Celtic Storms (8 page)

Darina rose from the bed and walked towards the fireplace. She shook her head in confusion and placed one hand on the mantle as if wishing it would hold her up.
I’ve never fainted before, and I’m not about to start now. Breathe. Breathe. I’m sure this will all make sense when Ruarc returns.

“Thank you Kyra, you have been most helpful. I won’t intrude on your rest any longer. We can speak more tomorrow. I should be getting to bed myself and it’s past my curfew. Your father would have my head if he knew I wasn’t at the castle.”

“Don’t you wish to ask me about Him?” inquired Kyra.

“Him? Him who?” replied Darina.

“Your betrothed Darina - Patrick MacCahan.”

“Patrick. Patrick is his name?” asked Darina.

“Yes it is.”

“Well of course, tell me what you know then.”

“Not much actually. I only saw him for a brief time. I wasn’t there more than an hour in total I believe.”

“And?”

“He is very handsome. He is a tall man with the body of an experienced warrior. A solid jaw line, long brown hair he keeps tied at the back of his neck, green eyes. A true highlander, from what I could see.”

“Sounds like you got a good enough look Kyra,” laughed Darina.

“Well – I tell you he was hard to miss,” retorted Kyra. “If he is half as accommodating in the bed a he is handsome, you shall stay busy for quite some time after your wedding I perceive,” she gushed.

“Kyra, you are so unseemly,” laughed Darina. “I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Oh don’t play the prude with me Darina. I know as well as anyone that you have taken lovers before. I know you have gone to the Women’s Island during the Lunar Bacchanals on many occasions. Don’t pretend you are innocent. There is no need. Although I’m sure none of the men would tell; I know we could find one or two around here who have known you too.”

“Kyra, you are so exhausted you are delirious,” signed Darina. “I will see you on the morrow.”

Burke Lands – Odetta’s Monastery

“Naelyn, bring me the great scrolls,” shouted Odetta from her chamber.

Odetta was in one of her moods. Dark, angry and ready for a fight. Naelyn knew better than to make Odetta wait, so she rushed down to the library to find the great scrolls. No doubt Odetta was searching for one of her spells or curses and this could only mean one thing.
Trouble
.

“Here you go my lady.”

“Good now find me the curse I cast over the O’Malley sons. It should be somewhere in the beginning.”

Naelyn laid the scrolls down on top of the high table which sat under the eastern facing window and began to unroll the pages. She shuffled through page after page of ancient markings and symbols, careful not to tear or crumple any of the parchments. After she had gone through the rolls one at a time for the second time, she grew hesitant.

“Odetta, it’s not here!”

“What do you mean - it’s not there?” echoed Odetta.

“I’ve looked through all of the pages, and I don’t see it. This volume only goes back for fifteen years, Odetta. We cast that spell over twenty years ago. Did the scribe record it?”

“He better have,” came her reply.

“Easal, thank the gods, you are just the man I need,” said Odetta tipping her head to him as he walked through the doorway and towards the high table.

Easal blushed as he walked into the chamber to greet Odetta.
Well I certainly hope you feel that way -
he thought to himself
– especially after last night.

“Easal, I have need of the scribe. Naelyn has been unable to locate the original curse in the great scrolls and I must consult with him at once. There is much to be done and much planning for the great service, and I have need for it.”

“Cynbel will be none too happy if I leave Burke lands, you know this Odetta. Besides, we have been on high alert since you imprisoned the merchant. Have you yet to determine what is to become of him?”

Odetta stood from her chair by the fire and walked towards Easal. She had the look of a lover in her eyes, and Easal grew more aroused the closer she came. Just remembering their time together the night before caused him to gasp with anticipation of what was to come. No doubt she hadn’t drunk her fill and would want him again.

And so soon. Naelyn, leave. Leave
, he thought.
We don’t need your interruption now.
He glared at Naelyn with squinted eyes and motioned for her to be dismissed. But Naelyn didn’t budge. She glared back before continuing her search through the mound of papers.

Odetta swayed her luscious hips in a rhythmic fashion and held her head high as she grew close to Easal. She stopped just in front of him to survey his form.
It is nice indeed.
When she lifted her chin to look him in the eye, she knew he was hers. He would do her bidding; there was not even a question of it. She licked her lips and Easal grew hard with anticipation. When she raised her arms towards him, he let out a long breath of expectancy and waited.

Odetta’s hand struck hard against his cheek. The sting of the connection forced him backwards, stumbling towards the floor. He raised an arm and braced himself against the wall, holding his jaw. When Naelyn looked up, she could clearly see the outline of Odetta’s hand on Easal’s face, red, white and beginning to swell.

“You should focus on what I plan to do with
you
Easal. Forget the merchant and stop questioning me. I do not answer to you or my brother. You know this!”

“Yes my lady,” said Easal still rubbing his cheek.

“Now – bring me the scribe.”

“But…”

“But what Easal? But what?”

“I’ll have to clear it with Cynbel, if I am to go to O’Malley territory.”

“I’ll clear it with it Cynbel. You just go!”

***

Darina hadn’t slept at all the previous night. After her conversation with Kyra, she was even more confused and dismayed. Surely when Ruarc arrived he would have more information or at least some guidance for her. Her future and that of her clan was in question, and the port merchants were also counting on a secure alliance and security of the port to continue their trading.

But that wasn’t what troubled Darina the most. Kyra had mentioned that she knew Darina had attended the Lunar Bacchanal celebrations. Although Darina was aware that most of the young women in the O’Malley clan had participated at least once in the monthly festivals on the Women’s island, she hadn’t been sure that Kyra or her sisters knew. She had hoped they hadn’t.

Tis just as well. At least my betrothed won’t see me as a prudish virgin. After all, times have changed. And the clan’s women had been celebrating the Lunar Bacchanals for years. Just what else is a woman to do? There are no men to be had around here.

Over the last two decades, most of the young unmarried women of the clan had taken up residence on the closer of the two islands which sat just off the western side of the port. It had become home to several hundred women who pooled their resources together and took care of each other. The island itself offered a form of shelter and safety from unwelcome visitors as one could only get there by boat.

There were ten large round houses on the island with one main fortress that resembled a small castle. Most of the women resided in the castle, while the round houses were kept for visitors and soldiers stationed to protect the island against invaders.

Each month, at the full moon, the women of the island held a festival and opened their docks to guests to celebrate the Lunar Bacchanal. There was feasting and dancing, musicians and story tellers and large bonfires that could be seen from the High Castle on the mainland. The festival itself typically ran for two nights, beginning on the eve of the full moon.

The Lunar Bacchanal festival was a tribute to their goddess Morrigan and celebrated the importance of fertility and war. The women would create elaborate head coverings made of crow feathers and dance and sing in sensual unity in preparation for the sacred joining’s to come.

It was a night of magical harmony and enticement. At midnight each invited man would be chosen by a woman or group of women to share their bodies and their beds to partake in the worship of Morrigan and in hopes of conceiving a child. Many children had been born of the Bacchanals, but never a male. Somehow the curse that Odetta had placed on the clan had also reached the Island of Women.

As far as Darina knew, Kyra had never been to a Bacchanal celebration. Darina had attended on more than one occasion and while she quite enjoyed the dancing and feasting and gaiety of the entire event, her experience with the men was not what she had hoped.

The festivals themselves were spell-binding. Gemma – who had been stewardess of the island since as long as Darina could remember - made sure of that. It was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. From the wine, which flowed freely, to the elaborate meal with exotic foods – Gemma left nothing out. The women of the island dressed in their most provocative attire taking great pains to look their best. Many would spend hours adorning each other’s hair and wearing only the finest jewels they had.

From an outsider’s standpoint, it resembled something close to a Roman orgy. The ladies entertained and the men were waited upon as if they were kings. At the large feast table, it was not uncommon to witness a solider being hand fed by three or four different women.

The air was filled with sensuous wonder and unexpected delight. Indeed the Lunar Bacchanal was a festival unlike any other. Darina had loved the feasting and dancing, and had even looked forward to the coupling at midnight. But not anymore. Gemma told her it was “simply unfortunate your partner for the evening was not skilled in the ways of loving – especially since it was your first time.”

Although Darina had enjoyed the wooing and kissing enough; her partner had scarcely any patience and way too much ale. It had ended as abruptly as it had begun and left her feeling used and unwanted. She had sworn to herself after that day that she would never again share her bed with a man. Gemma had been a comfort however; and had somehow even convinced her to return to the feasts - on more than one occasion - although she had never again selected a partner at midnight.

Tales of the O’Malley lands Lunar Bacchanal had traveled throughout all of Ireland. Many a man had come seeking admittance to the festival only to be turned away. In fact, many of the hired soldiers had arrived in O’Malley territory specifically to seek out the Festival.

But – over the years it had become more than a routine gathering for a sensual escape. Several fine matches had been made between the invited guests and women of the island. Several marriages had resulted and the clan grew bigger. Gemma had maintained the religious origins of the Festival and kept the rites as they had been handed down; much to the chagrin of Father MacArtrey.

Since the day he had become the clan’s priest, Father MacArtrey had made every plausible attempt to stop the monthly festivals. Denouncing it as “evil imbibing’s” and “the devil’s doorway” he had received little support from the local men in changing the tradition. Even Laird O’Malley was hard pressed to change the custom as he had met his beloved Anya at one such festival.

Father MacArtrey continued to offer his services at the chapel and maintained his ministry amongst the poor, sick and grieving, but he and Dallin had clashed over the years over many matters. Laird O’Malley was not accustomed to being told what to do, nor would he allow his people to be burdened with the “guilt of religion” as he put it.

For that reason, Darina had always looked at Father MacArtrey with doubting eyes.
There is something about him that I do not trust.

Besides his desire to control every aspect of the lives of the clan’s people, Father MacArtrey was constantly in the know – about everything. He was involved it seemed, in every birth, death, pregnancy, illness or incident. He had so angered the clan healer that she had left O’Malley lands and they were forced to commission a healer from another territory. Lucian had had his fill of the priest years before, when he found him rummaging through the registry and clan manuscripts in his cottage. From that day on; Deasum – the second in command over the clan warriors - had set a sentry to keep watch over the priest.

Central Ireland – the Journey toward O’Malley Lands

Patrick awoke to the sound of soft whispers outside the tent he shared with Braeden. He had only been asleep a short while as he had taken the first watch. The patch of trees along the stream had hidden their camp well enough to host a fire for the evening and he could hear the wood crackling and smell a stew that was left over from their evening meal.

“You should have told us. All these years, and you said nothing?” asked Carbry loudly. “I should thrash you for this. Do you realize how much danger you have put us in, and the child?”

Who on earth is he talking to and what about?
When heard the sound of faint sobbing, Patrick knew his sleeping was over.

Deasum spoke next, “Carbry, exactly what would ye have had her do? She had no other choice, the way I see it. I would have probably done the same thing.”

“Please forgive me, I only wanted to help the child after my daughter perished, and I – when you took me from the slave traders, I felt I owed you,” said Mavis.

Great stars, now I’ll have to get up and see what this is about.
Patrick rose from the tent, put his cloak on and joined the others around the fire. It was apparent that Mavis had been sobbing quite a while and Carbry looked like he was ready to kill someone. Deasum had stepped between them in an attempt to mediate the matter.

“Whatever is the f-fu-uss?” inquired Patrick to Mavis.

Mavis hung her head in shame. “Patrick, I haven’t exactly been honest with you or your family. I have hidden something from you of great importance. Not out of malice, mind you, but I did it nonetheless. Carbry wishes to see me punished for my error.”