Part 45 (1/2)
He tipped his head to glare at Maguire, then past him to the prisoner. ”Where would he take her?”
”His castle, mayhaps. Or a farm near the edge of his lands.” His look said he didn't think she was alive and Gaelan ignored it. He had to.
”The Fenians are in the middle of this.”
”They have not been in Donegal for years,” Fionna defended. ”I would know.” He jerked a look at her and she backstepped at the savagery borne there. ”My brother is one of the clan.”
”He's forbidden to speak to you,” Ian reminded.
”Shut thy mouth, chieftain,” she gritted. ”Or you will be croaking instead of sitting there smug in the saddle.” Only then did she look at him, her haunting blue eyes filled with bitterness and stabbing through Ian with a force that left a trail.
He opened his mouth to speak when Gaelan pointed at him. ”Not a word or I gag you.” He turned to Patrick, pulling him from the saddle and slamming him against the horse. ”Tell me something that will appease me, traitor, for your life hangs on a slim thread.”
Patrick stared, rain pelting his face. ”I can show you a dozen caverns, but they will be empty as well. He awaits me in five days. He gathers at the end of the Finn river, in armor.” His gaze s.h.i.+fted past to meet the Maguires. ”Then onto Cloch Baintreach.”
”Nay,” Fionna gasped, her gaze tripping to Ian's. Her family was there.
”Then we know where he will be in five days,” Gaelan said, as if he did not notice the horror on her lovely face. He stepped back, pulling on his leather gauntlet as he moved to his mount. ”Andrew, remain here with your men and comb the forest for a trail. Fallon,” he said to the Irishman. ”Count our best and pair them to sc.r.a.p over every inch of this land to the sh.o.r.e. Disguise your trappings.” He gestured to the clothing that marked them soldiers. ”Trade them, mix them, I do not care, but I do not want to frighten the people O'Niell has already harmed. We do this peacefully.”
The Irishman nodded, and Ian watched the man a.s.semble his squads with the efficiency he'd seen in PenDragon's ranks. But it was the fairness and trust bestowed that stunned him more.
”Sir Pierce, take yours to the river's end and remain out of sight. We watch only. O'Niell is mine,” he said with crisp command, and Pierce nodded. ”Maguire-” Ian's head came around, his jaw bearing an undignified slack. ”I suggest you send word to your holdings to prepare, should this not be a lie.” Gaelan's look said he would cut Patrick slice by slice if it was. ”But for G.o.d's sake, be certain they are discreet. This may be our only chance.”
”Where will you be?”
”Searching.”
”Alone?”
Gaelan held his hand out for Fionna and she climbed to the saddle.
”Not quite,” Fionna said with a cryptic look at Ian. His features went tight with understanding, and if she did not know better, she would swear he was afraid for PenDragon.
Gaelan didn't notice the exchange as he wheeled the beast about and tossed, ”Keep that b.a.s.t.a.r.d alive”-he gestured to Patrick-”until we need him,” before riding into the dark.
”She is not dead.”
”Sweet Jesu, I pray not.”
Fionna tilted her head to look at him. ”In your heart, Gaelan, you know.”
His features worked into misery. ”I want to believe.” He halted before her cottage and she slid from the mount, her back to him for a moment before she turned to face him.
The storm whipped at her long hair, dragging it across her throat.
Rain pearled on her upturned face.
”Trust what you hear and see this day, PenDragon.” She laid her hand over his. ”'Tis the magic of ancients. Of your family.” She pressed something into his hand, closing his fist around it. ”Your love for her will not fail you.” She turned into the cottage and Gaelan opened his hand, staring at the small smooth stone, the color of his wife's eyes.
Clutching it tightly, he kissed his fist and turned into the woods.
In the downpour, Fionna stood in a circle of white stones, naked to nature's wrath, pointing the wand and marking the ground. The ground burst with a ring of blue fire and she laid the branch on a block of stone. She spilled water into a bowl, a sprinkle of herbs, then straightened and raised her hand, palms out, her head dropped back.
She chanted. Over and over.
A heavy blue vapor surrounded her, swept like tendrils to envelop her until she was scarcely recognizable. She faced north, south, then east and west, chanting softly in Gaelic.
”Erinn Fenain. Son of Finn MacCoul. Warrior creed. Come to me. Defend your right, your honor pure.”
She repeated the words, and slowly figures joined her in the circle, the shape of tall men surrounding her like towers. Each bore a javelin like a staff, a short sword at their waists and gleaming in the blue light. Then abruptly the blue vapor dissipated, the fires smoking to naught.
The men turned, facing her, the tallest scowling like the thunder clouds clapping above them. ”d.a.m.n you, witch.” He looked around, shrugging into the fur mantle draping his shoulders, trying to recognize the land. ”Donegal.”
”Welcome home, brother.” Fionna despised the eagerness in her voice, but she missed him.
He met her gaze impa.s.sively. ”All are prohibited to speak-”
”I need your help.”
”Your requests betray your honor.”
”I was doing what I thought she wanted. What harm was in that?”
”'Twas a spell without the asking and you were forbidden!” He stepped out of the circle.
”I am still your sister!” She grabbed his arm. ”Listen to me now, Quinn, or I will curse you with b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then see how you survive.”
His lips trembled with a smile.
”Men masquerading as Fenian and English are slaughtering our people.”
His smile fell.
”And Siobhan is missing.”
”You could not call me with good news?” he raged.
Fionna gripped his thick bare arms. ”Help PenDragon.”