We'll know soon enough, Brenna retorted prosaically, even as the priest waiting on the shingle, the elderly abbot who had officiated at Morgana's own betrothal, stared in astonishment. "Queen Morgana, that's an Irish ship! What is the meaning of this?"
"The salvation of Britain, I fervently pray."
The old man's eyes widened and his acolyte's jaw dropped. The abbot sputtered, "You've—you've offered alliance? With the Irish?"
She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Think you there is a better way to guard our western and northern borders in this time of trouble? Yes, I have offered alliance with Dalriada. The alliance of marriage between the royal house of Dalriada and my nephew, to whom I will give Galwyddel. Father Auliffe, alliance now buys us time, precious time to meet the Saxon threat, and ensures that our borders will not be raided by those who are tied to us through the marriage bed. And what better way to send the word of Christ amongst them, than to convert their heiress and send priests north into Dalriada with the holy word of God?"
Abbot Auliffe stared at her a long moment more, then began to laugh, very quietly. "Oh, Morgana, you are ever the shrewd one. Your father would be that proud, he would. What Artorius will say, I shudder to think, but I feel you have the right of it, this time. What better way, indeed? Very well, I will perform the marriage, which is clearly why you asked me here, this night."
She smiled, in a wave of tremendous relief. With the church behind her decision, even Artorius would think twice, protesting it. "Thank you, Father Auliffe. We will have need of your wisdom and the skill of your scribe, for we must also arrange the details of alliance, no small matter."
He patted her shoulder. "I am honored you have entrusted this matter to me, child. Cleary, lad, you'd best prepare your ink and parchments. Take your things up to the circle, we'll join you there shortly."
The scribe swallowed nervously and nodded, then gathered up his satchel and ran for the Lochmaben Stones, to be ready to record what was about to transpire. Morgana peered seaward, watching the approach of the ships. There was no pier at Lochmaben, only wild and empty shoreline. Both ships bellied their way across the breakers, dropping anchor with a rattle and splash, while sails came snaking down in the moonlight.
A moment later, the rope ladders had gone down the sides and men began tumbling to the shore, men who clutched no weapons in their hands, surely a good sign. And there was a woman with the Irishmen, no, two women, then a third, climbing gingerly down and carried ashore by strapping men, so their long skirts would not become soaked in brine. Morgana held her breath, hardly aware that she'd stopped breathing. Then Medraut came striding across the shingle, greeting her with a glad cry.
"Aunt! You're here!"
He embraced her roughly, eyes shining in the moonlight.
"You are well, Medraut?" she managed.
"Aye, well and happy. Aunt, she's a lovely girl, and her father has agreed to the marriage of alliance!"
"Then you had better introduce me properly, nephew."
A tall, bearded man with a proud bearing was approaching from down the beach. With him were the three women, one Morgana's age, one older woman dressed as a servant, and one a lovely young girl whose eyes shone as brightly as Medraut's. The men who crewed the Irish warship did not approach, but remained on the beach, as the Briton sailors did. Lailoken joined them, grinning in triumph. He swept her a low and elegant bow.
"Queen of Galwyddel, I bring you alliance with the king of Dalriada."
"You have served Britain well then, minstrel. You will be amply rewarded."
His teeth flashed white. "I am all gratitude."
Medraut greeted the newcomers in halting Gael, then said formally, "Aunt, I present King Dallan mac Dalriada, the Scotti, and his daughter Keelin. Riona Damhnait serves the king as Druidess and translator. King Dallan, my aunt, Queen Morgana daughter, widow, and mother of kings."
Dallan offered his bare hand. Morgana accepted the greeting and they clasped forearms. The king spoke in a deep and pleasant voice, his eyes easy and smiling. His Druidess translated. "My king greets you with honor and thanks you for this gesture of friendship. We are pleased to unite our heiress with your heir in holy marriage."
"Greetings to you, King of Dalriada," Morgana said formally, "and welcome to Galwyddel, now the home of your child, who is soon to be sovereign queen. We are happy to welcome her to our family. I have brought with me a priest of our faith, to finalize the vows according to our customs." She turned to greet the Druidic counselor with him. "I am pleased that you have come with our future daughter, Riona Damhnait, for I would be a poor hostess did I not permit the vows to be solemnized by your customs, as well. My own family line descends from Druids of the Brythonic Celts."
"I am pleased to hear it," Riona nodded gravely, returning her welcome with a handclasp.
Keelin smiled and said in delightfully good Brythonic, "I thank you, Queen Morgana, for your welcome. I am honored to be chosen as the means of bringing our peoples together."
Morgana, surprised by the girl's fluency, gave her a warm embrace, smiling at the nervous tremors shaking the girl's shoulders and knees. Morgana, too, had trembled on the night of her betrothal and marriage at the standing stones. "You are lovely, child. Welcome." She turned, then, to Dallan mac Dalriada. "Let us go to the standing stones, where treaties are made and marriages arranged, and draw up the details of alliance."
The king glanced up the hill, then spoke quietly. Riona Damhnait said, "Dallan mac Dalriada wonders where the wedding party is? Surely your illustrious brother, war leader of the Britons, would wish to see his nephew wed? Is it possible he does not approve of this alliance?"
Morgana had been expecting the question, or one like it. "He is not here because he does not know of the wedding or the alliance plans. Artorius ap Uthyr Pendragon is at Caerleul, busy preparing for battle in the south. When he is presented with news of this marriage, he will have little choice but to accept it, for I am sovereign queen of Galwyddel and no man, not even my brother, has the right to refute my decisions."
When Riona translated, the king's eyes widened, then he began to chuckle.
"Dallan mac Dalriada appreciates your courage, Queen Morgana, and salutes your wisdom. He, too, has secrets to keep from kin in Ireland, who may be just as shocked to learn of Keelin's marriage."
"We are agreed, then, that this union is best done privately, then presented to the world as a fait accompli?"
"Oh, yes," the answer came back, "we are quite agreed." He said something further to his daughter which Riona did not translate, but the girl blushed prettily in the moonlight and smiled shyly at her betrothed.
Morgana had never seen Medraut so radiantly happy and thanked God—and Brenna McEgan, whose idea it had been—for it. "In that case, let us draw up the marriage agreement and seal this handfasting."
They climbed the long slope of land to the stone circle, where Cleary had set out his parchments, pens, and ink, the thin-scraped vellum gleaming white in the bright moonlight. He had lit oil lamps, as well, sheltered in the lee of the standing stones, the better to see his work. Dallan mac Dalriada nodded his approval of the arrangement, speaking quietly to his Druidess, who turned to Morgana and said, "I would be grateful for a copy of the agreed-upon details, that I might translate it into Gaelic ogham script."