Enchantress Mine (4 page)

Her head held high, Mairin stalked from the hall with Dagda following behind her. Her heart was pounding with fright although none would have known it from her proud demeanor. She was to leave Landerneau, the only home she had ever known, but where was she to go? How would she survive? Just outside the hall she was stopped by the steward, Ivo, who said in an apologetic tone, “You are to come with me, mistress.”

Confused, Mairin looked at him, but Dagda said bluntly, “Where?”

“There’s nothing that you can do, Dagda,” said the steward. “The lady Blanche has the church on her side, and that is the end of it.”

“What does she intend to do with my little lady, Ivo?”

The steward hesitated a moment, and then he said in a low voice, “She has sold the child to a slaver bound for England, Dagda. I am to turn the demoiselle over to him now.” He put a restraining hand upon the giant’s arm. “What could I do, Dagda? She was my lord’s wife, and now my lord is dead. The lady Blanche is mistress here now. How can I refuse to obey my lord’s widow? I cannot. I am only a servant. Do you not think this tears me apart as well?” He reached down and stroked Mairin’s head soothingly. “I have watched the demoiselle grow from a baby to a beautiful little girl.” The steward’s dark eyes filled with sudden tears. “There is nothing that I can do,” he repeated helplessly.

“Take me to my father, Ivo,” Mairin said, and when the seward wavered she continued, “It is my right. Would you deny me my farewells even as the lady Blanche did? I am not a bastard, but even if I were, Ciaran St. Ronan is my father.”

With an unhappy shake of his head Ivo escorted them to the chapel. Mairin alone entered the silent room where her father already lay upon his bier, candles at both his head and his feet. He had been an attractive man, fair-skinned and dark-haired; and about his eyes tiny laugh lines for Ciaran St. Ronan was a man who laughed easily. Kneeling she began to speak to him as if he were resting there. Ciaran St. Ronan was handsome in death, the pain of living now erased from his strong features.

“You are with my mother again, father, and I know that you are both happy to be together once more; but I am so afraid! The lady Blanche is sending me away from Landerneau. I shall not be able to tend to your grave, or care for our people, but wherever I am I shall pray for you. Please watch over me. Dagda says he will never leave my side, but I am still fearful. Help me to be brave, father! I would not shame our name!” Her little head touched the side of the bier, and hot tears began to flow down Mairin’s face. Her slender shoulders shook with the force of her sobs, but then gradually the sounds of her weeping lessened and finally stopped entirely. Drawing a deep breath the child arose slowly from the bier, wiped her face with her hands, and bending kissed the cold brow of her father. Then without so much as another glance she turned, and walked from the chapel.

“I will pack my things,” she said quietly to Ivo, “and be gone from here as quickly as possible.”

“She has forbidden that you take anything,” the steward replied. “She says you have no right to take anything from Landerneau, that everything here belongs to her child.”

“There is nothing among my things that belongs to Landerneau, Ivo. I have but my clothing, and a few trinkets my father gave me.”

“I cannot allow it, my lady Mairin. You must come with me immediately. The slave merchant is waiting for you.”

“The child must have a cloak, Ivo,” said Dagda quietly, but the steward heard the unspoken menace in the Irishman’s voice.

“Very well,” he relented, “but hurry in the name of the Blessed Mother lest
she
recover from her fit, and call for me. What will happen to me, Dagda, if she takes my place from me?”

“Stay with Ivo, child,” Dagda ordered his young charge, and then to the steward, “I will be but a minute.” He bolted up the narrow stone staircase that led to the tiny room that had been Mairin’s. Opening the door he was surprised to find Melaine there.

“Here!” The wet-nurse handed him a neatly packed bundle.

“What is it?” he demanded of her.

“A change of clothes for the little mistress, her cloak, a brush for her hair, and her mother’s jewelry. I dared not take more, Dagda, else
she
find things gone. She knows everything that there is within the castle and is very possessive for her child. I can be of no use to her, however, and so I will be sent back to my village anyway. Therefore I can dare to oppose her for Mairin’s sake. I do not know if what she claims is so, but she is a wicked woman to send the little mistress away.”

“The child is trueborn,” said Dagda quietly. “I thank you for your kindness, Melaine.”

“
Kindness?
It is not simple kindness, Dagda. Did not that child suck at my breasts for almost two years? I gave her life with my milk! I love her!” Melaine’s eyes filled with tears. “What will happen to my baby?” she cried.

“She will come to no harm,” said Dagda. “I promised her mother that I would not leave her side until she was given into the keeping of a husband.” Then with a nod to the wet-nurse Dagda turned and hurried back down the stairs to where Ivo and Mairin awaited them. The poor steward looked visibly relieved, but he paled as the voice of Blanche St. Ronan lashed out at him.

“Why is that little bitch still here? Did I not give you orders she be removed from my sight? What is that you carry, Dagda? The brat may take nothing with her! Give it to me, and then go about your duties. You, Ivo, take the wench to the slaver!”

“Would you deny my mistress her cloak, and a change of clothing, my lady Blanche?” said Dagda. “Surely you would not have it said that you were vindictive or un-Christian in your victory?”

Blanche St. Ronan flushed unbecomingly. “How do I know,” she said, “that you do not steal property that belongs to Landerneau?”

“You do not,” he replied calmly, “but I shall be happy to open this pitiful little bundle before all so you may check, and be certain.”

“Oh, give the brat her things, and then go about your business,” said Blanche St. Ronan ungraciously.

“The lady Mairin is my business,” said Dagda quietly. “Where she goes, I go.”

“You cannot leave Landerneau! You are bound to the land. If you try to go, I shall have you brought back and whipped for the runaway serf you are!”

Dagda threw back his head and he laughed. It was a deep and dark sound that sent a shiver down the spines of all that heard it. “I am a freedman, madame,” he said. “I came from Ireland with my mistress in answer to a dying request by her mother, the princess Maire Tir Connell. I am not bound to Landerneau, nor any other estate upon this earth. My
only
loyalty is to Mairin St. Ronan, and I will follow her unto death. If you would try to stop me, my lady Blanche, then do so,” he finished, and looking into his cold blue eyes the lady St. Ronan shuddered. It would be just as well to be rid of the big man, she thought, for she did not entirely trust him.

“Go then,” she said, “but do not come back begging for my favor when the slaver drives you away! It matters not! You may starve for all I care! I have gained a whole silver-piece profit for the bastard which I shall add to my coming child’s inheritance.”

“Blood money,” said Dagda softly. “It will not bring your child luck. Rather it will bring her misfortune.”

“Get out!” Blanche St. Ronan had gone white at his words.

Dagda gave her a smile that was more ferocious than friendly, and Blanche St. Ronan retreated, fleeing back into her hall. Then turning to Ivo, Dagda said, “Lead us to this slave merchant. I must have words with him.”

Ivo smiled to himself and unconsciously hurried his steps as he moved from the castle out into the courtyard where the man waited for his human cargo. He wanted to see the look on the slave merchant’s face when he learned that Dagda would be accompanying them.

The slaver was called Fren by the English with whom he had done business for many years, but the English no longer bought slaves in the numbers they once had. Those who lived in the Danelaw were better customers, however, than the crazy Anglo-Saxons who bought slaves only to free them. Fren was a Greek who normally would not have been inland in Brittany, but he had been approached in Brest by the secretary of a bishop who requested he come to Landerneau where the lady of St. Ronan would speak with him. Her husband was dying, she told him, and when he breathed his last, she would rid herself of his bastard daughter whom he allowed to live within the castle. The child was five, and totally useless, but she was a pretty thing and surely worth something. Fren had haggled fiercely with the lady, who had finally agreed to take a silver piece in exchange for the child.

He was secretly jubilant over his bargain. He would make a large profit on the little girl, for children, especially pretty children, were greatly sought after by connoisseurs in both Western and Eastern Europe. The lady of St. Ronan, however, could not know such a thing, thought Fren with a smile. Had she known, he thought, he should not have gained the child so cheaply. Watching as Mairin made her way toward him, her small hand tucked within the great paw of the giant who walked by her side measuring his steps carefully to fit hers, Fren was not unhappy.

The child was extremely beautiful. Incredibly so! He would certainly not sell her in England. Oh no! The little girl’s value was not as a servant at all. He would carefully preserve and protect her throughout the next few months of travel for he had in mind a buyer in Constantinople who would pay him a small fortune for such perfection.

“This is the child, Mairin,” said Ivo. “Are you content with the bargain, Fren? Will you turn over to me the silver piece agreed upon by my lady St. Ronan?”

Fren reached into the leather purse which hung from his waist, and unhesitantly drew forth a tarnished coin which he handed to Ivo. “I am content with the bargain.”

Ivo’s teeth bit into the coin, and satisfied it was genuine, he said to Mairin, “Farewell, demoiselle. May God and his Blessed Mother look after you.”

“Bid old Catell adieu for me, Ivo,” said Mairin.

The steward’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “I will.”

Fren reached out to pull Mairin toward him, but the giant by her side growled a low warning. “You will not put your rude hands upon my mistress, slaver,” he said.

“Who is this . . .” Fren looked up the long length of Dagda. “. . . this fellow?” he finished helplessly. The creature was enormous, and looked dangerous.

Unable to restrain himself, Ivo chuckled. “I will let him tell you who he is, Master Fren.” Then turning he reentered the castle leaving the three behind in the courtyard.

“I am Dagda,” said the Irishman. “I am the child’s guardian, and have been since her birth, even as I was the guardian of her mother, Maire Tir Connell, God assoil her, a princess of Ireland. The child is trueborn, but her stepmother seeks the father’s inheritance for herself and her expected child. Though I am a freedman there was nothing I could do to prevent this wickedness. I will not, however, leave my little lady, slaver.
Where she goes, I go.
”

For a moment Fren was nonplussed. He had never heard of such a thing outside of the East. A man caring for a female child? “Are you a eunuch?” he asked Dagda.

The big man laughed loudly. “Nay,” he said. “I have all my parts.”

Strange, thought Fren, but then as he gazed upon the huge Irishman, he realized that here was a stroke of truly good fortune. This Dagda would take upon himself the entire care of the child, and keep her quite safe until he could return to Constantinople to sell her to his client. Still it would not do to appear too easily cowed. “You may come along, giant,” he said pompously, “but I will expect you to earn your keep by helping me with other things. Charity is for the church and rich lords, and I am neither. Is that understood, giant?”

“It is understood, slaver,” replied Dagda, and his blue eyes twinkled with amusement at Fren’s attempt to control the situation.

The trader reached into his saddlebag, and withdrew from it a small leather slave collar to place about Mairin’s slender neck, but Dagda’s big hand stopped him. Startled, he looked up at the Irishman questioningly.

“Would you spoil her skin, slaver? It is delicate beyond anything you’ve ever known, and that collar will mark it.”

Fren thought for a moment. The giant was correct for he had seen marks a slave collar left about the neck. Such marks could spoil the child’s value, and it would really be a shame to mar such lovely skin. “Very well, Dagda,” he conceded, “but she must wear it when we are in the marketplace. I will not have you slipping off with my property, and me unable to prove it.”

Dagda nodded and again his eyes twinkled with the infuriating knowledge that it was really he who was in control of the situation, and not Fren. A young boy led a large horse to the Irishman, and the slave trader’s eyes widened.

“You own your own horse?” His admiring gaze slid over the big beast’s velvet brown coat.

“Brys was the last gift that my lady’s mother gave to me before she died,” came the answer. “He will be no expense to you, slaver. He is good at foraging.” Vaulting into his saddle Dagda reached back down to draw Mairin up before him.

Fren scrambled onto his own horse. There was still two hours’ light left, enough to travel several miles toward the coast. As they rode across the drawbridge of little Landerneau castle Mairin stared straight ahead, never once looking back, and Fren thinking it odd said to her, “Do you not wish a last glimpse of your home, girl?”

She fixed him with a strangely adult gaze, and her voice was devoid of all emotion when she spoke. “Why should I look back, slaver? That castle is my past. I look to the future.”

Fren shivered. There was something about Mairin that almost frightened him. He looked over at her, but she was once again staring straight ahead. Dagda, however, had a small smile upon his lips, and when his blue eyes met those of Fren they were brimming over with mirth. The slave trader felt a bolt of irritation shoot through him. The child was his property, and yet she behaved like a queen! Then he shrugged. A quick trip to England, and then he would return to Constantinople. Once there the brat would learn her place quickly enough as the play-thing of some rich man, and there would be nothing that that big Irish giant who called himself her guardian could do about it. In Constantinople Fren had powerful friends, men who called him by his rightful name and who would destroy Dagda in a twinkling in order to possess the exquisite child. Fren smiled, showing his blackened teeth. In time, he thought to himself. Everything came in time. He had but to be patient.