Storm Maker [The Dawn of Ireland 1] Page 15

  After Liam left to work on the bally defenses, I decided to find Gristle, for I had not seen him since my return.

  While I was away, Gristle—along with Brindl, Jay, and BriarThorne—had assumed quiet command of Ballycaitlín, directing the construction of buildings and even convening a folkmoot, or assembly where common problems were addressed and solved. I was more than ready to relinquish control, for the dual role of commander and deliverer of the pilgrims had always been a burden to me. My stated mission, to follow Father Patrick, meant that I could and would leave with virtually no notice, and the people deserved a more stable leader than I.

  Since my commitment to Liam, I felt I would not follow Patrick if he should need protection, unless Liam agreed to go with me. That is why I needed to talk with my sworn armsman and longtime associate Gristle. He may end up leading the Glaed Keepers if Glaed married Mama. I intended to relinquish to him my own title as military commander of the entire area, for he was already the leader in every way but the formal title.

  After taking care of the horses that morning, I saddled NimbleFoot and went in search of my longtime trainer and second-in-command.

  Gristle’s teach was even more spare than my own, but it was quite a bit larger. Like most of the pilgrims, he sought to live as near the river as possible. But he had selected a site so rugged that no one else would have considered it. The very construction of the clay-and-wattle structure took some ingenuity, for it was actually built on three different levels, conforming to the terrain itself. He had even managed to divert the Foyle to flow through his house in a small channel. I hoped that Michael would adapt some of Gristle’s creativity to building my own brugh, my homestead.

  Since our settling along the Foyle several months ago, Gristle and I had trained off and on, until Liam arrived. He had been my sworn armsman for more than two years, forswearing his troth to the Welsh lord Traherne’s sons to train and protect a sixteen-year-old, spoiled little girl. Although I had struggled against his stern tutelage, I knew now that I used his training in some way every day of my life.

  I dismounted and tied NimbleFoot loosely to a graceful rowan tree that grew at the base of his clay house, and I walked up the steep little hill to see if he was at home. I was at least fifty feet from his teach when I saw him, sitting cross-legged on the ground in a small clearing, and across from him sat a student.

  It was not just any student. His acolyte, as always these days, was the Welsh pony trainer Wynn, who had been one of my adolescent love interests for almost a week back in Britannia. I stopped and watched.

  It was obvious that Gristle and Wynn were deep breathing. Both men sat as if in a trance, their chests not even moving. I watched for over a minute before I saw a small movement that told me Wynn had taken a slow breath, but I never did see Gristle inhale or exhale, although I watched him keenly for several minutes. I vowed to myself that I would learn his secret.

  I settled back to watch the training. After perhaps quarter of an hour, Gristle opened his eyes and slowly rose to his feet. He stood in front of Wynn and waited. After about five more minutes, Wynn, too, opened his eyes and gazed around, his face seeming to be transformed. When he saw Gristle standing in front of him, he stood also and faced the trainer.

  Gristle said something that I could not hear. Wynn lowered his shoulders slightly and bent his knees, a strong military stance that was difficult to budge, but one that would afford instant movement if one were attacked. I recognized the training technique. Wynn was to ready himself for an attack that Gristle would launch without warning. As I watched, I could not see Gristle’s eyes, so I, too, was surprised when he attacked. In a movement so fast that I did not really see it, Gristle was several feet past Wynn, and Wynn was on his bum in the rocks.

  Unkindly, I chose that moment to approach the two men.

  Gristle regarded me with the faint amusement in his eyes that had taken me two years to recognize. He bowed stiffly. “Greetings, Milady.”

  Equally formally, I replied, “Good morning, O armsman.”

  By now Wynn had scrambled to his feet, his face beet red. I addressed him in the same cool tone. “Good morning, Wynn.”

  “Ie. Good morning to ye.”

  “When your training is completed this morning, I would confer with you, Gristle. I will wait—where? At the bottom of the hill?”

  “Wait right here, Lady. For I would train you by having you hear my words to this student.”

  I inclined my head a bit and stood, quietly watching and listening.

  “Your breathing was a failure. You were not at all ready for my attack, even though my intent was clear. You must begin to see what your opponent’s eyes see. By that I mean that you must begin to see yourself as your adversary sees you in the moment even before the attack. Do you know what I saw? I saw a frightened boy. But if you know that I saw that image of you, then you would know how a frightened boy may vanquish an overly confident attacker.”

  Gristle’s dry voice and uncomplimentary way of addressing his student was part of his unique way of training. The more his student grated under Gristle’s harshness, the weaker that student became—or the stronger he became.

  I had chafed under Gristle’s thumb for a long time, and the more I chafed, the weaker I was. It took me a long time to decide I would learn in spite of my trainer. That was not quite the way to adapt his training, but it had worked for me until I became a more mature warrior.

  “That is all. You may stand down.”

  Wynn gathered his léine into his belt and started to leave. As he passed me, he stopped. “Er, Caylith, I–it is good to see you again.”

  “Thank you,” I said a bit offhandedly. I knew he was burning to know whether I had seen his erstwhile rival Kevan and whether I was really living with Liam, the one he had called “horse man.” When Wynn and I separated, it had been with a finality that I stood by with grim resolve. So no matter how I felt about any other man, he would never, ever again be in contention for my favors. His dishonesty—not unlike MacCool’s—had been the factor that had sent us colliding then reeling off in two different directions.

  At least our former friendship had taught me a valuable lesson. Above all, be honest.

  He walked down the hill, and I turned to my armsman. “Let us sit and share a cup of grog,” I said.

  We went into his teach, and I found a small bench near the little channel that rippled through the room. “When I have my own brugh built, Gristle, I will have such a river.”

  “Not just water, but the very sound of it is a powerful force.” He poured grog into a cup and proffered it to me, then poured one for himself. He sat across from me and waited for me to begin.

  “Liam and I will soon be married,” I began. He silently lifted his cup in a gesture of good wishes, and I lifted mine as well. “Our marriage will no doubt change part of the, ah, status quo.” I struggled to remember my old Latin lessons, but then I decided it was best to speak more plainly.

  “Liam has not said so directly, but he is loath for me to follow Father Patrick unless we are together.”

  “As a husband would want his wife to be at his side, not at the side of another man.”

  “Exactly. Therefore, it may happen that Father Patrick will need assistance, and I may not be able to attend him.”

  “And so you want me to stand in your place.”

  “Yes. Will you, Gristle?”

  “Of course, Milady. I am trothed to do your bidding.”

  “There is another factor.”

  “Speak.”

  “You know that Glaedwine has likewise trothed himself and his Keepers to me. But it may so happen that Glaed may devoutly yearn to pledge himself to another.”

  “Claudia Vilton. Of course, Milady. I could see that happening, starting even the day he swept your mother from Sweeney’s vile keep.”

  “Therefore, Gristle, it may come about that the Keepers may find themselves looking for another Glaed, so to speak. Will you be willing to comma
nd that little army when the time comes?”

  Gristle was not a man given to facial expression. But somehow my words must have amused him, for I saw the corners of his mouth twitch slightly. “Lady, I have been a commander all my life. That is what I do even when I cannot eat, or drink. I command.”

  “Then you make it easy for me, O trainer. For I hereby cede my command of the pilgrims, of the settlement of Derry and Ballycaitlín, to you and you alone.”

  “I assume you have given this careful thought.”

  “Please do not treat me as an ignorant student while I am still your commander. For you have not yet accepted.”

  Then he really did smile, ever so slightly. “I accept the field promotion, Lady Caylith.”

  “Please be advised, Gristle, that I have not asked you to forswear your oath to be my armsman. Just as I pledge to remain your student.”

  We drank a toast to his new command, and then Gristle filled our cups again. By the time I left, I had to pick my way down the hill and through the thick pines much more carefully than when I had climbed it.

  As NimbleFoot cantered and trotted his sure way among the hills and canyons along the great river, I thought about my conference with Gristle.

  We had talked at length about his new command. I told him, first, I expected him to devise ingenious fortifications to protect us, while at the same time keeping our bally looking like an attractive little village.

  “We could build a trench around the entire bally similar to the one now under construction,” he had said. “It would be impassable to an enemy, on foot or on horseback. But to the eye it would seem as natural as a river or a pond.”

  “Yes,” I had told him. “And we will need walls, and bridges, too. All designed for beauty as well as strong defense.”

  “Lady, we have the talented people to do it, and we have the dedication. I will call a folkmoot, and we will all begin right away.”

  Gristle rightly pointed out that the River Foyle was a more mighty defense on our eastern flank than any man-made fortification. We could order sentries to be on guard at strategic locations, but he thought the Foyle was virtually impassable because of its strong, dangerous currents.

  We ended our conference with Gristle telling me he would call a folkmoot for two days hence, on the grounds of the church, at midday. By the time I reached home, I was pleased and excited and more than a bit inebriated.

  I decided to ride to the bally trench, so that I could talk to Liam with Glaed close by. I saw the two kneeling, fitting river rocks together to form a tight fit on the walls of the trench. I dismounted and approached them.

  “Dia duit,” I said. Liam looked up with a quick smile. Glaed, wiping sweat from his eyes with the back of his arm, greeted me warmly. I squatted near them and told them about my conference with Gristle, not mentioning the part about Glaed’s possible defection to the arms of my lovely mother.

  Glaed faithfully translated to Liam. As we spoke, Liam climbed out of the trench and sat alongside me, absorbed in what I was saying. At one point he asked, through Glaed, “Caitlín, ye will give up command, truly give it up?”

  “Yes, Liam.”

  He took my hand in his and brought it to his mouth. “Then ye have made me very happy.”

  I was surprised by his words. “Why did you never ask me to relinquish control?”

  “Because I want what makes ye happy, Cat.”

  I felt his warm mouth envelop my fingers, one by one, and I wished I could tell him just then what really made me happy. “Yes, um, well—” I cleared my throat, and he grudgingly relinquished my hand.

  “Liam. Glaed. Commander Gristle will call a folkmoot for two days from now, and all of us will begin to plan the defenses of our settlement. I would like it very much if you would come.” Our immigrants’ little town was fast mushrooming all along the river, and it had been months since we had discussed its future.

  “Caitlín,” said Liam again.

  “Yes, love?”

  “Did ye bring back grog for us, too?”

  I flushed, forgetting that my speech probably sounded a little slurred. “No, but I will find some. And when you come home we will celebrate my new freedom.” I kissed him quickly then stood. “See you tonight. Good-bye, Glaed. Thank you for helping me speak with Liam.”

  By the time Liam came home for dinner, I had indeed found a bit of grog, and it was being chilled, ready for the drinking. I had ridden to the dwarf enclaves and sought out Jay’s brother Crowe, former owner of the Harborton tavern the Crowe’s Nest. Sure enough, he had enough potent barley beer to see us through the entire winter. I took one wineskin with me and tethered it with a length of twine before placing it in the cold waters of the Foyle.

  Later, we savored the cold beer as we ate dinner. I had squatted on the river for an hour, fishing for trout, and I had caught a beauty. We ate with relish, and we drank more than one cup of beer, and then it was time for bed.

  I felt a bit unsteady as Liam blew out the candles, leaving only the one near our bed. I stood uncertainly, wondering whether to take off my training tunic. Yes, I thought I should. I did not need to stand like a warrior in my own home. Before I could draw it over my head, Liam stood close and put his hands on my leather belt. “Shillelagh?” he asked with a wicked gleam in his eye. I knew he was asking whether I was ready for a lesson.

  “Yes,” I answered, returning his taunt.

  He motioned for me to stand there, and he stood on the other side of the bed. I was beginning to rue my acceptance of his challenge, for it was hard to read his eyes in the dancing candlelight. I stood, my knees slightly bent, my breath distant as a memory, and I saw what Liam was seeing at that moment. He saw me as prey, as a swift waterfowl to be captured by stealth and quickness. And I saw him truly—a hunter, poised, sure of his quarry. I waited for the hunter to misjudge the flight of the fowl, and he did. A moment before his feet would carry him to me, I ducked and rolled, and I came up under his legs, holding his own weapon.

  I straightened and stood with my face close to his, and the hunger in his eyes was like a stabbing. I opened my mouth to his, and he thrust his tongue in again and again, as though he could not stop. We sank into a kneeling position on the bed, our mouths still locked in a frenzy of licking and biting. He untied my belt, all the while sucking my tongue and biting my lips and chin.

  My head felt light, and a strange sensation permeated my arms and shoulders. I knew it was the barley beer, and I struggled against the sudden weakness I felt. Liam took full advantage of my moment of vulnerability, lifting my tunic in one swift motion and burying his head in my breasts. He thrust me back onto the bed, his mouth sucking one nipple then the other, loudly and with relish. I could not help a soft moan. When he heard it, he almost growled. “Cat, I need ye.”

  Lately it had been more and more difficult to avoid his hunger, his insistence on wanting what had been forbidden. I turned over on my stomach to avoid it, but that maneuver did not stop him at all. He lay on me, his groin straining against my buttocks, and I heard his own moans of pleasure. I tried to move from under him, but he was too heavy. “No, please, no!” I cried, and he relented, rolling me on my side, still intense. He licked and sucked between my thighs, and I cried out in the same moment that he did, too. At that instant, giving me pleasure had tapped his own center of ecstasy, and we both lay, breathing with difficulty, feeling the aftermath of gratification.

  Whether it was the barley beer or the simulated shillelagh match, this was the most intensely we had ever made love. I was not sure how to slow down our rising urgency, for I felt we were in great danger of going against Father Patrick’s words. Tonight, especially, I thought that we had been one kiss away from fornication. I needed to find a way to talk to Liam, but I despaired of knowing how to tell him. This was not a matter for a go-between like Glaed or Ryan or Michael. This time it was up to me to communicate something very important, very private, without knowing at all how to say it.

  It was doubly har
d for me, because I was so strongly attracted to Liam that my body responded in spite of my own determination to turn away. It seemed dishonest to cry “no” when he could see how much I desired him. Hoping I would wake with answers, I drifted to sleep, still holding my lover’s magnificent bum.

  Chapter 15:

  Brother Galen

  When I woke, I found that Liam and I were still lying in a loose embrace. The room was chill, which meant that the fire pit had guttered out. I curled up closer to him, seeking his body heat, but the aftertaste of barley beer finally drove me out of bed. Slipping on my deerskin tunic I used the tinderbox to start our fire. It was still too dark outside to bathe safely in the dangerous Foyle.

  Soon the stone pit contained a robust fire, which would afford Liam some warmth when he awoke. I watched the smoke curling through the smoke hole for a few minutes. Then, selecting my pretty, dark green léine, I went to the river. I wondered how enjoyable my morning baths would be as winter approached, and I shivered, not ready to find out.

  The dawn came slowly, beautifully, opening her arms to a pale blue sky. Pink clouds with chubby, pearl-gray bottoms scooted across the sky with the autumn wind. I stood in the currents as always, my head lifted to the daybreak, using the ewer to pour very cold water over my body. I stepped out and pulled the little undertunic over my head, then the full tunic. The warmth of the léine reminded me of the clothes that the Feather sisters were making for me, and I decided to visit Magpie today.

  Suddenly inspired, I thought I might talk with her about my new, more intense intimacy with Liam, and how we might keep it from becoming so wild. Neither Brindl nor my mother would talk about such things, but Magpie always responded to personal questions with refreshing candor. Even though she and Raven had been married for years, I saw that their interplay was always fresh, always full of respect and deep fondness for each other. I aspired to that same kind of partnership with Liam.

  Today it was my turn to wake him. I decided our barley beer drinking would have to be set aside for special occasions only. I stood looking down at him as I had a few mornings ago, enjoying his boyish good looks and his well-built body.