As Katie turned to head back, she considered. She should leave now. The horses and mule were more exhausted than she and were certainly fast asleep. They hadn’t made a peep when she’d emerged from her tent. Campbeltown wasn’t so far away, and only down the only road.
And then what? Donald and Lochlann would go there first thing. She had no other place to hide. Even if she managed to find a champion to protect her, he would surely return her to her lawfully wedded husband when Lochlann insisted. The few coins she had were never enough to secure a voyage back to Ireland, even if she had the courage to try such a harrowing journey again. Despair flooded her mind, and she sat on the ground with a thump. Her tailbone smarted from the impact. She yielded to sobbing despair.
Wiping her eyes and nose with her cloak edge, she stood again. If she couldn’t escape, she might at least search for an additive which might find its way into Donald’s stew and offer her relief from his brutal attentions.
Foraging in the half-moonlit night offered her a few slim options. There were nettles here and there, but while they were irritating to the skin, they were perfectly edible. Nettle soup had always been one of her favorite treats. She saw horse-chestnut, but there were no blooms yet, and even the leaves were only buds.
Katie wished Deirdre had come with her. Her sister knew plants well and would have been invaluable help. While Katie knew some, there were many trees and bushes she didn’t recognize, especially in the dim light. They could have been plants native to Scotland and not Ireland, or it was her own ignorance.
She spied a pale, yellow-green, leafy root in the bright moonlight. The bud of one flower sat on the end of the last fork. Thorn-apple? Maybe. Her sister used it in medicines, but Deirdre had told her once it seldom got used casually, as a fatal dose was too easy to mistake. She also remembered it had a bitter taste. That would do no good for a hidden additive.
A long cluster of purple flowers had pushed through their buds on a long spike rising from the bushes. Foxglove? Yes, that one she recognized, no mistake. The whole plant was poisonous, though also used as a medicine.
Did she wish to kill Donald? To kill a man… she paled at the idea. No, she couldn’t kill him. But she would at least make him ill.
She gathered the leaves but left the flower. They were too easily identifiable if Donald were to find them on her. She broke the leaves into pieces and secreted them in a larger leaf, placing it in her pocket. She’d have to find a better hiding place for it. She still had to find a way to add just a little to Donald’s food and not her own or Lochlann’s, but at least now she had a weapon.
On her way back, she gathered some chives as well.
Nothing had stirred in her absence, but she saw the faint lightening of the sky in the east. Dawn would be here soon. She didn’t want to chance sleeping, so she soaked their dried travel bars for a morning meal. She made three bowls. In Donald’s she sprinkled some of the foxglove, as a test. Not enough to make him too ill, surely, but it would get him used to the taste. By adding the fresh chives to all three bowls, the new taste was easily explained.
By the time the men were stirring, the meat and grain bars had soaked up the water and were soft and edible. She stirred each bowl, so the mixture was more like a thick, cold soup. She grabbed her own and kept an eye out for the first person to emerge.
Lochlann came first, and she handed him his bowl with a smile. He nodded thanks to her and dug in. It tasted horrible, like week-old shoe leather, but it was sustenance. Without fire, she couldn’t provide much else.
When Donald emerged from his tent, he acted grumpier than normal. He growled at his bowl, dirty from the night before Trying not to stare at him while he ate his breakfast, Katie kept her nose in her own bowl, eating tiny spoonfuls. Evidently, he noticed no difference because he finished his meal quickly and tossed the empty bowl toward her for washing.
Sighing with relief, she complied, taking Lochlann’s bowl from his hands when he finished.
“Thank ye, lass. Do you need help with your tent?”
“No, I’ll manage fine. But I thank you, Lochlann.”
As they left the clearing, Katie glanced back. One could tell someone had camped there, but there were few clues as to whom. Few clues except the strip of blue fabric from her wedding dress, tied in a knot around a bush on one edge of the clearing, out of view of Donald and Lochlann as they harnessed the horses. To Katie’s eyes, though, it glowed like a bright lighthouse on the moors, shining through the dreary mists. She hoped Éamonn would find it and remain on the right trail. If he still remained on the trail.
* * *
Éamonn remained convinced Ciaran had wasted his money on the blasted priest. Despite the clear skies, the crossing had been choppy and dangerous. The captain blathered on about cross-currents and such, but Éamonn paid him no mind. He had one goal that day. To get to Scotland.
He’d never been there. His father had visited Scotland several times on his wanderings. Éamonn tried to recall what Turlough had told him of the place, but his mind drew a complete blank. He wished he had the power of memory his father had. Turlough memorized a piece of music quickly and retained it for years. Had his father ever found the lost music?
The craft didn’t move fast enough for Éamonn. He sat at the prow, leaning against the railing as if by will alone he could shove the ship through the waves. Well, perhaps he could? He tried to use his mind to push the sails out faster, but if it did any good, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t have enough brute force in his power to do such a thing, even if it did work on boats.
He gazed at the horizon. A purple smudge was all he saw in the distance, his immediate goal. A new country, the land which held his prize.
His mind raced from images of Katie’s face to Lochlann’s smug smile. He saw the scene of their marriage ceremony too often. It came unbidden as he thought of other things, no matter how he tried to banish it from his memory. The sight of her red, unruly hair bound under the veil and giving vows to that man—
Ciaran and Deirdre were below deck. Evidently, she had grown sick and didn’t want to watch the waves. They weren’t so bad now. If the wind would only pick up again. He glanced at the sails, only half-filled. Damn the sea god and his fickle ways.
With bread tossed over into the sea to appease the sea god, he instantly regretted his offense. It wouldn’t do now to anger any sea god, not when he needed to rely on luck to complete his mission. Damn it all, he had started to sound like Ciaran.
Did the purple smudge get any closer? Surely it must be.
After an eternity, they arrived in port as the sun set.
“I’ll go ask if they’ve been through here, Ciaran. Here, find us a place to stay, will you?” As much as he wanted to get on the road immediately, going out in the dark in a strange place just asked for disaster. There were two roads out of town, one due north along the east coast of the peninsula, and one which crossed northwest, to go up the west coast. He had no idea which one they had taken.
Deirdre came with him, though she remained sullen. He asked a couple of the dock workers, but none remembered Katie’s group. Frustrated, he peered at the setting sun to gauge the time. In the red-gold sky, he saw a single stone, dark against the sky, on a hill north of town. A standing stone? That might help him settle his mind. They would get no further tonight at any rate.
“Deirdre, let’s go find Ciaran. I’ve got something I’d rather do alone.”
“Alone? What in the world are you on about?”
“Just a thing I need to do on my own, Deirdre. Don’t argue, there’s a lass.”
She pouted, but she followed him as he went to find his cousin.
Ciaran had secured rooms at an inn marginally better than the one they’d had the night before. At least it had a decent common room and a warm peat fire in the hearth.
“I’ll be back in an hour or so.” Éamonn went out the door before anyone asked questions.
He made his way along the darkening road and found the s
tone in the last bit of light. He climbed the low hill as the moon rose. Only a half moon, but it offered plenty of light to illuminate the countryside. Limned in silver, it showed modest farmsteads and stands of forest dotting the gentle slopes to the south, with harsher hills to the north. The two roads out of town were clear, as well. He was much too far behind to see his quarry, but he searched anyhow, somehow hopeful he would glimpse Katie from his vantage point.
With a sigh at his folly, he sat on the grass, his back to the standing stone. He closed his eyes and breathed in. Imagining a line of energy pulling from the earth and into his bones, he breathed deeply and then expelled slowly. Upon his breath out, the tensions of the day slid out of his muscles. He repeated this process several times until he was energetic and ready to rise.
When he opened his eyes, he yelped and jerked back. He cracked his head on the stone and saw a flash.
Rubbing the back of his skull, he glanced up.
“Deirdre, what the devil are you doing here? I said I needed to be alone!”
“Yes, and if all you want to do is sit there snuffling like a pig, you could do that anywhere! What are you really doing here?”
“Just getting peace and quiet, woman! I needed to get away and think.” He struggled to get up from his sitting position, but she sat on his outstretched legs.
“What are you up to, Deirdre?”
“I can make you feel relaxed, Éamonn.” She kneaded the muscles of his thighs. Her eyes glittered in the moonlight and her hair brushed his arms. He closed his eyes and prayed for strength.
“Deirdre, please, you mustn’t do that.” If he moved, she would be unceremoniously dumped on the ground. But he had to. If she kept doing that, his resistance—
Her hands moved up. They were warm and soft.
Éamonn put his hands on hers, stopping their progress.
“Deirdre, please.” He couldn’t articulate what he asked for. She must have misunderstood him, for she smiled and leaned forward to kiss him.
Her lips were incredibly soft. He didn’t remember them being this soft. Her breath smelled sweet and warm, and her breasts were pressing—
“No! Deirdre, I can’t!” He tried to push her away gently, and then with more force. She was surprisingly strong. He couldn’t get control with her still sitting on his legs.
“Does your head hurt, Éamonn? Here, a kiss will make it better.” She shifted, so she straddled him, on her knees. She moved forward, so her breasts were practically in his face as she stroked his hair. She kissed the top of his head and stayed there. He froze in panic and desire.
His body reacted to her proximity, despite his reluctance. He put his arms around her and held her close. She was so warm and—
Finally, he pushed her off. She fell with a muffled curse, and he rose.
“Éamonn! Why did you do that? I’ve bruised my hip.” She rubbed the injured part of her body in seductive invitation and opened her legs. He tore his eyes from her.
“I’ve got to get back, Deirdre. Come, I’ll help you up.” He reached his hand out, and she placed hers in his. She didn’t try to get up herself, though. With a sigh, he reached down and lifted her by the waist. She melted in his arms and pressed her entire body against his. He fought his desire once again and pushed her firmly away.
“What the hell is the matter with you, Éamonn Doherty? I was good enough for you before. Have I turned into an ugly witch in the meantime?” Her fury matched her sister’s. His confusion must have shown on his face.
“Come on, Éamonn. I’m here. There’s no need to chase faery dreams when you have a warm, willing woman already in your arms, is there?” She melted into his arms again. It disturbed him how easily she shifted from hellcat to seductress.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to find Ciaran staring at them. He shoved Deirdre away again.
“Deirdre, I’ve told you before. I’m in love with your sister. Can’t you get it through your thick head?” He need have no guilt now about stomping off and leaving her to her own devices. Ciaran would take her safely to the inn.
He heard Ciaran mumble words of comfort to her as he made his way down the hill. She snapped at his cousin and then sobbed.
He thanked all that was holy he had gotten off the hill before she cried. A crying woman was a powerful, confusing thing.
He berated himself for being so tempted by her. She was no good for him. Let Ciaran comfort her. He remained far better suited to the girl than Éamonn would ever be.
He didn’t go back to the inn right away, so he walked along the docks. After a couple random inquiries, he finally found a worker who remembered the MacCrimmons’ party. He had helped unload the Traveler wagons. They went along the northwest road the evening before. That meant they were a full day behind.
Staring out at the water in the bay, he saw the silver glittering on the now calm water. The bits of white light reminded him of the dancing faery lights in the standing stones in Ireland. Did the ocean have Fair Folk as well, skipping across the wavelets? He fancied he heard a giggle in the distance, but only heard the murmuring of the water against the pier.
At first dawn, they were on the road. With modest mountains to the north and gentle farmland to the south, the road wound up to the west coast, and along the white beaches. Deirdre wanted to stop to play in the water, but Éamonn crushed the idea. They must catch up the time they had lost waiting on the storm.
They made good time and came close to Tarbert by the time the sun set. Forty miles in one day, a good distance. As they approached Tarbert, though, a group of four English soldiers came out of the town.
Only a few Travelers Éamonn knew of would cheat a man willingly, and those few were usually shunned by their own tribes as well as the settled people. But this truth didn’t matter to the English.
They had nowhere to go to avoid the notice of the soldiers. Perhaps they would pass and leave them be.
He hoped in vain.
“Here, what’s this? Where are you off to, then?” The first soldier reined his horse in. His manner wasn’t hostile, but wary.
“We’re on a journey to visit some kin. They live on the Isle of Skye.”
An easy enough tale. Mostly true, nothing to verify, far enough away they wouldn’t be tempted to ‘offer escort.’ Travelling around a country wasn’t illegal, after all. People did it all the time.
“Skye, is it? And you’re Irish from the sound of it. You’re a far way from home.”
Éamonn shrugged and offered no answer.
“Just the three of you, is it?”
“Yes, me and my cousins. Grandmother is dying, you see. We’re traveling to see her before she passes on.” That made their mission urgent, so they could get going soon.
The officer clicked his tongue a few times, staring at him. Then he glanced past him and whistled.
“Now there’s a nice piece if I do say so. Higgins, go and help the lass from her mount, will you? I’d like a proper look at the girl.”
Éamonn wanted to resist. He wanted to tell everyone to gallop off, away from the soldiers, but it would be in vain. He tensed and peeked at Deirdre.
She didn’t dismount.
Come on, Deirdre. Please, don’t antagonize them. Éamonn didn’t know what the soldiers were planning on doing, but Deirdre was under his protection. Besides, it would result in a delay he couldn’t afford.
Ciaran dismounted instead. Two of the soldiers had also dismounted.
“He didn’t ask to see a proper look at you, you dirty turf sucker. Move aside so he can see the girl.”
Éamonn pushed on the main soldier. “Surely you’re not interested in a scruffy Irish lass, now, gentlemen.” His head already ached from the effort.
“Well, she’s no queen, that’s certain!” The man already got ready to mount his horse, but his companion objected.
“She’s pretty enough for me!”
Éamonn pushed at that one. Could he affect more than one person at a tim
e? He tried to broaden his effect. It made him want to vomit.
Still, the soldier came towards Deirdre’s horse. She stood stock still, eyeing the man as if he were a bug.
Éamonn did it again, harder, and the soldiers glanced at each other, confused.
What’s the point if all he could do was delay? A wave of nausea hit Éamonn, and he struggled to keep from doubling over.
Ciaran didn’t move. With a sigh, Éamonn dismounted with difficulty. By then, the other soldiers had dismounted and stood beside their companions.
Everyone stood still for several minutes. Éamonn easily topped the tallest of the group, but one of the soldiers was almost as massive as Ruari. It wouldn’t be a long fight, four against two.
“Stand your ground, but don’t start anything, Ciaran.” Éamonn whispered. Deirdre’s skirts rustled behind him. He itched to reach for his knife, strapped to his side under his coat. But to grab it would be folly. While the fight remained only punches, they stood a chance.
The first soldier came up to Éamonn, chest to chest. He stood a good six inches shorter but made up for it in attitude.
“Stand aside, Mick.”
“I’ll not. I have the charge of my cousin’s protection.”
“I command you to stand aside.”
Éamonn knew anything he said would earn him a blow. He tried another tack.
“We mean no trouble. We’re just peaceful folk traveling to our grandmother’s.”
He put all the power he had into the simple words, imagining waves of calm and peace pushing over the soldiers. Their faces relaxed, and one of them smiled. Éamonn breathed a little easier. He saw calm blue pools of water around them all, beatific and serene.
As absorbed as he was with his ministrations, he didn’t know what started the fracas. Ciaran and the second soldier grappled, and the two others were egging them on. With a huge sigh, Éamonn put all his strength and height into his fist as he punched his own opposite number.
Legacy of Luck (Druid's Brooch Series 3) Page 16