Spirit of the Mist (40 page)

Then they all turned and fell silent as a figure appeared in the doorway, one holding a flaring, snapping stick of wood serving as a torch.
 

Brendan reached for his sword…and then relaxed as he recognized Cole. The one time slave stood just inside the door and stared in bewilderment at the great crowd gathered together.
 

He raised up his makeshift torch. “I told you I would find a fire,” he said. “The roof of your house had fallen in, but when it did, it sheltered part of the hearth from the storm. There were still a few embers glowing there.”
 

Brendan and Muriel looked at each other and smiled. The hall erupted into shouting and laughter, and soon it was bright with a newly kindled fire blazing in the great central hearth.

Chapter Twenty-Four
 

Nine and thirty days passed—long, busy, sunlit days spent in the rebuilding of a kingdom.
 

All of the people of Dun Bochna came in from its every corner to help: the farmers from their raths in the forests and fields, the herdsmen down from the mountaintop pastures, the warriors who kept watch at the borders.
 

They joined the men and women who lived in the fortress itself to reconstruct the burned-out houses and armory and King’s Hall. Everyone, from servant to druid to warrior to noble, pitched in to help.
 

They carried bundles of hazelwood sticks and buckets of clay to build new walls. They hauled wagonloads of oats and wheat straw from the freshly harvested fields to make new roofs. And as the buildings took shape, the craftsmen and spinners and weavers went to work creating new tools and cushions and boots and cauldrons and cloaks and tunics and gowns to replace those damaged and destroyed by the fires.
 

The pens went back up along the inner stone wall, and the horses and the cattle and the sheep were safely inside once more. New gates were built from strong oak timber and hauled up into place by twenty strong men.
 

And then one morning, the gates stood open.
 

The leaves on the oak, willow, and rowan trees had begun to turn to the reds, golds, and deep purples of early autumn. The blackberry bushes were heavy with clusters of berries; the apple trees dropped fresh green fruit to the windblown grass. The newly rebuilt dun, its buildings gleaming white with new clay, their straw roofs shining like gold in the morning sunlight, sat waiting for its people to return.
 

But on this particular morning they all stood gathered together on the top of the hill beside the great fortress, beside the open space of sand and ash that once again held a great stack of wood awaiting sunset and torches.
 

The bonfire would be even larger this time, for among the wood was much of the debris from the night the fortress had burned. If ever there was a night when a great fire should burn, it was this one—this autumn equinox.
 

At the highest point of the hill, Brendan stood surrounded by his warriors and his druids. He stood tall among them, his golden brown hair ruffled by the cool sea breeze. Over his black leather trousers and soft gray tunic he wore a newly made cloak woven of blue and purple and white, a cloak so wide that it was gathered in five folds across his chest—yet it was fastened with a plain bronze brooch, no finer than one a servant might wear.
 

As Brendan watched, the crowd parted and allowed a group of six people to walk through. At the head of the little group was Muriel, and in both hands she carried the king’s gold sea-dragon torque.
 

Her gown was of the softest and finest wool, yet, like Brendan’s tunic, it had been dyed only in a plain shade of gray. Her cloak was like his too, blue and purple and white, but fastened only with a servant’s bronze brooch.
 

The two fortnights spent out on the island had left her weakened and thin, but under Alvy’s care her beauty and health had once again been restored. Her black hair fell in waves to her shoulders, her fair skin glowed, and her blue eyes shone bright as she looked up at Brendan.
 

Just behind her walked Darragh and Killian. Following them, dressed in the bright wool plaids and fine golden brooches of free men, were Duff, Cole, and Gill.
 

Muriel stopped in front of Brendan. He smiled down at her for a long moment, as if the two of them stood alone together. She started to give the king’s torque to Loman, but Brendan placed his fingers on her hand to stop her. Instead, he turned to Loman himself and took the small and delicate queen’s torque from the druid.
 

Pulling the ends of the gold torque slightly apart, he slid it around Muriel’s neck, gently placing the heavy gold so that the beautifully made sea-dragon heads rested on her collarbone just above the neckline of her soft gray gown.
 

He took hold of both her hands, and smiled at her. Then he released her, looked up at the crowd, and began to speak.
 

“It is well, I think, that my own kingmaking should be held at the time of the autumn equinox, for that is a time of equality and balance. Today, the day is equal to the night; neither is greater than the other.
 

“Today is also a day when three servants become free men.” He nodded at Gill and Duff and Cole. “And it is also a day when a king becomes a servant.”
 

The men and women of the gathering turned to glance at each other, but kept their silence as he continued.
 

“You see the brooches that my queen and I choose to wear. They are of bronze, as a servant might wear, and not the gold of the nobility. There will be other gold for us to wear. Always we will keep this small mark of the servant to remind us of the true place of a king and queen—as servants of their people, not just their rulers.”
 

Brendan paused and looked over the gathered people, trying to meet the eyes of each one. “It is customary for the chief druid to place the king’s torque around the neck of the new king. Yet I would ask that another place the torque for me this day.
 

“I was not born to be a king. And though you have asked me to serve you in this way, and I am happier than I can say to do so, I must make certain that none can ever say I have no right to it.”
 

He looked at Muriel again. “I would ask that the queen place the torque for me. As it was in the oldest of days, it is a queen, more than anything else, who makes a man a king.”
 

Brendan got down on both knees before her. He kept his eyes on hers as she slid the heavy gold torque around his neck. Then as everyone watched, she kissed him gently on the lips. She held both of his hands as he got to his feet once more.
 

The pair stood together for a moment; then he kissed her in return. Then Brendan turned and spoke to his people again.
 

“I was born a slave, and raised a prince, and made a king—but I would never have been a king had I not first been a servant, both to my lady and to my people. I accept the charge you give me as your king, but I will never forget that first I am your servant.”
 

“Brendan and Muriel!” cried a voice from the crowd. Then the new king and queen led their people back down the grassy hillside path, back to the feast that awaited them in their fortress home by the sea.
 

Pronunciation Guide

curragh—KURR-ah
 

Darragh—DAI-IRR-ah
 

Dun Bochna—dun BOWKH-nah
 

Dun Camas—dun CAM-iss
 

Dun Farraige—dun ARR-ih-gah
 

fidchell—fihk-YEL
 

Grania—GRAHN-ya
 

Killian—KILL-ee-an
 

Lughnasa—LOO-nah-sah
 

Moina—MOY-na
 

Murrough—MURR-oh
 

Odhran—OH-dran
 

About the Author

Growing up in the military, I’ve lived in many places – California, Germany, Washington D.C., Texas, Ohio and now Arizona. And like many writers, I’ve held a number of different jobs—everything from computer programmer to horseback riding instructor to medical transcriptionist.

My writing career began in 1984 when I sold the first of over 100 non-fiction articles written for the national and regional horse magazines. My first novel was Lady of Fire, a time-travel romance.

Since that first book, I went on to write a total of nine Celtic fantasy romances. I am always more than happy to help new writers or present a writers’ workshop at any convention.

Look for these titles by Janeen O’Kerry

Now Available:

Lady of Fire

Maiden of the Winds

Goddess of Eire

Daughter of Gold

Keeper of the Light

Queen of the Sun

Coming Soon:

Sister of the Moon

Drawn back in time to the man of her dreams, Terri must become the Queen she is meant to be.

Queen of the Sun

© 2013 Janeen O’Kerry

American Terri MacEgan, vacationing in Ireland for the summer, rides out for the afternoon on the beautiful grey Irish hunter mare called Firelair. But this is no ordinary day—it’s the Summer Solstice. And as the sun sets, Terri gazes upon a beautiful conjunction of stars and thinks of the warriors and heroes of days gone by.

On a Summer Solstice hundreds of years in the past, King Conaire gazes upon that same conjunction of stars and thinks of how much he desires to find a strong and noble queen to rule beside him.

The stars work their magic, and Terri and Firelair find themselves drawn back to ancient Ireland and King Conaire. The strong and resourceful Terri soon carves out a place for herself at Conaire’s side, but his people do not trust this strange new woman and refuse to accept her as his queen. Terri knows she must earn their acceptance, or return to her own time without Conaire.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Queen of the Sun:

Terri gathered the black leather reins and swung up on the silver-gray mare. From high above the ground she looked out at the wide Irish countryside, at the beautiful dusky sunlight and the shadows just beginning to lengthen.

Firelair walked with long strides down the narrow paved road away from the inn. Terri glanced at her wristwatch. Just past seven-thirty, plenty of time to ride to the highest hill and back. It didn’t get completely dark until nearly ten o’clock this time of year. Besides, she felt that she could ride to the moon and back on this fabulous Irish horse!

She turned off the road and onto a worn path leading through the field, always keeping the high hill with the bonfire in sight. Firelair went willingly, and began to trot through the fragrant grass.

At that moment, Terri forgot all of the fatigue and small irritations of her long trip. She was here in the most beautiful, inviting land she had ever imagined, riding the finest horse it had ever been her privilege to sit. Faster and faster they went, trotting on, now cantering, now galloping, now jumping over the low drystone wall that divided the field of sweet grass.

At this moment, it seemed possible that she would never want to go back to her life in Washington, DC. The farther she rode, and the more the sun-warmed breeze caressed her face, the more unbearable the very thought became.

What did she have to go back to? A high-powered advertising job that kept her locked in a tower of glass and steel day after day after day. If she looked out a window, all she would see was the thousands of other people in their own high-pressure jobs in the other cold steel towers.

And at the end of the day, when she finally did get back to her own small apartment inside yet another tower of glass and steel, what waited for her there? Only emptiness.

She had thought that that life would lead to money and success, and so it had. But she had never thought it would also lead to loneliness. Everyone, it seemed, had fallen into the same trap she had—the trap of endless commutes, relentless pressure, and meaningless work that was never, ever finished and left her with no time for a life of her own—a personal life.

Terri closed her eyes. This last relationship, she swore, had been the end—the end of men who were such a poor match for her own strength, her own sense of adventure, her own lust for life. The men she encountered seemed only to want her for what she could do for them—not for what the two of them could do together. Such relationships might be good enough for other women, but not for her.

But she could not forget the loneliness, the despair that sometimes caught up with her in the dark silence of the nights. Would she always be alone? Was that the price of her freedom?

Or was she asking too much? Most people—men and women both—seemed happy enough to have a mate who was nice-looking and well educated and gainfully employed. And most of all, predictable and safe. Why couldn’t it be enough for her, too?