Celtic Stars (Celtic Steel Book 4) (12 page)

"May consider?" the round-faced woman exclaimed. "May consider? I've got news for ye dear one. Ye've more than consider it, ye've accepted, and a mighty fine match I did get for ye if I do say so meself."

"Ye mean, ye've accepted terms without even consulting with me? I don't know how ye do things in Ireland, but from where I come, I have a significant amount of input and I intend to maintain control over me own...."

Missus Edwards grabbed Aisling about the shoulders before slapping her so hard she nearly fell out of the cart and onto the rocky terrain. Grabbing hold of her shoulders once more for affect, she pointed her bony index finger in her face and rambled something in a language that Aisling did not quite understand.  "Now, just ye listen to me now," she whispered softly, but mouthed the words animatedly. "Ye don't ever want to let the Lord's guards hear ye say anathing at all like that. If it weren't for me child, ye'd most certainly be dead. As it stands, the other prisoners, uh, hmmm...I mean the others who survived the shipwreck have all been sold as slaves, at least by now."

Aisling gasped, but held tight to the burning hot tears that threatened to pour down her cheeks. She'd never been treated in such a manner in all her life.  That Missus better learn her place and fast or she would find herself belly up in a shallow grave, a victim of the 'stomach bug.' "What do ye mean?" Aisling whispered back, taking note of the cart driver who appeared to be eavesdropping.

"Weel," Missus Edwards began again this time in a normal tone of voice. "...seems the Lord has takin' a like'n to ye and wishes to proceed with the marriage,
as soon as possible I might add
. I believe he said something about the day after tomorrow. At sunset no less. He wants a romantic setting, I presume. He was most impressed with his soon-to-be new bride," she elicited while wiggling her eyebrows.

Aisling cringed at the thought and rubbed the glass container in her cloak pocket. Would she have enough of the potion, or would she need to get away for a few hours to collect more supplies? Under no circumstances was she going to share a marriage bed with a man she had not even spoken a word to at this point. What a predicament this would be.

"But, but we didn't even speak to one another," replied Aisling. "He didn't sit next to me, he didn't speak to me, he barely even looked at me. He spent the entire evening at the other end of the table, consorting with that....that, that...old woman."

"That old woman," Missus Edwards began, "Could just be the key to yer salvation deary."

"What do ye mean?"

"Marina is Easal's, I mean, Lord Easal's most trusted advisor. She is the eldest council member remaining in Burke Lands since the exodus. Easal trusts her verra much. What Marina says goes. I'm sorry me dear, but ye shall be wed day after tomorrow, at sunset, on Sebastian Hill facing the shore. We've much planning to do and no time to waste."

S
IXTEEN

Finnegan Falls

Daenal rubbed her left arm again. It was paradoxically numb
and
painful and was throbbing such that it kept her from resting. She knew what was happening, she just wasn't ready to admit it to herself. She gathered from the muted cries from the back of the cave, that the small dragon struggled with sleep as much as she and that his mother had gone off hunting somewhere.

She was well fed, having finished off the last of the second hare and some kind of fish the elder dragon had brought before, but Daenal longed for fresh water. Cool, clear, refreshing water, it was tearing at her now. Dehydration. She feared that now more than she feared her captors. She was confused, dizzy, fatigued, unable to sleep yet unable to stay clearly awake. And - she had no way of communicating any of this with the dragons. Food was one thing, but water was quite another and Daenal knew it was only a matter of time. Only a day or two more and she would most likely fall asleep and never wake again. Never see her family, her precious Jamie, and never know what the meaning of all that had transpired really was.

Blue tussled a bit and sat right up on his wobbly legs, stretching his wings. Such as it was, his right wing extended and even bent some as it touched the cave walls, but his left wing, he kept protected and to his side. Unsure if he was malformed from birth, or simply protecting an injury, Daenal watched in astonishment at the majesty of the sight. His mother must be returning she thought to herself. It was uncanny how they sensed the other and Daenal drifted off in a haze of imaginations as to why human animals weren't the same.

Dizzy. I am dizzy again
. She thought to herself or said out loud, she wasn't really certain which. Inching her way against the side wall of the cave, she took a seat when she sensed bottom. Blue was really restless now, bounding his way, haphazardly towards the mouth of the cave, towards the falling water and dimming sunlight.

Aye, she must be returning,
she thought
. I must stand. But, I cannot. I am too weak, I am too dizzy, I have no strength. I can't seem to keep my eyes open. I must stay awake.
She awoke with a start. She was soaking wet and cold, drenched from head to toe. Rubbing her eyes, she peered out from between her fists in disbelief.  She rubbed them once more, just to be sure, then removed her hands altogether.

"Why ye little varment," she yelled, the sound echoing throughout the cavern. Blue jumped back awkwardly, toppling over and to his left when he lost his balance. He did it again and what could have been buckets of water, sprayed against the wall behind her, drenching her in the process.

"Blue," she yelled again, laughing this time, "Are ye playing a game with me?" She stood up and moved two feet to her right where the pool of water was.  He backed up a step and tilted his head slowly, examining her. First he titled left, then right, then he leaned in to get a better look at her.  He stretched his long neck in her direction, tipping his head from side to side, as if inspecting her, sniffing all the while.

"I bet ye think I smell unusual, don't ye?" Daenal asked, reaching out a reluctant hand to touch the tip of his scaly nose. He remained patient throughout and even permitted her to stroke his check and down his neck before pulling away abruptly. She had gotten too close to his whithered wing and he was obviously sensitive or pained, she wasn't sure which.

"Come ye back and mayhap I can help ye," she called, but it was too late. He had already made his way back into the cave's recesses, for more sleep she presumed.  Her own arm and shoulder blade became numb, limp and painful, all at the same time. A blinding headache shot up through the base of her spine and she clenched her teeth and eyes together, choking a strained groan.  Daenal became dizzy and unable to stand on her own, so she leaned heavily against the back of the cave wall, hoping and praying for a merciful end to the painful episode that had caught her off guard.

What on earth did this all mean? Was she meant to help the dragon? Was this why she was here? She heard the snap and knew instinctively what was wrong. Her right shoulder was out of socket completely, leaving her arm limp underneath.  But it wasn't really, was it? No! This must be what was wrong with Blue! For some reason, his right shoulder was out of the socket, all she needed to do was help him re-align it and reposition it into place and he would be fine.  How on earth would she be able to help this young dragon, without getting herself killed in the process?

Daenal cried. She cried the first tears she had shed in some time since her mother had passed away, and she was so overcome with emotion, that she laughed simultaneously. So, this is what will break me? A crippled dragon? I can take anything —but a crippled dragon is the one thing in the world I will cry about?
What on earth is wrong with me?!
She half laughed, half screamed into the roaring water sound of the hollow cave.

***

Dervilla stood nervously in the doorway that led to Flynn's chamber, having stopped abruptly just before allowing herself to follow him inside. Against her better judgment, the most of her afternoon was spent, with him, and far too many mugs of her Aunt Atilde's bitter ale.  The small trencher of roast guinea wasn't nearly sufficient to soak up the false courage which was slowly seeping from her.  He was across the room now, having already shed his overcloak, lighting the lantern on his side table and straightening the bed linens. He motioned for her to join him at the round table near the fire, pouring her an already too large mug of elderberry wine.

She let out a relieved sigh before arduously stepping foot inside the doorway, in an animated fashion, as she was doing her best not to tip over. A loud hiccup escaped her throat and she raised her hand to her mouth in late protest. He grinned. Motioning for her to join him at the table, he pulled her chair out and waited patiently for her to complete her slow-motion tip toe.

"Dervilla," he whispered in her right ear as she sat, "I've no intention of taking advantage of ye."

"Oh, but I wish ye would," she said, out loud, before realizing she had.

"What did ye say?" he asked, in full chuckle now.

Her face turned the color of a ripe, red cherry and she threw her head on her hands on the table.

"Dervilla, how often do ye imbibe the spirits?"

"Not often," was her muffled reply.

Reaching across the table from his seated position, he grabbed her right hand and lightly stroked the inside of her wrist, sending shivers through her. She raised her head and locked gazes with him. Cognizant of the affect he was having, she attempted to remove her hand from his grasp, but he did not release it. Instead, her pulled her closer and lay a soft kiss on it and positioned his chair closer to hers.

"Flynn," she began, before remembering herself, "Chieftain Montgomery," she corrected, "forgive my impropriety, but I must get on, be about clan business. I shouldn't tarry, lest Lord O'Malley become sorely disappointed. My behavior is simply inexcusable. I am afraid I haven't acted much the lady today and for that I beg your forgiveness."

He smiled into her hand and whispered something she couldn't quite make out. It was the wet sensation his tongue left that shook her. She knew she would melt right there, where she sat, if he let out another warm breath against her palm. His tongue drew circles in the palm of her hand. He suckled her index finger and edged closer to her, closing the gab between their chairs as he placed his left boot on the ground between her right and left feet.

"Chieftain Montgomery," she sighed, "I really must be going. My presence here could send the wrong, uh, message to the others. I wouldn't wish to bring reproach upon my clan, my fellow soldiers or to ye, milord."

"Hush," was the soft reply in her right ear. "Let me worry about the others. I havena' finished me lunch and I intend to feast, Dervilla, on ye." His left hand rested slightly above her right knee and his tongue began a teasing kind of torture along her neck.

"Flynn," she gasped. "I am in no way prepared to...that is, I havena'...I mean, I wouldna' be inclined to..." the words escaped her, but she somehow knew that words would not be enough.  Suddenly, she snapped to herself and shot straight up, out of her chair. She wasn't exactly sober, and most definitely not completely drunk. She managed to not sway but stood upright as she cleared her throat. She positioned herself between Flynn and the other side of the table and just stood there, motionless, for what seemed a millennia.

"Dervilla?" he asked, inquisitively.

"Milord," she responded, not sure what else to say.

"Have I frightened ye?"

"Nay, milord. I must be off, now," she said. Tears began to pool in her pale green eyes and she turned to look down, hands straight at her side as if reporting for duty.  She clenched hard on her teeth and swallowed a heavy gulp in the back of her throat.  It was too late. First one, then two, then another and soon her pale, freckled face was moist with the unwelcome tears
. I will no' break down,
she thought to herself.

What have I done? Dear God I've been too forward with Patrick's sister-in-law, and she is one of my soldiers. I will face disciplinary charge. And worst of all, I have offended someone I care about.

Flynn rose from his seat and stood to face Dervilla, raising his hands in mock surrender. Making sure not to get too close, he spoke softly. "Dervilla, if I have in any way offended thee, I beg yer pardon. I may have mistook our time together as a confirmation of sorts that mayhap ye felt the same of me as I do of thee?" he asked inquisitively.

She nodded, the tears having slowed a bit, and wiped the bigger portion of her wet face with the back of her tunic sleeve before resuming her position. "Aye," she ventured, sheepishly.

"I realize that in addition to being a member of Patrick's family, that I am also your superior with regards to this military."

She nodded again.

"I would hope that this occurrence wouldna' find ye distressed or perplexed to the point of seeking remedy or protection, from either the Lord or the clan council?" he asked, sheepishly, peering down to read her eyes.

She ventured her eyes upward to meet his gaze, providing a slight measure of reassurance to him, that she did not, in fact, seek to tarnish either of their reputations through petition.  Their locked gaze forced another flow of tears that spilled over her already wet lashes, and her bottom lip quivered.

"Dervilla," he whimpered, motioning with his arms, "May I?"

She nodded again and met his embrace halfway, sobbing uncontrollably in his arms.

"Dervilla," he whispered, "I am so verra sorry, lass. What have I done? Won't ye please tell me?" Straightening somewhat, he felt her soft embrace turn rigid again. Unable or unwilling to permit her to form another wall between them, he held her tighter, closer to himself and whispered soft comforts in her ear. "Dervilla, what is it?" he asked again, his warm arms inviting her confession.