The Ground She Walks Upon (45 page)

I gaze with delight

As the flock of cranes take flight

Into the blue skies.

The dream cherished in my heart

Since my boyhood has come true.

CROWN PRINCE NARUHITO,
Waka

Ravenna ran
down the sweeping lawn of Trevallyan Castle all the while crying, "At last! At last! It has come!"

Trevallyan leaned against the same oak tree that one year earlier had almost brought him death. He'd been surveying the four fields of Lir that spread out beneath where the castle stood. The feeling it brought was good. The
ogham
stone still stood sentinel over Lir's fortunes, but for the first time in years, no potatoes grew in its fields. Instead, sheep grazed along the rocky coast; flax, pale and dry, waved in the breeze that kicked up from the Irish Sea, ready for harvest. Corn grew in one lot, turnips and cabbage in another. Lir was saved.

"Whoa, me girl. Quit your running. Do you want to shake our babe right from you?" He caught his wife by the waist and placed his hand possessively upon her swelling belly.

"It's here!" she said, her eyes ablaze with excitement.

"Your book? 'Tis finally arrived?" He tried to take the red leather-bound volume from her, but she snatched it from his hold.

"Nay. Sit. I want to read you the last chapter. You never did know what became of Skya and Aidan."

The wind howled, and the rain shook the tiny cottage that sat deep in the Woods of Hawthorn. Inside, a woman who had no more tears to weep lay quietly with her hands tied to a corner of her pallet.

Skya prayed for death. The loneliness had become too much. If she could not live among men, then she would die alone, cursing the gift that had long ago saved her sisters from the dragon.

She lay facing the packed-mud wall of her cottage, unwilling to move; unwilling to even attempt to free herself. She had loved him, and he had abandoned her, as she had always feared he would if she freed him. Now she must accept it, and rather than do that, she willed death to come and sit at her pallet; to take her by the hand and bring her to a better place.

A gust of wind rattled the batten door, shook the latch, and burst it open. Rain sheeted inside, spraying her, but she paid it no mind. Her thoughts were too filled with dark fantasies for her to even bother to look up. Listlessly, she stared at the wall, the wet spot beneath her cheek where her tears had fallen for two days now turned cold and clammy against her face.

She closed her eyes and dreamed of laughter and warm hands. As if she willed it, she almost felt a strong hand on her wrist slowly unwinding her bounds.

Hesitant, afraid that her reverie would disappear should she look up, she fearfully opened her eyes. The touch that she had imagined was real. A man was untying her, but he could not save her. Only Aidan and his love could save her.

"Go away, "she cried, turning back to the wall, not even caring how the man had found her.

"I have gone away. Now I've returned."

Slowly, as if terrified she was dreaming, she turned toward her savior.

It was Aidan, rain slick on his hair and face, his handsome embroidered bliaud dark with water. Gravely he worked on the knots that held her wrists.

"Why...?" she whispered, fresh tears, these of hope and cautious joy, filling her azure eyes.

"A witch's tears haunt like no other," he answered, unable to look at her.

"Is that the only reason?"

He freed her and took her in his arms. He was cold and wet, but she didn't care, she clung to him.

"I tried to flee. I almost got to Clancullen. But then I turned around. My will was no longer my own to command. I was driven by my heart instead." He took her hand, the one that made magic, and laced his fingers with her own. "I
have only one question."

"And—and what is that?" she whispered, not daring to believe her fortune.

"I
want to bring you back to your father. Your people will accept you if you are a means to peace. Our kingdoms have fought for centuries, but no more. I want to marry you and unite our families. Still, I must know: Will I be vexed with children like you?

She looked at him through her tears. "If they are like me, will you banish them?"

His handsome face turned stern. Pondering the question, he wrapped her in a blanket as if trying to keep himself from temptation until the wedding night. Once he held her again, he whispered, "Nay, I fear I must keep them, for banishment would only cause their mother grief. You see, she cast a spell upon me and stole my heart. I am forever in her power."

Ravenna closed the book and turned her head to look at Trevallyan. He smiled down at her, his still-youthful and handsome face filled with pride.

"I thought you would get it published. Tell me, is it causing a sensation?"

"Indeed," she whispered. "The publisher wrote to me and told me they cannot print enough of them. 'Tis causing quite a scandal, for it has become quite popular with the ladies, and their husbands don't approve."

"And they're buying it anyway, no doubt."

"Of course. They don't want to read as men, they want to read as women."

He took the scarlet leather-bound volume from her hands to study it further and he was unable to hide his surprise. Running his fingers across the gilt-embossed lettering on the cover, he read,
"From Out of the Mist: Tales from Ireland
by Finn Byrne Raven."

She lowered her gaze, still stung by the old resentment. "They wouldn't publish it if I insisted on a woman's name. 'Tis all right for a man to write so explicitly of love, but not a woman, they told me. So I took my father's name, as a tribute."

He held her face in his hands and stared down at her. They locked gazes, and he whispered, pride entwined with every word, "Someday they'll know it was you who wrote this. They'll know it was Lady Ravenna Trevallyan, the child of the ninth viscount of Cinaeth."

She smiled and kissed him. He reached for more. She gave it.

Settling back into his arms again, she said, "He loved her, you know. My father. Even with Lord Cinaeth's tales of Finn Byrne's deathly confession, I was still unsure. Then I found a letter to Brilliana among his things at Cinaeth Castle. 'Twas tragically never sent. It was addressed simply to Hawthorn Cottage, County Lir." She caressed her softly rounded belly, content and yet sad. "In the letter, he speaks of his happiness about the babe. He wanted me to be a girl, one who looked just like her mother. Then he spoke of his love for Brilliana and his hopes for the future. I do not think I could read it again, for 'tis too distressing to think of what might have been, yet I'm glad I read it once. I'm glad to know she was loved."

He said nothing. They were man and wife now. They shared everything. His silence was commiseration and she knew it.

Sighing, she looked out beneath her at the bountiful fields of Lir. Almost unconsciously, she asked, "Was the
geis
ever true?"

"Perhaps." Trevallyan rested his chin upon the crown of her head and gazed at the lush fields. "But I wonder in my doddering old age what truth really is. If people believe strongly enough in something, it becomes true in their own minds, and that may be the only truth we know."

"I'd like to believe it now." She glanced down at her hand. The three rings of the gimmal were united on her hand and had been ever since the wedding. It was bittersweet to think of it. The rings interlocked so finely that they appeared now as one; Trevallyan's was there, and her own, and the heart-carved ring of old Griffen Rooney's. The old gravedigger had held the middle ring ever since his childhood. He had given her the ring during the ceremony and told her he had guarded her heart all his life. She nearly wept to think of it now, for after the wedding, Griffen had retired to his room in the castle. In the morning, they found him dead. It was as if he had been living only to fulfill a task and with that task completed, he'd found his peace.

"I'd like to believe all the powers of this earth brought me to your side," she whispered.

"I would have found you anyway. Even in spite of all the powers of this earth." His voice was strong with conviction.

"You would have?" She looked up at him.

Gravely he nodded his head. "I looked for you all my life. So what purpose was my life, if not to find you?"

"I love you," she said, emotion catching her voice.

"I sold my soul to hear those words." He looked deep into her eyes. "You must never stop saying them."

She promised.