Golden Surrender, Page 2

  And she had a wicked sword arm. Though his sons complained, Aed would not refuse his daughter’s tutelage by their masters. He was secretly pleased when she would best her brothers, and he silenced his boys’ grumblings with the reminder that they must work even harder. If their sister could bring them to their knees, what would a Norseman do?

  But now Aed frowned with her query. He had watched her carefully since the day she had stumbled home cross country after the Viking raid at Clonntairth with only her half-crazed cousin Gregory beside her.

  Clonntairth had been destroyed. Its buildings razed, its people taken in slavery by the Norwegians. Yet by crawling through wreckage and ancient tunnels, Erin and Gregory had escaped. Aed had had to send Gregory to the monks at Armagh. But Erin had been strong and recuperated at home, living on hate.

  Aed was a wise man who knew hate could lead to desperate gestures. It was not a feeling one could forget, but neither was it one that should be fostered. Acting with passion but without wit was foolhardy. It could too easily lead to destruction.

  He had tried to teach his daughter these things, yet despite her pleasantry, her apparent ease with the womanly arts, Aed knew that Erin still harbored her terrible hate. That it seemed to be a personal hate surprised and bewildered Aed. Bridget had died by her own hand; Brian, her husband, in battle. The attack had come from the troops of Olaf the White, a strangely merciful man for one of his heritage. He allowed no slaughter of children or of women; nor, for that matter, would he allow the senseless murder of warriors. That those conquered became slaves was but the way of the world, and slaves did not always live in misery. It was said that the vassals of the Norwegian Wolf ate better than many a prince and were clothed in wool in the winters.

  Aed stared at her a moment longer and then shrugged. “They have chosen to support the Danish princes, for the Danes have sworn to pray to Saint Patrick and offer up great riches to his honor should he help them in battle. And”—Aed paused a moment, but he could hold few secrets from Erin’s sharp mind—“and I am glad we support the Danes, for I believe they will take the coming battle. They are stronger now; they are united.”

  Erin lowered her lashes and smiled, but not before her father saw the glitter of pleasure in her eyes. “Don’t take this to mean much, daughter,” he warned sharply. “I believe the decision we make means less than the time it took to come to. We do not raise arms for the Danes. They too are murdering barbarians, no matter what cloak they wear. Oh, a few Irish tribes will fight. But I warrant, despite the decision reached here today, that a few Irish tribes will also fight on the side of the Norsemen. I tell you this, daughter: I will be glad to see the Norwegians fall, but we pass merely from one set of hawks to the next. The Viking is here to stay, and I care not his nationality. In the years to come, we must look to men carefully, and weigh our enemies.”

  Erin nodded, although she wasn’t particularly interested in her father’s wisdom at the moment. She kept her eyes carefully downcast, for she dreaded her father reading her thoughts. Just as she could too clearly remember the carnage at Clonntairth, she could too clearly remember the Wolf.…

  The battle had ended, and she and Gregory had escaped to a dun overlooking the town. She had held back her screams by biting her wrist, for what she had turned back to see was Lady Moira, the wife of one of her uncle’s warriors, being raped. Again and again Moira had been ravaged. Then he had ridden up, like a sun-god upon a midnight charger. Taller than his own men, he stopped them with a single shout, rebuking them for their treatment of the woman. What good, he had demanded, were half-dead slaves? Dear God, how she had hated him!

  Erin understood her father’s reasons and his thoughts. No, the Norwegian Wolf had not murdered her aunt, nor had he raped poor Moira. But Clonntairth had been taken by his command and the residents as slaves. Slaves! The Irish were not meant to be slaves to the barbaric pagans who invaded from the north.

  On that day at Clonntairth, Erin had solemnly sworn to avenge her aunt and her uncle—and Moira. And so now she could not help but be pleased with the belief that death might come to the Norwegian Wolf and slavery to his she-wolf, the woman as blond as he who had ridden with him that day, a warrior like him. Though she had been beautiful, her sword had carried the sheen of blood. When the Wolf had seen her, he had smiled, and his granite features and ice-blue eyes had almost appeared human. Human! The Wolf of Norway! Erin wanted to spit. Olaf the White, Prince of Norway, was a barbarian, an animal!

  But now it was decided. The Irish and the Danes would fight against the Norse, and likely, very likely, he would die.

  She tried to control the excitement in her voice. “Fennen mac Cormac told me that the armies were mustering at Carlingford Lough. He says that you plan to ride out and observe the battle. I would go with you, Father.”

  “Oh? And why is that, daughter? Such bloodthirstiness is unattractive to God and man, Erin. I should send you to Bede so that she could work on the cleansing of your soul.”

  “Father!” Erin protested. “You hate these heathens! I have seen the fire in your eyes, I have heard you swear against them, and—” She bit her lip but then continued. “And I have often wondered why you have not let that hate raise you to swift and sure ven—”

  “Enough, daughter!” Aed commanded. “I am the Ard-Righ, Erin, I cannot run about like a maddened schoolboy. Yes, I have hated. In my dreams I have slain many a man. But I am a king of many kings, Erin. My hold upon my throne is tenuous, at best. I cannot lead men to senseless slaughter because of my personal hatreds or losses. Your uncle’s death is most recent in my heart, Erin, so aye, I will be pleased to see the Norwegians down upon the field of battle. But that is patience and wisdom, daughter. The Danes will do what I cannot.” He paused for a moment, glancing at her sadly. “Even for you, daughter, I can never forget that I am Ard-Righ. The decisions I make will always be for the land.”

  Erin lowered her head. She respected her father, she even understood his wisdom; and besides being her father, he was her king. Without his blessing she could do nothing, and so she kept her head lowered so that he might not see the sparkle of cajolery that had come to her eyes.

  “I understand what you say, Father,” she told him solemnly. “But I would ride with you for another reason.”

  “Oh?” Aed lifted his shaggy brows. “And what might that reason be?”

  Erin hated lying to her father, but she could never explain the horror of her vision at Clonntairth. According to Saint Patrick, vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, but Erin’s heart cried out for vengeance. To her father many things were lamentable, but they were also the business of politics. She could not see how the taking of Clonntairth had been an admirable military move, nor could she see the temperance of Olaf the White. She could see only her aunt, beautiful Bridget of Clonntairth, lying in a pool of blood. She could see Moira dragged and mauled and screaming. She could close her eyes and remember the stench of the fires.…

  She looked up and smiled into her father’s face. “It is not vengeance I seek, Father, it’s …” She paused, blushing prettily. “It’s Fennen mac Cormac. I think he woos me, Father, and as yet, I know not what I think. If I could be near him for a while …”

  Aed lifted his bushy brows with interest. “Fennen mac Cormac, eh? Well, well. He seems a likable man. He fights well, but still thinks with his mind rather than his fists. I’m pleased, daughter.”

  “Then you will let me ride with you?”

  “I don’t know, Erin. They are heathens. It might be dangerous. We must have a deputation to know who takes the victory, but whereas a truce holds men safe—”

  “Father,” Erin interrupted. Her excitement was showing, but she could allow that now since Aed Finnlaith seemed to be pleased with her interest in the young king Fennen. “The old Druid Mergwin has a cottage near the lough, remember. I would be safe there while you met with the Danes. And yet I could still be with the party.”

  Aed shrugged. He was a Christian king, but he
bore no rancor to the scattered Druids who still practiced their old beliefs. He was quite fond of the ancient Mergwin; in fact, he had entrusted Erin to Mergwin’s care many times. And Erin was right. No harm could come to her in the cottage deep in the woods. But he didn’t mean to give in to his daughter immediately. He wanted her to think deeply on duty and obedience and charity, the qualities necessary in a princess and a wife.

  “I will make my decision with your mother and speak with you in the morning, daughter,” he said firmly. “And for tonight, well, you may sup beside this young king who holds your fancy, and then you will spend the hours with your sister Bede and study her serenity.”

  Erin dutifully lowered her head and humbly said, “Yes, Father.”

  She accepted his pleased kiss upon her forehead and waited until his footsteps took him away toward their dwelling.

  Then she raised her head with a very real and very mischievous smile on her face. She knew her father well; she knew she had won. Tomorrow she would ride with the envoy.

  CHAPTER

  2

  The Druid, Mergwin, was a vision to behold in his long robes of white and his fiery, burning eyes. His hair was long and wild, and it blended with the thick gray beard that fell below his knees.

  It was rumored that he was the son of a Druid priestess and a Viking rune master who had come with the first tide of scavengers to raid the Irish island at the turn of the century. Mergwin never spoke of his background, but it was believed that the man was indeed a rare sorcerer, blessed by dual gods thanks to his distant and hazy paternity. But whatever the secrets of his past or the usage of his craft, Mergwin knew things; it was a fact no one denied.

  Within the walls of his cottage his earth-banked fire burned with a blue glow, and in a pot above it, he was known to mix a number of concoctions for any number of causes. A maiden might well celebrate the Sabbath on her knees in chapel, then run to the home of Mergwin to plead that he give her a potion to win the favor of a certain warrior.

  There were those who crossed themselves and muttered to the Virgin Mary as they passed his home in the woods, thinking him insane. There were others who railed against him, saying that the days of sorcery were over, that Mergwin was naught more than a witch who should be dealt with harshly. But those who would cry out against him would be compelled by a wise look from those eyes as deep as time, and they would fall silent. So Mergwin remained in his cottage, welcoming and harboring those who would come to him.

  Mergwin loved the child of Aed Finnlaith, as he loved and respected Aed. The Ard-Righ of Tara was to Mergwin’s mind a just and unusual man who preferred negotiation among his continually bickering chieftains to the mass battles that too often answered minor disputes. Aed was capable of justice even when his own sons were concerned. He would listen, he would close his eyes, and when they opened, they would be opaque, hiding all personal feeling.

  Yet the emotions and wisdom of the man ran deep. Since his daughter had been but a child, Aed brought her to the woods to stay with Mergwin. The priests and monks might teach her of the life of the Christ, but Mergwin would teach her about her own soul and about the earth that surrounded her.

  To Mergwin’s mind, the princess Erin would have made a fine priestess for the Druid cult. But as Mergwin and Aed had a silent understanding, Mergwin cherished the child as student and ward, nothing more. He taught her to respect the trees, to love and honor the earth. He taught her to foretell the signs of the sky so that she might know of sun and thunder. He taught her which herbs could heal, which could ease pain. And he watched her with the creatures of the forest, loving her more each time she tenderly mended the wing of a tiny robin or brought the wild hares of the deep burrows to her feet to pet and fondle and feed.

  She rode to him today with the young king of Connaught, Fennen mac Cormac. Something troubled Mergwin as he left his doorway to meet her. It was as if a shadow fell over the sun. He frowned as he watched the princess being helped from her horse by the young king. It appeared that the shadow fell by the person of the mac Cormac.

  Mergwin shook himself slightly. Erin’s eyes were alight with laughter and pleasure; she enjoyed her fair escort. Foolish old man, Mergwin reproached himself silently. Fennen mac Cormac was a respected and carefully watched king. He was said to be strong in wisdom and charity. For the daughter of Aed Finnlaith, Ard-Righ of Tara, he would be a most appropriate match. I must reread the signs, Mergwin warned himself.

  “Erin mac Aed!” Mergwin called to her. Stepping forward, he bowed low first to her and then to the young king at her side. “And Fennen mac Cormac. I welcome you. What brings you here this day?”

  He knew, of course. All the land knew that the Viking forces gathered to meet near Carlingford Lough. Mergwin had felt the coming tremor of the earth; the breeze had whispered of the blood that would feed the land.

  “A slaughter,” answered the young mac Cormac, with barely a glance at Mergwin. His eyes, Mergwin noted, already coveted the princess. Fennen finally looked at the Druid. “It is justice, old man, don’t you think? I ride with the Ard-Righ as an envoy. We will view the carnage and we will collect the tithe of gold and silver due Saint Patrick by the Danish victors.”

  Mergwin nodded to the powerful young lord while considering him a fool. Dane and Norseman alike had ravaged the land; both would do so again. The Irish envoy would be lucky to escape alive.

  “Aed Finnlaith, Maelsechlainn, and myself will secure the treasure, then we shall return for my lady Erin. Keep her well, old man.”

  Mergwin stiffened. He didn’t need to be told a thing about the lady Erin. He would serve her well of his own design and for her father, not for an upstart lord who knew not his place.

  “The daughter of Aed Finnlaith always abides well with me, King of Connaught,” Mergwin at last said severely.

  Fennen seemed not to notice the old man’s tone. His eyes were upon Erin. Last night in the banqueting hall, he hadn’t a moment alone with her. And he had suffered the agonies of the damned as he had watched her brilliant-eyed gaiety as she had performed the role of perfect princess, perfect hostess for her father, dancing with all the kings, charming the oldest and youngest of the princes.

  “Druid,” Fennen said gruffly, “I would have a moment alone with the lady, and then she will be left in your care.”

  Mergwin set his jaw and barely stepped away from the young couple.

  Fennen held out his hand to Erin, ignoring the Druid’s stern, paternal expression. “Erin, let’s walk a bit into the woods.”

  Erin grinned, raising a brow at Mergwin. At the cunning twinkle in the princess’s emerald-green eyes, Mergwin almost laughed. He knew her so well. She liked Fennen—and why not? The young king of Connaught was handsome, athletic, and powerful—any girl’s vision of a fine man. But Erin was, as always, assured of herself. She could walk in the woods with the man who sought to woo her; she could charm and bedazzle him. But Mergwin would be more than ready to wager that she gave him nothing and promised not a thing. The Druid’s frown became a smile as he watched the pair walk away.

  It was Fennen who kept his smile as he escorted Erin through a path in the trees to a sheltered copse, for he was secretly damning the Ard-Righ. Erin was twenty, and Fennen had been enamored of her for many years. Her sisters had been wed at the age of sixteen. Aed had never discouraged Fennen’s suit, but he had shied away from any conversation of commitment, telling all that he would not give his youngest daughter in marriage until he knew the bent of her heart.

  But she had bewitched Fennen. The king of Connaught, to whom most women flocked, wanted only her, she who would not fall prey instantly to his charms.

  She was a spirited girl, and as a wife she was going to need a lot of taming—especially after having been her father’s favorite for so long. But Fennen would love to tame her—gently and lovingly, of course. And as her husband, he would at last be able to put his foot down.

  Erin was also thinking along the lines of marriage as they wal
ked. Her own smile was a bit strained, especially when she would catch Fennen’s handsome dark eyes upon her. She did like him so well! But since Clonntairth, she had desperately valued her freedom.

  She sighed softly. Some day she would have to marry but for now, she had to come to terms with her fevered desire to see the Norwegians laid waste.

  “Oh, Erin! Why do you take such pleasure in torturing me so!”

  Startled, Erin gazed into his eyes. She saw the love that he bore her, and she felt terribly guilty. “Fennen … I-I don’t seek to hurt you,” she answered truthfully.

  “Then promise yourself to me. We will speak with your father—”

  “Fennen! Please, know how much I care for you, and don’t press me! In time …” Erin hesitated carefully, knowing that her future hung in the balance. Her father would, she knew, eventually tell her she must marry, and she would choose Fennen. So she wanted only to prolong her freedom as far as she might—without losing the suitor who would keep her father from deciding her future for her.

  “Fennen, allow me the time to know you fully, to—to love you. Time and the subtle searchings of souls together make for the most applaudable unions, don’t you agree?”

  Fennen’s jaw tightened, for he knew exactly what she was saying. She would have him but in her own good time. And while he waited, watching her supple form and imagining all the beauty beneath her royal tunics and mantles, he would suffer heartily. He would dream of her at night, of the fullness of her breasts, the slimness of her waist.… He would wait, but he wouldn’t be denied everything. He pulled her suddenly into his arms. “A kiss, my beauty. Grant me a kiss, and I will wait into eternity.”

  “A kiss,” she agreed, fascinated and flattered by his need.

  He touched his lips to her reverently, massaging the small of her back with one hand, cradling her nape with the other. His heartbeat was strong against hers, and the feel of his strong arms was pleasant. It was not the grand sense of excitement she had anticipated, but it was pleasant.