The Emerald Isle (37 page)

Colton lifted his chin and called to the other knight. “Oswald! Care to go hunting for a brehon?”

“A what?” The dour knight quirked his eyebrow. “Is it something good to eat?”

“It’s a man, very much like a priest.” Colton glanced down at Cahira, then slipped his arm about her waist. “’Twill be the man who marries us, if we can find him.”

Oswald’s lips twisted into a cynical smile. “I’ve yet to meet a man I couldn’t capture. I could bring Lord Richard himself if you want a witness.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Cahira spoke softly, thrilled by the knowledge that her dreams were about to become reality. “Sorcha will be with me, and you will have Oswald. If you can find Lorcan, bring
him to the stone lodge at Carnfree. Sorcha and I will meet you there tomorrow.”

Colton shot her a twisted smile. “Carnfree?”

“’Tis our ancient place, where the kings of Connacht are crowned.” Cahira smiled. “Lorcan will know the way. Find him, tell him what we propose, and meet me there on the morrow. I will be waiting.”

“I shall do nothing, then, until I find this brehon,” Colton answered, sealing his promise with a quick kiss.

“One more thing.” Cahira pulled out of his embrace, then tipped her head back to look him in the eye. “Have you any news of my father’s dead cattle? I had hoped to be able to tell him something that might ease his mind about you.”

A muscle flicked at his jaw, but he kept a gallant smile on his face. “I’m sorry, Cahira. Oswald and I have asked every man in the garrison, but all plead innocent or ignorant. No one seems to know anything about it.”

She dropped her lashes quickly to hide her disappointment. “Sure, and perhaps my father was wrong,” she whispered, placing her hands on his chest. “’Tis just as well. Think no more of it. We’ll be wanting to dwell on more important things now.”

His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. “Until tomorrow.”

“Aye. Until then.”

Thinking of the day to come, Cahira barely slept at all that night. At sunup she rose, washed her face and hair, and donned one of her best gowns. After dressing, she picked up a book and pretended to read until the other maids woke and slipped from the chamber. Then she dropped the book and lightly swatted the only sleeping lump still abed. She had just awakened Sorcha and asked her to pack a bundle with a few personal possessions when her mother strode into the chamber, a pair of village women trailing in her wake.

“I hope you have made no plans today,” her mother said, gesturing for one of the women to lower her basket. “I was thinking ’tis time
we began to sew your wedding dress. Though I know you hate frills and veils, you will want something special when you marry.”

Cahira stared across the chamber, her heart going into sudden shock. For a moment she feared she had talked in her sleep or Sorcha had babbled Cahira’s secret throughout the kitchen, then her mind cleared. These women weren’t here to make a dress for
today.
They were preparing a dress for the wedding to come. The wedding to Rian.

She straightened, her eyes meeting Sorcha’s horrified gaze.
Say nothing
, she silently warned her maid with a glance,
do nothing unusual.

“Cahira?” Her mother’s voice echoed with concern. “Are you well? You look pale.”

“I am fine, Mother.” Her voice was low and controlled, but even she could hear the undertone of desolation in it. Somewhere outside, beyond Rathcroghan, Colton and Oswald sat in the early morning sun and waited for Lorcan. Before the day was half gone they would take Lorcan and his student to Carnfree, where the four men would loiter in a stone hut and wait for Cahira…while she stood here and prepared for marriage to another man.

She pressed her hands together and tried on a smile that felt a size too small. “Mother, I do not want a special wedding dress. I have so many lovely gowns, I will wear one of those—even this one suits me well.”

“Nonsense. Rian has seen you in everything else, and he so rarely sees you properly dressed.” Her mother gestured toward the woman with a roll of fabric in her arms. “See this lovely silk from Waterford? The color would be quite nice against your fair skin.”

Cahira gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to scream. Her mother did not often impose her ideas, but when she spoke, she expected her voice to be obeyed. And unless Cahira thought of something quickly, she would be held in this chamber for the better part of the afternoon while women draped her with fabric and set about their stitching.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear to wait here while the walls
closed in upon her, nor could she continue this charade. Her mother was no king; a woman’s heart still beat in that slender frame.

“Mother!” Risking everything, Cahira rushed forward and reached for her mother’s hands. “Please, I beg you, don’t make me do this. I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long. Truth be told, Mother, I can’t marry Rian.”

Her mother sank to a stool, her face a mask of disbelief. “Not marry Rian? But I thought—you said—you asked me about love.”

Cahira released her mother’s hands and sank to the floor. “I know, ’tis true. But I wasn’t thinking of Rian when I asked. I was thinking of someone else.”

Her mother’s face crumpled as the words took hold. Cahira held her breath, but then her mother’s expression cleared and she shook her head. “Sure, and you’re talking nothing but nonsense. Perhaps you
fancy
someone else, but love, as I’ve told you, follows marriage. You can’t put the cart before the pony, lass, and you can’t love a man until after you’ve married him.”

“It’s not mere fancy, mother.” Cahira glanced back at Sorcha for help, but the maid’s face had gone blank with fear.

“It has to be mere fancy, my dear.” Her mother’s voice trembled slightly as she turned and looked at the two workwomen. “’Twould break my heart to think I had misread you. I was so sure you had begun to fancy Rian. Your father and I would not have chosen him for you if he weren’t a fierce good man.”

Cahira hid a thick swallow in her throat and lowered herself to the floor in the posture of a penitent. If her mother would not even
consider
the fact that Cahira might love someone else, she certainly would not be pleased to hear Cahira loved a Norman. And while she might be able to stall this marriage with Rian by raising a fuss, ’twould only mean days of storming and ranting and bearing up under her father’s fierce temper…when she could be with Colton, and safe in his embrace.

Cahira pushed herself up from the floor, then turned toward the window and studied the slanting rays of the morning sun. The hour
was early, time just beginning to flood the day. She would have to keep her chin up and bear this foolishness quietly. Perhaps, if she were attentive and good, the gown could be fitted upon Cahira, then draped over a serving maid for the finer points of alteration.

Feeling like one of the martyrs of the Church, Cahira turned and walked to the center of the room, then lifted one arm as the seamstress unrolled a measure of shining silk.

F
rom his hiding place behind a large gray rock overlooking the trail to Rathcroghan, Colton tossed another pebble into a standing puddle and stared at the blooming circle of rings. In the past six hours, at least twenty men had passed over the worn and rutted boreen, yet not a single pair of them had fitted the description of the brehon and his student. Cahira had described the elderly brehon as a thin, balding man with an air of dignity and pride. Several elderly men had passed, yet none of them had been precisely thin, and none had been traveling in the company of a younger companion.

“You’re wasting your time, you know,” Oswald called from the grass beyond. He lay on his back in the sun, his cloak shielding his face from the sun’s bright rays. He had slept through most of the afternoon, blissfully slumbering amid the weeds and wildflowers while Colton’s heart quickened at the sound of every footfall, then slowed when the men on the trail proved to be insignificant.

Colton glared back over his shoulder. “I’m not wasting my time. This is the road to Rathcroghan, and this is the trail he will take.”

“I was speaking of the marriage. ’Twill come to nothing. Her father will have it annulled, for certain. If she returns tonight to her house, her father can rightly say that no marriage took place.” Oswald lifted the edge of the cloak and rose up on one elbow, then plucked a sprig of ragwort and paused as if hesitant about saying his next thought. “You haven’t thought this through, friend. You’ll have to hide
for a time, mayhap a full week. Only when you can return her good and married will her father give the wedding any credence.”

Colton tossed another pebble, his uneasiness spiced with irritation. Oswald was brazen, but he did have a point. Colton couldn’t very well keep Cahira out under the stars all night, but if he returned her to Rathcroghan with the marriage only a few hours old, her father would laugh in Colton’s face. But neither could he take her to Athlone, for Richard would doubtless see Colton’s Irish bride as little more than a political prisoner.

“Cahira will know what to do,” he muttered, half ashamed he had no answers himself. “Or God will reveal a way for us to be together. What matters is that we vow ourselves to one another before this man of the law. He may have the answer.”

“You’d best pray he does.” Oswald dropped his head back to the earth and laced his fingers together upon his chest. “Or all of this will have been for naught.”

Colton closed his eyes and resisted the tide of guilt that washed up from his bones. Though his duties of late had been few, he felt he had been bereft in them. In an effort to use the tools of diplomacy instead of warfare, Lord Richard had been content to give his knights lax schedules and tasks, but they were supposed to intimidate the populace by openly training in the knightly arts of sword fighting, archery, and horsemanship. Though Colton was as skilled as any man in Richard’s service, of late his riding had consisted only of clandestine journeys to and from the River Shannon. He had spent more time honing his skills in the art of love than his swordsmanship, and regarding archery—well, even his intended bride had proven herself his equal in that field.

He tossed another pebble, then the sound of voices sent a thunderbolt jagging through him. Rising to his feet, Colton peered around the edge of the rock and saw two men approaching on the path—one elderly, bald, and stooped, and the other younger and with a full head of auburn hair.

Colton flattened himself against the rock and drew a deep breath,
then bent and pitched a pebble so that it landed squarely in the center of Oswald’s forehead. Oswald scowled, then tossed off his cloak and sat up, one brow lifted in a silent question.

Colton nodded, held up two fingers, then pointed toward the trail. Without a word, Oswald stood and pulled his sword from its scabbard.

Colton stepped out into the path and planted both feet firmly in the soft earth. The travelers halted, the younger man’s face flushing to a crimson shade. The older man merely looked at Colton, his mouth twisting in what looked like bitter amusement.

With his hands at his belt, Colton looked the brehon directly in the eye. “Greetings, sir. Are you Lorcan, the brehon of Connacht?”

The old man gave Colton a bright-eyed glance, full of shrewdness. “Who asks—you or the sword?”

Puzzled, Colton glanced behind him. Oswald stood there, his sword drawn and ready, its blade shimmering in the sun.

Colton gestured for Oswald to put the weapon away. “If you are Lorcan, we have no need of a sword. I have heard that you are a man of good sense, generous spirit, and unexcelled wisdom.”

The old man snorted with the half-choked mirth of a man who seldom laughs. “Faith, can this be a Norman spewing such golden words?” He tilted his brow and looked at Colton uncertainly. “Perhaps you should tell me why you have need of a man with wisdom. I was under the impression you Normans were the sole possessors of that quality.”

“I need a wise man acquainted with Gaelic law,” Colton continued, his words pouring forth in a rush. “Cahira O’Connor asked me to find you. She waits at a place called Carnfree. I am to take you there so you may unite us in the rites of holy marriage.”