Celtic Stars (Celtic Steel Book 4) (9 page)

Reluctantly on her way to a foreign land, to marry a man she had come to resent, Aisling McTavish was now a picture of desperation.  She hadn’t made it to her destination in time to intercept the missive she sent. She regretted that. She regretted a lot of things. Mostly, she regretted that her station in life required that she “marry up” in order to have anything. The missive to Flynn would have long since arrived. The missive would tell him she did not love him, that she would not agree to be his wife and that she would never, ever, ever leave Skye or her people. He was a fool for expecting her to do so. Their engagement was off and she never wanted to hear from him, ever again.

It
would
tell him, more likely it already had. Before she had a chance to intercept it, before she could arrive at O’Malley port before the letter would arrive. She had constructed a scenario in her mind a thousand times and in a thousand different ways on why she sent it and why she came to marry him anyway. She would plead and beg forgiveness and hope beyond hope, he would have her because there certainly was nothing left for her anymore, not in Scotland.

She watched as Ochnar discussed what appeared to be something of great importance and, evidently, some secrecy with Missus Edwards.  He nodded, she nodded, they patted each other on the shoulder. The Missus appeared to be making a list of things in her head, adding things up, measuring her skirt, and bending down under her cupboard to look for something. Something was going on and Aisling wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Aisling, dear,” said the Missus, “bring me that clay jar from above the hearth, there. Aye, that one right there, “she pointed.

Curious, Aisling rose from her perch and tiptoed to reach the green colored, clay jar sitting high atop the shelf just above the hearth.  She handed it to the Missus and returned to her work in the corner, feigning disinterest.

“Now here, ye take this right here and ye get the cloth I spoke of, take it over to the seamstress's shop. They have her size on hand and tell them to add the gold stringers to it, ye hear?"

Ochnar mumbled something Aisling didn’t understand and took off quickly out of the cottage.

“Aisling dear,” called the Missus. “I have some verra exciting news for you, well for us, actually.”

“Aye,” she replied. “What news? Is it about me leaving?”

“Nay, nay, nothing of that sort. I think ye and I both know ye haven’t a chance now of making a go in O’Malley lands. We haven’t heard from em, and we’re on the brink of war even, as I told ye.  Me poor dear lass, I think ye know there lies a largely burned bridge between ye and yer Flynn. It’s too late, me dear. If’n he had inkling to come for ye, I’m sure he would’ve afore now.”

Aisling nodded her head in agreement. It was true, it was too late with Flynn and she wasn’t really all
that
sorry. She
was
still angry, and she wouldn’t be the reluctant wife of a man who took her from her country. She just wouldn’t. By now, he’d received the letter and he was just as angry at her as she was at him, and that was that.

“Well, I can’t see what kind of news ye could have for me which may be ana ‘good’, but do go on. Please,” Aisling whispered. “What has Ochnar to do with it?”

“Aisling,” continued the Missus, “We have been invited to dine with the Lord of Burke lands and his mini-council tomorrow eve.  As a survivor of the ship wreck, he has waited to make introductions until now, until he thought ye might be feeling a wee bit more like yerself.”

“Why would the Laird wish to meet
me
?” Aisling asked, puzzled.

“That’s just it, my dear,” sighed the Missus, “I’m not supposed to say this, Ochnar swore me to secrecy but
Lord
Easal is seeking a bride. Yer name came up in conversation and well now, he wishes to meet ye.”

Aisling let out a long, expressive sigh and set down at the table, rubbing her throbbing head. “What sort of mon is this Laird McCallister?”

“What’s wrong me dear? Are you no’ wishing to meet the Lord?”

“Well, I guess I should, I’ve no other options afore me now do I?”

“Well, of course, ye do, dear. Yer a pretty lass and any mon would be fortunate to have ye to wife. Lord McCallister is an honorable mon, recently divorced ye know from that old witch, Odetta. Their union didn’t last verra long, I can tell ye that. I hear tell he’s mighty handsome as well though I’ve never seen him meself. And just think – ye’d be the Lord’s wife. We call him ‘Lord’ here Aisling, not Laird like in Scotland.  Anyhow, seems Ochnar put yer name in seeing as how ye’ve nowhere to go and ye'r a pretty lass, and a strong one. Ochnar thought ye might like to make his acquaintance.”

“Thank you, I suppose I shouldn’t miss the chance. I suppose I’ll be living here in Burke lands anaway, might as well be at the castle keep,” Aisling chuckled.

“What was it ye gave Ochnar?” she asked.

“I gave him some coin to have ye a fine dress made, dear lassie. Yer shift and tunic will no’ do for the castle keep and ye can’t wear anathing of mine. I saved a bit up and now ye shall have a fine dress.”

“Missus Edwards,” replied Aisling astonished, “Ye know I haven’t the coin to repay ye. Ye shouldn’t have done that,” she shook her head, “Now what will I do?”

“Aisling dear, I’m no’ worried a bit about the dress. Besides, if things work out betwixt ye and the Lord, I’ll be set for life.”

“Whatever do ye mean?” asked Aisling.

“Well dear, I’m yer sponsor. Seeing as how ye are here from a foreign land with no family to speak of, in my charge since ye arrived, I’d be receiving yer tribute.”

“I have no tribute here to speak of.  I’m afraid there wouldn’t be anathing for ye.”

“Oh no, that’s not what Ochnar said. Ochnar said the Laird will be paying a hefty tribute to the family of the lass he chooses, with a second tribute after the first son is born.”

“My. Oj my,” gasped Aisling. “Really?”

“Oh yes, dear. And since ye haven’t ana family, I’d be taken up residence alongside ye in the castle keep. Wouldn’t that be fine, Aisling?”

“Fine indeed,” responded Aisling, all too clear now why the Missus was sold on the idea.

E
LEVEN

O’Malley Lands

Patrick scratched the back of his neck in frustration. Sitting at his desk in the Lord’s official chamber, he attempted once again to contact his beloved Darina with his mind. It was something that he had been able to do from the very moment they first met, some months ago, just prior to their arranged marriage.   He called to her telepathically but received neither a response nor was he able to detect her at all. Normally he would be able to somehow decipher her thoughts or emotions. This had happened at only one time prior and it had been because of her deliberate refusal to let him in.

He hadn’t asked her about it yet. No, not since the trouble with her sister being carried off by the creature. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know if she was doing it on purpose or if he had simply lost touch with his young bride. His work had been daunting in his this new foreign place. He wasn’t even sure if the clan approved of him, with all of the turmoil going on between them and the Burke clan. It was enough that he had welcomed the Burke refugees from the north, but since he also welcomed the Burke witch, he partly feared for his life. There were many who did not agree with that move, and he was ever vigilant for himself and his bride.

But now, he was late, very late as a matter of fact, for a special meeting called by Jamie who represented the Burke clan. Jamie asked he come at once, and Patrick wasn’t usually inclined to run to just anyone seeking his audience. But this was Jamie, and seeing as how Jamie was blind, it was probably easier to go to him than vice versa.

“Ruarc,” Patrick called down the hallway, “are ye ready to go?”

“Aye, my Lord,” responded Ruarc.

“Well, let’s be off then,” said Patrick, placing the scrolls on his desk inside the large bottom shelf behind his desk.

“Milord,” said Ruarc, “Master Jamie has requested we meet in the council chamber below ground, says it will prove more private.”

Puzzled, Patrick nodded his head in agreement and followed Ruarc down the flights of stony stairs that finally led to the secret passageway beneath the great hall. “Is it to be just Jamie and I then, Ruarc?” he asked.

“Aye, I believe so milord.”

“Nay,” came a voice behind them as they cleared the passage door, “I’m coming as well, Jamie called for me too.”

“Flynn,” said Patrick, “Good to have ye with us. Have ye any idea what this is about?”

"Not a one," he said shaking his head.

***

Her head had stopped pounding, but her stomach was swimming. She hovered in and out of sleep for what seemed hours, only to begin
hallucinating
? There she was again, the annoying woman, shaking her by the shoulders and bidding her remain quiet at the same time.  Shaking, shaking, shaking and shaking her some more.  Daenal groaned and attempted to roll over. The hard stony ground of the cave was not a suitable bed, but it had to do since it was all she had.

"Daenal," said the familiar voice. "Daenal, wake up lass."

Daenal scratched at her head and tested her weary back, attempting to sit up against the cave wall. Perhaps that hare wasn't fully cooked, after all. Fearing she may throw up, she placed her hands on the floor beside her, but something blocked her attempt to rise.

"Daenal, wake up."

She was cold, for some reason. Her overcloak was gone, she was sure she had wrapped herself in it just before lying down. A cold, damp cave was no place for a girl wearing only a thin linen shift. At least her feet and legs were warm, protected by her wool stockings and boots. What had become of the overcloak? Certainly the creature would not have taken it?

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she pressed her spine backward against the stony wall, hoping to stretch the sore muscles.  Hands grabbed her shoulders again and Daenal at once was fully awake.

"Gemma?" she inquired hesitantly.

"Hush, child, ye'll wake the dragons," replied Gemma, motioning with her head towards the bowels of the cave.

"Gemma, how?..." Daenal began, before noticing Gemma was wearing her missing overcloak and little else.

"There'll be no time for discussions Daenal, I'm here to check on ye and make sure ye are still alive. I see that ye are. Have ye been hurt lass?"

It took a moment for Daenal to register what exactly was happening. How Gemma had reached the mouth of the cave was beyond her imaginings. There were no scratches or tell-tale signs that Gemma had been brought here by Red, and she knew Gemma wouldn't possibly be able to climb the face of the rock.

"Nay, I'm no' hurt," she replied, attempting to stand.

"Nay, please, stay jest there," said Gemma. "I don't want to wake the creature. Tell me, do ye fear for your life?"

Daenal knew she really wasn't afraid for her life.  She shook her head again.  She knew she wasn't hurt and that she wasn't about to be hurt. She wasn't sure why she was there, but she knew there had to be a good reason.

"I...I...I'm fine, Gemma. What about Jamie, is Jamie....is he....is he gone Gemma?" A tear trickled down her cheek as she thought about the one person on the face of the earth that she loved more than herself. What had become of the man who had won her heart and her hand at the games? Would they ever see each other again?

"Jamie is fine, Daenal. He wasna' harmed at the games. He is worried about ye though. That's why I'm here. He intends to bring troops with him, up here - to get ye."

"Oh, Gemma, he can't do that," Daenal replied. "I don't know how Red will react. It's simply not safe. Please do turn him around, send him back, please."

"Red?" asked Gemma.

'Red," replied Daenal, motioning towards the snoring red dragon.

"Ah, I see," Gemma responded, half attempting a smile.

"Why are
ye
here, lass?" Gemma asked matter-of-factly. She straightened the overcloak about her bare form and shivered for a second, taking in her surroundings. It was cold, damp and harsh inside the cave. She could see the remnants of a half eaten hare just feet away and knew that Daenal had sustenance. Obviously the creature didn't mean her to starve to death. There was plenty of water, whether or not it was fresh or safe was another matter, but Daenal appeared to be in no acute distress.

"I believe I was brought here to help her somehow, or him."

"Him?"

"Aye, there is another here with us, a young male I believe, he appears to be wounded. Perhaps I a  meant to assist in his healing or perhaps there is another reason."

"I see," Gemma said. "Daenal, I'm not sure if or how ye can, but if ye can communicate with Red, ye need to make sure she understands ye must be returned as soon as possible. I am not altogether certain what will happen if ye don't. And - if ye don't, I think a wounded little dragon will be the least of Red's worries. Jamie is quite beside himself."

"Gemma?" asked Daenal.

"Aye, Daenal?"

"There's more." Daenal stood against the cave wall, taking in her predicament. Should she tell her about the other Dragon, the King Dragon or should she take one problem at a time? She needed to get word back to her sister, Patrick, Jamie and the others that she was safe and alright for the moment, but they had to know about the King Dragon. Oh! What did it all mean?

"Gemma, there is another
him
."

"Another him?"

"Aye, there is a King Dragon.
Their
King Dragon," she said, motioning towards the sleeping creatures, "and from what I can tell, Easal has him in Burke lands."