Celtic Shores, Book 2 in the Celtic Steel Series Page 2

  “Walk with me,” gestured Lucian to Patrick as they crossed the banqueting hall where the ceremony was to be performed. Servants were hastily working, making last minute preparations in the hall. Flowers adorned the windows, and several long tables had been brought up and were overflowing with the finest foods imaginable. The O’Malley stronghold’s situation along the western seaboard afforded the clan access to various seafoods and delicacies. Darina was especially fond of shrimp, and Odhran saw to it that the feast was overflowing with them.

  Lucian led them down the stairways and out of the castle towards the markets on the bay side. The markets were closed for the Samhain celebration and wedding reception; but the grounds were crowded with the elaborate tents of visitors and honored guests who came to celebrate the alliance forged by the joining of Darina and Patrick.

  I canna believe he has led us out here dressed like this. He in his cloak and priest attire… and me like… this. Patrick groaned as he dodged a wayward hog covered in fresh mud. Thank the gods the storm has stopped.

  “Aye, thank the gods indeed,” said Lucian acknowledging Patrick’s thoughts. “It may turn out to be quite a nice day after all,” he ventured, through a tight smile.

  When they finally made it past the last row of tent houses, they followed a footpath leading uphill towards the port to the north side of the territory. They hiked past thick brush which surrounded a stream flowing from the river, until they arrived at an isolated crop of buildings which appeared to be a crudely put-together maze of thatched roof round-houses joined as one.

  “Wh-where are we?” asked Patrick.

  “This is the sick-house. We are here to see Vynae, the healer, and Jordy. He is the young boy ye found in Burke territory; and he has an interesting story I’d like ye to hear.”

  It canna wait until after me wedding? queried Patrick with his mind.

  I’m afraid no’ Patrick, responded Lucian. This is a matter of safety and security for all of our clan.

  “Verra w-well then Lucian— let’s g-get this matter behind us,” sighed Patrick as Lucian pushed the door to the sick-house open and ushered them inside.

  The trip from MacCahan territory had been perilous. They were constantly bombarded by incessant rains and the storms that seemed to come with them on their journey. When the foster child, Braeden, who Patrick’s father asked Patrick to bring back to O’Malley lands with him, and his nurse, Mavis, ventured off into the night; they stumbled upon a Burke soldier hovering over the body of a grievously injured young boy.

  It was known there was no love lost between the O’Malley’s and the Burke’s. Ruarc, chieftan of the O’Malley military, sent men to accompany Patrick and his group on their journey through Burke territory— to ensure their safe arrival.

  Patrick saved the boy’s life with the help of Deasum, an O’Malley soldier. It required the unfortunate beheading of a Burke soldier and Mavis had been injured; but the boy lived.

  Lucian pushed open the heavy wooden door to the sick-house and it creaked loudly, as if announcing their arrival. They entered the main room where a fire was burning and saw a young boy sitting nearby; sipping a mug of something presumed to be cider and hastily gnawing at a turkey leg.

  “Jordy, I’m glad to see ye about. Are ye feeling much better?” asked Lucian, directing Patrick’s attention to the boy he had helped rescue.

  “Aye. Aye indeed!” replied Jordy, bouncing up from his crouched position near the fire. “Yer the one!” called Jordy to Patrick, as he strode towards the two men who were moving to sit at the table.

  “Aye, he is,” replied Lucian. “Jordy, this is Patrick MacCahan, the warrior who took you from yer captor, the Burke soldier. Patrick is to wed Darina O’Malley this eve; and he will be the new Laird of the O’Malley clan.”

  “What is a lair?” asked Jordy nonchalantly, obviously unfamiliar with the term.

  “Aye, a laird is a lord, like we have here in Ireland, Jordy,” said Lucian. “In Scotland, they call them lairds. Lord O’Malley’s wife, Anya, called him Laird, so it took hold among the O’Malley clanspeople.”

  Before anyone could stop him, Jordy ran to Patrick and wrapped his arms around his waist hanging on for what seemed like dear life.

  “Jordy McClure, ye let go o’ that mon this instant!” broke the voice of Vynae, the clan healer, as she barreled down the corridor from out of one of the chambers.

  “Lucian, what need have ye o’ Jordy now?” she bellowed. “’Tis nearly noon day, and a might close to time for Jordy to take his nap,” she spewed angrily.

  Jordy relinquished his hold on Patrick’s waist and slid down his legs back to the floor, still grasping the turkey leg with his right hand.

  “Vynae, this is Patrick MacCahan,” Lucian shot back, but not quick enough.

  “I ken verra well who he is, Lucian. Now—why have ye come and why must ye continue to pester the boy so? He’s told ye ever-thing he knows!”

  “P-pa-pardon me, me lady,” interjected Patrick. He took Vynae’s weathered left hand in his own and placed a gentle kiss atop it before she could stop him. The healer blushed, softened instantly and let out a long sigh.

  “I pr-promise we won’t keep him up much longer. We have only a f-few qu-questions and then he can be off to his sl-slum-slumber,” Patrick added, still grasping her hand.

  “Aye, alright, I s’pose a few more minutes won’t hurt anything,” said Vynae dreamy-eyed and now caressing her left hand with her right.

  “Jordy, sit right down there at the table and let the men speak with ye; and when ye are done, get yerself back into yer bed, ye hear?” instructed Vynae before returning down the corridor and into another chamber.

  “Jordy, Patrick wishes to know what ye told me—about what happened,” said Lucian directing Jordy with his eyes to speak to Patrick.

  “Aye, I’ll tell him.”

  “G-good,” said Patrick as he filled Jordy’s mug with more cider from a pitcher sitting on the table.

  “Me fathair is a textile merchant from MacTierney lands,” huffed Jordy as he continued to chew the turkey leg.

  “The McTierney’s are our allies to the south,” shot Lucian towards Patrick. Patrick nodded his acknowledgement and looked to Jordy to continue.

  “We were here for the markets and I was playing on the long pier, when…of a sudden…these two men grabbed me. They put me in their boat and bid me to drink from their mug,” Jordy stated through haggard breath, in between bites.

  “’Twas awful— the drink that is,” he grimaced. “Then, they tied a linen about me mouth, and put a sack over me head before they pushed me down to lay on the bottom of the boat. So no one would see me.”

  “J-Jordy,” said Patrick, “did ye ken who the men were?”

  Jordy shook his head back and forth indicating he didn’t know.

  “Had ye ever seen them a’fore?” asked Lucian.

  Jordy shook his head back and forth again between bites on the now nearly barren turkey leg. “Never,” he said, “and they wore a strange plaid.”

  “A st-strange plaid?” asked Patrick.

  “Aye,” said Jordy. “’Twas not a McTierney plaid, and ‘twas not an O’Malley plaid. It didn’t look like his plaid either,” said Jordy pointing to the MacCahan tartan draped across Patrick’s shoulder.

  “Wh-what did it look like?” asked Patrick.

  “‘Twas brown with red and yellow lines in it,” replied Jordy, matter-of-factly.

  “Burke,” sighed Lucian as he pounded his fist against the table top. “I knew it!”

  “Wh-what happened next, Jordy? Can ye remember?”

  “Aye,” replied Jordy. “I woke up with a terrible pounding in me head— chained up to a wall in a dark cave.”

  Vynae skittered back down the corridor towards the table with a fierce look of impatience on her face. “Lucian, I told ye, Jordy needs to be in his bed—now.”

  “Mi-might I tuck him in?” asked Patrick sheepishly to Vynae as he rose from the table
. This should buy us a little more time, said Patrick to Lucian, with his mind.

  “Verra well, but be quite quick about it,” Vynae responded as she grabbed the ragged turkey leg from Jordy’s hands and wiped them with clean linen. “Go on,” she demanded, patting Jordy swiftly on the backside and steering him towards his chamber.

  “Jordy’s da will be here on the morrow to take him home,” she said. “He was quite happy to hear he was safe on O’Malley lands. Nay doubt the poor boy will be interrogated again at home.”

  Lucian and Patrick met Vynae back at the door to the sick-house when they had gotten all the answers they could from Jordy.

  “Th-thank you, Vynae, for letting us speak with him. It was most helpful,” ventured Patrick at the door.

  “We best be off,” interjected Lucian, “We’ve a ceremony to attend.”

  “Th-that we do!” stammered Patrick through a clenched grin. “Vy-vynae, I wonder if I might di-discuss something with y-you, before I return to the k-keep?” he asked.

  “Certainly,” she responded. “What can I do for ye, me Lord?”

  Patrick gave Lucian a deliberate glance indicating his need for privacy. Lucian caught the gesture and bid his goodbyes as he headed back towards the castle.

  “Alright dear, what have ye need of?” questioned the healer.

  “I am te-terribly exhausted. Our j-journey here was st-stressful and I f-fear I may f-fall asleep or w-worse. Might you h-have anythi…?” Vynae interrupted before Patrick could continue.

  “Say nay more. I know just what ye need.”

  “Th-thank you,” he sighed, beginning to blush.

  “Just you have a seat and I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Vynae returned from the furthest chamber in the sick-house and trudged back down the corridor to the table where Patrick now sat. She lay a cup full of some type of elixir on the table in front of him and pointed.

  “Now—make quite certain ye intend to stay awake; otherwise ye may not sleep for a while.”

  “Aye,” he replied as he grabbed the cup and drank the contents ravenously. “I d-doubt I’ll get m-much sleep tonight, w-with it being S-Samhain and all,” he said, as he winked at Vynae.

  “Well, I guess not,” she shot back, a knowing grin arising on her face. “I guess not.”

  TWO

  O’Malley Territory — the Piers

  “Tell me again where we are going?” asked eleven-year-old Braeden. He directed his repetitive inquiry to Mavis, for the third time in as many minutes.

  “Just come along Braeden,” she said exasperatedly. “We are going to fetch a dog from a boat at the piers and take it up to the Inn to Rory. It is to be a present from Patrick to Darina. It is a fine falconry hound and Patrick thinks she has need of it.”

  “A dog… he is giving her a dog?” Braeden recanted as if attempting to remember what she said this time.

  “Aye, he is giving her a dog; and we are to retrieve it from the piers and take it to whom?” she drilled.

  “To Rory!” Braeden exclaimed obviously proud of himself for remembering. “We are taking the dog to Rory at the Inn.”

  “Verra good, Braeden. Ye see that boat there? The one with the yellow sun on the flag?” she pointed. “That is the boat. We are to ask for Nidaj and hand him this coin right here in this purse.”

  “Can I do it?” asked Braeden. “I want to be the one! Please, please Mavis, can I?” he begged and jumped up and down in front of her, blocking her walking path.

  “Alright, but only if ye agree to lead the pup back up this hill. I’ve nay desire to fight with a mangy dog this day, it might get me dress torn.”

  “I will!” he replied and increased the tempo of his steps towards the boat. The closer they came to the boat, the louder the yelps and barks became. It was clear the fewterer had a grand selection of hounds of all kinds, as there were many kenneled areas atop the boat; and handlers were bustling about busily caring for them and discussing their qualities with interested parties.

  When they finally crossed to the end of the pier, Mavis spoke up. “Now Braeden, go on—tell ‘em ye have business with Nidaj.”

  Braeden walked hesitantly up the narrow slat which lay between the pier and the boat itself. After climbing aboard, he turned back around to check for approval from Mavis before continuing.

  “Sir,” he said, tugging at the truis of an elderly man standing watch over the boat’s entry point. “Sir, I have need to speak with Nidaj.”

  “Go on now son, I haven’t the time nor inclination to make merry with anyone t’day,” retorted the old guard. “Besides, we have much business transacting and ye are getting in the way, ye are.”

  “Sir,” pressed Braeden further, raising his voice this time, the way Patrick had instructed him to speak up in public. “Good sir, I have business with Nidaj and I will speak to him at once,” he countered. “I have coin, and I am to take delivery of a particular hunting hound which has been procured by our new Laird, Patrick MacCahan. I dare say, ‘twould be dreadful if I return without his purchase. Patrick would be unpleased with Nidaj should I do so.”

  At the mention of Patrick’s name, the elderly guard’s eyes shot up. He peered back down at Braeden between heavily grayed, thick eyebrows, before bidding Braeden to remain. “I’ll get Nidaj, but the rest is up to ye lad— ye ken?” he asked and shrugged his hunched shoulders.

  Before Braeden knew what happened, a small red-and-white spaniel pup was thrust towards him and was attempting to climb him like a tree. Braeden toppled backwards and caught himself with his hands before they could both plunge head-over-feet over the side of the boat.

  “Goodness! Braeden, ye get ahold of that dog right now a ’fore ye both end up in the water!” shouted Mavis, who was now glaring threateningly at the elderly guard. Sensing her irritation, the man took ahold of the dog’s lead and settled him while assisting Braeden to his feet.

  “Son, this one here is a good falconry hound; but he’s still got a might bit ’a pup in him. Ye need to control him or else he’ll control you.”

  “I think ye is right,” exclaimed Braeden. “And this is the one the Laird picked?” he asked in disbelief.

  “It is,” interjected a lanky gentleman from behind the guard. “The very one,” he said.

  “And who are ye?” quipped Braeden to the man.

  “Nidaj. I am the dealer who spoke with Patrick. This is the hound he chose. One of me best, his sire was a champion falconry hound from England. I’m sure the Laird will be pleased with this choice.”

  Braeden hurriedly thrust the coin purse into Nidaj’s hand and stepped back before he grabbed the lead from the guard and turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Nidaj said. “Ye forgot the papers. Take these with ye, ye may have need of them in the future.”

  ***

  “Aye, Patrick, ‘tis nearly time. Are ye ready?” inquired Ruarc O’Connell.

  Patrick rose from the bench beside the fire in the great hall and walked forward to greet Ruarc who had just come in from the battlements. “I b-be-believe so,” stuttered Patrick, a blush rising in his face.

  “H-how are ye, Ruarc?” asked Patrick.

  “Verra well, verra well indeed. There is a small matter we should discuss involving yer brathair, Payton. But, I believe it can keep until the morrow.”

  “M-me brathair? Wh-when did he ar-arrive?” asked Patrick, surprised at the news.

  “Earlier this day; Kyra went out to meet the men and there was an incident at the river.”

  “The men— how m-many came with m-me brathair?” questioned Patrick.

  “A garrison of perhaps fifty MacCahan soldiers, I believe,” retorted Ruarc. “Why? Did ye not know they were a‘coming?”

  Patrick shook his head back and forth and adorned an expression of surprise that unsettled Ruarc. “I’ve some explaining to do I see,” he said.

  “Patrick, yer fathair made these arrangements long ago with Laird O’Malley. These men are to stay here in O’Malley terr
itory and become a part of our clan. He selected the best unmarried soldiers ye had in yer territory. They are here to support and protect…”

  “Pro-tec-tion? I’ve nay n-need for pp-rotec-tion,” interrupted Patrick. “I am m-more than cap-capable of protecting…”

  Ruarc interrupted Patrick before he could go any further. “Hold on, Patrick. It appears there are yet matters ye should be aware of— things yer fathair has no’ been clear about.”

  “Wh-what sort of th-things?” sighed Patrick shaking his head. I am yet again in the dark about matters. “Do g-go on, Ruarc. Please, l-leave n-nothing out th-this time. ‘Tis only f-fair I g-go into this m-marriage with f-full disclosure.”

  “Ye are right about that son.” Ruarc stretched his arms as wide as they could go and then tugged at his long red beard until it looked like he would pull it out. Patrick gestured for a servant to bring them ale before returning his eyes to Ruarc’s— pressing him for information.

  “Verra well, Patrick. I’ll no’ beat around the bush. I’ll just have it out and then ye can ask me whatever ye wish to know.”

  Patrick nodded and bade him to continue.

  “Patrick have ye had time to meet with the men, the soldiers… our forces that is… our military operations?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Nay, we only a-ar-rived l-last night.”

  “I see. Well, ye need to understand that we have only a small handful of experienced men compared to the size of our territory. And, most of those soldiers are not O’Malley clansmen, they are hired men.”

  “Why is th-that?” asked Patrick confused. “Aren’t yer m-men h-here required to s-serve?”

  “Aye, they are indeed. However, we lack for… well Patrick… that is to say that… Oh Shite! Patrick, we haven’t many men.”

  “Haven’t m-many men? How is th-that?” retorted Patrick obviously confused.

  “Patrick,” replied Ruarc, “we haven’t had a male child born to the O’Malley clan in nigh o’er twenty summers a ‘cause of the curse.”

  “C-curse?” repeated Patrick. “Wh-what c-curse?