To the Waters and the Wild

by S C McGrath

  Deirdre’s eyes twinkled as she thanked Déaglán with a politeness equaling his own, then turned to Liam. “Has Conall always insisted on playing despite your protests?”

  “When Eirnín was alive, he always played the drum. Eirnín was a grand musician, playing both the pipes and drum brilliantly. He also had a handsome singing voice, though not as fine as young Brian’s here.”

  Brian sat rigidly upright, staring at the glowing embers in the fireplace.

  “Was not it magic when the two of you sang?” Liam asked. “Eirnín with his deep baritone, and you with your tenor?”

  “Yes,” agreed Brian rather stiffly, “those are some of my fondest memories, singing with Eirnín.” Then, seemingly stirred by his reminiscences, Brian added, “Eirnín was a grand teacher, showing me how to use and train my voice, treating it as a fine instrument. I know I would never have developed my range or power without his careful guidance.”

  “I am sure Eirnín was very proud of you,” responded Deirdre warmly. With that, Deirdre stood abruptly. “And now I must start back to Nuala’s cottage. I thank you, Saraid, for a most enchanting evening.”

  “Do not be silly,” responded Saraid. “You will stay here tonight. It is far too late, and too dangerous, for you to travel to Nuala’s alone.”

  Roused from her reverie, Keelin agreed with her mother. “Yes, please stay, Deirdre. You can accompany me on my patient rounds tomorrow morning.”

  “I would love to stay, but I have much to do tomorrow morning. I really must travel back tonight.” Deirdre gave Keelin a slight smile.

  “Déaglán,” said Saraid, “please ease my mind and escort Deirdre home. You can take the cart and Liam’s gelding. Bran knows the way to Nuala’s well and will get you there and back easily.”

  “Yes, Bran should take you safely to Nuala’s,” said Keelin. “However, I had Bran out all day today making my patient rounds, and it would be unfair to ask him to make the return journey tonight. Why not stay in Nuala’s apothecary tonight, Déaglán? She often has guests sleep there when they visit. There is a shed behind the cottage where you can bed down Bran for the night.”

  Liam, looking affronted, was about to speak when Saraid concurred. “That is an excellent plan, Keelin. Deirdre, don’t protest, I know that Déaglán would be only too happy to escort you home and stay the night.”

  Déaglán glanced resignedly at his sister and, with only the slightest hesitation, turned to Deirdre. “I would be honored to see you safely home, Deirdre.”

  Deirdre smiled at Déaglán and then shot Keelin a mischievous glance, exchanging what could only be conspiratorial delight. Déaglán was about to protest, sensing he had been reined in and hobbled by these two young witches, when Keelin jumped to her feet and, carefully avoiding Brian’s eyes, made for the door. “I will go hitch Bran to the cart and tell him that he is to take you both to Nuala’s.”

  After Déaglán and Deirdre had left the cottage, Liam was no longer able to contain his irritation. “Keelin unjustly maligned my fine Bran. She knows very well that he is indefatigable and could pull that cart from sunrise to sunset with ease.” After voicing his umbrage, Liam grew even more incensed. “I will set Keelin straight on Bran this instant!”

  Saraid put her hand soothingly on Liam’s shoulder, restraining him. “Keelin is well aware of Bran’s stamina and meant him no offense. Her real concern lies with Déaglán, knowing that he has grieved for Maeve long enough. Now help Brian move the table and chairs back into place.”

  Liam swore to himself that he would never understand the illogical thoughts of women. Shaking his head, he dutifully helped Brian move the furniture.

  

  CHAPTER nineteen

  

  éaglán and Deirdre sat next to each other in the cart, neither speaking as Bran trotted briskly out of the farm yard and down the track that led to the village road. The night was clear and the moon nearly full, making the two lanterns, each affixed to the leading corners of the cart, almost unnecessary. Unfamiliar with the narrow track to Nuala’s, Déaglán had lit them before leaving, even though Keelin assured him that Bran could find his way.

  “You need not waste the precious oil. Bran will take you safely to Nuala’s,” she had said, gently stroking Bran’s sleek neck.

  The silence between Déaglán and Deirdre lengthened, with only Bran’s hooves adding a muted, two-beat cadence to the night sounds. Déaglán, his senses heightened and his guard up, felt tense. In contrast, Deirdre seemed content to sit quietly, as composed and poised as ever. Déaglán knew he must break the silence first, if only to distract himself from the inevitable thoughts and feelings that her closeness evoked. Although Deirdre sat demurely on her side of the seat away from him, she was still tantalizingly near. Déaglán was acutely aware of her slightest movement, once venturing a glance at her lovely profile, her skin like porcelain in the moonlight. Occasionally, the night breeze caught and gently lifted wispy tendrils of her hair, the faint scent of roses drifting through the air.

  “So, I have orders from Fearghus to tell you all I know of Domitian and Agricola,” said Déaglán. “You, in turn, will keep me apprised of Agricola’s preparations throughout the winter and spring. Somehow, I must relay the particulars of your spying to the chieftains without arousing suspicions as to my omniscience. I must say, I am beginning to wonder why I have risked life and limb all these years when you can so easily acquire what was so hard won for me.”

  “You are indeed brave,” said Deirdre, “though I suspect your spying is not prompted solely from an altruistic desire to help Eire.”

  Déaglán sensed rather than saw Deirdre’s smile, and it irked him somewhat that she should know him so well. He spied because he loved the challenge and relished the deadly game of nerve and wit, never sure when the axe might fall. “Perhaps,” he said. “I nevertheless wonder why The Dagda will only now help protect Eire and spy on Agricola. The powers to do so have always been there.”

  “Only now is the threat dire enough to warrant the risk,” Deirdre replied.

  Déaglán raised his brow. “Do not be deceived into believing that none suspect the powers of The Dagda.”

  “I am not, but suspicions are just that. So we will continue to protect our secrets, even from prying, though loyal, spies such as yourself.”

  As Deirdre spoke, Bran slowed and turned off the village road, heading north on a track that appeared to be little more than a cow path. Déaglán took a firm grip on the reins and checked Bran. “So much for Bran knowing his way to Nuala’s. Instead, I believe he intends to graze in this pasture.”

  “But this is the way to Nuala’s,” Deirdre countered, “though a rather bumpy shortcut. Keelin always uses this route and I have become accustomed to it, even though it rattles my teeth somewhat.” Deirdre took hold of the seat’s railing with her right hand, anticipating the inevitable jostling of the next mile or so.

  “I should have believed my strange little niece,” said Déaglán as he softened his hold on Bran, letting the gelding resume his purposeful trot. “Keelin is a wild lass, probably more in commune with animals than people.”

  Déaglán had always had an appreciative affection for Keelin, seeing something of himself in her. Whenever he visited over the years, she was invariably covered with scrapes and bruises, the result of falling off her horse or out of a tree, always trying to keep up with her bigger, older cousins.

  “Keelin has great empathy for all living creatures, man and animal alike. You forget that she is a gifted healer,” said Deirdre.

  “Nevertheless, she possesses an untamed spirit. I have no doubt she finds her small island home of Eire a gilded cage.”

  “Are you speaking of Keelin or of yourself?”

  Déaglán laughed. “Both of us, though I suspect Keelin is far more impulsive than I have ever been. I cannot imagine her as a priestess of The Dagda, shackled by its laws and formalities.”

  “Keelin does take frightful risks, courting danger with
alarming frequency,” said Deirdre, ignoring his reference to The Dagda. She then related their sighting of Bronach, Eirnín’s falcon, and Keelin’s perilous climb to the top of the sandstone cliffs of Loich’s Gap.

  “Grand!” said Déaglán.

  “I found nothing grand about Keelin’s boldness at the time. I was sure that at any moment she would slip and fall to her death. And then, when it appeared she would follow Bronach as the falcon flew off . . .” Deirdre shuddered and did not continue.

  “You would not have let Keelin fall that day. Your feigned alarm is just that. You forget to whom you speak.”

  “No, never.”

  They both were silent for several moments, unspoken thoughts enveloping them. Déaglán broke the spell forcibly. “I will speak with Keelin tomorrow about the clandestine meeting of spy and traitor that day. Was she able to describe the horses the men were riding?”

  “As I recall, they were both bays, or perhaps one was bay and the other dark brown.”

  “Any white markings?”

  “I believe so, but you will have to speak with her. Do you . . . know who the traitor might be?” Deirdre’s voice faltered slightly.

  “No, though I believe there have been others who have spotted him.” Déaglán heard Deirdre sigh and asked, “What is troubling you?”

  “I don’t know. Keelin’s fate seems to be irrevocably tied to the battle, whatever the outcome. I have a vague sense of unease, and your mention of the traitor only heightens my troublesome fears.”

  Déaglán nodded. “The fate of each of us on Eire is tied irrevocably to the battle.”

  “Yes, of course, how foolish of me. Pay no attention to my fanciful notions.”

  “I would not fret too much on Keelin’s accord. She can take care of herself. Besides, I believe Keelin’s immediate fate may lie with young Brian. They are most definitely enamored with each other.”

  “Yes,” Deirdre agreed, her optimism returning, “though I am not sure either of them is quite ready to admit their love for one another,.”

  “I would not be surprised if Keelin has bewitched poor Brian as you have bewitched me.”

  “And how would I have managed that?”

  “That is for you to tell me. More sorcery to be sure.”

  “You do Keelin and me a disservice if you believe we must resort to enchantments in matters of love.”

  Déaglán wanted no more verbal sparring. “Tell me, then, of the night you aided my escape from the Romhanach fortress, conjuring up a violent storm and spiriting me to safety. Did Fearghus order you to do so?”

  “I did not conjure up the storm. It came of its own accord, though Fearghus does have an uncanny ability to foresee such things. You must ask him how he divines nature’s vicissitudes. As to his order—”

  Before Deirdre could continue, Déaglán extended his arm and with no gentleness, grabbed Deirdre around the waist, pulling her tightly against him. “Do not trifle with me, Deirdre. Did you save my life on Fearghus’s order alone? Had our bodies never touched, perhaps I could be indifferent to your answer. Now I find it impossible.”

  Instead of recoiling at Déaglán’s rough manner and harsh voice, Deirdre relaxed, leaning against him, melding her body with his. “It was I who went to Fearghus and told him of your peril. I asked for his permission to aid you and he gave it. I would risk all to see you safe, even my vows to The Dagda. You see, I have loved you since the day we met.”

  Déaglán’s grip on Deirdre softened and he kissed the top of her head. He had never felt such peace and overwhelming love, yet Déaglán’s elation quickly turned to regret when he foresaw the inevitable heartache for both of them. Even then, he hesitated before saying, “You and I—it is impossible, doomed.”

  “Why?”

  “I am accustomed to being alone, of coming and going as I choose. No woman wishes her rival to be the sea. I tell you now that she will win every time, my lovely Deirdre. I cannot change who I am.”

  “I would never wish you to be anyone other than who you are. Visit me when you can. That will be enough. And I might occasionally visit you, for as you know, my powers of sorcery are great.”

  

  Déaglán awoke the next morning just before dawn to find himself alone, Deirdre no longer lying next to him. He was disappointed, already missing her. There was something infinitely sweet and reassuringly constant to awake with a beloved woman nestled close. He had forgotten the contentment and intimacy of early morning when the mind is still calm, the body warm and languid with sleep. He wished he could draw Deirdre close and they could speak of nothing and everything, content to simply be in each other’s arms.

  Just then, Déaglán heard muted sounds coming from the next room and smelled freshly baked bread. His stomach gave a protesting growl and he realized he was hungry, though moments before, food had been the furthest thing from his mind. Reluctantly, Déaglán rose and pulled on his trousers, then walked to the bedroom door, which was slightly ajar, and carefully opened it.

  Deirdre stood next to the fireplace, intently stirring something in a large pot hanging over the fire. The shutters on the south side of the room were open, letting in the cool morning air. A glowing lantern sat in the middle of the dining table, the only other light save that from the fireplace. Deirdre had already bathed, her wavy blonde hair still damp, hanging loosely down her back to her waist. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and the skin of her freshly washed face clear, with a healthy and youthful vibrancy. She wore only a loose white shift of a material and weave so fine as to be almost transparent. Standing silhouetted against the light from the fireplace, her small waist, the curve of her hips, and the swell of her breasts were exquisitely outlined. Déaglán felt the muscles of his stomach contract and his pulse quicken as he studied Deirdre, at once demure and erotic, far more alluring than if she had been standing there naked.

  “Good morning, my love,” greeted Deirdre brightly as she looked up and saw Déaglán. “Breakfast is almost ready and there is just time for you to bathe. You will find the bath water still pleasantly warm.”

  Déaglán smiled. “I am not hungry for food just now,” he said, walking toward her.

  Deirdre held up one hand, halting his advance, and gave him a warm smile. “Bathe first. You will feel refreshed and I can finish preparing breakfast.”

  

  When Déaglán returned from bathing, indeed feeling refreshed and no less amorous, Deirdre was setting the table.

  “Now we will eat. How I love having a man to cook for.”

  Déaglán walked over to Deirdre and stood just behind her as she placed a fresh loaf of bread on the table. Brushing aside her hair, he gently kissed her neck, then ran the back of his right hand lightly over the tip of one breast. Encircling her waist, he pulled her against him.

  “The meal . . .” Deirdre sighed in feigned protest.

  Turning her to face him, Déaglán, his voice husky, murmured, “You know very well the meal can wait.”

  

  CHAPTER twenty

  

  t was mid-morning by the time Déaglán reached the village road and reined Bran south toward the warriors’ training field. He had been reluctant to leave Deirdre but it was she who urged him to go, telling him Conall had returned and might already be waiting for him. Déaglán did not bother to ask Deirdre how she could possibly know this. She was a sorceress and her secrets were now his. He had not gone far when he saw Brian astride his beautiful bay, Rónán, waiting by the side of the road.

  “I’m surprised you are not yet at the field,” said Déaglán as he reached Brian.

  “I’m waiting for Séamus.”

  “And where might Séamus be?” Déaglán followed Brian’s gaze as he scanned the landscape but saw no one approaching.

  Brian turned back to Déaglán. “He is undoubtedly with a lass, though he is rarely late for training. He knows better than to rouse Pádraig’s anger.”

  At that moment, both men were alerted to
an approaching rider when Rónán suddenly neighed a loud greeting. The stallion tossed his head and pranced handsomely when a shrill cry came in response. Even at a rather advanced age, Rónán was still in good flesh and his coat shone.

  Brian shook his head and patted the horse’s sleek neck. “Pay no heed to Rosie, old man. You know she is a big tease with a nasty disposition.” Brian took a tighter hold of the reins and he and Déaglán waited as Séamus rode up on a gray mare, long-legged and elegant.

  Séamus first greeted Déaglán and then turned to Brian as he reined Rosie alongside Rónán. “I was hoping you would wait for me this morning. I have no wish to face Pádraig’s wrath alone.” The stallion snorted and tried to greet the mare, who squealed and lunged at him, baring her teeth and just missing the mark as Rónán shied away.

  “Curse you, Séamus!” You know better than to bring that bitch of a mare too close to Rónán. Why you tolerate her is beyond me.”

  “Well, you are in a fine humor this morning,” responded Séamus, unfazed. “I love my dear Rosie, even if no one else does. Besides, she runs like the wind and there is none braver over fences. Even you must admit that.” As Séamus said this, Rosie pinned her ears flat against her head, swishing her tail and glaring malevolently at Rónán.

  “Well, keep her clear,” said Brian, somewhat appeased, the edge off his voice. Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, “I suppose there is no need to ask why you are late. What lass are you pursuing this week? Is it still the pretty Sinéad with the big green eyes?”

  “No, not Sinéad. All she talked of was marriage and children. It quickly cooled my ardor for her. No, I fancy Maureen, you know, the buxom lass with the rosy cheeks and wild nature.”

  Déaglán listened to the exchange without comment. The two young men were soon laughing and joking as they rode toward the field. Of course, thought Déaglán, it was difficult for anyone to remain angry with Séamus for long. He was good-natured, optimistic, and thoroughly likable. When he occasionally exhibited a lack of discipline and dedication, Brian was always there to cover for him. In turn, Séamus bore the brunt of Brian’s angry outbursts with amazing equanimity. They had been close friends since childhood and their bond of brotherhood was steadfast and enduring.