Erinsong (42 page)
His words cut through the fog in her mind
with clarion crispness. Moira struggled to sit up, fighting both
her ungainly body and the swaying craft. But she managed it, for
she was determined to look Cedric in the eye. “Ye don’t intend to
honor your brother’s line.”
“Fearghus is dead, lass. The hand of God saw
to that,” Cedric said, his voice almost kindly. “When he died in
the hunt, his kingship died with him.”
“No! The heir to Ulaid grows in my belly. My
son will succeed his sire. We need only wait a little.” She saw no
mercy in Cedric’s peat-colored eyes. Panic made her resort to
pleading. “I promise the lad will heed ye in all things as he
grows. Ye’ll be king in all but name—”
“Till the boy comes of age,” Cedric
interrupted as he untied the boat’s line. “Why should I settle for
so little when I can put me own issue on the throne? No, wee
Tiernan will be King of Ulaid after me.” He gave the coracle a
shove and it bobbled away from the rickety wharf.
“But the bairn may be a girl-child and no
threat to ye.” Moira strained against her bonds, but her hands were
cinched tight.
“Mayhap, but ‘tis a risk I’m not prepared to
bear,” Cedric said simply.
“And are ye prepared to bear the curse of
Cain? Your sin is like to his—the murder of your own blood. The
child I bear is your brother’s, Cedric, a king of Ulaid rightwise
gotten. Murder us at your peril.” Fear gave way to anger as Moira
leveled a wrathful stare at him.
“Murder? Not I,” he said. “Royalty ye claim
and royal ye are. Think ye I’d stain meself with your blood? No,
I’ll let the sea tend to the likes of ye and your wee unborn
king.”
“A curse upon ye,” Moira said, tugging at her
bonds till the hemp cut her skin. “A vagabond and a wanderer on the
earth may ye be, and may any who find ye, kill ye. Me father, Brian
Ui Niall will not wait to avenge me, I promise ye that.”
“Even now, ye spit and hiss like a wildcat.”
Cedric grinned at her sardonically. “Proud, canny and fearless. Ah,
ye’re a grand woman, Moira of Donegal, I’ll not deny it. Me brother
didn’t deserve ye. If I had no son of me own, I might toss out me
milk-sopping Brigid and take ye for me queen.” The rough edges of
his voice softened. “Aye, ye’d have been me match and no
mistake.”
For a moment, Moira saw regret flicker over
his cold features in the wavering torchlight. Then his face
hardened, more unyielding than the black stone at his back.
“But sheath your claws and save your curses,
woman. I fear neither man nor God. The Donegal is afar off. I’ll be
bearing the sad tidings to your kingly father that the unexpected
death of Fearghus brought ye to early childbed. Even now, a
low-born woman is birthing in your chamber, surrounded by servants
loyal to me. Alas! Both mother and child will be lost. It happens
often enough, twill not be questioned. When Brian Ui Niall arrives
to mourn ye as a father should, he’ll find naught but a moldering
corpse with a wee bairn wrapped in a shroud. After a few weeks, all
the dead look alike.”
The small candle of hope in Moira’s chest
guttered and failed entirely. Cedric’s plan neatly tied up all the
loose threads.
“As for the curse of Cain,” Cedric went on,
“the Church holds no terrors for me, Moira, since I believe in
naught but what me own hands bring me. And right now, they’ve
brought me a crown. The line of Fearghus will bear the curse, if
such things be. Ye are the one set for wandering, Moira.” He folded
his arms across his chest. “Though I fear your sojourn may be a
short one.”
A tidal surge caught the tiny craft and
Moira’s boat was sucked through the sea cave, knocking against the
darksome rock on its journey over this narrow finger of the sea.
Cedric’s torchlight faded and when the coracle shot into the surf,
the night sky was strewn with brittle stars.
Cedric’s voice called out to her once more.
“Go with your God, Moira, one time Queen of Ulaid.”
“Sleep with one eye open, brother. I’ll be
back, do ye hear me?” She shrieked to be heard over the dash of
waves on rock. “Me son will sit on the throne of Ulaid and I’ll
have me foot on your neck before ye go to your grave. By all that’s
holy, Cedric, I swear it. Do ye hear me?”
The only answer was the boom of unforgiving
sea pounding against the stubborn shore.
End of excerpt
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Mia learned much of what she knows about
storytelling from singing. A classically trained soprano, she won
the District Metropolitan Opera Auditions and has shared a stage
with Placido Domingo. Since she's worn a real corset, and had to
sing high Cs in one, she empathizes with the trials of her
fictional heroines. But in Mia's stories, they don't die in a
Parisian garret. They get to live
and
keep the hero!
Now an award-winning author, Mia Marlowe
writes historical romance for multiple publishing houses. Mia's
work was featured in the Best of 2010 edition of PEOPLE Magazine.
One of her books is on display at the Museum of London Docklands,
alongside Johnny Depp memorabilia.Her TOUCH OF A ROGUE was recently
named one of Publishers Weekly's Top Ten Romances for Spring
2012.
For more about Mia, including some Fun Facts
on her Bio page (one of which is a bald-faced lie!) please visit
http://www.miamarlowe.com
Want to be notified when DRAGONSONG is
available in the fall of 2012? Be sure to sign up for Mia’s
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