Chapter Forty-Two
A Fair Trade
Neave, August 24, 1565, Ulster, Ireland
I tugged and jerkedat my bounds only to find them as unyielding as the knot tethering Fionna. My heart fluttered like a caged bird, despairing of flight. I ought’ve used my scian to set my mount free and gallop away while I could.
The men disappeared into the tent, speaking in hushed tones. The rain returned with a vengeance, spitting its sharp needles through the canopy above and driving them into my skin through the hood of my russet and the men’s inadequate blanket.
I sat up straight, quelled my tears, and thought. Had I glimpsed a hearty dose of avarice behind Eoin’s unscrupulous concern? A reward would be what I’d dangle, then—for delivering me “safe and sound” to Benburb. And once home, one glance from me to Aedan would dispatch them back to their miserable lives with a dozen lashes each for their efforts.
A long time passed before they quieted. But when I thought all were asleep, the tent’s flaps parted, and the younger man emerged and approached me. I didn’t like his bright gaze and hitched breath.
“Apologies for striking your mare, lady. I meant no harm...not overly accustomed to such fine mounts.” He pointed his chin at Fionna, lowering himself on his haunches before me. “I’ve seen her before, lady. May I...have leave to lower your hood?”
He stopped breathing entirely, eyes wide and unblinking, lips parted half in anticipation, half in awe amidst his scanty beard.
I clenched my jaw and nodded.
Hands trembling, he grasped the edge of my hood and let it fall down my back.
“God’s bones, it is you!” He rubbed at his eyes and shook himself. “Is it...is it true—” He gulped. “Is it true, lady, if a man lays eyes on you, he’ll know neither peace nor joy for the rest of his days?”
I forced the kindest smile I could muster. “Whispers, all.”
He knelt before me, gaze determined, breath quickening. “Is it true then, your...your charms are such that if a man lies with you, he’s as good as gone, for no other woman would content him thenceforth? Like...like the poor O’Neal?”
I willed my face to stillness and shook my head. “Haven’t you heard my charms had no such effect on my husband in Tyrconnell?”
The man gave a slow nod. “Yet they whisper of many powers you hold over men.” He eyed my bounds. “I’d repay you well to hear of them from your own lips, lady.”
I locked gazes with the lad. He wasn’t daft, only played a part.
“I do have one true power, but...” I fell silent.
He leaned in. “What is it, lady?”
“It is known—if I lay a hand on a man’s bare head, he’ll be blessed with such health and virility that no woman of his rank would ever deny him, and his wife—the fairest of all—would bear him many strong and handsome sons.” I forced a smile into his unblinking eyes.
Lips compressed, the man eyed my bounds and reached for them, then snatched his hand away and made to rise. “A woman’s ploy to seek escape, lady?”
My scian’s hilt felt warm and solid against my calf. “It was you who came here, seeking answers,” I said.
He scratched at his chin and knelt before me again. “A woman of my own rank, you say? Seems a bit handy. Are you certain, lady, that my virility would have no effect on a gentle-born woman?”
Our eyes met, and his audacious quest was written in his gaze as plain as the rope digging into my wrists.
“A highborn woman would be impervious to your prowess, save for one thing—” I tightened my jaw, weary of having to trade my freedom for men’s lust. “It would not be in her power to reject your kiss. But—” I hastened to add as he sucked in his breath, “if you were to try something more, she’d shriek like a bean sídhe.”
With a low whistle, the man stood, then stepped to the tree and untied my bounds.
He approached as I rubbed at my wrists, took my hand, and placed it on his head. “Keep it there, lady.”
His breath reeked of ale and unsated urges, but I kept my hand atop his hair, tangled and sodden, as he bent to my lips. He took his time, but when I thought it done at last, he stilled and shuddered, eyes hooded and lips compressed into silence.
Face flushed and gaze averted, he grabbed my wrists and reached for the rope.
“What are you called, lad?” I rushed to ask, feigning ignorance of his mishap.
“Colm,” he mumbled, not quite binding me yet.
“I’ll have no means of escape if you tie but one wrist to the tree, Colm. I could put the other beneath my cheek to sleep.”
He seemed to have quite recovered as he pondered my words with a deepening frown. “Some trick of yours, lady? I’m not so green as to disobey old Eoin for a woman’s kiss.”
The tears came forth unbidden and timely. “D’you fancy I’d ride away with one hand bound to the oak?”
Colm considered me, then took my right hand. A born butcher, he stretched my arm until it had no give and bound it behind me to the tree tight as he could.
“A fair trade.” He placed my hood back on. “Yet—” His breath quickened again. “I’d leave both hands free were you...were you to grant me something more than a kiss. Who’s to say you don’t have the powers to unravel knots when none is looking?”
The rain abated to a drizzle. I sat very still as he contemplated me with new brightness in his eyes.
“I thank you for giving me use of one hand, Colm,” I said. “It’s quite sufficient to afford me what comfort I need.”
He stood and headed to the tent, then turned, his voice a low whisper. “As you wish, Lady Neave. But now I know all they say about you is true.”
For a very long time, I waited for all the movement within the tent to die down, then brought my knee to my chest and slid my free hand into my boot. But my fingers had grown cold and stiff, so I only managed to push the scian deeper. Breath held, I glided my palm down my calf, feeling for the hilt. The muscles in my right flank and shoulder strained, and the rope dug mercilessly into my wrist as I tried to grasp it again and again with no success.
Oh, but there it was, the familiar smooth tip of my hilt! I squeezed it tight between my thumb and forefinger, dragged it up against the sodden leather of my boot—
Inside the tent, someone broke into a coughing fit as I wrenched the scian out in one swift move. I almost lost hold of it when the ground beneath me quivered as if hundreds of hooves passed a distance away. A large crow took flight from the branches above, and in my mind’s eye, Aedan’s unseeing gaze fixed on the forthcoming carnage, his face pale as the waning gibbous above.
I closed my eyes, summoning him with all my will. Turn your mount round a chroí. Turn round and come to me. I’m here.
Aedan’s face vanished as someone cursed and shifted inside the tent. Had it been a trick of the night, or was he truly on his way to Tyrconnell as I lingered here, captured and bound?
Before I could regain my wits, Eoin emerged from the tent, fumbling with his léine.
Cursing under my breath, I dropped the scian, covered it with my hand, so white, it nearly glowed in the moonlight. Eoin let go his léine as his gaze fell upon it.
“Crafty, are you, mistress?” He approached with a censorious shake of the head. “More fool me for thinking your wee trade with young Colm a dream.”
Sweat rolled down my spine as I felt the hilt beneath my fingertips, solid and reassuring. But the wretch that he was, I didn’t wish for this man’s blood.
“Best you mind your affairs at hand, man,” I said, my voice heavy as lead, “and we’ll sort mine at sunup.”
With a scoff, he walked to a nearby tree, turned away, and relieved himself. But instead of returning to the tent, he went to stand before me, eyes shrewd and calculating. “It seems I must do everything myself If I’m to collect a reward for Lord O’Donnell’s prodigal wife.”
I raised my chin, heartbeat pounding in my ears, icy sweat blanketing me from head to foot. “You’ll collect twice the amount from the O’Neal.”
The man shook his head. “The O’Neal is not one to seek favor with, seeing he’s but a moon from being ousted.” He knelt before me and reached for my wrist. “Besides, I’d not abet in adultery.”
A tremor braced my throat; the wood spun and flashed as O’Donnell trained his cold, limpid gaze on me. I’ll have you whipped...shorn...rubbed with sand...locked in your chamber—
My fingers curled round the hilt, firm and solid.
I struck the man with such force and speed, he’d not made a sound. My blade sunk into his neck, scarlet spreading, flooding the ground before me. I gulped for breath, bit back a scream as he swayed and fell to his side, his eyes wide and frozen with shock, locked on my face. They were lashless and pale, pupils large as peas and black as night.
On my right side, Fionna stepped round the oak and peered at the carnage, nostrils flaring, ears pinned back.
“Hush...a stór...” I breathed. “Move...”
But she stood as if rooted to the ground, cutting off the access to my bounds.
Suffocating, I yanked back the scian and waved it wildly behind me, seeking purchase with the rope. A single glance over my shoulder made my hair stand on end. Colm had tied the rope much higher and farther rightward than I thought. My whole body trembled as I reached behind me once more, striking my blade at the air and the poor tree trunk. And coming nowhere near the rope.
Someone sighed and shifted inside the tent. Fionna bared her teeth.
“Hush!” I froze, heart beating like a bodhrán, chest rising and falling like a mad tide.
My ankle gave a sudden twinge of protest—something heavy drove it implacably into the earth. I stifled a shriek. Eoin’s head lay on its side, atop my ankle, with a bright, immutable look of shock.
Breath held against the drumbeat inside my chest, I wrenched my foot away, and his head rolled toward me as if returned to life. The scian slipped from my hand. Frantic, I searched for it amid last autumn’s oak leaves and twigs, heedless of the danger. My ring finger merely grazed the blade, but it pierced the skin with all the fierceness it possessed. I bit into my lip to muffle a yelp, tasted blood.
My chest heaved with sobs, tears mixed with blood on my tongue, but I found the hilt. Swiftly, I shoved my back into the oak and toward the rope. But Colm had left no slack. I stretched my free hand rightward, thrust my bound hand toward it. Another fingerbreadth. Another. One more.
If only Fionna moved out of my way, yet she stood in place, sniffing the air.
The bones in my spine cracked with exertion, but there it was—the meeting of the rope with the tip of my bloodied scian. So near. Yet so terrifyingly far.
I drew in my breath, steadied myself, and began anew, ignoring the convulsing chills beneath my skin and the excruciating pain in my back. I thrusted my right shoulder into the trunk, jerked my bound hand toward the scian, brought my shoulder blades so close together, they nearly touched. The unforgiving bark dug into my flesh through the russet; a piercing spasm in my spine blinded me.
But my blade skimmed the rope. Its sharp tip made purchase, dug into the stringy fibers. I launched my hand toward it, heedless of the pain.
The rope snapped with a soft thwack. My stomach leapt as I sprang to my feet, sliced the knot at my wrist, struck at Fionna’s tether.
The moon had climbed to its zenith when I sat atop her, shaking from head to foot and searching the heavens for guidance. But even if Aedan was advancing on Tyrconnell, even if I could somehow halt him, I would not chance capture and return to Tiernan O’Donnell.
So I continued my mad clip toward Benburb with my foolish capturer’s blood on my hands.
I tasted bile as a moonbeam fell on my small wound—a bright trickle of blood marred Fionna’s immaculate white pelt. The bile burned the back of my throat, spread inside me like venom.
“I killed a man...” I swallowed a scream. It pierced my insides through my frenzied panting. “Killed him...someone’s father, husband, brother...I killed him...”
A shadow fell on my face.
Mórrígan didn’t show herself this time, but I knew her by the grim voice in my ear and the cold breath on my face. “Still fancy being human? Yet even after such sacrifice, your Oisín refuses to stay put.”
Never could I understand the tongue of the gods, so I kept my course toward Benburb in silence, Mórrígan’s shadow moving apace with me.
“Futile, with your memory gone.” She heaved a sigh. “But this you know in your feeble mortal heart—you’d not asked to be captured, bound, and traded like some rare game.”
The shadow warmed my skin as it passed over my injured hand. The scarlet trickle came to a halt; the pain abated.
I cast a glance at the dark mass above. “My gratitude, Mórrígan.”
She scoffed. “This wound I can heal, but your trials are far from over, Neave of the Golden Hair.”