Chapter 15 #2
Nay, she could not! She could not walk into a man’s room, a partner in the care and safety of their land, and carry out a dream!
Yet she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she did.
He never spoke of a lass in his life, someone with whom he spent time, with whom he might really become betrothed.
They had spoken about her situation in life, her father’s determination that if and when she so desired, she would marry, and marry a man she chose.
She knew nothing of his feelings for others. Except, of course, if he’d been betrothed to someone, the information would have been all over the villages and her father’s walled castle.
That didn’t mean that there wasn’t someone out there he really cared about.
She had never asked.
“Hot water will be brought to you,” Cillian promised.
“Please, take your time, come to my banqueting hall. I will speak to my people, and you may add in anything that you think I might have left out. Eion and Magnus will be there, too, of course. I just wish, as we all do, that we had more to tell them, that we knew who was joining this coordinated attack, who was betraying us all. You and Kylin have known so much, seen so much.”
“Sire,” Kylin told him, “I assure you, if we’re ever able to know, we will see to it that you and the ard-rí know immediately.”
“Of course,” Cillian said gravely. “Well, take an hour’s rest. Then we will have a meal.”
Eion and Magnus had already gone on to the room assigned to them. The grooms had taken the horses; they were free for the moment. In the morning they would make haste for home, but that night, they knew they needed to accept the comfort of Cillian’s hospitality.
Any good warrior knew that rest had to be taken, when possible, especially when a great battle loomed before them.
She and Kylin headed to their little, rough, thatched-roof cottages, next to one another.
“Perhaps . . .” Kylin murmured.
Perhaps we need just one room? That it was good to sleep together in the woods?
But Kylin wasn’t thinking about the night before—at least not where their sleeping arrangements were concerned.
“Perhaps,” he repeated thoughtfully, “you should create another poultice for Finn before we leave. He is healing miraculously, but the cauldron goes with us,” he said.
“Of course. The cauldron—”
“Has been brought with my things to my room. After we eat, I can help you find the herbs you need, or we can ask a healer here for help, and I can bring the cauldron to you,” Kylin said.
She nodded. “We can go now—”
“Finn is doing all right now, he is with Cillian’s healers. And I know that Cillian promised us hot water and I know you. Enjoy your hot water. We’ll have time later.”
She smiled. “I believe he probably arranged for hot water for all of us, too, being the rí and host that he is.”
He laughed at that. “Aye, lass! I do, indeed, plan to enjoy every moment of that water being hot!”
She smiled and knew that he would walk into his room and close the door—after she was in hers with the door bolted. And it was as she thought.
He waited for her to go in. She stood in the doorway for just a second, glancing in.
Cillian had indeed had his servants bring water, steaming now in a large tub, prepared for her because he knew that she would cherish the feel of cleanliness and warmth after their ride, their fight and their night in the woods.
And Kylin stood there, always the protector, always filled with dignity and morality.
Waiting.
She smiled then closed and bolted the door.
Dreams. Sometimes, dreams were just dreams, no matter how real they might be.
There was nothing to do for the moment except relish Cillian’s gift of the hot tub.
She quickly shed her weapons belt, boots and clothing and sank into the water.
The steam rushed around her, and the water was wonderful.
She would stay in it until the water chilled, but because it might do so quickly, she scrubbed her hair and her body and rinsed before leaning back, just loving the heat.
Finally, of course, the water began to cool, and she emerged, ready to dress again.
She picked up her weapons. She never went anywhere without the shimmering sword.
Kylin’s timing was almost perfect; she had just finished buckling her sword belt when she heard his tap at her door.
She started to slide the bolt but hesitated.
“Kylin?” she inquired.
“Aye, lass, it’s me,” he said. “I believe it’s time we need to be in the banqueting hall.”
His hair was damp. The steam of the bath still seemed to emit from him, though of course, it could not.
He smiled at her. “I must say, you wear a sword much better than any man I know!”
“Thank you, beloved,” she teased lightly. She took his arm. They were still playing a game so naturally she might take his arm.
He set his hand on hers where she held him and turned that they might start across the grounds to Cillian’s banquet hall.
She, Kylin, Eion and Magnus were given seats of honor at his table. And when the hall had filled with his warriors and his noblemen, he tapped his goblet, drawing silence from those who chatted as they took their seats.
There was silence. Cillian rose to speak to his people, his voice passionate, as he assured them that he wanted them to go on living; life was a precious gift and they were to enjoy it, love their spouses, cherish their children.
But there was grave danger. Kylin, Magnus, Rí Eion, and Deidre, daughter of the Rí Eamon, had met with a force in the hills.
He talked about the injured man from Mayo who they had brought with them, who they tended to now, hoping against hope that there might still be more that the man knew.
The enemy filtered in, threatening families and loved ones.
If anything was suggested, they had the force to combat it.
Just as the enemy had tried to deplete their ranks, he would see to it, with the full support of the ard-rí and many other leaders, that they would withstand any and all attacks with a stalwart defense.
At last he finished speaking and the room applauded him with one standing to tell him that he was one of the finest men anyone could hope to follow and honor. Cillian thanked and encouraged the room to enjoy their meals.
Deidre was next to him, and as he sat to partake of the food himself, she told him, “You, sire, truly are a fine man, a great rí!”
“Ah, lass. Peace is easy. Your father has managed to keep his dignity, strength and kindness against incredible odds and the constant attacks of being near the shore. And he has raised a daughter of unimaginable beauty—and a strength to equal his own.”
“Thank you, sire. But trust me, his strength is also in my brother. And in Sigurd,” she added.
“Of course. Now, you will set out in the morning for home early, I imagine.”
“Aye, sire. And I know you have competent healers here, but if you don’t mind, before I leave I’d like to make a poultice for the injured man you’ll care for,” she told him.
“Of course,” he said, looking ahead as he sipped from his goblet. “From your magic cauldron.”
“Well, I don’t know—”
He looked at her, smiling. “The sword, the spear, the cauldron and the stone. I’ve not see the stone—”
“I keep it in a pocket, sire,” she said.
“Ah, imagine! I had thought it would be a great rock!”
“Not so much, sire.”
“Well, they are gifts, and my belief in them—and in you and young Kylin—is great. And when you return and we head to the Hill of Tara, we will be ready. If you give me a list of what you need for your poultice, I’ll see that it’s brought and set in your room.”
“Thank you, sire.”
“Thank you. One question. You trust in this man, Finn of Mayo?”
“Sire, I don’t believe that the cauldron would have helped him if he wasn’t telling the truth when he spoke. He also sounds like a man truly dedicated to his wife and child.”
Cillian nodded. “How many others, do you think, will fight for the enemy out of fear?”
“I think there may be more. But if we show that we are stronger, they will return to their true loyalty.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Faith, sire—you tell me about it all the time.”
“Indeed, I do. It is a gift to believe—when belief is substantiated by action.”
Cillian’s attention was drawn by Eion as he spoke about the danger to his land as well as Eamon’s. She turned to Kylin, who was looking about the hall.
“What is it?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “Eion and Magnus. The enemy meant to kill them, and I believe in their loyalty. James of Munster . . . he’s older, perhaps frightened. Angus of Ui Neill is—”
“Dangerous!” she said, shaking her head.
“Berach of Linns, so close to your father,” he said. “And those who are leaders across the country who were not with us at the ard-rí’s. How will we ever know? Not until the battle is upon us and a friend proves to be an enemy.”
“And when a friend proves to be an enemy, we will fight him,” Deidre said with determination.
The meal broke. An older woman approached Deidre, asking her what she wished to have for the special poultice she wanted to make. Deidre gave her a small list of herbs and the woman left them.
They talked with others awhile and then Kylin came to her with a look. She smiled at the man with whom she spoke and took Kylin’s arm. They headed back to their little cottage rooms. Deidre opened her door and discovered that the herbs and water had been left. She looked at Kylin.
“The cauldron is in my room,” he told her. He frowned suddenly.
“What?”
“I shouldn’t have left it. I should never leave it.”
“Kylin, a warrior is never without his—or her—weapons, so it is easy to carry the sword, the spear and the rock. But no man can simply walk around with a cauldron,” Deidre told him, grinning and shaking her head.
But she knew he was suddenly worried that the cauldron wouldn’t be in his room. “Let’s see!” she told him.
They hurried next door.