«You are a man of more cunning than most.» Finvarra smiled. «I should have liked to have played chess with you.»
«With respect, my lord, I have little to my name and nothing I would choose to lose.» Padraig kept his arm around Rosamunde, noting how the King’s gaze flicked between the two of them.
«Should his devotion falter,» Finvarra said to Rosamunde, «you are always welcome at my court.»
«I thank you, my lord, and thank you also for your hospitality,» Rosamunde said with a bow.
«You and your fellows will always find welcome at our home,» Padraig added with a bow of his own.
Finvarra smiled, his gaze trailing to his wife, who remained upon her steed and at a distance. «It is no crime to covet a beauteous gem,» he said softly, «but a rare triumph to possess one. I salute you, Padraig. May your love never be tarnished.»
With that Finvarra turned and led the prancing horse back to the company. Padraig felt the chill of the night air on his wet skin as he stood with Rosamunde fast at his side, but he could not tear his gaze away from the departing company. He doubted he would ever see them again. They rode forth, passing over the hills like a vision, leaving only the echo of their silvery laughter behind.
And Rosamunde.
«Thank you,» she said, smiling up at him.
«You are welcome. I am glad to see you hale again.» Padraig stared down at her, knowing his desire but afraid to speak of it too soon.
Rosamunde, as was typical of her, showed no such restraint. She twined her arms around his neck, sliding her fingers into his hair. «I am sorry, Padraig, that I erred so badly. I love you. I think I have always loved you, but I wish I had seen the truth of it sooner.»
Padraig bent to touch his lips to hers, his heart swelling that his dream should be his own. «I know that I have always loved you,» he murmured against her mouth.
Rosamunde laughed. «Then I shall have to spend the rest of our lives atoning for my error.»
«I do not think it will be so onerous.»
«Nor do I!»
Padraig laughed at the prospect, then he sobered. Rosamunde’s eyes were the richest green, filled with a conviction that stole his breath away. «Marry me, Rosamunde. Marry me and seal our bond for all to see. I have little to offer you but myself.»
«Your ship.»
«Your ship, and the contents yours as well. I have only myself.»
«And it is more than enough. I will wed you, Padraig Deane, and I will honour your love every day and night of my life.»
It was everything he had ever wanted, and yet more.
Rosamunde’s kiss sent a welcome heat through Padraig, a heat that her presence would never fail to kindle. Padraig knew that whatever he had suffered had been worthwhile, for he had gained his heart’s desire.
When he lifted his head, her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were flushed. She glanced about herself and shivered. «Tell me, though, that we can sail to warmer climes.»
«I thought Sicily,» Padraig said, smiling as pleasure lit her expression. «With the morning tide. All is prepared.»
Rosamunde laughed. «A man of confidence, and one in pursuit of my own heart.»
«I thought I possessed that prize already,» he teased, loving the sound of her answering laughter.
«You do, you do.» Then Rosamunde raised a hand to his cheek, as solemn as he had ever seen her. Her voice dropped to a fervent whisper. «Oh, Padraig, never doubt that I am yours.» A tear glistened in her eye, a tear that he knew was rare for this bold woman. «I may have been late to see the truth, but I shall never forget it now.»
«I shall never let you forget it,» he retorted then winked. Rosamunde smiled and he swung her into his arms then strode from the lake. He had an idea of how they might warm themselves before the walk back to town.
One glance at his lady told him that their thoughts were as one. Yet again, they would challenge convention. Yet again they would follow their hearts. But from this day forth, they would do so together.
It was as close to heaven as Padraig Deane ever expected to be.
Margo Maguire
Oracle
The Isle of Coruain — 938 AD
Ana Mac Lochlainn came awake suddenly, her heart pounding, her mouth dry. She felt confused by the sights and sounds of destruction that were so real, so horrifying.
She opened her eyes and had trouble discerning her surroundings. At length, her vision cleared, and she saw that she was still in the Oracle’s cave, sitting comfortably on the Seer’s divan where she’d lain no more than a quarter-hour before.
«What is it, lass?» asked the màistreàs, the prime Oracle, the Seer to whom Ana would soon make her Oracle’s vows. She had felt ready to make the commitment — to hold her virginity sacred, and keep a vigilant watch over her people, the magical Druzai — for weeks, but the màistreàs had said it was not yet time.
«The vision.» said Ana. «It was more vivid than any I’ve ever had.»
The old Oracle nodded. «I’ve had inklings of it, myself. What did you see?»
«The people,» she looked up at the old woman, «Our Druids, a king.» She shook her head in confusion. She was drawn to this king, to this human whose rugged features were more compelling than that of any Druzai she’d ever met. «They are under attack.»
The old Oracle frowned. «By what? Could you see?»
Ana swallowed. «Not enough.» But what she had seen was horrifying. Dark, malicious creatures — little demon ollphéists — near Lough Gur, creating discord and aggression among the clans of southern Ireland. The màistreàs would never believe it, for the Druzai chieftain had banished those destructive beings from the Tuath lands ages ago. And yet there had clearly been ollphéists in Ana’s vision.
And they were being directed by some stronger power.
«I must go.» She started for the entrance of the Oracle’s cave, but the màistreàs reached for her arm, restraining her.
«’Tis too dangerous, my lady. There is much that a Druzai princess can do from the safety of our shores. Besides, you know very well ’tis forbidden for Druzai to intrude upon the Tuath.»
«No. The vision. I am part of it.» She touched a hand to her head. She did not know what would be required of her, but she’d never felt so strongly about any of her visions. The King — Rohrke Ó Scannláin — compelled her in a way that was entirely unfamiliar. Her heart clenched in her chest at the thought of his peril. «I must go.»
The Oracle frowned fiercely. «’Tis against Druzai law. We removed ourselves from Tuath centuries ago, when»—
«Aye. I know our history. Druzai magic makes it far too tempting for one of us to try to enslave the Tuath, in spite of all the protections we’ve taught the Druids.»
«They are merely wise men, my lady.»
True, yet some were more than merely wise. Druzai had mingled with Tuath, giving some humans magical abilities.
Ana had to go to Ireland, to Ballygur near the sacred Lough Gur. She had to do what she could to find and destroy the creature that guided the vicious ollphéists.
And yet she knew that her cousins, the Druzai high chieftain and his brother, would object to her intervening in earthly affairs — which made it imperative that she act quickly and quietly before Merrick and Brogan learned what she was up to. They would forbid her to leave their enchanted isle, perhaps thinking they could manage the disastrous happenings in Ireland themselves.