“Ye’ll be fine, my dear, to be sure. Just let Cormac look at those burns, before ye go to ye’r bed, aye?”
The healer’s tent sat off to one edge of the fair. Larger than most, it was dark and cool inside, despite several braziers lit within. Ruari stood inside, having carried Éamonn with Ciaran’s help. Laying his unconscious brother gently on one of the tables, Ruari had a bleak expression. It worried Katie. She glanced at Turlough, whose brow was knitted in concern.
Lochlann lay there as well, conscious but quiet. His companion sat next to him, glaring at Ruari and Éamonn. Ciaran and Deirdre were nowhere to be seen.
“Ah, then, let me get to the young man here first. He looks the worst.” A fluttering little man, surely no taller than she, came in and fussed around Éamonn. After a couple of muttered oaths as he surveyed his patient, he glanced up at Ruari.
“Young man. I can be much more effective if you will move your enormous hulking self out of my way!”
Such a tiny man being so firm and demanding of the young giant gave Katie an uncontrollable fit of the giggles, momentarily forgetting her pain. This started her coughing again and made her skin burn worse until Turlough brought a cup to her mouth. She sipped the cool water gratefully.
Ruari stood with them but didn’t move his eyes from his brother. The healer, Cormac, fussed with several jars and salves lined up on one shelf of his tent. He bent over his bowl, mixing several ingredients. He sniffed it, tested it on his skin, and added another. Eventually, he came over to apply the concoction to Éamonn’s skin. Katie smelled eggs and butter. Was he treating burns or making an omelet?
More muttering came from the healer, as he worked his way down the arms and torso.
“You! Giant! I need you to flip this man over.”
Ruari grunted. With Turlough’s help, they got Éamonn turned on his stomach, and the healer continued with his ministrations. She heard a faint moan from the patient.
Lochlann’s companion grunted.
“Hurry up, healer! He’s not the only one who needs mending!”
The tiny healer stopped and glared at the man.
“One patient at a time, good man, one at a time. Your man will bide, I’m certain.” He bent again to his task.
“Donald, leave it. I’m fine for the moment.”
Lochlann’s voice sounded high and reedy, like the wind whistling through a lonely moor. It belied his thick chest and tall frame.
Eventually, Cormac finished his work on Éamonn, added bandages to the worst burns, and had Ruari flip him back over. More moans came from the blond man. Precious little of his hair remained unburnt by the fire.
Moving to Lochlann, Cormac began to check his wounds.
“Attend the young lady first, if you please. I’ll be fine for now, as you say.”
Giving Donald a long, smug look, the healer headed towards Katie.
He tsked-tsked at her burnt skirts and applied the eggy salve to her calves, cool and soothing. Her skin had burned, but not badly. A couple places were painful, and she winced when he touched them. At one point, she barely missed kicking his face.
“You’ve done the nerves no damage, then. That’s all to the good.”
She giggled again but managed to keep it from turning into a cough.
“You’ll be right as rain in a day or three, my dear. Now, to the young man.” He turned to Lochlann.
Katie turned to Turlough. “Will you let me know how he fares the night? I’ll come visit in the morning, if I may?” She nodded to Éamonn.
“Of course, lass.”
“Any idea why they fought?” She kept her voice low, to keep Donald and Lochlann from hearing.
“Sure, and it was the young lad there stepping on you in the dance. Ciaran threw the first punch, but Éamonn took up the banner, as it were. At least, that’s what Ciaran told me.”
“Ciaran? Where is he? When did he get the chance?” She must have missed some time.
“While you were trying to be the hero and pull Éamonn from the fire. You may not have succeeded, but I thank you for trying to save my bull-headed son, nevertheless.” He sketched a bow to her, and she blushed.
“I acted foolishly, I know. But I couldn’t just sit and wait for someone else to help.”
“It’s all to the good. You go along home, now. I’m certain your parents are worried sick for you.”
She snorted. “That’s how much you know. They’re both likely still dead to the world.”
Making her way back to the hut, she glimpsed Deirdre leaning into Ciaran’s shoulder, staring at the remnants of the fire. Well, didn’t that just beat all. She gets burned and bruised trying to help, and Deirdre gets the man. The night had been a total disaster. Why did she even bother trying?
* * *
“I brought you some cider.”
Katie stood by Éamonn’s cot, not sure what to do with the cup. He had lain down, and couldn’t drink it from such a position. Should she offer to help him sit up? His tanned face appeared drawn and pale.
He managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Katie. That’s kind of you. Can you place it on the table there? I don’t want to try to sit up just now.”
She placed the cup out of the way and fidgeted.
“Why did you—” Éamonn started.
“I hoped—” Katie said.
They both stopped. He smiled, taking her hand.
“Thank you for what you tried to do. Da told me of your brave act and you such a wee thing.”
“It was stupid, is what it was. There was little I could do, after all.”
“Ah, but you tried. A more gallant champion no man could ask for.” His grin lit up his face, and his blue-green eyes shone. She fell into those eyes.
Obviously, Ciaran wasn’t the only one in the family with a romantic streak. Her face grew warm.
“Did Cormac say how long you’d be off your feet?”
“I won’t be dancing for at least a day or two if you are asking.” The gleam returned to his eyes. It made her laugh, and they lost some of their caution.
Turlough came in then but turned to leave when he saw Katie.
Katie looked up. “No, Turlough, come sit with us.”
Reluctant, he pulled up a stool. “Are ye feeling well, dear one? Are your burns healing?”
“Not so much yet. They itch horribly, but Cormac provided me more salve.”
“Burns? Da, you didn’t tell me she’d been hurt!” Éamonn struggled to get up, but his father pressed him down to the cot.
“It’s nothing, really, Éamonn. Minor burns is all. My skirts got crispy.”
Éamonn frowned, but without being allowed to examine the wounds himself, he had to take their word. He glared at his father before relenting. Katie changed the subject.
“Turlough, what is the name of the last tune you were playing, before the fight started?”
He thought for a moment. “The last one… ‘twas ‘Sí Bheag, Sí Mhor’. O’Carolan’s first composition, so the tale goes.”
“I enjoyed it very much. So light and airy.” She tried to remember the tune to hum it, but it went out of her head. She only remembered how much she had enjoyed it.
“There’s a legend about the tune, so they say. You see, O’Carolan had spent the night out on the road when a storm came through. He found no shelter but one of the ancient stone dolmens out on the open moor. He sat shivering under the three stones while the storm whipped and twisted around him. He drifted off to sleep while it raged.” Turlough’s voice turned soft and gentle.
Katie gasped. To fall asleep near the Fae stones courted disaster.
“He awoke in a place he’d never seen, with no sun and no moon. The sky was neither light nor dark, but the trees glowed with their own light. Mist drifted everywhere, and muffled music filled the air.”
“The Otherworld?”
Turlough nodded. “The land of the Fair Folk, the Fae. He knew, from other tales and legends, it was right dangerous to be a mortal in the Otherworld.
Many never made it back alive. Others came back hundreds of years later, only to turn to dust, like Oisín. And others came back with horrible disfigurements, like a clubbed foot, blind, or deaf.”
“Did… is that how he went blind?”
Turlough nodded. “Indeed, so the story goes. But the Fae did not simply take his eyes for spite. In return, they bestowed their music upon him, the very music he heard among the trees. It is said he then wrote dozens, hundreds of tunes. And those tunes he heard from the Fair Folk themselves.”
Katie gulped. She would never be happy with such an exchange. To never gaze upon another sunrise across a glittering sea? Or the sweet smile of a young man?
“How did he make it back?”
“No one is certain. Some say he simply went to sleep again and woke under the dolmen. Others claim he entertained the Fae Queen at her Court, and the Fae music became his reward for his entertainment. Others say he never returned at all, but a changeling replaced him.” His face faded as if remembering a long-ago dream.
“And you are named after him?”
Turlough nodded.
Éamonn jumped in, “O’Carolan’s his father.”
She snapped her head back to the patient, lying in his cot. She had forgotten the presence of the burned man. “His father? Truly?”
Turlough shook his head. “Maybe, maybe. I’ll never know. He was friends with my mother, though, and it is said I’ve some of his talent. Perhaps my name simply became homage for a dear friend—or perhaps not. She didn’t marry until I was three, to Peadar Doherty. My mother would never say, and she passed on long ago, before O’Carolan married his own wife, to be sure. He turned fifty before he married.” He appeared wistful.
Katie had never met anyone famous before. Or at least, the son of someone famous. She became unaccountably shy.
“I love the old tales, like the one you told last night, Turlough. Do you know many?”
“Katie, my Da knows all the tales in Ireland. He’ll talk your ear off if you give him the chance. And mine, too, so don’t do it here! I can’t escape.”
She had to laugh. “Now, surely you’ve learned some as well?”
He grinned. “I have indeed—by force! I do like the battle tales, truth be told.”
“Of course they are. Men love the fighting, as you proved last night.” She glowered at him, but couldn’t hold the frown. “My favorites are the ones with magic. Like the boat which would hold as many people as needed, but looked just like a curragh.”
Turlough said, “That would be Lugh’s boat, Wave Sweeper, young lady.”
She grinned. “That’s the one!”
Turlough studied her for a moment. “My mother, she was an O’Malley like you, young lady. Perhaps a distant relation, even?”
“Oh? What was her name?”
“Maeve O’Malley she was. From County Clare. Somewhere in the north, across the bay from Galway.”
Katie shook her head. “I don’t know of any family in that area, I don’t think. Most of us are Travelers, though.”
“She was settled folk—her husband, Peadar, had been the Traveler. Ah, well. It would have been a nice coincidence.” Katie noticed he didn’t call Peadar his father.
A glance outside showed the sun setting. “I should get going back home. My mother is sure to miss me soon.”
Éamonn didn’t let her leave yet. He took her hand in his. His grip grew stronger now. “Thank you again, Mistress Katie. I am indebted to you, truly.”
She blushed. What had made her so prone to blushing lately? She nodded to Turlough as well and rushed out.
* * *
“That one is a handful, so she is.” Turlough had a half-smile on his face as he watched the short redhead escape from the healer’s tent.
“She is at that. I wouldn’t mind trying to tame her, either.” The girl entranced Éamonn. She became hot and cold in turns, like his gut when he talked to her. He tried to sit up to take a sip of the cider, but that jostled his burned skin. He moaned with the ache of it.
His father leveled a look at him. “Don’t trifle with that one, son. She’s an all-or-nothing sort. You either marry her or forget her, mark my words.”
“Sure, and tell it to Ciaran. He’s the one who’s kissed her. I kissed her sister, Deirdre. Of course, Ciaran got her, too.” Éamonn couldn’t keep a note of jealousy out of his voice.
“Ciaran wouldn’t be strong enough to handle Katie. She’s too much spirit for that sort.”
Éamonn snorted but didn’t argue. It rarely did to argue with his Da. His father might be the true son of the Last Bard, and may even be Fae-touched himself, but it didn’t mean he acted irrationally. He stood firm on his opinions.
“Éamonn, I wanted to ask you—have you been into my music bag at all yesterday? Or Ruari?”
“Music bag? You know I don’t touch that, Da. Not since the last time.”
Éamonn had been but twelve, and poking around his father’s things. He saw the bag Da kept his music in. Da didn’t write everything down, but sometimes he did. He kept careful note of anything thought to be composed by O’Carolan. It may have been sentimentality or an appreciation of the music. Éamonn had no idea.
One day Éamonn had reached out with his hand and lifted the flap of the soft, worn leather bag. He’d gotten a shock, like a spark on a dry day from stroking animal fur, but much stronger. Strong enough to knock him back a couple feet. He’d never touched the bag again.
“Do you think Ciaran might have gotten hold of it?”
Turlough shook his head, “I don’t know. But some of the papers are missing.”
“Which ones?”
“Some of O’Carolan’s. Not one of the tunes I know by heart, either, not yet. It’s… well, the music is precious to me. See if you can ask around, aye? See if someone might have heard something?”
“From a hospital bed? I’ll not be much use here, Da.”
“Well, I can’t ask Ruari, can I? He’s not got the wit to ferret out such things. And Ciaran—”
“Hmmm. Ciaran. Do you think he would have? Why?”
“I don’t know, son. Truly, I don’t. Perhaps he imagined someone would trade for them. Maybe he simply wanted it for himself, though God knows why. The man can’t play an instrument to save his life. Just see what you can find, aye?”
“I’ll do what I can, Da. Cormac said I should be up and about in a day or two.”
“That’s grand, then. I’ll send Ruari in with dinner for you later, so.”
“Will you be all right with the booth, Da? Ruari isn’t the best trader—”
“We’ll be fine. Ciaran is good with a dicker if nothing else. And his leatherwork is fine.” With a pat on Éamonn’s shoulder—one of the few parts with no burns—Turlough lifted himself with effort.
“And do be careful with the girls?” He walked out of the tent after a long stretch of the back.
Chapter Three
Éamonn had planned the day carefully, determined to spirit the fair Katie away for private time. He had a favorite spot by the river where he had wooed many a young lady over the years. He packed his basket with fruit and bread and a soft blanket to lie upon.
When he found her, though, he saw her sitting on a fence, already deep in conversation with someone else—his cousin, Ciaran.
With poor grace, he joined the couple, trying to jump into the conversation. She glared at him but then ignored him. Ciaran came to his rescue.
“That bread smells good, Éamonn. Care to share with the rest of us?”
Scowling, he pulled out a wheat loaf and broke it into thirds.
“I hoped to lure Mistress Katie away for a walk along the river?” He hooked his arm out in invitation.
Katie glared at him. “Are you so sure of yourself, then? That you can just sweep me off my feet?”
“Uh, well…”
“I’m not a prize to be won, nor am I one to be led all innocent to a life of sin, Éamonn Doherty. You had best keep it in mind.” Turn
ing to his cousin, she smiled sweetly. “Ciaran, would you do me the kind honor of escorting me home?”
With a satisfied grin, Ciaran hopped off the fence and offered his own arm. She took it, and they marched off.
Well, this might be more difficult than he’d thought. But it would be worth it.
The next day he cornered her while she hung laundry. She dripped with sweat and soap, and her hair frizzled, escaping her kerchief and framing her face in a russet glow. She was delightful.
When she saw him, she stood with her arms crossed. “Are you just going to stand there gawping, or will you help?”
With a chuckle, he helped her hang a skirt.
“Does my help mean I can entice you with lunch afterward?”
“If we get done in enough time, perhaps.”
“And what if I just—” He splashed some of the rinse water on her. Her skirts were already well-soaked, but her color rose. He ached to touch the heat of her skin.
“If you keep playing like that, the answer will always be no.”
“Yes, Mistress Katie.” He complied with mock submission but grinned. She smiled as well, though she tried to hide it.
With the laundry finished, she hesitated. “I really should get back home. My father…”
“Your father won’t miss you yet. I’ll get you back in good time.”
Still, she hesitated. He lifted her chin and saw fear in her eyes.
“Hey, now. There’s naught to be afraid of. I’ll never hurt you, Katie. I promise you thus.”
“No, it’s not you… I just need to be careful of angering Da. He’s… he’s got a fearful temper.”
Now he understood. He fought the urge to spirit her away immediately, but he daren’t.
“Would an hour be all right? Would you be… safe?” He spoke gently. She blinked several times before she answered.
“It should be. I… yes, let’s go. Let’s go now!” She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him towards the river.
Laughing, he grabbed his basket.
He shared the fruit and cheese, and they laughed and talked by the riverside. They didn’t speak of anything in particular, just the sound of the river, or the flowers growing by the tree. They chatted simply, with no guile or tension.
Legacy of Luck (Druid's Brooch Series 3) Page 3