upper body. Patrick joined the laughter and wrapped his arms around Darina’s waist to hold her
tight against him.

  The orbs came closer to her and she could hear the faint sound of chatter, like an insect passing her ears. She swatted them as they passed by, sending Covar into more fits of laughter.

  “Is this who ye wanted me to meet?” she asked Patrick hesitantly, still swatting at the now swarming orbs.

  Aye, me luv. Covar and I have been friends for many years now.

  “How did he get here?” she asked.

  I came here a long time ago. I have walked yer lands for many years, Covar replied.

  “No,” she said. “How did ye get here? This instance, how did ye know where to come?” she asked.

  Smart one there, Covar said and motioned for them to join him sitting in the grass.

  “What is that?” shouted Darina as she swatted an orb away for the second time. But it kept coming back like a reticent fly.

  Darina, look closely. Do you see it? asked Patrick.

  Darina sat still for what seemed like minutes, closely examining the still moving orb of light. “By the stars!” she gasped. “Am I dreaming?”

  Nay. Ye are not dreaming Darina.

  I can’t believe it, Patrick. He smiled and gripped her hand lightly. It’s daoine sidhe. I didn’t believe they were real.

  ***

  Mavis finished off a third goblet of wine and handed the empty vessel back to Britta. Certain it would take more than three goblets to see her fully ripe, she reached forward to indicate her desire for more. Britta, however, would have none of it.

  “Ye might wish to slow down there, lass. I’ve need for ye to explain to Gemma just exactly what happened that caused us to find ye floating belly up in the sea,” said Britta.

  “Aye. Won’t ye have some of this fish as well as some bread?” added Liath, the tallest of the seal women who welcomed Mavis into their modest cottage on the island. “’Twill settle yer stomach a bit.”

  Mavis accepted the trencher of fish and bread that Naeyd handed her, and straightened her posture as she sat on the bench at the table prepared for their late evening meal. Liath finished braiding Mavis’ long black hair and wrapped a cloak about her shoulders to make sure she didn’t catch a chill. The cooking fire was stoked and the smell of burning peat moss permeated their small abode from the center of the chamber.

  “How long do ye suppose before Incha is back with Gemma?” Mavis ventured. “’Tis extremely important I speak with Patrick, I mean Laird MacCahan, I mean Lord O’Malley, the new Laird…Lord, or whatever you call him…Patrick! I must speak to Patrick at once!” she grumbled.

  A skirmish overhead alerted Mavis that something was happening on the roof. Before she could contemplate further, Naeyd excused herself and walked outside, before returning with Incha and a beautiful older woman whom Mavis could only assume was Gemma.

  “Mavis,” said Incha calmly, “this is Gemma, Ruire of our Isle.”

  The regal looking woman strode forward from the door and took Mavis by the hand, lightly stroking her palm. “Mavis, I’ve been advised that ye came upon some calamity of late? Is that correct?” she asked.

  “Aye,” replied Mavis. “These, uh, lasses here assisted me after I was left to the sea by me captors.” Mavis hesitated in offering any further information than necessary, not wishing to disclose the true identity of her saviors.

  “I see,” said Gemma, nodding to Liath. “Please tell me everything ye can.”

  Mavis rose from her perch at the bench and walked toward the hearth clenching her hands in her skirts. “I mean no disrespect, Gemma, but who are ye and why should I trust ye to get word to Patrick? Why can I no’ simply speak with the Lord myself?”

  Gemma remained steadfast in her position just inside the cottage entry way. “And who are ye that I should make ye an audience with our new Laird?” she retorted, clearly offended.

  Incha stood between them and laid a calm hand on each of their shoulders. “Listen, something terrible has happened and Mavis, as far as I can tell, ye need our help. Gemma, Mavis bares no ill will towards our new Lord, I’m sure of it. Do you ken?”

  “And just how would I know that?” asked Gemma.

  “Because I came here with Patrick,” said Mavis. “I’m from MacCahan territory. I came with Patrick and his charge, the boy, Braeden. He is the one that has been taken.”

  Gemma’s face showed obvious surprise and she bid the women to sit at the table. Naeyd filled six goblets of wine and set them before each of them before Mavis broke down in tears.

  “What is the nature of yer relationship with our Lord…Patrick?” questioned Gemma.

  “What is the nature of yer relationship with the O’Malley’s?” Mavis spat back.

  “’Tis a fair question,” said Incha, placing a hand on Gemma’s forearm, hoping to fend off a disagreement between two obviously bull-headed women.

  “I am the Ruire of O’Malley Isle. The Island of Women,” stated Gemma, matter-of-factly. “That simply means that I am responsible for overseeing the day-to-day affairs of the women and children who reside here. I take care of their needs. They come to me for counsel and guidance; and I represent their interests with the O’Malley clan as a member of the O’Malley High Council. I answer to no one save the Lord of O’Malley clan himself. That person now is Patrick MacCahan-O’Malley.”

  “I see,” replied Mavis skeptically.

  “No one from this island will take an audience with the Lord, before going through me. It is how it is done here,” explained Gemma.

  Mavis looked at all the women about the table but uttered not a word. She took a long drink of her wine, set the goblet back down upon the wooden trestle table, and stared into the room as if she had lost all her faculties.

  Incha spoke, “Naeyd, how much wine have ye given her?”

  Naeyd shrugged her shoulders and shook her head as if she didn’t know how to answer. She mentally counted the empty wine bottles sitting atop the meat counter near the hearth and winced.

  Mavis stood up, “My relationship with Patrick…I mean…Lord O’Malley,” she said tipping her head in the direction of Gemma, “is that of a servant.”

  Gemma nodded her understanding and bade her to continue with a wave of her hand.

  “I was purchased at the slave auctions in Burke territory many years ago.”

  Liath gasped and interjected, “I thought all the slave auctions were closed years ago,” she whispered to Gemma.

  “Go on,” said Incha.

  “I recently lost me babe, and was needed to nurse an orphaned infant child. The group of mon had need of a nurse to care for the boy who was going to foster in MacCahan territory. I have been a dutiful and loyal household servant to the MacCahan’s for many years. I am not a slave.”

  “But ye said ye were purchased?” asked Liath.

  “Aye, I was,” said Mavis. “They gave me me freedom from the first moment they took me from the slave auctions. I am fairly compensated for me work as a nurse and tutor to the boy, Braeden. Patrick is…well…he is like me brathair. That would be the best way to describe our relationship,” she added, visibly staring at Gemma, a challenge to her earlier insinuation. “There is no impropriety, if that is what ye were hinting at, me lady.”

  SIXTEEN

  Burke Monastery — The Dungeon

  Unable to temper her curiosity any longer; Orla snuck around to the back of the monastery, intent on breaching the entrance that led below the main structure. Had it not been for the conversation she overhead between her mam, and some unknown soul, she may have gone on about her own business. But that was not her way. The fear she saw in Shanleigh’s eyes did little to dissuade her. Her mam was scared, and she intended to find out exactly what was behind that most unusual development.

  Certain she had not been followed, Orla peered around the garden trellis and tiptoed through the muddy pathway, until she caught sight of the iron handle peaking just beneath a lavender bush. Thankfully, the storm drowned out the sound of screeching metal hinges as she pulled the small wooden access
upwards. Remorseful she hadn’t thought to keep the lanthorn with her, she crouched to enter the dank stairway and let the makeshift door slam shut behind her.

  She sensed she was not alone. Obviously, this was some type of baleful penitentiary, meant to terrify as well as punish unfortunate or unrepentant perpetrators. Startled laments sounded below and she wasn’t sure whether to be frightened, outraged or sympathetic. Convinced there was no other choice, she embarked on her downward journey to the belly of the caverns by scooting on her backside, one stair at a time, feeling her way with muddy hands. She was convinced mostly because her attempt to reopen the access door was met with solid opposition. Getting into the dungeon was not hard, getting out would most likely prove impossible.

  “Who’s there?” shouted a young voice from below. “I demand to know who’s there.”

  “Shhhh,” whispered a man from the far side of the darkness. “Hush, boy!” he demanded.

  Orla sat rigid at the bottom of the stone staircase, unable to move for fear. Well, I’ve done it now, she thought to herself. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to climb back up the grimy stone stairs and wait for the overhead door to open…to what she wasn’t sure…or if she should continue her descent into the threshold of hell. A hacking cough to her right interrupted her train of thought and she stood to survey her plight with her hands.

  Standing at the bottom of the stairs, she could feel a jagged stone wall to her left and also to her right. In front of her was an opening into what she assumed was a hollowed out cave. A dungeon.

  “Who’s down here?” she spoke into the abyss. The cavern grew eerily silent against the external backdrop of storms, and she stepped down further until she stood on the cavern floor. “I said, who’s down here?” The sound of metal chains scraping against the rocky walls pierced her ears and she became brave with her demands.

  “I demand to know who is down here, this instance!” she cried into the darkness.

  “Orla?” said a female voice directly in front of her. “Orla, what are ye doing here? Ye must leave child. Ye are in danger.”