Celtic Stars (Celtic Steel Book 4) (10 page)

T
WELVE

O'Malley Lands

The Port - Commerce District

The elder merchant scratched figures on a parchment, dipped his quill in ink, struck through the figures and started his figuring all over again. Scratching his head, he glared at Dervilla O'Malley in astonishment.

"Ye actually mean to say ye need four hundred of these things in less than nine days?"

"Aye", replied Dervilla.

"Well, if'n ye weren't the Lord's own seesta, by marriage, of course," he began, tapping his chin, "I'd tell ye ye were a daft lassy."

"I am in no way daft, sir."

"Well, I guess, well, let's see what I can do for ye. And, it has to be nine days? Whatever on earth on ye going to do with all these fishing nets, ye intend to resell these somewhere else for a hefty profit lassy?"

"Nay. As I just stated, they are needed for a miliary matter of great importance," Dervilla interjected, handing him the commission log signed by Flynn. "We must have these, in nine days, the security of O'Malley lands is at stake."

"Well, I can't tell ye rightly that we can make all of these in nine days," he said, eyeing his large workshop, "but what we can't make, we can certainly purchase. I'll need some funds upfront of course."

"Of course," replied Dervilla, setting a heavy sack of coins down with a thud. "Will this help?"

He chuckled, opened the bag and peeked inside, "Indeed it will. Indeed, it will."

Opening the large workshop door, Dervilla O'Malley pondered her predicament. Commissioned for at least ten more months in the military, she was in no rush to leave her station, but she wasn't exactly happy to be trapped within it either.  Falling in love with Patrick's cousin Flynn, who was captain of the military hadn't been her plan. She knew her brother-in-law wouldn't be happy about it either. She had really only agreed to her commission to avoid being the prize at the clan games. When her sister Daenal took her place, she was relieved, a feeling that fed her guilt on a near daily basis.

She knew that Flynn shared her feelings toward him, but that considering he was her commander, wouldn't give voice to them. It was an unspoken knowledge they held between one another.  When word came that his betrothed, Aisling had changed her mind and was actually coming to their territory from Scotland, to wed Flynn, her heart was nearly torn to pieces. His face shared his disappointment as well.  She wasn't sure she would make it through a wedding between the man she cared so much about and a woman who obviously did not share her same sense of respect, admiration and infatuation.

"A reluctant wife," Aisling's missive read. How shockingly cold and unfeeling the words were. How Dervilla ever thought she would manage to stay away from Flynn Montgomery was beyond her. Perhaps after her commission ended she would simply leave, marry off to another clan and save her poor heart the torment, and her body the temptation.  As it stood, she was quite nearly giddy each time she saw him. They had only shared the one kiss, but there was so much fire and passion, she was certain the next time would burn them both.

Patrick's brother Parkin was the one who brought the news. The ship had been lost at sea. All that remained was some burnt debris. It was like the other lost ships, some how firebombed from god-knows-where? There were no survivors.

Flynn had asked for her several times since word came of the death of Aisling, but she refused his invitations. Of course, as it pertained to the military, she obeyed every order and followed every protocol. She was unclear if she could maintain any sense of decorum in his presence if not chaperoned. He was always kind with his eyes and seemed to understand her hesitance. Had it not been for her commission, she was certain she would have had him before now. He had been invited, of course, to the Island of Women for the Lunar Festival and she was certain to be there.  But it was her sister, in the end, who put a stop to her plan, reminding her of her duties to the clan, proper behaviour befitting a Lord's daughter and the fact that he was her captain. In the end, Dervilla was not ready to give up her commission or bring shame upon her family and Flynn mysteriously became ill and did not attend.

Today was different. Flynn had called for her and for Bahri, Gemma's second in command from the Island. There was some speculation on her part, but she feared the coming war, and could assume only that Flynn's request accompanied a plan with regard to the Burke's invading the Island; something the women had feared for a long time.

Dervilla bent down to tie her bootstrap for the third time in as many hours.  Her mind was elsewhere and she knew it, and he would know it if she didn't get it together, and fast. The mere thought of him made her blush. Her pulse raced and she became hot and tingly. If she didn't get this man off her mind and fast, she would be in trouble, deep, deep trouble. How could she function? How would she be equipped to do battle if her every thought were of her commander and the gloriously wicked things she wished he would do to her?

A strong hand reached down towards her and she grasped it. How had he found her?

"I came to meet ye," said Flynn. "Let me help ye up." His pale green eyes were swimming with passion and resolve and she gulped.  The warmth from his touch sent shivers down her spine and her stomach leaped into her neck.
Let go of his hand
. She kept repeating it to herself over and over, but somehow she had still not broken contact.
Let go of his hand,
she repeated to herself, somehow still frozen.  As if she were simply a spectator, she watched as the object of her desire raised her left hand to his sultry mouth and placed a tender kiss atop it.

"Dervilla," he whispered slowly against her wrist, "I've been calling for ye." He released her from his grip and stood magnificently still before her. He was a good head and shoulder's taller than she and at least ten years older, but he was no match for Dervilla. She owned him, body and soul, he just did not know it yet. And - he had come to give her the worst possible news. How would he ever live with himself knowing what he was about to tell her?

***

Aisling placed the finishing touches on her long blonde hair as the Missus tightened the straps on her dress one last time. Her boots were new, her dress was new, her hair was freshly washed and now keenly adorned with flowers. Aisling was pretty as a picture and ready for the next stage of her life. If all went as planned, by the new moon she would be the Laird's wife, move into Castle Burke and be well on her way to running the "kingdom" as it were. The Burke Clan itself, although in some disarray, would come to accept her. Yes, she was a Scot, but she was beautiful, intelligent and likable when she tried and she was certain she could make this remnant of a clan do her bidding, willingly.

There weren't many of the true Burke clan left, most having fled to O'Malley territory several months back, along with the witch Odetta Burke, her soon-to-be husband's ex-wife.  Rumor had it that Easal was not acting as Easal at all, and he had intercepted power which did not belong to him by overthrowing the council and banishing his wife; both of which sent shivers of excitement through Aisling.
A mon after me own heart,
she thought to herself. There weren't many things that excited Aisling. A man not afraid to take what he wanted was one of them, however.

Having scratched, plotted, schemed, stolen, cheated and worse to get by in her short nineteen years, Aisling was on the precipice of an enormous opportunity she would not let go to waste. She would be the new Lord's wife and she would rule.  There would be no doubt about that.  She may not have had a lot of experience with men, in that way, but she knew how to get what she wanted and she knew how to concoct a brew that would control them or end them.  Her daily walks were testament to her knowledge of the herbs and roots and this man, like every other, would cause her no grief. She would get what she wanted and maybe, just maybe, if he were nice, she would let him live.

It would take some time, but it wouldn't be long until she would be privy to the council scrolls and she would find out what would become of the Laird's wife in the event of his death. If it were anything like her own clan back home, she would remain in power until his son was old enough to take the reigns. A son she would bare him, but not for a long, long, long, long time.

She smiled a wicked, knowing smile into the looking glass before her, grasping tightly about the round glass container in her pocket.  It held the key to her salvation, and to her final act of revenge on Flynn Montgomery. Soon they would be enemies, literally. Soon she would have her vengeance and he would know the power of her resolve once and for all.

T
HIRTEEN

O'Malley Lands

Marina poured him another glass of wine and sat down quietly across from Easal. The Lord's chamber was not her favorite place to meet, but it would have to do. He had been feeling ill since early in the day, throwing up and running and fever - and all this gave Marina pause. Having consulted nearly every text she could find, she was sure she had no idea what to do or what to think about her supposed "immortal" Lord's health crisis.

"Milord," she began softly, wiping the sweat from his brown. "Are ye quite certain it was something ye ate?"

"Aye," he mumbled gruffly. "Aye, the venison, I'm sure of it."

"Well, do ye think ye'll be in any mood to entertain our guests this eve?" she asked shaking her head. Contemplating all the work that had gone into putting the dinner together and perhaps making a match with the young lass to wed the Laird, she was worried.

"Aye, the peppermint oil has helped." He sat up on the edge of the bed and dangled his weak feet towards the floor.

"Milord," Marina began.

"I ken what ye are about to say, I know ye have questions," he said, more softly than she ever believed he would. He appeared, at the moment, almost
human
somehow.

"Ye do?"

"Aye, I do." Rising to his feet, he ventured toward the pitcher and basin on his side table. Grabbing a thin linen cloth, he washed his face, neck and hands and proceeded to tie his lightly graying hair with a leather thong about the base of his neck.  "I
am
immortal, Marina."

"But?" she questioned.

"But, this
body
is not," he said, patting his stomach for emphasis. "It is dying and I've need to find another. I've been here a verra, verra long time and if I canno' leave here soon, I will need to find another, more suitable shell."

"And, what happens, milord if..."

"Do no' ask that jest yet. I've no plans to face that scenario anatime soon."

He was a striking man, or he was, or he is, which she wasn't exactly sure. He wasn't really Easal, he was Eaton, a being from some other place or time and he had assumed Easal's body. She hadn't believed the rumors in the beginning herself, but she'd been with him long enough to know it was so. The elderly druid preistess was reluctant to serve him at the start, but what other choice did she really have? When Odetta fled to Burke lands leaving her and the others alone, she had run out of options.

Easal was kind but firm, he had certain expectations but he was fair and he was clear. He wasn't always forthcoming with information, but she suspected that was as much for her benefit as anything else.

"We haven't had many conversations about what would, what will happen, Marina."

"Aye, milord, I've tried to respect yer privacy. I knew that when ye were ready, ye'd tell me what ye felt important."

"Aye, Marina," he said, swishing his mouth with mint water, before spitting it back into the basin.

"Easal's body, it is, well...it is not well."

"I see."

"I think maybe, this body has a couple of years at the most. If I haven't found another, more suitable body by that time, well - that wouldn't be good."

She looked at him in astonishment, he wasn't saying he would die, but he wasn't saying he wouldn't either.

"Ye see, I must have a body in order to leave here. Becoming Easal was important because I am the Lord here. I can get things done, I can perhaps find the Nexus and make my way home. Without the Nexus, I can never leave, Marina."

"What happens if ye do not find a body Easal?"

"It is much easier for me to assimilate into a body from a body, than without it. It's very complicated and difficult and will set me back hundreds, possibly thousands of years."

"Why a bairn Easal, why would you want an infant?"

"Not just any infant, Marina. I would want the infant to be my son. Rather, to be
seen
as my son."

She cringed at the thought of Easal taking over the body of a helpless child. How unsavory an idea, although she'd no doubt seen worse things. Odetta had been a cruel witch, after all. Having attended numerous ceremonies involving children, Marina wasn't surprised by much. The curse of no male children in O'Malley lands had required the blood of young males, she hadn't forgotten that. "Ye mean to keep yer power, even if ye must start over, from the beginning as a child."

"Aye, I do," he responded. "That is why the lass we choose as me wife must be suitable, to raise, essentially....
me
. If need be."

***

Moya tied the second set of leads around the large steed that stood regally next to the brown mare Darina had chosen.  She knew that Patrick would be might angry with her for letting Darina ride, let alone bring along an elderly guest. But, she also knew the anger she was in for had she not done Darina's bidding. Lord Patrick O'Malley's wife was no stranger to her. No, Darina had quite nearly grown up in her stable, she had been always underfoot, and she was a little trouble-maker to say the least in her adolescence. She was as close a thing to having a child that Moya would ever know and she loved Darina dearly. It was her very ripe condition that troubled her. She knew very well Vynae would never approve of her riding so close to the babe coming, and that made her all the more hesitant.