The Irish Enchantress

* * * *

Chapter One

Antrim, Northern Ireland, 1176

"By God, I will have his rocks for this."

Clutching a piece of parchment, Raymond DeClare strode across the outer bailey, his dark look sending Irish castle folk and English soldiers out of his path and seeking cover. Behind him three knights followed on his heels as he crossed into the outer yard. Ignoring all, he continued on to the darkened hovel that served as a stable, his scowl turning blacker when the stench of the place greeted his nostrils.

Another problem to fix, he thought, then yelled, "Connal!"

"Aye, my lord," the boy called out, his voice cracking with youth and making Raymond wince.

"Show yourself, boy. Now."

A tall lad with dark chestnut hair tinged with red stumbled out of the stall, caught himself, then straightened to his full height.

Raymond looked him up and down. This child was only in his twelfth summer? By God, he was going to be a giant. He watched as Connal O'Rourke walked toward him. Siobhan's son, and since he was four or five, Gaelan PenDragon's pride and joy. Yet even in his present mood Raymond could not be pleased about seeing the boy again. Better than two dozen problems had shown themselves since he'd arrived in Antrim a sennight past. The latest of which were Connal, his escorts, and a surprise request from the boy's stepfather.

"What is the meaning of this?" Raymond shook the parchment.

"I believe my father was quite clear, my lord."

Raymond tilted his head back and worked his shoulders. "Great Scots, PenDragon is mad to foster you with me," he said softly to the rotting ceiling.

Connal took a step closer. "Actually, my lord, 'twas my mother's idea."

Raymond stared down at the boy. "And here I thought she was the smarter of the two," he said grimly.

"I shall relay that to my father when I see him next."

"Do, boy, and I will beat your Irish hide all the way back to Donegal."

Connal merely smiled, knowing that was a bald-faced lie. Despite the new scar running down the side of his face from cheekbone to jaw that gave him a fierce look, Raymond DeClare was usually more congenial. Connal wondered what had occurred during his service to the king to steal his lighthearted manner and if the reason lay behind that scar. He dared not ask, for at the moment, he was no longer the stepson of PenDragon, but DeClare's newly appointed squire. He hoped. The decision was, and always would be, DeClare's.

"Aye, my lord," Connal said, ever patient.

Raymond's eyes narrowed. "Why does that sound smug coming from you?"

"I would not know, my lord."

Mayhaps because this child, this gangly lad, was in truth a prince of Ireland?

"So, my lord, I heard you were to marry. When do I meet your bride?" Connal was bold enough to ask, rocking back on his heels.

Behind Raymond the knights made a sound that was too close to a snicker for his liking. He looked back over his shoulder, his gaze narrowing on two of the three. They straightened. The third knight simply arched a brow in his direction, big arms folded over his even bigger chest. A natural pose for Nikolai.

Raymond looked back at the boy. "Mayhaps when I have one to present," he finally said.

Connal frowned.

Ignoring the question in his green eyes, Raymond took a step closer, his voice low and private. "Why me, Connal? Why would you be my squire when you could train with your father?"

"Father is too ... lenient with me. He loves me and worries that I am too young."

"You are. You should still be paging for one of his knights."

"I'm too big." Embarrassment colored his handsome features and Raymond wondered if it was his oversized feet that made him come here, or the special treatment. He knew Gaelan and his love for Siobhan's son. The man would die for Connal. Just as, Raymond thought, would he. But that the boy was here, and with his father's permission said that PenDragon thought he was ready for fostering. Raymond disagreed.

"If I'm to be a knight, I want to be the best." He straightened his spine and added, "You are the only man who has ever bested my father."

Raymond arched a dark brow.

Connal shrugged. "Besides, my sisters are enough trouble for him right now."

Raymond's smile was slow and wide. "Wild ones, eh?"

Connal laughed to himself. "Aislyn is the worst, my lord. Only a month past Father caught her making a ladder of sheets and descending out her chamber window."

Raymond imagined Gaelan bursting a blood vessel over that and continued to study the child. Too young to be a squire, too big to be a page. Although he did not put that under consideration. The boy had yet to taste battle and as his squire, he would. The mere thought of one so young and untried in danger drove a hard blade of regret through his chest. Harsh memories threatened to surface and his expression darkened, his gaze gone thin. "Nay. You cannot squire yet. You've never even left Donegal afore now."

The sudden change in his mood startled Connal. "I have been to England, Scotland, and France, and I am not going back."

Damn his insolence. "You will, if I send your arse there!"

"My lord--"

"Nay! Warfare is far too dangerous for the unskilled." Raymond turned toward the door. "Go home."

Connal fumed. 'Twas not his place to question his lord. DeClare was in his own right now, an earl. He'd relinquished lands that his father had given him to oversee to rule the king's reward of his own piece of Ireland. Such as it was, he thought with a look around. DeClare deserved better, and Connal felt he deserved a chance.

"I have seen my own kinsmen slaughter innocents, my lord," Connal called out, unable to let the matter die. "And I've not been sheltered these past years. Father has seen to it. He will need a strong man to take his place someday."

Raymond stopped and glared back over his shoulder as he said, "Till you have killed in battle and seen your comrades die, then you are still a sheltered boy." Connal's lips pressed into a thin line, his fists clenched at his sides, and Raymond easily read the determination in his young face. If he possessed even a shred of his mother's strong will, he would find a way to remain here. He faced Connal fully, folding his arms over his chest, his feet wide apart. Raymond would make him wish he was home in the tender arms of his family. "You think you've the rocks for this?" Connal opened his mouth to speak, but Raymond cut him off. "I say you do not."

"Aye, my lord," the boy said glumly.

"Antrim is unlike Donegal. There are few women here to coddle you. The food is often unpalatable, the labors hard, and the nights of rest far too short."

Connal's chin rose a notch. "I have lived the life of a noble's son, my lord. Now I wish to live it as your liege man."

Man? Great Scots, the child was as arrogant as his father. He needed to learn humility, a knightly attribute Raymond had been well schooled in recently. A face flashed in his mind, young and in agony, and Raymond crushed it, leaning down in Connal's face, his voice glacial. "You are a whiskerless boy who cannot walk without tripping over his own feet, let alone wield a blade or carry the weight of armor. When you have proven yourself worthy, then I might consider your training. Till then, you are on probation. I will spare you not a shred of sympathy in this, Connal. From now on, you are simply another O'Rourke. Have I made myself clear?"

Connal nodded, thrilled at the slim opportunity.

"Learn your duties and lend a hand in returning this castle," he said with open distaste, "to its former glory." If there ever was one, he thought. "For now, saddle my horse. If you are unharmed after dealing with Samson, then you can remain."

"We ride?"

"Nay, you do not." He waved a hand at the mess around them. "You will be mucking out these stalls."

Connal kept his face impassive. DeClare could easily send him home and that would gain him nothing of his dream to be the first Irishman knighted by the king.

Raymond called for Kevin and the older boy appeared at his side. "Make a tally of everything that needs doing in this ... stable," he said with another sour look around. "Then get it done. You are responsible for teaching Connal, Kevin." The light-haired lad nodded, then shot a glance at Connal. Raymond couldn't tell if they were going to be friends or adversaries. Ah well, he thought, Connal would learn soon enough.

Raymond turned on his heel and left, his knights behind him.

Kevin immediately went back to work. "Time to get them soft hands dirty, O'Rourke."

Ignoring the jibe, Connal walked to the stall, the filthy home to DeClare's war-horse, Samson. As he approached, the black stallion stomped and jolted forward against the restraints, as if daring him to come near and walk away with all his body parts intact.

"Have a caution," Kevin said. "He's the meanest of beasts. And he bites."

Connal kept walking, even as the horse bared his teeth and reared, pawing the air. He took a step closer and the instant Samson's hooves hit the sod floor, the creature calmed. Connal rested his open palm flat on the horse's forehead and whispered to Samson.

The horse nudged his shoulder playfully.

"Well, bugger me." Kevin swallowed, awed. "How'd you do that?"

Connal shrugged, and offered no more than, "I've had a way with animals since I was little," to the English squire. The other boy wouldn't understand the gifts running in his blood, and he did not care to be marked a freak amongst strangers. Hefting the saddle, he staggered under the weight, then tossed it onto the horse's back. After securing the cinch, he led the animal to the entrance.

For a moment, he stared out the door at the castle yard beyond, the sky dark gray and misty.

'Tis a great sadness here, he thought. And he wondered if the king knew he'd awarded Raymond DeClare a castle and lands that were cursed.
* * * *

The rumble of hoofbeats trembled the ground, but Fionna tried not to notice. 'Twas like ignoring a bolt of lightning, she thought wryly, continuing with her herb harvesting. Yet she'd felt their presence, just as she'd seen the army cut a swath across Antrim like a plague a sennight before.

The English.

With their pennants and noisy armor, their swords and this horrific need to rule everyone. Her lips thinned into a flat line as she gently broke off a stem of yarrow and dropped it into her basket. They were a familiar sight in Donegal, but a new one to Antrim, new to the glens, ensconcing themselves in GleannTaise Castle without so much as a single cut of the sword. Not that we had warriors to spar to the death with them.

"You hide."

The words came in a singsong voice, like a child's taunt. "I mind my own. Now you mind yours," Fionna said, searching the underbrush for more herbs.

A glitter of wings, tiny, more air than substance, fluttered around her.

"To ignore the world beyond is to deny destiny."

Fionna threw her hair back over her shoulder with her cloak and searched for a bit of heather, rare in the moist, sunny glen. "My destiny is to live and die in GleannTaise." And she didn't need her conscience prodded by an impish faery, either.

"If 'twas so, then you'd not have been born a--"

"I know what I am," she cut in.

"How can you protect her whilst in the forest?"

Fionna stilled, her hand halfway to a stem as an image burst in her mind. "Leave it be, Kiarae." She snapped off the bloom. "I do as I am able. Besides, are you not supposed to be guarding her for me?"

Kiarae huffed noisily and Fionna looked up. The faery hovered over a patch of pink blooms, then settled on one flower. She swiped at a drop of dew, sipping the wine of the forest, and Fionna noticed she wore blue petals for her gown today. Must be a special occasion. Made for trouble, she thought, suspicious. "You are forbidden to go near the English. There is trouble enough to be had in the castle without you causing mischief."

Kiarae sent her a petulant look, her blue-white skin glowing. Her shiny wings opened and closed a fraction.

"All are forbidden," Fionna warned with a glance around the forest, though there was nothing to see. She looked back at Kiarae as she stood on the flower's gold center, folding her slender arms across her middle. "You especially," she added just before another tiny voice called out.

"Someone comes!"

Dozens of little faces suddenly popped out from behind rocks, from under leaves and flowers. "Blessed spirits, hide yourselves," Fionna hissed, her ears pricked to the sounds of the forest. Someone thrashed through the thicket and she focused on the path. "'Tis Dougan." Picking up her basket, Fionna left the small hollow, lifting her gown above the tall ferns blanketing the forest floor as she hurried onto the path leading to the village. As he neared, she glanced around. Bright, eager faces peppered the green vegetation. Dougan rushed to her and Fionna held her breath, hoping he did not notice the onlookers. Especially the one tugging at her cloak hem.

"She's dying," Dougan said. "You must come."

Fionna motioned him ahead. "You should have called me when her labor began, Dougan," she said, walking briskly behind him toward the village.

He glanced back at her, his face marked with worry. "Aye, aye, but her mother would not let me."

'Twas the way of it with some of the elderly. The villagers gathered their nerve and came to her only when death approached, when there was nothing left to do but call on the elements. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of several little figures darting about, and behind her back, she waved at the folk, motioning them into hiding. Blessed spirits, she did not want to think of the trouble the children of the forest would cause if anyone saw them.

A faery hunt she did not need this day.

Behind Dougan, she walked into the center of the village, aware of the folk who would not look her in the eye, who hustled away, closing their doors. Their whispers stung, their fear hurt. They did not understand that she would harm no one, ever. Her very existence depended on keeping that law. She paused at the door, wanting to look around for a certain face, then forced herself to follow Dougan into the cottage, going immediately to Maery's side and ignoring the woman's mother and her damning looks.

"Out. Both of you," Fionna ordered briskly, leaning over Maery and stroking damp hair off her brow. She was entirely too pale. "I will set this a'right, friend." Her voice lowered. "But you must ask."

Maery nodded. "Do what you will, my lady. Save the child."

Fionna smiled comfortingly. "Thinking I'd leave him without his mother, are you now?" She tisked softly. "Not when 'tis your mother who'd be raising him." She shivered dramatically and Maery managed a smile, then gasped for her next breath as a contraction heaved through her young body. Fionna felt the position of the child, hiding her frown of concern.

"You would let her touch your wife! Your child!" Onora shouted, her weathered face creased with outrage.

"I would have my woman live," Dougan said, moving to his wife's side and glaring across the room at his mother-in-law. His wife would not be in this misery if Onora hadn't insisted that taking days to birth a babe was common.

"Leave, Onora," Fionna said sternly. "You, too, Dougan." The young man shook his head, and Fionna met his gaze head on. "Aye. You create chaos when I'm in need of calm. And privacy."

He looked at his wife, her body swollen and contorted in labor, then he nodded.

"Nay!" Onora screamed, rushing at Fionna. "You'll not use yer evil ways on me girl!"

Fionna whirled on the old woman before she reached her. Instantly Onora backstepped, her courage fleeing. "'Tis not Maery tempting me this night, you old fool." Her meaning struck home and Onora paled. "Do you want your daughter to live?" Fionna added in a low voice.

Onora nodded.

"Then we cannot delay." The babe was ready to arrive, yet too large for birth. Save cutting her open to free the babe and lose the mother, Fionna had but one choice to save them both.

Onora looked between the two, then huffed out the door. Dougan kissed his wife so tenderly Fionna felt her heart constrict, then he cast her a quick glance before he left. With a cool cloth, she bathed Maery's face and told her what had to be done. The young mother nodded, frightened, yet Fionna could do nothing more to ease her fears. But she could ease her pain. Quickly, she went about cleansing the air in the cottage with myrrh and lavender, then turned to the fire and ladled hot water from the kettle into a wooden cup. From the pouches at her waist, she removed one leather sack. Inside was a small, thin bottle etched with markings of her ancestors. Pouring a pinch into her palm, she sprinkled the brown powder over the water, stirred, then offered it to Maery. The girl hesitated.

"Harm none," she whispered and Maery drank. Quickly, before another contraction took her life, Fionna made the young mother close her eyes.

Beyond the walls, Dougan paced, shutting out his mother-in-law's cursing, her insistence that Dougan was committing his wife to death by calling upon the witch. He could think of little but the two lives most precious to him. On the other side of the dirt road, his neighbors gathered, waiting, a few shooting him warning glances; yet only his friend Brian was brave enough to walk close.

Dougan lifted his gaze to Brian's. "Do not badger me on how much I risk, I know it well."

A low moaning came from the cottage and both men stared at the closed door. "You waited this long to ask her for help?"

"I could not. She--"

"Scares the piss out of you, aye?"

Dougan offered a half smile, and ducked his dark head, ashamed.

"You know they might mark the child cursed for bringing her," Brian said, inclining his head to the others across the way.

Dougan pulled in a sharp breath, then let it out slowly. He knew that. Aside from his mother-in-law's ranting, 'twas exactly what had kept him from going to Fionna. "Let one soul curse my family and I will--"

Both men froze when the cottage suddenly trembled, thatch sprinkling on the ground.

"She kills her, I'm tellin' you!" Onora stood, marching up to Dougan.

He didn't hear, his gaze locked on the blue light emanating from the seams and cracks of his cottage. Panicked, he took a step, then stopped, forcing himself to trust, yet Onora rushed toward the door. Brian grabbed the old woman, binding her arms and holding her back. She shouted for her daughter, struggling as the blue light intensified, fine beams streaking across her wrinkled face and making her squint. Then suddenly all was still, moments passing before the squall of child careened through the afternoon air. Dougan exchanged a glance with Brian and Onora, took a step, then rushed inside. He froze, looking around, and found only his wife and child inside. "Where is she?"

Her head bowed to her child, Maery lifted her gaze first to her husband, then to the empty cottage. Brushing damp curls off her cheek, she frowned, confused. "She was just here."
* * * *

Her hood pulled low, Fionna scanned the area and stepped out of the shadow of the trees. Her work was done with Maery and her child, and she need not linger to know they were grateful. But if she was honest with herself, which she was, she'd rather not feel the sting of Onora's tongue as she had in the past. The old woman thought little of spitting or throwing rocks at her when she'd dared venture into the village. 'Twas only one of the reasons she chose to live in the glen. The others were too numerous to bother thinking on overlong.

Ahh, blessed spirits, a child was born this day, she thought, smiling to herself. Fat and healthy, the handsome boy announced himself as he slid from his mother and into Fionna's waiting hands. She'd cradled him for only an instant, but 'twas that precious life that made any ridicule worth her while. As it had always had been. Her step light, her head bowed, she enjoyed the early spring chill. Even the frightened villagers she passed did not affect her. Rebirth and fresh hope spun in the air. She inhaled deeply, her gaze instantly moving to the stone fortress, gray and cold and set back from the cliff. From her position in the road, she could see only what lay above the trees: the pointed towers and a bit of mist. But she knew the look of the castle well. The beastly old fortress hovered over the shore and her glen like a mean, spiteful overlord glaring down and pointing a damning finger at her.

I have naught to do with the castle, she reminded herself, and pushed the unpleasant thought aside. She was about to walk into the forest again when she heard hoofbeats. Rapid and numerous. Then she saw him. The English knight, riding wildly around the curve in the road toward the castle.

Fionna's heartbeat jolted. She knew who commanded the beast without seeing the face hidden in armor. She could feel him as if she wore his skin, his breathing rapid, excited, his body warm beneath his armor as he hunched over the horse's neck, his powerful thighs gripping the animal's sides. In the space of a breath, she remembered all she'd tried to forget. The way he had looked at her, once. Only once. When he was wounded and lying in her bed. She hadn't wanted him to remember her, fogged his mind with herbs so he wouldn't, for most English she'd encountered then only wanted to rule or slaughter. And in that, little had changed.

She watched him ride near, yet stirring in the back of her mind was the voices of children. Fionna whirled around. Three children played in the road, pushing a rock back and forth with sticks. She looked toward the riders, then darted back down the lane, calling to the children. But who she was scared them, and whilst the others fled to the side of the road, one girl child remained defiantly in the center--Fionna's own daughter.

"Get yourself to the side," Fionna said. "Now, Sinead!"

Sinead glanced between her and the approaching horses, suddenly realizing what her rebellion would cost her. But there was no time. With a few whispered words and a swiping motion, Fionna sent Sinead off her feet and tumbling out of jeopardy before she turned to face the coming danger. The lead horse and rider were upon her, and without thought, she threw her hands up, palms out. The horse reared, shrieking, pawing the air, and throwing the rider backward over the mount's rump.

The knight hit the ground with a hard crash.

With another stroke to the air, the black stallion calmed.

The other riders skidded to a halt, their horses sidestepping to avoid trampling their leader. Fionna pushed the stallion aside and moved to the fallen knight. She reached, intent on checking him for injuries, when she heard a very distinct, "Do not. You have done enough damage already this day."

His arm rose, his gauntleted hand aiming for his helm. He flipped up the visor and Fionna O'Donnel stared into the eyes of Raymond DeClare, lord of Antrim and master of GleannTaise Castle.

And she saw fury.