Viking Fire (17 page)

Elva clapped her hands and the mist fell away.

Liannon and O’Neill clansmen stumbled. They watched the fog crawl back to whence it came.

Elva lowered her arms. “Kaireen!” she shouted pointing, to a mound of men three strides from her. “Underneath their squirms lays Bram.”

Kaireen did not waste a moment contemplating if her handmaid spoke truth or not. Instead, she nocked an arrow, and then sent it sailing into an enemy’s back. Grateful the tension of the bow was not beyond her strength.

All around her Lochlanns, O’Neill’s, and Liannon fought.

“The Lochlanns are on our side!” At Kaireen’s words, the Liannon clan did not battle with them, but accepted their help.

Another arrow flung into a man’s shoulder within the pile. She wanted a sword to hack the men who concealed her beloved.

The red Lochlann jumped from his horse. He slashed through men, making his way to the pile of squirming bodies.

After he placed his sword in his scabbard, he grabbed a man in each hand, banged their heads together and then tossed them backward.

Kaireen nocked a third arrow. She scanned the field, aimed to shoot any enemy who came too close to the giant.

Five more bodies flew past her. Three more men scampered away from Bram as the giant stretched to snatch them. They did not turn back as they raced across the courtyard.

Bram laid still, his tunic covered in blood. She slid from her horse and then ran to him.

His flesh was cold to her touch and she screamed. She knelt beside him cradling his arm to her chest.

She thought of all the words she never spoke. Her love she refused to admit. He must not die without knowing the truth. Words tore from her throat through her sobs. “I love you, Bram. I-I tried to come sooner.” Oh, she’d crush Elva’s neck for this, for making her a widow.

She hollered when she was yanked backwards by her hair. She fought whoever seized her, her eyes never leaving Bram’s body. With a curse, she was released. Then she crawled back to him letting her lips touch his.

A glint flashed in the sun and a blade of a sword waved passed her face. The sword’s edge came below her chin pressing her away.

“If you wish to save your lord father and mother,” Feoras’ voice whispered in her ear, “you will come with me.”

Cold steel brushed her chin. A shudder ran through her, making her tremble.

Feoras jerked her by her arm and pulled her back with him. With his sword under her chin, his other hand clutched a dagger. He dragged her toward the west guard tower.

When one Liannon tried to block his escape, Feoras threw the dagger at him. The mark hit true, and lodged into the man’s throat.

How many would die because of her? she thought. Kaireen glanced to Bram’s lifeless body. A gasp escaped from her lips.

At his side, Elva kneeled, pounding her fists upon his chest.

The blade pressed into Kaireen’s neck and she felt the stinging trickle of blood. She watched in horror as Elva covered Bram’s lifeless mouth with hers.

Bram was dead. Why did Elva suffer Bram with these atrocities against his body?

“Watch it, wench,” Feoras said. He did not notice Elva nor care.

She felt the drying of her blood, sticky upon her neck. Kaireen wished she could die. Her chest spasmed with each breath.
Bram
, her thoughts screamed. How could she endure this torture?

Never would she love again. Love was too raw, too deep. She would help her mother and father after the battle nursing them back to health. Her hopes for marriage and happiness of her own flew away with Bram’s spirit as he approached the heavenly places.

Then she would join a convent as a nun. She chuckled at the irony. At least she was dressed in a friar’s cloaks, ready for servitude.

Inside the west guard tower, Kaireen stumbled on the stairs. Feoras climbed after her with his drawn sword between them.

Torches had been snuffed along the stone walls. In the darkness, Kaireen fell. Feoras hissed a reprimand to her. So she groped along the stairs with one hand against the wall, the other held her wool robe. She thought about throwing herself down the stairs against Feoras. But she doubted he would die from the fall. And no doubt the sword point would find its way into her. They came to the door at the top of the tower. It was locked.

Feoras shoved her aside, and then banged on the door.

Kaireen knew her family huddled inside.

But she would not cry out for them. Even if he sliced her until nothing was left. Her family would be safe.

He turned and watched her. The shadows elongated his nose and chin, making her step backward. Coldness filled his expression. “Feoras has arrived,” he shouted.

Kaireen opened her mouth to protest his insanity. Her family would never open the door to an outsider.

At hearing the iron bar slide open, she jumped. What were her lord father and mother doing? Had they lost their senses?

“No!” She screamed.

But the door creaked opened and then Feoras jerked her inside with him.

As Kaireen’s vision adjusted to the room, she saw Rhiannon slam the door shut behind them.

Her mother, father, and Shay were tied with ropes and sat along the far wall.

Cloths were stuffed into their mouths. Two O’Neill clansmen stood guard.

Her mother’s handmaid and Feoras hugged each other and then kissed each other upon the cheeks. They spoke like long-lost friends.

Kaireen ran to her family. Her father’s was face was red and sweaty, as though he strained to holler. The whole side of his face was swollen and a dark shade of purple. He was bent over and holding his side. Her mother’s red-gold hair was disheveled and her left eye was swollen shut and a cut on her lip had dried blood.

Shay appeared the least disturbed. She was tied and gagged like the others, but looked not as if she fought. Instead, her blond hair shone like rays of the sun. Kaireen smelled the hint of rose perfume. Did she dress so because of Elva’s words, or to look her best for the battle?

Where was Shay’s daughter, Megan?

Gathering her robe, she knelt in front of them. She eased the linen strips from their mouths. “What darkness is this?”

“Rhiannon.” Her mother spoke first, shifting on the stone floor. “She is behind this. Behind it all-she’s the traitor we’ve been searching for. I should have listened to your father when he did not want to take her in.”

Her father spit the last piece of wet linen from his mouth. “Damn their clan to the tenth generation.”

“Careful,” the guard to his right waved an axe, “or our Lady Mistress may ask your head removed if you cannot keep your mouth shut. She is the now Lady of this keep and you will address her as such.”

Her father sputtered, but then acquiesced.

“Lady Mistress?” Kaireen looked around the tower. “The O’Neill clan has no Lady Mistress. The laird is th…”

The guard snatched her by the arm and dragged her to Rhiannon.

She stood in front of her mother’s handmaid, confusion in her eyes. Long ago when Kaireen had been about Megan’s age, Rhiannon had come into her clan, an outsider, an O’Neill. She had grown up with the woman around and never thought to question why she was allowed to live here. But surly— Rhiannon’s stare was hard like quarry stones. Her taunt skin was pulled tight by the grey bun of her hair. She nodded to the guard, who kicked the back of Kaireen’s legs, forcing her to kneel.

A gasp escaped Kaireen at the sight of her mother’s velvet gown on this servant. “My mother’s…” she said as the guard twisted her arm.

“Do not speak unless addressed from her lady mistress,” he seethed.

“My son and I rule here now,” Rhiannon leered. “The fight is nearly done and we triumph.”

Had everyone gone daft? “You have no authority here, nor anywhere.” Kaireen shook her head as it couldn’t be true. Why would her parents allow a Laird’s wife — ?

Rhiannon smacked Kaireen with the back of her hand. In her mouth, she tasted her own blood. She spit the blood upon Rhiannon, and again she was slapped.

“You have the manners of swine.” The older woman swept her hands across the velvet fabric of her stolen dress. “Now, I am the late laird’s wife. Not that I expect you to understand. Feoras is my son and rightful heir.”

Kaireen twisted around to see her family’s reaction, but the guard held her in place by her arm, which throbbed like hooks jabbed into her.

“Once my mother is returned to her clan,” Feoras gleamed, “and rulership established, we will deal with you.” His leather boots slapped across the stone floor to her. With a fist full of her auburn hair, he jerked her head back. “You and your Lochlann killed our laird with his own sword. I pity not the death our clansmen will give you.”

The sword? Aye, she had been so busy she forgot. The sword was in her room, last she knew.

Feoras forced her head in a bow to his mother. Then he swaggered away. The guard dragged her forward, after Feoras and his mother.

At swordpoint, the other guard led the rest of her family from the tower.

As Kaireen descended the steps, she wanted to kick the guard beside her who would not let go of her arm.

But the sword Feoras spoke about itched beneath her skin like a rash that would soon show upon her flesh. Why did his words sting her so?

What happened with the sword? She searched her memory. When Elva braided her hair before her punishment, the sword was safe in her— Wait. Then Rhiannon came to escort her to her parents for their judgment.

Rhiannon. She must have seen the sword and taken it.

Fear plummeted into her stomach. This was why the O’Neill’s attacked. They believed she used the sword to kill their laird. Rhiannon had framed her, but only she knew the truth. Now every man, woman, and child of the O’Neill clan would want her dead.

Bram groaned as cold breath filled his lungs. Ribs bruised and broken screamed with each movement.

The sun hid behind white clouds, rays reaching through. He smelled grass, blood, and lilac.

A shadow blocked his view of the sun and he flinched. Searing pain gripped his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the moment to pass. He could not defend himself. This enemy would run him through and not give a second glance.

The pain eased and he was able to open his eyes.

An angel appeared before him. Her white hair flowed to her waist. Her face ancient, yet youthful, gazed at him. She was dressed in a grey livery.

“Elva?” he choked.

“Shh.” She brushed his hair from his brow. A medallion hung from a silver chain round her neck. Orange amber filled the stone, and silver carvings encircled the gem. Carvings like writing or symbols he had never seen before. “Everything is fine.”

“Where is Kaireen?” He struggled to lift his head, but could not because a force held him.

He realized Elva’s hand rested on his forehead. “Is she safe? Has the battle ended?” As if in answer, swords scraped against swords and shields, resonating through the air.

A shout drew silence from the courtyard. He lifted his head and saw Rhiannon and Feoras in the distance. Men held Kaireen, her father, mother, and sister.

Feoras waved his sword in the air. “Men, we bring vengeance for our laird.” The crowd cheered. “We have released our Lady Mistress from their prison, and she is returned to us now.”

Again the crowd cheered, but Bram heard grumbling among the applause.

“Our Lady Mistress!” Feoras swept into a bow as Rhiannon inched forward.

“My clansmen.” She waited until the angry shouts died from both clans. “These monsters sought to destroy us. Our laird trusted me as a spy in their midst. They killed our laird, my beloved husband. Now I beseech you, take your sword and kill all of them. Leave no babe alive. We take these lands and rule them for the O’Neill’s.”

A deafening roar rose. Their applause died away at Feoras’ waved hands for silence. “The murderous witch stands among you now.” Feoras hauled Kaireen forward and Bram gritted his teeth from pain as he tried to move.

“They lie.” Elva spoke.

Everyone inhaled as though waiting her permission to breathe. Bram wondered how anyone heard her when her voice had sounded like the wind to him. But the others reacted as if thunder had spoken.

Elva stood near him, although he blinked and had not seen her rise. A yew staff was in her hand.

“Servants who speak without permission will be flogged.” Rhiannon cleared her throat. “Speak again and the flogging will last until you have no skin left.”

“This be like your laird’s?” Elva smiled and tapped a medallion hung around her neck with her free hand.

Whispers rang through the crowd.

“Stolen, no doubt from this witch by her devil laying there.” Feoras pointed to Bram.

“No,” Elva said, and the pressing crowd drew back. “Bearach wears his father’s medallion.”

Then in answer, Bearach strode forward. Blood gushed down his left arm. But he held his medallion in his right hand for everyone to see. He gazed back at Elva in wonder.

Rhiannon stuttered when Elva raised her hand in silence.

“Kings and queens must seek approval when in the presence of a Buhn-Druid to speak.” She struck her yew staff on the ground and people jumped.

“You are a druid?” Kaireen frowned. “How is that possible? You are my handmaid.” Surely she jested; a druid of that stature was the highest ranking of that religion. Protected and secreted even among their own kind. And a Buhn-Druid was rumored to control the hearts of kings because of their gift of prophecy and ability to turn a battle in their favor.

“And what does Druid mean in the Celtic language, but the hidden ones?”

At the handmaid’s words, Rhiannon’s eyes bulged. Feoras gripped his sword, but Bearach shook his head and moved to block his brother’s path.

“Long ago I foresaw the injustice and calamity that would fall upon our clan.” Elva stepped forward. “Although I could not change this future, I knew worse would come if I did nothing. Forty years ago, I kissed my brother goodbye and came as a servant to the Liannon clan. Not as a spy, but as a protector of both the Liannon and the O’Neill clans. They gave me work, food, and clothing.”