Age of Druids: Druid's Brooch Series: #9 Read online

  Again, they circled the stones three times. Again, he chanted in that slippery, ancient language. Again, he drew her to the center. This time, however, he drew her down beside him and bid her not to move.

  “Let me attend to you. You are the goddess tonight, the beloved of all men. You are the fertile ground within which seeds will grow. You are the earth, full of life and fecund magic.”

  His hands touched every inch of her skin with feather softness. The energy coursed through her muscles. She sat up, wanting to touch him back, but he eased her back down.

  Clíodhna squirmed, his touch both tickling and arousing her. She ached to pull him down on top of her, to satisfy her desire in delicious release, but still, he delayed.

  He bent to her cleft, and tasted her dampness, making her writhe even more.

  When she cried out in passionate bliss, he mounted her, his strength entering her with steady force. She met his rhythm with her hips, her crescendo rising again. Together, they cried out as the darkness of Bealtaine evening enveloped them. The burst of fertile satisfaction and joy honored the gods.

  * * *

  This time, Adhna let her sleep as long as her body demanded. Despite his infusion of energy before the ritual, magic could only do so much. The physical body required time to heal and recover.

  When she woke in her own bed, she realized he must have carried her all the way down the hill, tucked her in, and somehow, fed Aileran. The child slept peacefully in his cot. While she’d been slowly weaning him these last two moons, her breasts had grown full to bursting. If she had slept so long, they should be horribly painful. Adhna’s magic must have helped with that. Her cheek ached, and she had to cast her memory back to recall that Abbot Pátraic had slapped her.

  Her eyes crusted with old sleep. Clíodhna rubbed them and her face, disgusted with her hair. She needed a proper wash after such an intense day. Ritual or not, she had no wish to repeat those violent swings of emotion.

  Adhna didn’t appear to be in the roundhouse, but Etromma napped on her bed. With a glance outside, Clíodhna judged the day to be half over. Had she slept through the night and half of the next day? Perhaps so. Her body must have craved the rest.

  Her muscles ached, but not as much as they should. Adhna’s magic must account for the difference. She stretched her legs and arms before standing, and then reached for the ceiling, stretching her back. When her spine cracked, she pulled back in, startled by the sound.

  To think she’d imagined her life boring. The last few days had been much too full of excitement. Clíodhna needed some time to recover. Thankful that her children seemed to take her activities in stride and care for themselves, except the baby, she crawled back under the warm blanket and curled up. She luxuriated in the unusual act of rest without sleep. She almost imagined she could fly.

  Bees buzzed outside to the rhythm of birdsong. Motes of dust danced in the slanting afternoon sunbeam shining through the open door. Donn’s low voice answered a whinny from a horse, speaking in reassuring tones.

  Satisfied that all seemed right in her world, she drifted back into a light slumber.

  When Clíodhna roused again, the sunbeam slanted much more sharply. She stretched and stood, now eager to both relieve her full bladder and slake the thirst which clawed at her throat. Once she’d completed both tasks, she took stock of the farm.

  Etromma no longer lay in her cot, and neither did the baby. Wandering outside in search of her children, Clíodhna heard a cow moo and Etromma’s laugh. Smile on her face, Clíodhna blinked in the late afternoon glow.

  Etromma sat next to the supply house, playing with Aileran, while Adhna and Donn moved their three cows from one pasture to another. Once they’d penned the animals, Donn waved to the Fae and walked toward the horses, while Adhna turned to her.

  “Are you well rested, Clíodhna?”

  She gave him a tired smile. “I am, but my breasts are about to burst. I need to feed Aileran.”

  After taking the child from Etromma, she turned to the Fae. “I’m afraid letting me sleep all day means I have nothing planned for a meal this evening.”

  Etromma piped up. “Don’t worry, Ma. I have beans and some dried fish soaking, all ready for stew.”

  She put her hands on her hips, surveying her children. “Well, it looks like you have everything in hand. I don’t see why you even need me anymore.”

  Clíodhna could only hold her stern expression for a moment before all three burst out laughing. Donn hurried up, wanting to be let in on the joke.

  As she sat to feed the baby, she mused. How does one explain sheer silliness? Too few moments like this existed in her life, though when the children had been younger, they had plenty such laughs. Back when Oisinne still lived with them, his stories often resulted in wonderful joy and good cheer. Sometimes in dread and horror, and a sleepless night or two, for such was the nature of tales, but he balanced them with fun stories.

  She missed her husband. Not just for their physical relationship, but for the wonderful words they shared. Such as the conversations she’d enjoyed with Odhrán.

  Had they ruined his place in his church with their lustful games? She hoped not. He’d already been slated to go elsewhere. With luck, nothing changed his prospects for the worse. However, his Abbot didn’t seem the forgiving type. He’d been most displeased with their activities.

  Should she approach the Abbot to reconcile? Take blame for the situation so Odhrán didn’t get punished? It didn’t seem right, as they’d both enthusiastically participated in the fun. Still, she owed her friend support.

  “Etromma, Donn, you both missed your classes today. Will you want to return tomorrow?”

  Donn quirked his mouth up. “Today is rest day, Ma.”

  “Oh, yes, well, my days have gotten mixed up.”

  Etromma raised one eyebrow and glanced at Adhna. “We both go back tomorrow. I can bring Aileran in the morning, if you wish to stay here.”

  Determination and loyalty won over caution. “I should go speak to the Abbot, regardless.”

  After a restless night of tossing and turning, deciding what she should say to Abbot Pátraic, she approached his quarters with great trepidation. She’d already dropped off all three children, but while she’d searched for Odhrán, she found no sign of him. She steeled herself and, with spine straight and shoulders back, she knocked on the doorframe.

  “Yes? Enter.”

  She stepped into the high-arched room, the large windows letting in wonderful light. Pátraic sat at a tilted table, scratching a piece of vellum with ink. Odhrán had spoken of writing, making pictures with sounds, and even showed Clíodhna a few examples, but it still seemed like magic to her.

  Pátraic’s expression turned from curious to angry when he saw who darkened his doorstep. “I thought I banished you, wanton.”

  She swallowed the angry retort which rose to her lips and forced herself to speak in a measured tone. Her prepared words came with more ease than she expected. “With respect, Abbot Pátraic, I am no wanton. I’m simply a local farmer and the mother of three children. You have my abject apologies for the situation yesterday,” Had it only been yesterday? “I would like to speak on Brother Odhrán’s behalf. He has been most kind to me and my family, and I would not wish him to come to harm for fulfilling your church’s rule of helping the poor.”

  Abbot Pátraic stared at her wordlessly for several moments before his expression changed. Instead of the furrowed brow and thunderous glare of anger, the lines of his face gentled into indifference. “It matters little. I’ve dealt with Odhrán. You will leave now. Do not return.”

  Taken aback, Clíodhna lost her memorized speech. “But is he well? I would like to speak to him. And my children are taking lessons here.”

  His jaw clenched. “Your children are welcome to take classes. They did not sin. In fact, if you wish to repent your ways and join them, you are more than welcome. Odhrán, however, is beyond your wicked reach now, and will remain so. If you will n
ot repent, you must leave. Begone. Now!” Someone walked up behind Pátraic, and she recognized the odious Brother Fachtna. He scowled at her, and she realized anything said would fall upon ears bent against her.

  Abbot Pátraic stared at her so hard, she felt it as a physical blow on her cheek, an echo of the slap he administered yesterday. Her cheek still ached from it. Her face flushed with anger and embarrassment, and she backed out of the building.

  At least her children could still take classes. Clíodhna hadn’t ruined their lives, as well. An older monk walked by, his eyes fastened on the ground before his feet. Would another monk bring word to Odhrán? She might get him in further trouble if she tried.

  She’d failed her friend. Unsure of what else she could do, she walked back to her home.

  Adhna waited for her and said nothing as he enfolded her in his arms. Relieved at not having to explain what happened, she allowed his words to calm her, his soft hands and soft lips. She trembled with the memory of her own ineffectuality and uncertainty for her future. This Abbot had already become a community leader, and therefore a dangerous man to cross.

  “Stop thinking of him, Clíodhna. I am here to help you and your children.”

  Unexpected and unwanted tears pricked the back of her eyelids. “He hates me, Adhna. He’ll find a way to hurt me. I know that sort of person. I could see it in his eyes.”

  “Fear not. I will show you how to withstand his power with your own.”

  She bit at her lower lip. What would she do, call down the lightning to smite him? Such an idea seemed ludicrous. And yet, she’d called the storm yesterday. Dissipating it hadn’t been quite as effortless, but she’d done it once. Perhaps she could do it again, with some practice.

  She steeled herself, chastised her tears, and straightened her back. “Very well, Adhna. Teach me.”

  * * *

  Adhna covered his face with his hands. “No, Clíodhna, not like that, like this! Just a slight touch. You need to tamp down the power and only draw the slightest amount of earth energy into the cow. Otherwise, you might make her milk curdle in her udder. Now, watch again.”

  Clíodhna watched in her mind as the tiny tendril of energy, barely wider than a strand of hair, emerged from the ground. Adhna coaxed it up the cow’s leg and through to her udder, expanding into a gossamer net. The net pulsed with the earth’s heartbeat, glowing and fading with precise power.

  When Adhna released the tendril, it dissipated into the earth, and the cow’s udder, before empty of milk, almost burst with readiness. Clíodhna grabbed a pail and relieved the poor cow.

  “That, my dear, will be the sweetest milk you’ve ever tasted, I assure you. Now, try again.”

  “Let me use another cow. This one will be tired.”

  “As you prefer.”

  She moved the black and white animal into the main pen and pulled her sister into place. With several tries, she pulled the strand of energy up, but not into the cow’s leg. Instead, it whipped around like an eel, flailing as if searching for the ocean.

  “Put it back! Put it back. Now, relax, breathe in, and try again.”

  This time, the hair-strand of energy found the cow’s leg, but it shot up her flank and flashed, making the cow cry in pain.

  “Stop, stop! Watch me again.”

  Three times he showed her the right balance of power and delicate touch. She finally got the power into the right place and formed a mesh around the udder. After harnessing her own heartbeat, she set it to pulse. It contracted tight, too tight. The cow cried again and her rear legs buckled. Horrified at what she’d done, Clíodhna let the power go. It snapped to her and knocked her back so hard she fell. In a moment of painful solidarity, she apologized to the cow.

  The cow survived and rose again, only limping a little.

  Adhna drummed his fingers on a rock. “That’s enough for now. I’ll leave you to practice, but not on a living creature. Use…” he scanned the farm yard, “use that bush over there. It’s a rowan bush, so will offer a good amount of resistance to Fae magic. That should increase the challenge without risking one of your kine. I must take care of some errands. I shall be back tomorrow.”

  Without waiting for her response, he left.

  Clíodhna gritted her teeth, glaring at the cow. Not that the cow had done anything wrong. Her own inability to master the delicacy of this magic made her fume. She’d rarely had to work so hard at mastering a simple technique. Her fists clenched in frustration. She grabbed the stool she’d fallen off of and stomped over to the rowan bush.

  Ten times she practiced teasing the tendril of magic from the earth. Ten times, it fought her, trying to writhe from her grasp. Clíodhna only had better control over it if the power came thicker, stronger, and more powerful. When tiny, it remained elusive and recalcitrant, eager to fight her control.

  After grinding her teeth, she tried an eleventh time.

  A rustle in the trees behind her made her whirl. She scanned the area for any movement, her senses tense for any further sound. Nothing moved.

  Incredibly self-conscious, Clíodhna returned her gaze to the rowan bush, but remained aware of the surrounding area. Certain something watched her, she did nothing abrupt or unusual. She sat on her stool, observing the rowan bush.

  Another sound made her fall out of concentration. This time, Ita strode toward her house from the opposite direction. With a final glance over her shoulder, she rose to greet her neighbor.

  “Clíodhna! I haven’t seen you for a few days. Is all well?”

  She hugged Ita, grateful for the distraction. “Well enough, and you? Come in for a drink of cool ale. The day has turned warm.”

  They entered the roundhouse and, while occupied with the motions of pouring small ale for them both, she studied Ita. The other woman seemed tense. Her shoulders felt tight, and she didn’t relax when she sat. Something seemed out of place.

  After they both sipped their drinks, Ita sighed. “I’m sorry to come so quickly to the point, but I must ask what happened the other day. Wild rumors are flying, and I want to find out the truth.”

  With narrowed eyes, Clíodhna asked, “What have you heard?”

  Ita fluttered her hand. “Oh, so many bizarre stories! One had you flying into the storm and directing lightning to burn the church down. Another had you in a lustful orgy with all the monks, young and old. Another had you turning into a selkie in front of the Abbot and slapping him with your tail. I know none of these could be true, so I came to find out the real story from you.”

  Lips pressed together in a thin line, Clíodhna nevertheless felt grateful for Ita’s direct approach. “You are a true friend, Ita. Thank you for that.”

  “Well? What really happened?”

  How much should she tell? Nothing about Adhna. But Odhrán’s reputation remained at stake, and she mustn’t make things worse for him. Still, Ita had come to her for the truth, rather than believe or propagate gossip. Clíodhna owed her friend an explanation.

  “Odhrán has been kind to me and my children. We’ve developed a close friendship over the last few moons.”

  Ita rolled her hand for Clíodhna to continue.

  She cleared her throat. “On Bealtaine eve, he told me the Abbot had reassigned him, and is moving far to the north, to Ard Mhacha.” The memory of that conversation began to replay in her mind, both the intense sorrow of losing her close confidante and the highly charged sexual aftermath. Clíodhna swallowed to regain control over her emotions. “We may have gotten out of hand saying goodbye to each other.”

  Her friend tried to stifle a giggle. “Gotten out of hand? You have a talent for understatement! From the gossip, the Abbot found you on the floor, still joined at the hips!”

  Clíodhna gritted her teeth. Who spread such words? Odhrán wouldn’t have said anything. Pátraic must have shared the news of the encounter and colored it with details of his own. They’d both already been rising from the ground when the Abbot opened the door. “But that’s not how he found us.”


  Ita narrowed her eyes, nodding once. “Well enough. Odhrán’s no longer in the village to offer his view, as he left yesterday, from all accounts. With your permission, I shall correct the worst of the rumors with the truth.”

  Clíodhna’s stomach dropped. “He’s already gone?”

  “He went off with three guards and two other monks yesterday at noon. I saw him myself.”

  She let out a deep sigh and clenched her hands, her nails digging into her skin. “I will miss him.”

  “That may not be wise.”

  After looking up to Ita’s concerned expression, Clíodhna lifted her eyebrows in query.

  “The Abbot is not happy with either the circumstances, or the rumors flying about them. He’s sent Odhrán away, but the gossip remains—as do you. He may make things difficult for you if he can.”

  Clíodhna’s grief morphed into righteous anger. “If he can. What does he think he can do to me?”

  Ita stared at her. “Don’t try him, Clíodhna. The Abbot is powerful, and his church is becoming more powerful every season. He’s converted one king already. The man can be incredibly persuasive when he speaks. He exudes charisma like no one I’ve ever seen. Most of the village are quite impressed.”

  “I don’t find him persuasive in the slightest.”

  “You are biased. You already dislike him. And I’m worried that might make things difficult. You’re a woman without a husband, and you have three children to protect. That makes you vulnerable to any man, especially one with power in the community.”

  Ita’s words sobered Clíodhna’s determination. “Fair enough. I’ll be careful.”

  * * *

  Over the next two moons, Clíodhna split her time between learning magic from Adhna, caring for her farm and her children, and avoiding Abbot Pátraic. The latter proved to be the most difficult task of the three. He’d evidently embarked upon a campaign against the old beliefs, a systematic discounting of the old gods, goddesses, Fae, and magic.