Chapter 8 #3
“Father,” she said, “we believe they must land in force near us. We will be ready for all our people to come behind the walls. We will be ready to repel them, whatever they might attempt. They don’t come with great siege machines, so those within the walls should be safe—safe and harrying their numbers with missiles and other means of fighting from behind the walls.
But then we will lead them through terrain we know very well, force them to the mounds where we will have men ready to surround them, hidden within and around.
That is not something we’ve shared with Declan as yet. ”
“We have sought your council first,” Kylin said, bowing his head in acknowledgment of their elders.
“Declan and Cillian will need to be part of this plan,” Eamon said.
“Aye, Father,” Deidre agreed.
“What of our homeland?” Aidan wondered.
“Son, this land is your inheritance,” Eamon told him.
“It will fall to you, and your sister, just as the village will belong to Kylin on Sigurd’s passing.
Aidan, you will stay here. Sigurd and I will move as is necessary when the time comes.
We still need to consider serious tactics on this.
Sigurd and I have traveled many times to visit Cillian as we are close neighbors, and together, we have all honored the ard-rí.
I believe we’ll send you two out again, to bring this to a meeting with Cillian and the Declan.
And if they agree, it sounds as if we have a solid plan.
Except that it may not be easy to convince them that you can lure the forces after you to the battleground of our choosing. ”
“Sire, I honestly think that we’ll manage well enough. When prepared, this walled domicile is a fine fortress. With nothing to gain here, they will come inland, especially if they think that a meagre array of troops is headed that way,” Kylin argued.
“Quite possibly—especially if they have come to seize the isle. There is no place more sacred upon the isle than Tara,” Eamon said. “You will leave again come the morning. Now, you two must sleep because you must be weary with so much riding and more to be done on the morrow.”
“Good night, then, Father, Sigurd. Thank you for . . . listening. Believing. Aidan! I swear—”
Aidan interrupted her with a laugh. “Deidre, I’m your brother. I know your heart as few others may!”
He walked to her. She hugged him warmly. Her brother was an exceptionally good man. Of course, as children, they had driven one another crazy. But that had turned into a closeness when they had become adults.
“Love you, Aidan,” Deidre murmured.
He smiled at her, and she hurried on out.
She wasn’t sure if she was surprised, grateful or not happy at all that their fathers had understood so easily, believed in them with little proof of what they were saying.
She forced herself not to look at Kylin as she fled.
We are to be on the road again together tomorrow!
Our fathers, she thought dryly, do have tremendous faith.
She hurried to her chambers, greeting friends as she moved along the way, reassuring them that she was well, that her missions were going well.
At last, in the sanctity of her own room, she lay down to sleep.
As ever, she wondered if she would dream.
And she thought of the night in the guest room at Cillian’s earthwork castle. She remembered waking in such bizarre fear.
Fear—from a dream.
Had one man intended to fight with her and the other slay her? Were they both enemies, were they both friends?
Therein, she knew, lay the fear. And, with all things, it must be met head-on. They couldn’t suspect any man because of their feelings toward him. Just because a human being might be coarse, he wasn’t necessarily a murdering traitor.
She tossed and turned.
And she wished that she could sleep as she had before, curled against Kylin.
She had been deeply grateful to her father for never forcing her hand.
She knew what was expected of a wife, and yet with others, she’d felt nothing but a desire not to be touched, not to be used, not to be a plaything, a servant.
And with Kylin . . .
All I want is for him to touch me.
Half asleep, she smiled. His ethics! She was safer with him than she’d ever been with anyone else in the world.
In every way.
Finally, she drifted off to sleep, still wishing that she might be lying beside him, feeling his warmth.
Mist rose in the dream. The air was damp with it, yet she could see. She was in a small clearing and the cauldron sat atop a fire.
So many previous dreams of battle scenes, images of running, screaming warriors . . .
This was different. She was stirring something in the cauldron, and she was surrounded by friends, her father’s men, Sigurd’s men and a few of the women who, like her, had been trained for battle rather than cooking.
But she was cooking!
A silvery presence was next to her, whispering about herbs.
And she was adding them to the mixture, listening gravely. And when she had finished, the men and women were coming to her, all with their carved wooden bowls, seeking scoops of the potion she had been mixing in the cauldron.
They were at peace, enjoying the fire, enjoying the sweet quiet of the forest.
Whatever she’d created in the cauldron must have been good. An injured man stood and smiled at her, steady on a leg that had sustained a serious sword thrust.
She realized that all those surrounding her had been injured. They were not the full body of their forces.
And she hadn’t created poultices; she hadn’t come with healing mixtures to set beneath their linen bandages.
She had created something that healed from within.
In her sleep she twisted and turned, trying to awaken. She wondered if she had learned the true power of the cauldron. With the help of the silver angel or fairy, she could create sustaining foods that also healed.
She couldn’t run next door to see Kylin. He slept with his people, in his father’s village, so she would tell him when they rode out.
Morning came and memory of the dream stayed with her. She washed and dressed and prepared to head out once again, running downstairs as soon as she was ready.
Kylin had already arrived. He was frowning as he listened to her father.
“Sigurd and I spoke about this at length last night—it will solve the problems that might arise among any of the nobility,” Eamon was saying.
Confused, Deidre joined them.
“Father?”
“You never need fear, my precious daughter. I swore when you were a child, I’d not let you die as your mother died, defenseless.
I would make a warrior of you, a woman who could defend herself against any man.
I said that you might choose your own husband, or not to have a husband, if you did not wish to have one.
But as I was telling Kylin, on this mission, we would have you lie. ”
“Father, lie to the ard-rí? Sire, this is a grave situation—”
“Not about the situation, Deidre. About you and Kylin. Word will go out that the two of you are promised to one another. That will solve any question with men like Angus who still think that eventually he will create an alliance that will give him sway here, on the coast. There are others like him, men who will forget what they seek if they know that you are promised to another.”
“I told your father that you would not like the idea,” Kylin said. “But I’ve listened to his wisdom. In this, we might well save ourselves difficulty with others.”
“I just . . .” Deidre began. She shook her head. It seemed that any thoughts fled her mind, other than the strangeness of what her father wanted them to do.
“Deidre, I expect nothing. It’s a tale we must tell,” Kylin said.
And what if I do expect something, want something? she thought fleetingly.
“I’m sorry, I just want to be taken as seriously as any warrior,” Deidre said. “I am not for show—I am a warrior of equal footing.”
Kylin grinned, looking from Eamon to her.
“Equal? You’re the child of Rí Eamon! You are the superior in our twosome,” he assured her. Then he looked at her father.
“Eamon, it will be as you and my father say,” Kylin vowed. He looked at Deidre. “Well, beloved, shall we move on, then? We ride to Declan first and ask that he and a team of his warriors travel on to Cillian, and together, we will set our plan.”