Viking Fire (4 page)

Next to the flames, Laird O’Neill reclined in a carved wooden chair. He was an elderly man with white flowing hair that mingled with his beard.

He wore a purple tunic, and a medallion hung from a chain round his neck. It was silver, carved with symbols, curled around an amber stone the size of her palm. The golden color sparkled in the firelight.

Two clansmen stood on either side behind the laird. The first guard who brought news of her trespass bowed low and then exited to take his post outside.

She swallowed. Laird O’Neill reminded her of the stories of druids who once flooded this land.

“Remove your hand from this lady, Aeneas, and return to your post.” His hazel eyes weighed her.

The guard next to her dropped her arm. He, too, bowed and then marched away.

“Now my lady, what brings you here without an invitation?”

“Lochlanns, my lord. They come now in ships northwest of here.” The fire popped and she jumped. “Ready your soldiers so we may fight them.”

“Our men are on watch and saw no ship.” The son on the laird’s left spoke. “If they do come, then it ’tis not to our lands. Besides, we do not send our men into battle on the word of a woman.” His sneer turned her stomach.

“Kaireen, is it not?” the laird asked.

She nodded.

“My youngest son, Feoras. You know of my eldest son, Bearach.” He gestured to the man on his right. “Years ago you played soldiers with his sons, Uaine and Quinlan.”

Remembering her encounter with them earlier, she reddened.

His laughter faded and his countenance grew serious. “Now, Feoras has raised an interesting statement…we don’t send men to battle on the word of a woman. What say you?”

“They come to kill our people, take our women and children as slaves or worse.” She dusted her gown frowning at the slashes from the tree limbs. “Destroy our monasteries, homes, pillage our treasures. Kill our people or take away us as slaves.”

Feoras opened his mouth as though to protest, but the laird raised his, hand silencing him.

“My lady. Surely you know we must protect our own lands.” He smiled at her as if she were a frightened horse. “I cannot risk my men to fight your father’s battles. Since my reign, we do not war with your clan. But to avoid our offending other clansmen nor will we ally with your father.” He shook his head. “No, we will not fight.”

Because she came first to the O’Neill clan, her father would be taken unawares if they did not stop the invasion now. She needed the O’Neill’s help. Without them to fight, Bram and the guards were dead.

“My laird, these men do not come in peace. My father and family will be killed.” She clung to desperation. “My eldest sister is married to your third cousin. Does it not make us family?”

“Aye. But her allegiance is with our clansmen now, not yours. Because of that and your father, these two are the only things allowing me to keep Feoras from locking you in the dungeon.” He waved his wrinkled hand as if shooing a fly. “Our men will remain here.”

Her head screamed in pain. She wasted time coming all this way. Curse Bram for a fool, he should have fled with her. The laird called for the guards.

She heard their leather boots clomp toward her. They snatched her.

All was lost.

She would never hear Bram’s voice again. Screams of the dying echoed in her mind. A miracle if anyone survived.

Miracle? She strained against the guards’ hold.

“My lord, another question.” The guards jerked her backwards, but her eyes remained on the laird.

He nodded and the guards let go.

“Perhaps I was mistaken of the Lochlanns’ intent.”

“How so?” He frowned.

His sons stepped forward each grasping their sword hilts.

“Well, our monastery is hidden from the coast. ’Tis miles to the south of our lands.”

“So?” Feoras yawned. “They would take the river, or ride across your land. Once again, this does not concern us.” He flexed his hands as though wanting to squeeze them around her neck.

She straightened. She would not be bullied into a subservient attitude, not with lives at stake.

“Oh, but their ship sailing along the coast does.” Her heart drummed in her ears. This was the last chance. If she could not convince them to fight, then many lives would be lost especially if she was wrong and the Norsemen attacked her family while they were unaware of the danger.

“Your babbling solves nothing. Our monastery is blocked from the sea by steep cliffs,” Feoras roared.

The laird held up a hand and his son snapped his mouth shut. But his dark glare bore into her.

“Your monastery’s on the coast. Sailors see it from miles away.” The flames shifted the shadows along the walls. “Do you think them foolish to sail to my lands, then journey hours to our monastery, when they need only to cross my woods to reach yours? They could raze it like they did the monastery of Iona and others.” She smiled at their gasps. “Perhaps I was mistaken earlier. My lands are not in danger, but yours certainly appear to be.” Often monasteries were unprotected. Some might post a few guards, but they were outnumbered when the Norsemen came. No one knew when or where they would strike. Gold, precious jewels, religious treasures with little to no defense drew them like bears to honey.

At the laird’s nod, Bearach, the eldest son shouted orders to ready their soldiers.

“Well done, my lady.” The laird winked at her, as if ignoring Feoras’ dispute. “You raised an argument Feoras could not refute.”

“My lord, may I ask two more things of you today?”

He answered her with a raised eyebrow.

Men clamored through the halls, Feoras and Bearach joining them.

“Continue.” The laird gestured.

“My lord, please give me a weapon and a horse.”

The laird gave his sword to Kaireen. “Take the lead with Bearach, but draw back when you meet the enemy,” he told her.

After a bow she followed after the men. Her heart raced.

Outside they mounted. Bearach barked orders and then led the galloping horses through the countryside. He pointed to the shortest trail back to her land, back to Bram. Though he was not her desire for a husband, he had done nothing that was deserving of being murdered. Her luck, he would become a ghost to haunt her.

Kaireen raced a borrowed horse to stay with Bearach.

And prayed she was not too late.

Tree limbs slashed at Kaireen, but she did not care. She urged the horse forward.

O’Neill’s raced after her, their horses’ hoofs pounded in the distance. The smell of the ocean lingered in the air.

Did she hear shouts echo on the wind? She shivered. Or was the sound the keening of her family’s banshee?

To fight back the dread swelling in her chest, she glanced behind her for reassurance. Bearach and the others galloped after her.

Around this group of trees, and she would reach the clearing. After passing the last cluster of fir trees to the clearing, she turned the horse sharp. In the distance she saw Lochlanns battle. She sucked in a breath.

Two of her father’s guards lay dead. She scanned the men fighting to find Bram.

The edges of his grey wool cloak lifted with the sea breeze. His body slumped, but his sword wavered to block an attacker’s blow.

Kaireen drew the laird’s sword. From the weight of the blade, she lost her balance and countered by leaning backward. Sweat trickled down her back.

As her hand clenched the hilt, she nudged her mount forward. She wished she had asked for a bow. How would she lift the sword to do any damage? She raised the sword until her arm shook, but it was only halfway.

Mounted, she slashed the blade at Bram’s enemy.

Her teeth rattled from the impact. Blood spurted from the Lochlann’s leather helmet. The man sagged forward, knocking Bram down.

Anxious, she twisted her horse round, but jerked the reins to keep the animal steady.

Bram pushed the dead man away. He staggered and kneeled. His left hand clasped his bleeding side. Disoriented from loss of blood, he told her he was not sure if she had aimed her sword at his enemy or at him.

The O’Neill clan rushed in the fight. Metal swords clanked against each other as they fought the Lochlanns. Bearach raised his sword and ran toward Bram.

“No!” Kaireen kicked her horse forward, blocking Bearach. “He fights for us.”

Bearach gaped at her, but then nodded. He turned his attention to two giant men treading forward. He muttered under his breath, “Curse this woman for bringing us into a battle between Lochlanns.”

It would have been so easy for her to let Bearach rid her of Bram. Just one word and she would be rid of this Lochlann suitor and his quest to marry her. But she couldn’t allow it. True, she did not love him-only she could not tolerate the thought of him dead when she could stop it. It would never do to have innocent blood spilled on her account or here.

Blood colored the ground. The copper stench crept into her throat. Another enemy rushed forward with an axe in hand, roaring a battle cry.

The man inches from her when Bram stretched out his sword and pierced the man’s gut. Bram then yanked his sword out, his breathing hard. He fell back on the ground at the same time the enemy crumpled.

O’Neills swept the land; they matched the Lochlanns stroke for stroke. But the Lochlanns drew up their shields into a wall. One slipped away from the attack and headed towards her and Bram.

After dismounting, she heaved the sword with both hands, and wished she had asked for a bow.

Unable to lift the sword higher than her waist, she lunged forward at a warrior from behind. Surprised by her low lunge, the blade caught the warrior in the back of his upper thigh. The thwack of the metal against the bone radiated through her.

The sword went with him as he fell. He was not dead, just injured. He twisted his upper body around to dislodge the sword in his leg.

She bit her lip; now she was weaponless. Doubtful she’d have such luck again using the heavy sword.

“Damn woman!” Feoras raced passed her. With a swift flick, he decapitated the man at her feet.

She bristled and snatched her horse’s reins. Surveying the battlefield, she eyed a longbow. After maneuvering with her horse to the edge of the battle, she made her way to the weapon.

After dismounting, she picked up the discarded longbow and a handful of arrows from the dying Lochlann. She tested the weight of the draw, stronger than she liked, but she was grateful of her years of practice with her own bow. She nocked an arrow.

Her nerves made her hands sweat; she fumbled with the arrow several times until the tip slid into place. She took a breath to calm her nerves. If she could not keep her hands steady, her expert marksmanship would do no good. To concentrate, she pushed aside the thought of Bram dead because of her, and then took aim.

Five warriors surrounded Bram and Bearach.

Her arms shook from the force of strength required to draw the bowstring back. Kaireen released the arrow and the tip struck an enemy’s neck.

When she saw the arrow hit, she grasped another and sent it sailing. The arrow whizzed through the air and struck another enemy in the arm.

She readied another, but Bearach and Bram had cut down the other men around them.

After Kaireen scanned the area, she sent her last arrow into another enemy’s stomach. She cursed.

“Good shots, why are you upset?” Bearach speaking beside her made her jump.

“My aim was off.”

“But your arrows hit their mark.”

“No.” She eyed the bow thinking it refused to cooperate. “I aimed at their hearts.”

“Good thing you missed them not entirely and hit us.” He chuckled.

“The draw on the bow was stronger than mine.” Her muscles pulsed in pain.

Feoras strode to them. He snatched the long bow from her hand and then broke it across his leg. “You damn near got us killed,” he spat.

“No.” She crossed her arms. “Without my help, you may have lost this battle. I saved you.”

“A woman like you should be turned upon her stomach,” he smirked, “and given a good lashing by her husband.”

“I have no husband.” She smiled. “And I do not take orders from loathsome men such as you.”

He raised his hand to strike her, but Bearach caught his wrist.

“Do not let her anger you so.” Bearach nodded to the shore. “We drove the foreigners from our shore. Look, they scamper like frightened children back to their boat.”

Feoras jerked his hand away. He turned on his heel and chased after the departing Lochlanns.

He yelled for the O’Neills to join him and his scattered followers chased after them.

“Halt! Only a coward fights a man when his runs!” Bearach called, but Feoras and the others continued as if they had not heard.

Feoras descended, using the natural breaks in the cliffs to the shore. His sword rose. At the shore, he and the others slashed the fleeing Lochlanns.

He jumped into the Lochlanns’ boat and sliced at men holding their hands in surrender. Kaireen turned her head; it was shameful, what Feoras and the others did.

The waves lapped at the dead’s blood.

Bearach raced to stop his brother’s madness, but the last dying Lochlann capsized the dragon ship. Against the waves, Feoras and the others were left to struggle for air.

Once he reached the water, Bearach waded in. Kaireen bit her lip. If he stepped too deep, then he may lose his footing and drown if he wasn’t a strong enough swimmer against the undertow.

Red waves fanned around the boat. Bearach stretched out his arms, hauling Feoras and three others back to the side of the cliff.

Seeing the struggling Lochlann, Bearach waded deeper into the ocean. Bearach went under a few times, but he could not reach the distant Lochlann.

He fought the waves on his way back to the beach. Two of his fellow O’Neills had drowned.

On the wet sand, Bearach drew ragged breaths with the others he rescued. Feoras lay, sprawled out, but breathed.

“Do idiocy like that again,” Bearach stood and then shook water like a wolfhound. “And I will leave you to your grave.” Bearach returned to the others.

Then he helped Bram to his feet. Kaireen’s hands searched for the damage on Bram’s chest. His tunic was soaked with blood. She could not tell how much blood was his or the enemy’s.