Celtic Shores, Book 2 in the Celtic Steel Series

by Delaney Rhodes

  TWENTY-THREE

  Burke Lands — the Shore

  Orla stepped carefully and deliberately through the shallow, rocky waters of the shoreline, headed towards the wafting smoke rising from between two large rocks. Nearly certain it was their cave, Orla prayed that Shanleigh would be calm enough to permit her entry without attacking. Shanleigh was not what you would call a brave girl. More princess than pirate; she was coolly adept at manipulating the lads, and accustomed to getting what she wanted, with little to no effort. It was a toss-up as to whether she would make it through the coming days. But she would, if Orla had anything to do with it.

  Scraping her knee on a flat, jutting rock, Orla cursed silently to herself before continuing her perilous scramble. It was nearly daybreak and she must find cover for herself and the group she had rescued from the dungeon. What they would do after that, she wasn’t sure, shelter was her first priority. A clearing between two large rocks confirmed the entry to the cave. Picking up some loose floating coral, she tossed it into the mouth of the cave, ten counts between, just as she and Shanleigh had always done.

  Two snaps of her fingers later and a light shone brightly as it grew closer to the mouth of the cave; and Shanleigh appeared, frightened and cold, but alive nonetheless. “Orla, where have ye been? What took ye so long?” she cried into the dark. “Get inside here. Mayhap you were followed?”

  “Shanleigh wait! Wait,” she called after her friend, who was already halfway down into the belly of cave again. “Did ye start a fire?”

  “Aye, there is a fire in the very back. I have the baskets of food and the worn coverlets we brought before. We will be safe for what remains of the eve. That is until me da comes looking for us,” she frowned.

  “Shanleigh, I brought others with me. Hand me the lanthorn, I will signal to them and help them back,” replied Orla.

  “Others? What others?”

  “From the dungeons. I released the prisoners. We killed Rufus and ran for our lives.”

  “Orla, what have ye done? Those were yer mam’s prisoners no doubt. She will be sore at ye for sure.”

  “I’ll not worry about that now. She has some explaining to do herself.”

  ***

  Patrick unbarred the chamber door and peeked around the edge, holding a small drying towel about his waist with his left hand and a dagger in his right. “R-Ruarc,” he whispered, perching the door open with his right foot, “is th-that y-ye?” he asked.

  Four shades of red, and nearly out of breath from climbing five flights of stairs, Ruarc barreled into view and nodded, bowing humbly before the half-naked clan leader. Patrick let the door swing closed quietly behind him and stood in the hallway, looking down at Ruarc in shock. “R-Ruarc?” he said.

  “Aye, me Lord, I hate to bother you at this… uh… late hour,” he continued, “but there is a matter requiring yer immediate…uh…attention,” he finished, trying not look at Patrick directly.

  “W-well?” asked Patrick, “g-go on pl-please,” he said. as he straightened the drying cloth over his waist.

  “Patrick, Braeden has been taken and I thought ye should know. Kyra is preparing to ride with me brathair, Rory, to search for him. and I wanted to make ye aware of the happenings.”

  “Have M-Moya ready me h-horse as w-well,” replied Patrick. Ruarc gave him a concerned and confused glance before Patrick could clarify.

  “I r-ride with them, mon,” Patrick nodded. indicating there would be no further discussion. “J-just l-let me tell m-me wife,” he added solemnly.

  After barring the door, Patrick began to dress right away. Darina raised her sleepy head from the back of the tub. and listened to the rustling activity from the other side of the screen. She heard Patrick speaking with someone in hushed tones and couldn’t begin to imagine what would warrant an interruption at this time of night. Or was it morning already?

  Darina, are ye awake. luv? he asked with his mind.

  “Aye,” she replied audibly, rising from the tub to wrap herself in a plush robe hung near the hearth. “Patrick, what was that about?” she asked as she exited the privacy screen and tub area. Obviously startled to see him dressed and donning his chain, she covered her mouth and silenced an audible gasp.

  She caught his eyes and read intensity and fear in their depths. Unable to read his thoughts, she reached to touch his cheek and smiled warmly at him. “Patrick, where are ye going?”

  He sighed and responded. Ruarc came to our chambers in haste. He requires my assistance in retrieving…uh…something, and I must go. I will return soon. Do no’ worry, luv, he reassured her. He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, embraced her gently and walked out the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  MacCahan Territory

  Parkin was still awake when the sun shone through the arrow-slit window in his chamber at MacCahan castle, casting a foreboding light on the chests piled shoulder high atop one another in the corner of the room. His life was either ending today or beginning today. Of which, he wasn’t sure; he just knew that major change and trial were coming, and he would never be the same. Never. Ever.

  Winnie wriggled beside him and slapped a slobbery, sucked thumb at him before rolling onto her side and grabbing him on both sides of his face with her chubby toddler hands. “Da! Da!” she exclaimed as she sat upright on the bed.

  A pungent odor battered his nose, and he leaped out of bed. “Ye wet the bed again,” he said. Winnie giggled and rolled about in the wet linens, pulling at her toes. Parkin raced to the doorway and called down the hallway for Lois, their chambermaid.

  Macklin left the straw mat pallet on the floor beside the bed and lifted Winnie down by her armpits. “Watch me,” he told Parkin, “this is no’ hard,” he added, rolling his eyes at Parkin. Before Parkin could find his own plaid, Macklin managed to undress her, wash her in the soapy basin water atop the trestle table, dry her and re-dress her clean and fresh smelling—packing her rabbit-skinned over-drawers with strips of clean linen cloth. “Did ye see what I did?” he asked.

  Parkin nodded his head just as the chambermaid arrived. “The bed linens are soiled,” Macklin said, “as are these drawers,” he added, handing her a rolled-up ball of urine-soaked linen strips and rabbit skin mini-truis. “I told ye, if ye would but lay the sheepskin run on her side of the bed, smooth side up, ye could avoid the wet linens,” he added under his breath. Parkin nodded again and took Winnie from Macklin.

  “I’m trying,” he said apologetically to Macklin. “I promise, I am trying.”

  ***

  Cordal rose first, inching his way from the back of the hidden cave towards the sun-filled opening. Quiet as a mouse, he tiptoed past the row of slumbering bodies, and realized too late just how weak he was. Too long since he saw the sun, he was determined to feel the sand on his feet, and the salt air on his face. Stopping to lean against the cave walls, he caught his breath and persevered to keep moving forward, pressing toward the sun like a starved plant.

  “Where are ye going?” whispered Braeden, grabbing Cordal about the ankle.

  “Shh,” he replied and placed a finger over his mouth. “Come with me boy,” he said. “I need a bath.”

  “That ye do,” Braeden replied, holding his nose in jest. Grabbing his dagger, Braeden rose to join Cordal. Sure they were alone on the shore, they both dove head first into the waves and swam until they could no longer touch bottom.

  Cordal scrubbed at his beard and twisted the salt water from his hair, paddling with his arms. “Lemme’ have that dagger, if ye will?” he gestured towards Braeden.

  “Ye won’t lose it?”

  “Nay, I promise, I won’t lose it,” he said.

  Braeden swam near to Cordal and handed him the dagger. Cautious as ever, he watched carefully to make sure Cordal didn’t lose his grip on the handle. “I say, what do ye intend to…”

  Before Braeden could speak another word; Cordal sliced his unusually long beard off at the chin and cut his long hair to his shoulders
. Dipping his head back in the water, he placed the dagger in his teeth and then dove deep underwater to swim for shore.

  Braeden took off in a flash, swimming as fast as his arms would take him; watching the shadows on the beach dance as the sun continued to rise from behind them. Thinking it a race, Braeden made it first to shore, but sat astonished when he realized Cordal was not there. He walked up and down the small area of sandy beach where they entered the water, and no Cordal.

  Fearing what may have occurred; Braeden waded out several feet into the crashing waves, frantically searching for any sign of the man. From out of nowhere, Cordal rose from the crashing waters, dagger in mouth…and the biggest fish Braeden had ever seen squirming against his grip.

  “Hungry?” he called to Braeden.

  “Starving,” said Braeden, smiling. “Let’s eat.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  O’Malley Territory — Five Nights Later

  “Galen, are ye able to keep up?” asked Lucian from his seated position at the triangular council table.

  “Aye,” responded Galen from the back of the room. “I think so.”

  Lucian continued, and Galen scribbled frantically on the parchment laid out in front of him on the makeshift scribe’s table, “In Rory’s absence, his wife, Atilde attends in his stead.”

  “Now, what are we to do about the bodies washed on shore and the debris that has floated up to the piers?” asked Ruarc. “I fear another slave ship has met its doom at sea, or worse yet, has crashed at one of the outlying islands past the Isle. Should we send a search vessel?”

  Atilde spoke up, “I think with the situation at hand, with Patrick gone and Rory and Kyra away, we should keep to the mainland until we are sure what we are dealing with.”

  “I agree,” added Gemma.

  “I agree,” added Murchadh.

  “Then it is done,” said Lucian. “Now for the matter of petty court. Dervilla advises that Darina refuses her duties since Patrick left?”

  “Aye,” Gemma said. “She wouldna leave her chamber the first two days and has only recently taken to walking around the castle grounds with that hound of hers. She doesn’t eat, and she barely sleeps.”

  “Perhaps she is already with child,” interjected Payton, Patrick’s younger brother, from the other side of the room, “and feeling poorly.”

  Ruarc muttered, “Doubtful,” under his breath and waved for Lucian to continue. Lucian stood and paced with his hands behind his back.

  “Gemma, are ye amenable to continuing petty court duties until we reach some other solution?” Lucian inquired.

  “Aye,” she responded.

  “So be it,” stated the others in unison, and Galen scurried to record it in the clan registry. Lucian waved his hand toward Ruarc, who stood to speak.

  “As ye know, Patrick joined Rory and Kyra five nights past to search for Braeden, who was taken by brigands in a boat just off the shore. Mavis escaped and sent word to Gemma, and she now resides in one of the newer minor cottages on the Isle. She has been given charge over Winnie, Parkin’s young daughter, until such time as other arrangements can be made. Parkin arrived here yestereve with the first MacCahan ship.”

  Payton interjected, “Arrangements still need to be made for Macklin’s care.”

  “Aye, it appears that Parkin has a young boy, a stepson, a foster now for Parkin—the half-brathair of his daughter, Winnie?” he half-asked, half-stated, in the direction of Payton, who nodded his agreement. “He has passed the age of twelve summers and is therefore unable to reside on the Isle.”

  “However,” interrupted Payton again.

  “However,” repeated Ruarc, agitation showing in his voice, “Atilde has agreed to set him up in a privy chamber on the third floor in the Inn. It will remain his permanent residence, used only by him from here on, and the rents for the room are to be paid by Parkin.”

  “And, Galen will act on his behalf betwixt he and Parkin; and remain a surrogate foster when Parkin is otherwise engaged, at sea, or simply unavailable,” added Lucian.

  “Until he reaches sixteen summers,” added Galen.

  “Until he reaches sixteen summers,” repeated Lucian nodding.

  The sound of barking outside the High Council chamber doors alerted the group. “Darina,” said Ruarc.

  “Aye,” replied the MacCahan guard who stood watch over the chamber. “Me lady wishes an audience with the Council this eve. She insists upon it.”

  “What is the nature of her request?” asked Atilde, clearly perturbed. “Can’t she see we are about clan business at this late hour?” The guard nodded, bowed, and left the chamber only to return a moment later.

  “Speak,” said Lucian.

  “She wishes to discuss the matter of an annulment.”

  “Bring her in,” rang her uncle Ruarc’s voice loud and clear through the chamber.

  Darina entered the chamber, head held high, her hound Fanai closely behind and lapping at her heels.

  “What is this nonsense ye speak of Darina?” Ruarc demanded angrily.

  “’Tis not nonsense, dear uncle, and ye ken what I am about. I bring before the High Council me petition for an annulment, and I mean to make it happen,” she responded sternly.

  “On what grounds do ye bring this petition?” asked Gemma confused.

  “On the grounds of abandonment, me lady,” she sighed, now looking at Gemma, “and I have proof enough. The MacCahan has been gone nigh to six eves and has not returned, and has not sent word. I wish to dispose meself of this farce of a marriage. He left me on our wedding night and he hasna returned.” Tears welled up in eyes that were met with sympathy.

  “Darina, to petition for abandonment, yer spouse must be gone more than two bliadains. Ye know this,” said Atilde.

  “Nay, there is another way,” she retorted hanging her head in embarrassment. Lucian gave her an empathetic knowing glance and rose to speak. “I should like to address the Council privately,” he said. “Forthwith,” he exclaimed raising his hands.

  Ruarc acknowledged his request, and sent the servants and soldiers out of the council room with a tilt of his head. Darina followed them to wait outside on the bench, and the heavy wooden doors were barred from the inside once again.

  She reclined on the wooden bench before realizing Fanai had not come out with her. The guards blocked her attempt to regain entry; all she could hope was that he wouldn’t cause too much of a fuss. She sat alone on the bench, clenching her fists in her lap, hoping her memories wouldn’t cause a flux of tears again.

  A tussle against the chamber doors and raised voices indicated things were getting a might testy inside. The guard who stood on the right of the chamber door excused himself to make entry, and the remaining guard raised his shoulders and tilted his head indicating he wasn’t sure what was going on. Darina sat up straight and leaned her ear to the door to listen. All she could make out was the muffled sounds of loud argument.

  Inside the chamber, things were indeed unruly. After hiding in the shadows, Payton resumed his seat next to Atilde, representing his brother the Laird who was not present. Patrick named Payton his Second-in-Command during his absence and the Council had no choice but to honor his request.

  “Payton, what have ye to say of yer brathair?” asked Ruarc staring angrily at him.

  “I don’t get yer meaning?” Payton replied, confused.

  Gemma spoke up, “Payton, the only alternative method for gaining an annulment for abandonment…” her words halted, and she faltered for a moment before looking to Lucian to continue.

  Payton sat forward in his chair laying his arms across the table and stared directly at Lucian who didn’t speak. “Well, Lucian, is somebody going to tell me what is going on here?” he asked.

  Lucian grunted and pulled at his beard. He stared at Gemma and spoke. “Payton, there are only two ways to obtain an annulment by abandonment.”

  “And?” asked Payton.

  “And the first is for the spouse to be miss
ing more than two bliadains; with no word or missives about their whereabouts, safety, life or death. This is essential in times of war and travel—life, and our clan, must go on.”

  Payton leaned back in his chair, nodded in response and made a circular motion with his right hand in the air for him to continue.

  “If one is missing two years Payton, with no word, they are presumed dead or having abandoned their clan. They are pronounced banished and their spouse is released from the bonds of the marriage,” interjected Gemma.

  “I ken,” said Payton. “But what has this to do with me brathair?”

  “There is another way,” said Ruarc, slightly embarrassed.

  “And what is that?” he retorted impatiently.

  Atilde interrupted and laid her hand on Payton’s forearm, “If the marriage is not consummated in ten night’s time, the bond can be annulled by petition of either party on the grounds of abandonment.”

  Payton choked and leaned forward in his chair. Ruarc rose to pace the chamber and Atilde grew red with embarrassment.

  “What have ye to say of yer brathair, Payton?” Ruarc asked angrily, pointing a worn right index finger at him.

  “What have I got to say about this?” he asked sarcastically. “I have nothing to say about this.”

  “Did ye know that Patrick was im-im-imp…oh by the gods…unable to perform the duties of a husband?” questioned Murchadh under his breath, toying with his goblet.

  “Patrick has no such issues to me knowledge and I don’t believe her,” he shouted, and stood pointing an arm right back at Ruarc. “I invoke me right to question her in my brathair’s stead.”

  The Council members gasped and chaos stole order from the room. Murchadh was pounding his fist on the table and Ruarc’s face turned three shades of purple from holding his breath—his temper threatening to get the better of him.