Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (24 page)

“
This village is the first place I ever felt truly at home
. I never really was much of a chieftain’s
son where I came from,” Eiladyr continued
quietly, almost as if he s
poke to himself. “I had nothing there. No titles, no land, nothing
. This is my home
now. Artis is like a brother to me. More so than most of my blood brothers.” He
shook his he
ad. “Three years ago, my mother
died. She was al
l I had. My father was cruel and
my
brothers greedy. I left home and found myself on a ship, but a storm hit and when I woke up, I was here on the
shores of Éire. I wandered around lost for some time,
till Odhrán found me and brought me here. Artis welcomed me without question, even when I could not understand the language
.”

“
You have come to
Éire
during dark times,”
Daire
said from the doorway.
“Be wary of the Milidh, they seek war.”

“Not all the Milidh,” corrected Odhrán harshly
.
“You know very well that Dún Fiáin seeks alliance.”

Daire
snorted. “Aye, you have said that,” he replied coldly, “
but that does not mean I trust the intentions that lie behind
the promise of peace.
You may have helped me rescue
Shiovra
from Caher Dearg, but you said yourself you were sent to
gain our trust.”

“
I still do not understand what the difference it between the Milidh, Túath, or Neimidh,” muttered Eiladyr, sha
k
ing
his head
.

“Different clans…” began
Shiovra
, though a soft tapping on the door-lintel
interrupted her.

Daire
moved from the doorway
and Artis slipped in
with a bundle of clothing in his arms
. “The food is ready, but first…” He
tossed a fresh tunic to Odhrán, then
handed
Shiovra
the rest of the bundle
. “Should you need more, let me know.”

“I thank you,” she replied, accepting the garments.

“Well,
come to the main cottage when you are ready to eat. There is plenty of food
.” Turning, Artis walked from the cottage.

Daire
turned to Eiladyr.
“Is Artis the chieftain here?”

“Not quite,” he replied. “Ráth Faolchú does not really have a chieftain, it is more of a
free
village, or at least that is what Artis told me. The people do serve the High Chieftains, and
Artis does keep the village to
gether, but he claims no right to the title chieftain
.”
Standing, Eiladyr stretched. “I do not know about you, but I am going to eat.”

Daire
nodded. “Me as well,” he said,
following
Eiladyr from the cottage
.

Shiovra
looked down at the clothing Artis had given her, then back at Odhrán.
The Milidh man had already discarded his soiled tunic and slipped
on the fresh one. She found herself hesitating
.

Odhrán
seemed to understand her unspoken question
and he moved for the door, pausing
.
“I will await you outside,
”
he said gently then left, closing the door behind him.

Shiovra
gratefully
stripped off what remained of her ruined garments
, tossing them into the hearth fire to burn
.
Glancing
down at her skin
,
which had been marred by dirt and blood
, she cringed
.
After a quick survey of the cottage
, she found a basin of water sitting on a narrow bench along the wall, a cloth already resting on the side. Even though it was not much,
Shiovra
was grateful to at least cleanse away some lingering memories of Caher Dearg.

S
he
hastily
washed everything
from her body, relishing the cool water on her skin. Drying off, she donned the cream shift and dull green tunic
Artis had given her
. After quickly running her fingers through her hair to be rid of some tangles,
she pushed open the door
and stepped outside to find Odhrán leaning against the cottage as expected.

The Milidh man said nothing, only began to lead the way to the main cottage at the center of the village.

As they
neared, a low
call of a bird
whistle drifted over the wind.

Shiovra
looked at Odhrán curiously when the man came to a pause, listening. Frowning, she noticed that
the entire village
had fallen
completely
silent. All around, m
en and women halted in their
daily tasks, listening as well.

Artis stepped from the main cottage, Eiladyr following. Bringing his fin
gers to his lips, he sent a whistle of his own, the rise and fall of pitch mimicking the call of a bird.

Another
whis
tle replied with a slightly urgent undertone
.

Shiovra
watched as the men ran to the concealed wall surrounding the village and
began t
o climb up the overgrown wall
.
She took a step
forward, but was stayed by Odhrán’s restraining hand
upon her shoulder
.

“
Stay,” he ordered
sternly, but softly.

“
What is happening?
” she whispered
in question
, taking another step forward.

“Someone approaches the village,” Odhrán explained.
“It will be determined if they are ally or foe.”

An anxious feeling wove its way through the priestess, worry
that perhaps more huntsmen lurked ab
out. From what she had seen in the man,
Shiovra
did not doubt that
Cúmhéa
had
survived
the fall of Caher Dearg
.
Yet, despite her initial worry, something in the back of her mind told her that
there were no enemies on the other side of the wall. She took another step forward, only to have his hand tighten.

“It could be the enemy,” he warned in a dangerously low voice.

Shiovra
turned sharply to face him. “And it could be
Meara
,” she countered. “She could have as easily
followed
us here as any huntsmen. Eiladyr does not know her. We need to be sure.”

Odhrán was silent a moment, considering her words, before nodding. “I will look to see if it the Neimidh woman,” he said. “Stay here.” He released her shoulder and slowly made his way to the wall.

Her eyes narrowed on him
as he walked away, slowly following despite his order to stay put.
Shiovra
watched as Odhrán climbed the wall with ease, finding seemingly impossible hand and foot holds in the wall until he reached Artis and Eiladyr.

“They appear to be tracking something,” came Artis’ low voice as the priestess neared the base of the wall.

“But what?” whispered Eiladyr in turn. “How many of them are there?”

“Not many, but enough,” replied Artis. “Wait…is that one a woman?”

“It is
Meara
,” confirmed Odhrán. “She is an ally to the High Priestess. We were separated during the fall of Caher Dearg. She may have injured men in her ranks.”

“Then we shall welcome her and see to their wounds,”
stated Artis. He climbed down the wall, followed by Odhrán. “Fetch
Daire
to greet the Neimidh woman,” he told Eiladyr when the man was once again on the ground. “There will be a feast tonight!”

A wide grin crossed Eiladyr lips. “Aye!”

Artis stepped quickly towards the front of the village and called out, “Open the gates! New companions await greeting!”

Shiovra
began to follow, but Odhrán stepped in front of her. She took
a step back in surprise and he
took another forward. Taking another back, she quickly found she was against the wall.

He regarded her quietly a moment, then said, “
I understand that your thoughts of me are not always the best.
You
often distrust me
,
even hate me,
and
for the most part…you appear to
fear
me.
”

Shiovra
looked away under his questioning gaze
.

Odhrán
stepped closer, reaching a hand out and
catching a lock of her hair in his hand.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

“My duty is to protect you and keep you safe,”
he said letting the strands slip through his fingers as he leaned towards her. “
Allow me to show you that not all Milidh are the same.”

Shiovra
met his gaze, trying to calm the beating of her heart. The man was closer than she would have desired, but she could not manage to move away.

“Odhrán.”

Shiovra
reflexive
ly
flinched at the cold undertone of
Daire
’s voice.
She
looked
over
Odhrán’s shoulder
to find
her cousin approaching with
Meara
and Eiladyr
following.

“May I speak with you a moment?” asked
Daire
.

Odhrán glanced over his shoulder and nodded. Turning back to the priestess, he leaned close, his voice low as he spoke in her ear, “Please keep my words in mind.”

“Aye,” breathed
Shiovra
.

Pulling away, Odhrán turned a
nd followed
Daire
towards Eiladyr’s cottage.

The priestess watched the men walk away, her hands tightening on the folds of her shift. Though the man had given her no reason to fear him, she could not deny that she had not been afraid.

“Did something happen
?”
Meara
ask
ed with a frown
.

Shiovra
felt heat rush to her face
. “
Nay
,” she
said, fighting to keep her voice even.

Eiladyr frowned. “Are you sure?”

She nodded quickly.

Meara
raised a skeptical brow, but did not press her further
.

“I think we should follow,” suggested Eiladyr
with a mischievous grin. “Just to be sure they do not kill each other?”

Shiovra
glanced at
Meara
, who nodded in agreement. With a resigned sigh, she
walked
to the cottage, Eiladyr and
Meara
fall
ing into step behind
.
Pushing the door open, they were greeted by a heavy silence so thick it could almost be cut with a dagger.
Shiovra
stepped into the cottage and looked at both men, studying each in turn.

Odhrán leaned against
a support post
calmly, his eyes closed and his arms crossed. He did not look at the priestess when she entered, only remained still in his spot.

Daire
,
on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Sitting
on a bed,
he glared
daggers at the
Milidh
man
.

With a frustrated sigh,
Shiovra
moved to stand between the men.
“
Daire
, I understand completely that you do not trust Odhrán…but fi
ghting amongst ourselves will get us nowhere,”
she began softly.

Daire
turned his heated gaze to her. “And
you
trust him?” he demanded.

“I…”
Shiovra
glanced at
Odhrán
,
and then
shook her head.
“N
ay, I do not,”
she admitted, “but
…I want to try.
He has yet to prove his intentions are not true
to his words a
nd Tara needs the alliance Dún Fiáin promises. If part of securing that alliance means that he will be my shadow, that I have to trust him, then so be it.” She turned her attention back to
Daire
.
“Odhrán may be Milidh, but he is no
t the one we should be fighting.
Right now, our enemy is
Ailill
.”