Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (48 page)

Mahon muttered to himself and walked with the man towards the
main
cottage
.
He was endlessly reminded that he needed to take a wife, but he was not a man to approach a woman and ask for her hand.
“Not you as well, Earnán,” he grumbled
under his breath
. “You are beginning to sound like Ceallach Neáll. I do not need a wife…”

Earnán laughed. “Aye, you need a wife,” he said. “Someone who
can
help teach you how to be a proper lord of Tara.” He chuckled, clearly amused.

Mahon, however, found little amusement in what Earnán had said. He knew he should find a wife, knew he should forge a union to strengthen Tara
as his sister would be doing
. Mahon glanced at Earnán and considered the thought. His own sister was bra
ving a marriage to a Milidh man
, unsure of who her intended was to be. He realized that he, himself, should do the same. He would do his part, do what he could in strengthening Tara.

14.
 
DECISIONS

Shiovra
lay awak
e within the main cottage, a fire burning dimly within the hearth as she
lay warm beneath the thick layer of blankets.
Rolling onto her back, she looked up at the thatch roof
. Midwinter had come and gone and spring would soon
be upon them
. Though she was not anxious to fulfill her betrothal vows, she could not wait for the cold and snow to leave.

Winter, though beautiful it was, was far from being her favorite time. Bringing her hand up, she touched
the necklace Odhrán had given her
.
The man had gone from a hated enemy to a man she could not live without. He had traveled to Tara to protect her, a woman he had never met. He had risked his life for her, gaining wounds in the processes. He had threatened her and challenged her. He had offered her his trust and companionship. What more, Odhrán had offered her his body and his heart.

To her left, she felt
Daire
shift as he rolled onto his side.

Shiovra
looked at him
through the wicker-work screen
as he slept peacefully facing her. His face was calm and serene
, like a child’s as he slumbered, which was quite the opposite of his waking state.
Over his shoulder, she could see the sleeping form of Úna. Even the quiet Neimidh woman had become a close companion.
Shiovra
thought of how she had first met the timid and shy girl. Over the time she had known her, Úna had become a stronger woman.

Shiovra
’s thoughts drifted to
Meara
and Eiladyr.
Meara
was something rarely seen among Neimidh woman: a warrior. She was brave, strong woman who fought alongside
battle hardened men; a
woman not afraid to speak her mind and physically defend herself. Eiladyr, on the other hand, was a complete mystery to
Shiovra
. He was a strange man from across the
seas;
a man who bore a heavy accent and came from a place
unknown to her
. Eiladyr
remained a confusing man with a temper as fiery as the element he held sway over
.

Unable to fall back asleep
,
Shiovra
pushed aside the blankets and crawled from the bed. Rising to her feet,
she threw a cloak around her shoulders and gave a quick glance
around the cottage.
The fire had long dies in the hearth, leaving the cottage quiet save for the muffled snores of Eiladyr. With a soft smile, she slipped from the cottage.

The men
standing guard at the cottage door
greeted her quietly and she returned their greeting with a nod.

Walking down the path, Shiovra paused at the base of the hill,
watching
the color filled dawn sky. S
now had
not
fallen for the past week and
what had remained was melting away.

Fluffy clouds dotted the sky and a
gentle, cold
breeze wafted through the village
, tugging strands of her red-gold hair about her face.

Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Shiovra took a deep breath of the crisp air and slowly released it
.

A bird lofted high into the air, calling out sweetly. Dipping down, it
flew
past
Shiovra
and
toward the main cottage
.

She turned to watch as it glided across the breeze.

A figure clad in a dark cloak stood just up the path
at the crest of the hill
, bathed in the
soft glows of the rising sun. H
is brow hair lifted in the wind, gleaming in soft golden hues
while his cloak
fluttered ever so slightly as he himself watched the bird flit past him.

Shiovra
watched him and waited for him to turn his attention to her.

Pale silver-blue eyes met green-brown ones.

A smile crossed
Shiovra
’s face as she watched Odhrán. She was not alone.
No matter what battles she faced, no matter what pain she had to suffer, she would not be alone
. Continuing to smile, she began to make her way up the path towards the main cottage.

She was not alone.

X X X

A Preview
Of:

Falls the Shadow

Book One of
t
he Chronicles of Midgard

by

Melissa Sasina

Available Now

Midgard Year 846. 13
th
day of the Blood Moon

Rain came down in a torrential downpour, collecting in puddles along the cobblestone street. The light cast by the lumini stones in lampposts flickered, making the street seem even darker than it already was. Heavy black clouds covered the moon, blotting out its silvery light. Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the looming houses lining the streets like threatening silhouettes. They gave the appearance of clawed hands ready to grasp whatever strayed into their path.

             
A woman ran through the dark streets, the dull red-brown of old blood splattering her clothing. She continued to glance over her shoulder at the shadows that shifted behind her, a small wrapped bundle clutched tightly to her chest.

             
Breath came hard to her tired lungs and her legs ached painfully. The streets were empty, there was no one to call for help, and the houses were dark. She had pounded on doors, but to no avail. She had only been greeted with silence in the thundering storm which drowned out the sounds of her pleading. She was utterly alone in the desolate storm and, through her tears, could hardly remember how she had come to be there in the first place.

             
Glancing over her shoulder, she was greeted with an empty street. Yet, something in the back of her mind told her to keep running. She could almost
feel
him behind her. That man in the darkness who dared to shed blood upon her. Her mind could not recall how long she’d been running from him, but she knew he was there.

             
A creature of evil.

             
Water splashed beneath her feet as they found deep puddles where there were breaks in the cobblestone road. Her foot found where a stone was missing, laying in wait along the dark road, sending her flying to her hands and knees. With that sudden fall, the weakness of her flight rushed through her legs and she found them unbearably heavy. Panic filled the woman to the core as a chill as cold as death crept up her spine.

             
A creature that hunts its prey without mercy.

             
“There is no need to run,” broke a voice through the rumbling of thunder. “There you are, sweetling.”

             
Her head shot up.

             
Tainted by darkness with a ravishing thirst for blood.

             
The man stepped from the shadows and advanced slowly towards her, knowing all too well she could no longer run as he watched her with eyes colder than ice. Flashes of lightning illuminated his hard features with haunting cruelty. “Now, be a good woman and stop running from me…” His eyes gleamed in the brief flicker of lightning.

             
They would whisper words sweetly before bearing their fangs and sinking their teeth into you.

             
Forcing her body to move, the woman shifted back away from him. Rain ran freely down her face and into her eyes, mingling with her own tears, making it difficult for her to watch his movements closely. She knew she needed to get away, but her body would not move as she wanted it to.

             
The man held out a hand. “Now, now, it didn’t have to be this way, sweetling,” he said firmly. “If only you were a good woman and did as your father wished of you, then this would never have happened.” His hand moved at his side, his fingers running along th
e
pommel of his sword
.
“There is still time to change your mind and come back.”

             
Their eyes, filled with blood-lust, would watch you from the shadows as they lay in wait.

             
He was the reason her clothing was stained with blood. He was the reason she was running. He was the reason everything had gone terribly wrong. The words she uttered were cold and unfeeling, “Never.”

             
“I am sorry that you feel that way.” Unsheathing the sword, he rushed at her and twisted his wrists, striking her full across the abdomen. “I am afraid you have left me with no choice.”

             
As she fell back, her hand shaking with anger as she strove to cover the wound.

             
“Such a pity for Jarl Woden’s daughter to have taken her life in grief…” Turning, the man walked away.

             
The woman pulled her hand away from her wound, looking down at it stunned. What should have been clear rain was now marred with the undeniable tint of blood. Her own blood. The pain was unbelievable and she knew she’d been left to die slowly, with no one to hear her cries for help. She knew in the darkness lurked horrible creatures who hid their fangs from you to lure you in. Creatures who offered peace and then, when you least expected it, attacked.

             
Her eyes glowed lightly in the bright flashes of lightning.

             
They are beasts in human form.

             
Evil does exist…

*
             
*
             
*
             
*
             
*

Midgard Year 848. 16
th
day of the Barley Moon; Anka, Vigrid

The room was small with few windows, as were many homes in Anka, the small town which lay beneath the hill where Ragnarr was perched. Night stretched across the sky, leaving the only light given off the soft clear glow of the lumini stones adorning the walls, suspended by metal chains attached to a brace. The room was sparsely furnished, bearing only a few cluttered book shelves and a small table with a chair. An old, worn rug lay upon the ancient wooden floor. Yet, it was her place of solitude. The place where she would go to escape the world and ease her mind. But this day, her mind could not be eased so effortlessly. Despite the utter peacefulness the small room often offered, she felt unsettled.

             
Mæja stood at the table, her hand resting upon a very old, leather-bound book covered in dust. The pages were faded and brittle, but their words held so much history and sadness to them. Her blue-green eyes remained fixed upon the ancient volume, almost as if she hesitated in opening the book she already knew word for word.

             
“Am I the only one to feel a lingering sadness with the approach of nightfall?” she murmured to herself, running her pale fingers along the spine of the book. Her eyes shifted to the gold embossed runes adorning the cover. “Feel that something has been forgotten that should not have?” Mæja’s eyes narrowed on the book before placing her hand over the lettering. “Such is my every thought…”

             
“You speak in odd riddles, Mae.”

             
The woman turned in surprise, her fiery waves swirling with her sudden movement. “Ah, Ilario, I didn’t hear you come in.” The man had taken her completely by surprise. A feat she did not approve of.