Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (45 page)

Daire
gave a short laugh. “Forgive me,” he apologized. “I was not thinking.”

Shiovra
shook her head. “Do not apologize,” she told him, smiling gently. “You usually do not think much anyway.”

He frowned.

“Now, go find your wife and meet with Eithne,” she instructed him. “She will help explain what your wife will be going through and what to expect.”

Daire
exhaled and nodded like an obedient child.

“Do not fret so much,”
Shiovra
told him sternly. “When you fret, Úna will fret, and that will not be good for the child.”

“Aye.” Leaning towards her, he gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. “I shall try
, dear cousin
.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Mahon sat alone in the main cottage of the
High fort
,
sharpening the edge of a
sword beside th
e hearth. His mind was restless and
had been unable to sleep after having felt a deep resonation rip through the
ground beneath his feet
.
Mahon had been preparing for bed when the
ground had begun to tremble
.

After hearing the call of the Stone of Destiny, he had made his way towards it. Yet, when he arrived, the stone stood alone and silent. He could not discover who it was that touched the stone and received such a reaction.
Since then, he had been unable to sleep.

Mahon paused and rubbed his face wearily. He had to discover who the
stone
had chosen. He had no desire to continue serving as chieftain of Tara. Mahon knew he wasn’t meant to be chieftain and doubted his own ability to serve the village well.

“You heard it, did you not?”

He looked up to see Ceallach Neáll enter the cottage. Mahon
could see anger hiding behind to man’s even calm eyes
.
It had taken him many years to see what was carefully hidden.

“You hear
d the stone speak, did you not?”
Ceallach continued
, walking towards the fire
.
His eyes remained fixed on the flames as he circled round the hearth.

Mahon nodded. “I heard it,” he murmured, turning back to his sword. “I
felt
it.”

“Do
you who it was?
”

Hand pausing
in his task, Mahon raised a brow and studied
the Fomorii man suspiciously.

“Odhrán,” Ceallach told Mahon calmly. “
The stone spoke for Odhrán
.”

The moment of surprise Mahon felt was brief.
“And?”

Ceallach
exhaled
and crossed his arms. “He has…refused…to becom
e Tara’s chieftain,” he replied
in a firm tone
. “He simply refused and walked away.”

Mahon nodded. “I understand,” he murmured, setting
the whet stone and swords
aside.

A frown crossed the Fomorii man’s face. “Understand?”

“Aye,” he continued. “With all that has happened and what is more likely to come, how can he not deny such a position? I may not want to be serving as chieftain, but I will not
force
it upon him. We can find another…”

“There is no other!”
growled Ceallach, his anger becoming evident
. “The Stone of Destiny will
choose
no other till the one it has chosen dies! By refusing to be chieftain, Odhrán has set T
ara’s fall into place
!”

Mahon simply chuckled, much to the man’s surprise. “You and Réalta cannot stand when matters do not go as you foresee,” he murmured, laughing. “It displeases you to see that your manipulations and tampering fail.” Mahon rose to his feet. “
When will you accept that our time is coming to an end? Mother understood that, but Réalta refused to accept it. Because of her stubbornness, my sister was taken from me right after our mother was ripped from our lives. Face the simple truth, Ceallach Neáll: the time of the Túatha Dé Danann is coming to an end. All that is left for us is to survive!”

Ceallach stood still, the impassive mask slipping over his face once more. “Will you simply bow down to your fate then? Turn your back on your own sister who is determined to fight?”

“No,” replied Mahon. “I will fight for my kin and clan. But if they battle is lost, I will accept it.” Shifting on the bench, he leaned towards the Fomorii man. “I would suggest you do the same.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Gráinne sat beside her husband Miach
at the head table, watching as he ate heartily
.
The man was nearly twice her age.
His cup was filled to the brim and women swooned ar
ound him without shame, all the while ignoring the heated glare of his wife
. Draining his cup, Miach
slammed it down and
gestured for more mead to be brought to him.

“
Let us celebrate the death of Ainmire
!” he called out. “We are one step closer to gaining Tara as our own!”

A cheer erupted in the cottage
.

Laughing
, Miach grabbed at the woman
who served him his mead.

Giggling, she batted his hand playfully and sauntered away
.

Gráinne
raised her own cup to her lips, a vicious smile hidden behind the rim. She would let him enjoy himself because his pleasure would soon be cut short.

Miach leaned towards her and said, “Caillte has done well.”

She snorted, receiving the disapproving glance of her husband. “Caillte
has done nothing,” Gráinne told him firmly, her voice rising above the din of the
celebration
. “
It was Deasún and I who brought Ainmire to his death. Not Caillte.”

“What was that, woman?” Miach demanded.

Gráinne took pleasure in his anger, a smile twisting her lips.
“
Have
you
become
hard of hearing
in your old age? I said
it was Deasún and I who brought Ainmire to his death
,”
she repeated
. “
Caillte never left Dún Scáth. It was all my doing, with some help from a new
companion
.” She ran a finger along the edge of her cup. “Caillte knows when a woman is more suited for a task than a man. I toyed with him quite easily and had him wrapped around my finger.”

“Silence!” he ordered, slamming his cup down upon the table, mead spilling over the edge. “You will not speak such of Caillte, woman! He is a powerful man and Ailill’s best warrior! You will speak of him with respect! Do not forget that!”

“I am your wife, not a servant for you to command!”
returned
Gráinne
in a commanding tone
.

“You are my wife, my property, and you will do as I say! You
will
obey me and you will serve me in any way that I desire!”

Gráinne
’s eyes burned with fury as she lurched to her feet and turned to Miach. “I am
of the clan of Tara,
the daughter of Méav,
” she
said in a low, dangerous tone, “and
I
answer to no man!
”

Outrage crossed Miach’s face.
Reaching out, he
caught her wrist tightly in his hand, pulling her roughly towards him. “How dare you!” he bellowed. “You will
obey
me till your death!”

A smirk crossed her face, despite the pain of his grip. “How about
your
death?” Before he could register the meaning behind her words,
Gráinne
pulled a
dagger from the man’s belt and
plunged
it into his heart, twisting
it.

A cruel smile touched her lips. “As I told you,”
Gráinne
said
him in a hushed tone, “I
answer
to no man.” Harshly, she ripped the blade from Miach and cast it aside.

His hand on her wrist grew lax
and fell away lifelessly.

Turning,
Gráinne
faced both shock and fear. “Feel free to flee if you
fear me,” she said smoothly, shifting to sit on the edge of the table, “but take heed:
those who seek to defy me,
will suffer the same fate as my dear late husband
.” She gestured to the slumped form of Miach. “What will it be?”

Silence filled the hall.

Gráinne
smiled sweetly, catching up her cup and taking a long drink
. “Then it is understood.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Shiovra
sat on the bench, savoring the feeling of the warm, meadowsweet scented water as she ran it along her skin. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and released it in a sigh. It had felt like years since she had last been able to relax
in such a way
.
Leaning
b
ack against the support post, she
traced her finger over the surface of the water in the
basin as she listened to the cracking hearth fire.
Winter was approaching swiftly and the days were becoming colder
very quickly
.

Dipping
the cloth into the water
,
she
ran it along her skin once more. The priestess
hoped that winter would remain quite, without threats to the village. They needed a time of peace, where the people of Tara could find moments of rest free of worry.

A cold gust of wind invaded the bathing hut, snapping Shiovra from her thoughts
.

“Lady
Shiovra
?”

Opening her eyes, she found
Úna stood in the doorway, thick cloak wrapped about her for warmth. “Aye?”

Úna stepped into
the hut, quickly closing the door behind her
. “You have been in here for qu
ite a while,” she said softly.
“It is getting
quite late and we were beginning to worry.”

“Forgive me. I was lost in thought.”
Standing,
Shiovra
dried off quickly and dressed
. “How are you feeling, Úna?”
she asked, running a comb through her damp hair.

“Slightly better with Eithne’s remedies,” she replied
with a small smile
. “I still become ill easily
, mostly from
the smell of food cooking
, b
ut Lady Eithne told me it shall pass.”

Shiovra
nodded, donning her cloak. “How long have I been in here?”

“It is nearing time for the evening meal, Lady
Shiovra
,” Úna told her.

She paused, looking at the Neimidh woman incredulously.
“Truly?”
Shiovra
asked in surprise. She had not realized she had been lost on her thoughts for quite so long.

“The day has gotten cold and a strong wind blows
,”
Úna
said
, reaching for the door
. “Brace yourself.”
Pulling the door open,
a rush of cold air drifted into the cottage.

Pulling the hood of her cloak up and clutching it closed, Shiovra followed Úna from
the
hut
and into the fading light of the even
ing
.

Gray clouds filled a darkening sky, the tinge of color fading. Wisps of s
moke from hearth fires drifted up from
thatch roofs, carried by gusts of wind bearing a notable chill.

T
he lone long drone of a battle horn drifted ov
er the air.

Shiovra
paused and frowned, her eyes drifting toward the village gates. She could see men gathering before two escorted a third man into the village and up the path to the main cottage.

“What was that?” Úna
asked anxiously
from her side
.
“Are we being attacked?”

Shiovra
watched as the gates were pulled closed and secur
ed
tightly
. Such precautions were taken when the village was either under attack, or preparing defense for on
e
that lay in wait.
Whatever tidings the man who had arrived brought, they were not pleasant. “We must return to the main cottage,” she said.