Authors: Silver James
Taidhg’s hands
formed tight fists under the table while he steeled himself, fighting to keep
his anger in check. How could a man want to see his own child dead, especially
one as fair and brave as Becca? When the man spoke of the O’Flinn charging into
the room and beating his daughter, it was all Taidhg could do to stay calm with
a blank face. He took a long steadying breath. It would not do to give himself
away now.
The man finished his
story by saying the girl was kept locked up in her room, and only the brothers
were allowed in to feed her once a day. None of the men-at-arms had laid eyes
on her since that first night. Some doubted she still lived.
“But as parsimonious
as the O’Flinn is,” the man continued, “he
’
twouldn’t be wastin’ food on
a dead body.” The man winked at Taidhg. “Rumor has it the brothers stole her
back from another clann, and even now, the O’Flinn is on his way to Tuam to
press suit against the
Taoiseac
who’d been harboring his daughter.”
Taidhg was torn. He
could stay and try to rescue Becca. Or he could ride for Ailfenn to report to
Ciaran and return to free the cailín. If she was still alive, Taidhg was fairly
certain she’d manage to stay that way a while longer. If the O’Flinn had gone
to the king, he had some plan in mind and a live Becca was surely a part of it.
Ballinfaire was, even riding hard, two days closer to Tuam and the king than
Ailfenn. It was a hard two days’ ride back to Ailfenn, two back here, and then
the ride to Tuam. Or four days ride to Tuam from Ailfeen. Taidhg had no choice.
He had to ride for Ailfenn. Becca would have to fend for herself a bit longer.
****
Ciaran slumped in
the chair drawn up before the fire. The flickering flames etched his face with
shadows, emphasizing the melancholy radiating from him. Riordan, his feet
stretched toward the fire, occupied a second chair in Ciaran’s den. He watched
his cousin over the rim of his mug. A fortnight ago, he’d had been envious.
Becca was a comely cailín and the bond she and Ciaran shared was one he’d, thought
he’d wanted. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Every morning, Ciaran declared Becca was
still alive, that he could somehow sense she was still in this world. Each
night, he swore he would find her. Despair and hope raged a terrible battle in
his heart and mind every hour of the day.
As Riordan peered at
Ciaran’s haggard face, his heart went out to the other man, remembering all too
well the way Becca suffered after Ciaran had been wounded. Their bond was
remarkable. If it was this bad for his cousin when his true mate was just
missing and in danger, what would come of the one left behind when the other
went to the ever after? He wondered if the grand passion attached with true
mating was worth the desolation, the anguished loneliness, forming the flip
side of that coin.
The guard on the
walls called out a challenge, and every man in the great hall came to their
feet, hands to swords. Tense, they waited, ready for anything. A few minutes
passed before the front door finally opened, and the guards ushered in a man wearing
the colors of the O’Conor. By the time he strode into the center of the great
hall and looked around for the MacDermot, Ciaran awaited him. Immediately
flanked by Niall and Riordan, a full company of men-at-arms also stood ready.
“Ciaran MacDermot,”
the messenger called out.
“Aye,” Ciaran
acknowledged.
“
An Rí
Conchobhar
O’Conor, King of Connaught commands your presence at the seat of his Court in
Tuam. You are to attend him there before
Lughnasadh
.”
“And why does the
O’Conor command the MacDermot in such a way?” Riordan snapped, reminding
the messenger that O’Conor got his power from the clanns.
“To answer the
charges made by Garbhan O’Flinn,
an Taoiseac
of sept O’Flinn regarding
the taking of his daughter,” the man answered.
“His daughter?”
Ciaran snarled. “I dinnit take her. I refused the child over ten years ago.”
The messenger
shrugged. “
Taoiseac
MacDermot, the king commands your presence to answer
the O’Flinn’s charges. Do you come of free will?”
“Oh, aye, I come of
free will to get to the bottom of O’Flinn’s deceit.”
At that moment,
Taidhg flung open the keep doors and marched in. Travel-worn, dirty, and weary,
he’d all but killed his horse getting there. Seeing the king’s messenger, he
knew he was too late. At least he could pass on his information. Ciaran would
not be going to Tuam blind. He nodded his head in his clann chief’s direction.
“A word,
Taoiseac
, when you have finished,” he said quietly as he passed
the messenger.
Ciaran tossed his
head, pointing with his chin toward the room under the base of the stairs.
Taidhg retired to it without a backward glance. With a wave of Niall’s hand, a
serving girl scurried to heap food on a trencher, grab a full mug and follow
the soldier.
“I give you host
this
night,” Ciaran said, his voice coldly formal, “so your horse may rest.
On the morn, you will return to Tuam.” With that, he dismissed both the king
and his messenger by turning on his heel and striding across the hall to his
den. Niall and Riordan followed closely, neither of them completely turning
their backs on the messenger nor removing their fists from their sword hilts.
The messenger got their unspoken message loud and clear.
****
Becca knew the
confines of her cell intimately and could now pace the room even in total
darkness. The room held the rickety cot, a small wooden chest with a few
threadbare gowns of the plainest material, the small bench by the hearth, and
the bucket in the corner. Since the first night, her father had not reappeared.
One or the other of her brothers came once a day with a bowl of thin gruel and
a cup of water. She choked it down while whichever brother waited impatiently.
Ciaran remained
topmost in her thoughts. He’d be worried sick about her.
She
knew she
was relatively safe, as long as the other Becca’s father didn’t reappear, but
Ciaran had no clue to her whereabouts or condition.
On the third day of
her imprisonment at Ballinfaire, Darroch appeared early in the morning with a
knife in his hand. If he meant to kill her, she wouldn’t go down without a
fight. Becca wondered if the long-ago self-defense class would do any good now.
The big lout grabbed her in a headlock. She fought, kicking, biting, and
scratching, but the oaf just laughed at her feeble attempts. He cut a jagged
hunk out of her hair, tossed her across the room like a sack of rags, and
slammed the door shut behind him.
“Now what the hell
was that all about?” Becca rubbed the sort spot on her head.
Ransom
, a shadowy voice whispered in her head.
“That would make
sense.” She’d reverted to talking aloud to herself. “These slimeballs will try
to get Ciaran to buy me back. Problem is, with that male ego of his, he’ll be
just as likely to storm the castle walls and take me back by force.”
That thought warmed
her all over. That a man cared enough to wage a war over her was a heady
sensation. Then her twenty-first century sensibilities kicked in. Men would
die—maybe even Taidhg, or Riordan, or Niall, or God forbid, Ciaran himself.
“If yee’d but let me
love yee, cailín,”
Ciaran’s voice
whispered in her memory.
Becca realized she’d
loved him from the first time she’d opened her eyes in this strange time, and
her heart had recognized his, just as his had sought hers.
“Someday,” she
promised them both. “We will be together to love each other.”
****
Ciaran, Niall, and
Riordan all stared at Taidhg, aghast at what he’d just related to them.
“How could a man
want to kill his own child?” Niall asked, stunned by the revelation.
“But how did she get
from Ballinfaire to Ailfenn?” Riordan added, ever the logistician. “And why
Ailfenn?”
“I refused O’Flinn
ten years ago,” Ciaran said with a heavy heart. “The child was just that—a
child. Scrawny, frightened. Blue eyes too big for her face, with all that
scraggly hair she hid behind. She was completely cowed by her father and
brothers.” He shook his head sadly. “If I’d only known,” he whispered. “I could
have fostered the cailín until she grew up to be my Becca.”
Niall cleared his
throat. “
’
Twouldn’t have happened, Ciaran,” he interrupted. Ciaran’s
eyes were almost black with suppressed rage, but Niall stayed his retort with a
gesture. “Your Becca and his Becca are not the same.”
Mistaking Niall’s
meaning, Riordan spat out, “What game does O’Flinn play? Thinks he to
substitute one for the other?”
Niall shook his
head. “He plays his own most likely, but he dances with a devil far more
vengeful than even the MacDermots.” A shudder ran through him as the other
three men stared. “Your Becca once
’
twas his,” Niall began to explain.
“Many lives ago.”
“What mean you by
this?” Ciaran demanded in a quiet voice sheathed in steel.
“You yourself once
thought she might be fae,” Niall reminded him. “And have told me so on more
than one occasion. Siobhan and the Druid claim the fae returned her to this
life.”
Ciaran’s eyes
narrowed. “Explain!” He growled, anger swirling like bright sparks in the
sapphire depths of his eyes.
Niall shrugged,
remaining silent for a long time as he searched for the right words. He finally
took a deep breath and said, “She is not from this
when
, Ciaran. She’s
from a time far distant in the future. She is your true mate, as promised by
Finvarra to the first MacDermot, and the faerie returned her to you.”
Ciaran was
speechless, caught between thinking his captain of the guard had gone insane
and wondering if he had the right of it after all. He glanced at Taidhg, who
nodded at him. Riordan remained unconvinced and shook his head in disagreement.
“The words she
spoke, Ciaran,” Niall prompted the younger man. “And the ones that still roll
off her tongue upon occasion. The way she rides, the way she fights.” Niall
grinned, remembering the sight of her. “Even the way she wears her trews.
’
Tis
all strange, Ciaran. What cailín would behave as she has? Even her pain,
Ciaran,” he reminded them all. “Odhran said it was from the two parts of her
soul joining together.”
“How did this come
to be?” Ciaran whispered so softly the others had to lean forward to hear him.
“Because the O’Flinn
killed his own daughter,
Taoiseac
,” Siobhan replied from the shadows
near the door, her voice just as sure as it was soft. “Becca’s soul was too
young when you first met, so she didn’t recognize you, nor did you recognize
her. When her life ended without the binding from you, all was lost. Both your
souls were doomed to wander. In all your lives to come, you would not be
findin’ each other ever again.
“The Faerie made a
covenant with the first MacDermot back in the dawning of time. Once each
generation, a warrior
’
twould be born. A man to follow in the ways of
the legendary Fenian Warriors themselves.
’
Twasn’t necessarily father to
son, but within Clann MacDermot, a Fenian would come. And then Queen Onagh made
her own pact with the MacDermot Knot.
“The warrior was
promised a bride, to have and to hold for his lifetime and the next and each
thereafter, until the end of time. With the Knot and the binding oath their
hearts would be made one. A love beginning, a love without an end, until the
end of time.”
Chapter Fourteen
Three days. Three
days before someone besides one of her brothers came to the door. Three days
before Becca got her chance to escape. Three days closer to
Lughnasadh
.
That word, that date, burned in her mind. But for her life, Becca didn’t know
why it was important. She just knew she had to reach Ciaran before midnight on
the first day of August, and the worst part was she wasn’t sure what today’s
date was.
Becca tensed as the
crossbar grated across the door. She had the bucket ready. When a burly guard
stuck his head in, she flung the contents on him. He gasped in shock, and she
bashed him over the head with the empty bucket with all the energy she had.
Short rations had left her weak. Even so, the man sank to his knees as if he’d
been pole-axed.
“Sorry. Nothing
personal.” Becca checked his pulse to make sure she hadn’t killed him. She
snatched his dirk from his belt.
She slipped out of
the room and peered down the hallway. Midday, but no one stirred. Even the
great hall was silent. Becca ran on tiptoes toward the stairway. Just before
she reached it, a door suddenly opened on her right, and she came face-to-face
with a little maid.
“Oh,” the girl
squealed softly.
Becca held a warning
finger up to lips. “Shhh,” she whispered. The girl nodded. “Will you help me?”
The girl nodded again. “Go back in that room and shut the door. You’ve seen
nothing, heard nothing. They won’t hurt you that way.” The girl gulped, but did
what Becca asked.
On silent feet,
Becca fled down the stairs. The gods, it seemed, were with her. No one was
about the great hall, almost as if a spell had been cast keeping humans out of
her way. It took all of her waning strength to open one of the massive doors at
the end of the hall. No guards waited outside. Spying what she thought would be
the stables, Becca took off at a stop-and-go scurry, keeping close to the wall
and whatever cover she could find. At the door to the stables, she heard Arien
squeal in pain. Her eyes narrowed to slits, and her mouth twisted into a grim
line.
Luthais clinched a
rope tightly in his ham-hock sized hands. Arien, on the other end of the rope,
fought the big man. Without thought or plan, Becca slipped up behind her
so-called brother.
“If you touch him
again, I will kill you,” she snarled.
Luthais whirled,
dropping the rope in surprise. “How? Where? How did yee get free?” he
stammered. He raised a fist to strike her. The next thing he knew, a very sharp
dirk poked him in the groin.
“Hit me again, dear
brother, and you’ll be eating a different kind of sausage for dinner.” She
sneered at him, her smile belying the cold promise in her eyes.
Luthais shook his head,
bewildered. “What happened to you, Becca? You used to be such a biddable little
thing.”
“I used to be such a
victim, you mean,” she spat at him. “I’ve lived a hundred lifetimes since you
last saw me, brother. A hundred lifetimes filled with pain the likes you
couldn’t imagine. I am biddable no more, brother mine. You will return me to
the MacDermot, and you will do it now.”
Luthais shook his
head. “Da would kill me,” he whispered.
“Maybe,” Becca
replied, “but know this, the MacDermot will kill you for sure if you don’t.”
She pressed the dirk further into his fat belly, pleased when the big oaf
groaned. “Where is our dear
Da
?” she asked, saccharine dripping from her
voice.
“He and Darroch rode
for Tuam,” Luthais answered quickly as she prodded him with the dirk again. “He
goes to King Conchobhar to deal with the MacDermot for you.”
“I will not be
bartered over like a horse,” Becca spat at him. She backed away, the dirk still
at the ready, and snagged the rope holding Arien with her free hand. “Where’s
my saddle?” she asked without taking her eyes off her brother.
“Da uses it now,” he
murmured.
Becca led Arien out
of the shed by the rope around his neck. She’d ride bareback style if she had
to. Becca took just long enough to fashion a halter out of the rope before
grabbing a fistful of mane and swinging up on the powerful horse. “I ride for
Tuam,” she told him. “If you value your life, you will not follow.”
Luthais swallowed
around the lump of fear in his throat. “Nay, I’ll not follow, Becca.” He spat
on the floor. “You and your MacDermot be damned.”
“Been there, done
that.” Becca grinned at him coldly. “And got the T-shirt,” she added under her
breath.
She wheeled Arien
and headed for the courtyard. As they came around the corner, she almost ran
down the little maid she’d seen in the castle. Reining Arien, Becca looked
surprised to see the girl. The little maid quickly handed her a cloth bundle
and a waterskin.
“You’ll be needin’
food an’ water.”
Becca smiled her
thanks. “If nothing keeps you here, child, run. Run hard and fast for Ailfenn.
When you get there, ask for Siobhan at the castle. Tell her I sent you. She
will find a place for you.” The little maid nodded. Becca reined Arien’s head
toward the gate. She hesitated, and then turned back to the maid. “The date,”
she called. “What day is it?”
The girl looked
confused for a minute. “Why,
’
tis almost
Lughnassdh
,” the girl
answered. “The festival starts in two days time.”
Becca groaned. She
had two days and two nights to get to Tuam. Becca put her heels to Arien and
headed for the gate at a dead run. She didn’t slow him until they were well
beyond the village and headed south on the road to Tuam. With no sign of
pursuit, she finally pulled him to a walk.
Throughout the
night, Becca pushed Arien hard, alternating between a fast walk and a gallop.
If she didn’t get to Ciaran before midnight on the first of August, something
really bad was going to happen. She couldn’t fathom what, but she knew she
didn’t want to find out. Just before dawn, she found a grove of trees back off
the roadway. The sound of gurgling water bade welcome to both she and her weary
horse. Becca slid off him and led him to the stream. As Arien drank his fill,
Becca tried to ease sore muscles. Every inch of her body ached. She felt older
than she ever had in this lifetime.
Becca turned Arien
loose to graze, and she opened the bundle the maid gave her. She found a loaf
of crusty bread and half a round of cheese inside. She ate sparingly and sipped
from the water skin. After checking on Arien, she wrapped up in the thin
blanket she’d brought from her cell at Ballinfaire and tried to sleep.
“I’m coming,
Ciaran,” she promised to the night.
****
“The change begins,”
the female said sadly.
“She’ll get there in
time,” the male replied, supremely confident.
“Midnight tomorrow,”
the second male threatened darkly.
The first male and
his mate stared at each other. They had done what they could, but their hands
were tied now. The Child of the Mortals would have to find her own way to the
Fenian Warrior.
****
Becca awoke stiff
and sore. She glanced up to gauge the time by the sun’s position. It was just
past midmorning. Her body protested as she stood up, and a shooting star of
pain danced from her hip to her ankle. “No,” she whispered. Becca stumbled over
to the stream and looked in. Her face was older, lines etching her forehead and
around her mouth. “NO!” she screamed to the heavens.
She had to find a
fallen log to climb up on so she could mount Arien. Back on the road, she urged
him into a canter. Each step the horse took pounded her spine and head. “I will
get there,” she vowed.
****
Ciaran, flanked by
Niall and Riordan, and followed by Taidhg and a company of horse, thundered
through the streets of Tuam headed to Caisel Tuam. Their horses were covered in
lather, and the face of every man showed grim determination. They would get
Becca back or there would be hell to pay. In the courtyard before the doors to
the great hall, the group reined in their horses. With swords already drawn,
they took the unwary O’Conor guards by surprise. Ciaran, Niall, Riordan, and a
handful of men, pushed their way through the doors and faced the Chair of Tuam,
the throne of Conchobhar O’Conor.
“Where is she?” he
spat at Garbhan O’Flinn, completely ignoring the king.
“What right have you
to ask?” Garbhan sneered back. “You took her, and turned her against me.”
“Nay,” Ciaran
denied. “I found her beaten and left to die, by whose hand I can surmise,” he
growled back. “She is mine, and I will have her.”
Conchobhar stared
from one man to the other. That the fierce young woman he’d seen in the
MacDermot camp a scarce month ago had come from the loins of Garbhan O’Flinn
was highly unlikely. He remembered the O’Flinn’s daughter as a browbeaten, shy
little thing, not at all like the Celtic
banríon
who’d stared him down
the day of the battle against the O’Briens. He’d had no doubt she was a
MacDonagh, as Niall’s line had produced many fine soldiers. The king glanced
from O’Flinn to Ciaran. There was more here than first met the eye. He knew instinctively
Ciaran’s feeling for this woman ran so deep he would risk clann war for her.
“Where is the
cailín?” Conchobhar asked O’Flinn.
“Safe within my
keep,” O’Flinn barked.
“Safe?” Ciaran
growled. “How do I know you have her?”
O’Flinn gestured to
his son. Darroch approached, pulling something from the pouch on his belt—a
long, silken strand of gold hair laced with silver. Ciaran flinched.
“She’ll not be safe
from you until she is by my side once again,” he snarled, his fingers curling
into fists at his sides.
O’Flinn reached for
his sword, but before his hand even touch the hilt, Ciaran had him by the front
of his shirt, a dirk pressed to his throat.
“If there is a mark
anywhere on her fair skin, if there be so much as another hair out of place on
her precious head,” Ciaran vowed in a voice as cold and as relentless as death,
“you will die a long, slow death, Garbhan O’Flinn. I promise you this on the
souls of all my ancestors and all my progeny to come.”
No man dared draw a
breath inside the hall. Ciaran’s blue eyes were as dark as a moonless midnight.
His handsome face could have been carved from granite, and as the fire in the
hearth flickered across his countenance, none there believed the devil himself
could have bested the warrior.
“I ride for Ballinfaire,”
Taidhg said quietly to his liege. “I will bring her back or die in the
attempt.” Ciaran didn’t move as the soldier slipped out of the castle, snagged
his horse and rode north.
Conchobhar cleared
his throat. He owed Ciaran MacDermot many things, including his life on more
than one occasion. The MacDermot and his army had helped Conchobhar sit in the
Chair of Tuam as King of Connaught. If Ciaran killed O’Flinn, the king would
have to execute or banish him, neither outcome appealing.
“Loose him, Ciaran,”
Conchobhar ordered. He kept his voice low and calm. “We will settle this when
your man returns with the cailín.”
Ciaran stared deeply
into O’Flinn’s eyes for a long moment. When he finally released the older man,
O’Flinn almost fell.
“Tomorrow is
Lughnasadh
,”
the king continued. “We will celebrate the Festival of Light, and when your man
returns with her, we will deal with the situation,” he promised Ciaran.
Ciaran nodded once,
turned on his heel, and marched out the door, followed by his men. O’Flinn sank
to a nearby seat, rubbing his neck.
“The cold hand of
death has been wrapped around your throat as sure as the sun coming up in the
morning.” The king released a sigh, relieved. He wasn’t sure that Ciaran
wouldn’t have killed O’Flinn on the spot.
The MacDermot men
regrouped on the edge of the green outside the town. Many people had come to
celebrate the bonfires and fair, but the troop managed to find a place away
from the crowd to settle in. None let down their guard, and Niall set a tight
perimeter. To a man, they would die for Ciaran and Becca if the need arose.
Ciaran wrapped his
mantle around him and unconsciously fingered the MacDermot Knot at his throat.
Becca had not worn the mantle the day she disappeared. Idly, Ciaran wondered if
the Knot would have kept her safe.
Too late now
. The soft woolen folds
of the mantle held her fragrance commingled with his own. Ciaran breathed
deeply, drawing their combined scents into his lungs. He would not lose her.
Not now. Not ever.