Legacy of Luck (Druid's Brooch Series 3) Page 7
“Éamonn! Wait!”
He didn’t wait.
* * *
Two more days passed before Katie had a chance to talk to Éamonn again. He hadn’t worked at the family booth with Ciaran and Ruari, but perhaps his brother knew where he’d gone. Waiting impatiently for Ruari to finish a trade with a mousy woman, she sneaked a look at his wounded arm. No bandage remained, but it wasn’t healing well. The skin around it was inflamed. He needed to go find the healer, and soon.
While he completed his trade, she examined the wares on display. A lovely saddlebag with intertwined knotwork caught her eye. She lifted it from the peg and traced the lines with her finger. The leather had been expertly tooled, with the lines painted with vivid blues and reds. She remembered the serpentine designs carved on crosses, and in an old book the priest kept. The vivid colors and exquisite drawings had enchanted her.
“It’s my own work, it is.” Ciaran interrupted her musings.
“It’s wonderful. Do you do the painting as well?”
“No, that’s Éamonn’s job.” A huge curl of his black hair fell into his eyes. He pushed it back absently. “Your sister isn’t along with you by chance, is she?”
Why did everyone just want her sister? “No, she isn’t. If you want her so bad, go find her.” She slammed the saddle bag onto the counter and spun around.
She had intended to walk off in righteous indignation. In practice, she walked right into the chest of Éamonn Doherty.
Opening her mouth, she found she had nothing to say. She was unused to being at a loss for words. She opened it again, but still, nothing came out.
“If you’re going to keep popping your mouth open and closed like a fish, I should throw you in the river.” She did a creditable job of suppressing her anger at the flippant remark.
“Éamonn, we need to talk. Can you get away?”
“For you, a chailín rua, any time.”
Flushing, she gazed anywhere but at him. Éamonn took her gently by the arm and steered her towards the riverbank. Buzzing bees and the occasional rustle of a larger creature sounded in the bushes. They found a nice, flat, sun-warmed rock to sit upon.
She couldn’t start. What would she say? The river flowed by, and the water smelled clean and fresh and mingled with the wildflowers around them. A sunbeam pushed through the canopy of trees and dappled Éamonn’s face.
“Now. Would you like to tell me what in the name of all that’s holy has been going through your lovely head these last days? You seem to be confused.”
“I’m not confused! I … well, I did jump to conclusions about… Ruari said she’s your sister?”
“Yes, wee Fionnuala. She’s engaged to a young man named Malachy, but she’s only twelve, so they aren’t yet official. I had gotten into trouble earlier, so for my penance, I took her to the dance. I waited for you, you know.”
She lowered her eyes. “Your sister is a lovely girl. I’m afraid I got upset.”
“And my brother is an impressive man. So did I.”
“Ruari? He’s just a friend. I could never—” She shook her head, dislodging a tree blossom which had fallen in her hair.
“And why not? Is my brother not good enough for you?” She couldn’t tell if he truly was offended or simply teasing her again.
“No, he’s a fine man. But… he’s not for me. I need someone who… well, someone who I can talk to. I mean, I can talk to him, but he can’t… I mean, he’s not… oh, bloody hell. I can’t say this right, Éamonn. I need someone smarter than Ruari. I—” She faltered.
He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. Could this be the first time he had hugged her? “I know my brother is no scholar, Katie. Still, I don’t like hearing others dismiss him for it.” His words were tender.
“I don’t dismiss him. I value him. He’s a friend. And I do like talking to him. He’s… a wonderful listener. But for a husband—”
Éamonn smiled. “You need something more. That’s crystal clear, a chailín milis.”
She chuckled. Few people ever called her ‘sweet.’
“Ah, but you are sweet. And I long to—” He took her hand and brought it to his lips.
She retrieved her hand. “Stop right there, Éamonn Doherty. I want to make myself perfectly clear right now.”
He blinked several times, reminding her of a startled owl. She fought the urge to laugh.
“I am not the sort of girl who will lie with you on the banks of a river. If you are serious about courting me, it’s to be proper. Am I understood?”
“Aye, Mistress Caitriona. Perfectly clear. I hear and obey, mistress mine!”
He saluted her. She gave in to the urge to laugh, and he answered with a whoop. They laughed so hard it scared birds from the trees. Soon they were lying on the flat rock, holding their sides from cramps.
“Aha! I did it!” His grin grew wide.
“Did what?”
“Why, I made you laugh, sweet girl.”
That made her laugh even harder.
Wiping tears from her eyes, she said, “Oh, Éamonn, you do a girl good, you do.”
“Always at your service, milady. Say, are you hungry? I’m fair starved. Stay here, and I’ll fetch us supper.”
She nodded as he dashed off to find food. Sorting out their misunderstandings had been easier than she’d thought it would be. The world appeared brighter, and the birds sang more sweetly now. Éamonn might be someone she could stand for more than a week at a time. Someone she might even enjoy spending her life with. She smiled in secret anticipation.
She spent a delightful afternoon with Éamonn, talking about everything and nothing. She learned more about his family. Besides Ruari and Fionnuala, he had a sister named Etain married to a smith. He spoke of the baby of the family, his sister Síle. He talked about his work, his trade in leatherworking and horse trading, already well established.
In turn, she regaled him with family tales of her own. Her controlling father, sly mother, and of course, Deirdre. She spoke of her own love of horses and the smell of roses.
She still couldn’t shake the notion of Éamonn’s attraction to Deirdre, despite his declarations of devotion. He professed his loyalty with flowery poetic skill. Perhaps his grandfather had been the great bard after all.
They talked only of the past. The future was wide open and full of possibilities. Katie didn’t normally give in to optimism, but the world was joyful and smelled delightful as she walked home that evening, like a new dream, despite the darkening sky.
She woke abruptly when she walked in the door. Everyone stopped and stared as she came in. Katie walked over to her bed and put down her pack. Her father sat near their sleeping area while her mother sat at the loom. She played with a curl of her reddish-brown hair, which had a long streak of white in it. Katie could tell by the way her mother gazed at her with a sort of appraising evaluation that she had planned something.
It was never a wise idea to cross Saoirse O’Malley. Da could be trusted to be blunt and honest, if cruel. Ma could smile sweetly to your face while stabbing you in the back. Deirdre had learned well from her. Katie vowed to watch her own back while at home. Her parents exchanged silent glances.
Supper tasted better than usual. Instead of horsebread, they had a loaf of rye with fresh, sweet butter, followed by a thick stew of peas and ham hocks. Katie was still full from the meal Éamonn had brought, but to refuse food would have been to draw attention. She ate her share.
“Katie, I searched for you this afternoon. Where’d you disappear to?” Her mother scowled at Deirdre’s question, but her sister remained oblivious to the tension.
“Off doing mending. My skirt ripped when I did laundry the other day.” She pulled up the hem of her skirt where she had indeed torn and mended it. Not as recently as she implied, though.
“All afternoon? That must have been a mighty rip.”
Silence, Deirdre. Eat your stew.
“I didn’t go far. Where did you search?”
Her father glared at Katie.
Why did she have to bring that up? Was she a total idjit or intent on getting Katie in trouble?
“No, I’ve not been there for a while. No need for it, we’ve no horse to saddle, after all.”
Her parents exchanged another long glance, and her mother smiled. Not a nice expression.
What in Brid’s name had happened tonight?
Katie ached to turn the questions onto Deirdre, to see how she liked being interrogated. Wisdom kept her silent.
“Don’t run off tomorrow, Katie. We’ll need you for a project in the morning.”
The statement sounded simple, and her father didn’t speak loudly. However, the impact was strong. She had no idea why. Even Deirdre finally caught on to the tension. She glanced between her father and sister, questions in her eyes. Katie prayed Deirdre would keep quiet, and for once, her prayers were answered.
Curiosity and dread kept Katie wide awake all night. She listened to the sounds of people carousing outside and wished she could escape the stifling environs of her tent. But her parents were awake, and they murmured in their cot across the room. She tried to make her muscles relax, but they ached from tension. Someone fell just outside to the laughter of his friends. They were close enough she smelled sour ale.
Sounds of a tussle then, before the group drifted off into the night.
Tomorrow would bring nothing she liked. She rarely got anything good from her parents. If there were something good, they would’ve given it to Deirdre, not her.
As long as Katie could remember, her sister had gotten the benefit of the doubt in arguments, the biggest of any two gifts, and the softer hand of discipline. Her father practically doted on Deirdre, but Katie often suffered at his hand. A couple times—often enough to make her wary—he had beat her almost senseless. She bore scars on her arms and back from such attention. Katie didn’t even remember what she had done the last time. She did remember not being able to move without aching muscles for weeks, though.
Travelers didn’t approve of violence against children, but often such things were overlooked. In Katie’s case, her father was simply too stubborn to change, even if asked by their tribal council. Children were needed to work most trades. Sons were brought up to work a trade, while girls were brought up to manage the household. Of course, that was often even harder work than a trade.
Marriage contracts were negotiated when girls were young, to guarantee a good husband for them. Girls had the option to say no to any contract—in theory—but a sense of duty usually prevented them from speaking out against their parents’ wishes. Katie’s father had begun negotiations on several contracts for her in the past. However, the men usually broke it off after having met her. Her sharp tongue was no prize in an obedient wife, especially from a poor family. Each time it had happened, she had received a worse beating. But she couldn’t regret that. The men her father had chosen had all been like him, violent and brutal.
Memories of recent transgressions marched through her head, along with the subsequent punishment. Had she done anything wrong this week? Anything that warranted a beating? She tried to remember. Certainly, she had, but not anything her father knew about. If he did, he would have already beaten her. He hit hard, but fast. He didn’t waffle around. But what about her mother? Perhaps she had discovered juicy tidbits about Katie’s misbehavior and was waiting for a time to bring it all up into one massive charge. Her father would have a license to beat her to death, given enough reason. She shuddered.
Should she leave? Tonight? No, that was silly. Where would she go? She probably was just imagining problems.
She couldn’t convince herself.
Eventually, exhaustion took her off to the land of dreams, but not a restful sleep. She dreamed of a giant standing stone chasing her around the dance circle, trying to crush her with every step. She tossed and turned. She must have moaned or cried out, for Deirdre poked her.
“Shut up, Katie. I’m trying to sleep.”
* * *
The morning dawned slowly, dim light filtered through the chinks of the shelter. Rain poured outside, and some made it through the thin tent walls. Drips fell on Katie’s face as she tossed, still trying to find solace in slumber before the day began.
Finally giving it up as a bad job, she flung the covers off and dressed for the day. She splashed icy water on her face and tackled her hair. Usually brushing her hair soothed her, but today it was a trial. It tangled as soon as she touched it, even in places she had already brushed. She cursed under her breath, low enough to keep from waking anyone.
She longed to escape the tiny place as soon as she dressed, but her father had told her clearly to stay put today. Blatant disregard for his orders would be sure to result in a beating if she wasn’t already expect one.
The stew pot from last night remained on the hook next to the banked fire. She stoked the peat and set the pot over it to warm the rest. There would still enough for a decent breakfast.
Deirdre came out of the cot they shared, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She stood in her shift, and the dim light from outside shone through behind her. Katie envied her sister’s height and long legs. What would it be like to be almost as tall as a man, to just bend her neck a little bit to kiss? Éamonn stood tall—
“Don’t burn it, Katie. Can’t you do anything right?”
Her mother’s sharp voice brought Katie back to earth, and she checked the stew. Swinging the pot off the fire, she stirred the soup.
“Useless girl! Go and get eggs from the henhouse.”
She stumbled outside and breathed deep. Freedom, if only for a moment. The rain still pelted, and she quickly got soaked despite her wool shawl. She smelled the rain, clearing the odor of scorched peas and replacing it with wet wool, mud and sweet grasses from the nearby fields.
Again, she considered flight. But she had no place to go. Her heart was as heavy as the rain drops splattering on her shawl.
Her mother spooned the stew into bowls and impatiently took the eggs from Katie’s basket. Frying them in a pan over the fire, she cast a couple glances at Katie.
Katie had always respected her mother’s talent at managing the family’s finances. Their father hadn’t gained much wealth, but Saoirse knew how to manage what wealth they had. She made it stretch and cover their meager needs. However, Katie never received affection from her mother. She was more like an encumbrance than a daughter.
After eating eggs and stew, Katie sat on a stool and carded wool. Her restless night left her with no power of concentration for fine embroidery work. The loom would just put her to sleep with its rhythmic clicking and clacking. Carding was hardly her favorite task, but mindless enough she wouldn’t foul it up with inattention. She tried a trick another girl had suggested last week, to keep her hands from getting red. A little melted candle wax spread on her hands helped.
The morning lasted weeks. Her mother barely spoke to her, and her father still lay abed. It was a special sort of torture to wait for whatever he had in store. She could never ask her mother. If she were permitted to tell Katie, she would have done so last night. Deirdre disappeared shortly after she ate. It must be nice to have such freedom.
The rain slacked by noon. She had carded all the wool they had in the shelter and moved on to spinning. Despite the wax, her hands were red and raw by the time her father finally stirred. He grunted for food, and Saoirse jumped to get him fed. Katie did her best to blend into the side of the tent wall. Disturbing her father before he fully woke wasn’t wise.
Spin, spin, pull, twist, spin. Repeat. She almost forgot her parents sitting at the table, silently keeping each other sullen company. Spin, twist, pull. Spin more, a hypnotic rhythm. The drip of water inside the tent eased and then stopped all together. Did it still rain outside?
She dared a peek and saw her father glaring at her. What had she done now? She had behaved like a mod
el young lady, doing her chores. Surely she couldn’t be punished for that? She gritted her teeth. Perhaps now he would tell her what he had on his mind.
He stared at her for several long minutes. She daren’t look away. Her jaw ached, and her blood raced. What in Brid’s name was going on?
Finally, her father spoke. “I’ve made another match for you. You don’t have the option this time of saying no. The deal’s already been shaken on.”
The words made no real sense to Katie. A match? A husband, he meant? What did he mean about no option? A woman always had the power to say no.
“The ceremony will be in a couple hours. You’d best have your mother get you ready. He’s paid a hefty price, and I don’t want him to feel cheated.” He stood to leave the tent, but Katie couldn’t just let him go.
“Da! Who? Who is it?”
He stopped for a moment and walked back to her with purpose. He didn’t hit her, but she couldn’t help the anticipation, and she flinched. “The MacCrimmon lad. He’s given us a fine stallion. Make sure you earn it. And you will marry with no protest, or I promise you’ll not live to make another.” He left.
Katie stood stunned. A horse? I’ve been sold… sold for a horse! What am I, a wagon to be traded off to the highest bidder? Her anger bubbled up, now her father had gone. Her face turned red. A slap on her cheek made it even hotter.
“Don’t you dare, Katie. You behave yourself like a proper girl, or I won’t be the one delivering the next blow, you hear?”
“But Ma, he can’t make me marry, can he? I… I’m allowed to refuse! It’s our law!”
“He’s had enough of your refusals. And of you running off perfectly good husbands with your serpent’s tongue. You’re eighteen, for the love of Mary. You should have been married off years ago. Now, get yourself clean, and back here in a half hour. I’ve a dress for you, at least.”
“Ma, I can’t!”
“You will do as you’re told, young lady. In this house, you obey your father until you’re married. Then you obey your husband. We’ve given you far too much freedom in the past. It’s high time you learn your place.” Her mother turned her back then to clear Da’s dishes.