chapter 20
Love is often the fruit of marriage.
—MOLIÈRE
“I didn’t, either, but it turned out well,” Caitriona said with a smile.
“For that matter, I had no intention of marrying Lachlan, but the man has a way with him.” Emily’s smile belied the spicy stories Eirik had heard about the couple’s volatile courtship and beginning of their marriage.
Ciara’s breath came out in panicked little gasps. “It’s not the same.”
“I am sending a messenger to your father.” The Balmoral crossed his arms over his massive chest and looked as movable as a rock. “He can carry news of your mating and wedding or your mating alone. ’Tis your choice.”
The horror that came over Ciara’s countenance would have been amusing if Eirik could not see the genuine fear and pain underneath it as well. She was terrified at the prospect of marriage. To him.
He did not like it. He did not understand it. And he would not allow it.
He moved to stand in front of her so she could see naught but him. Cupping her nape beneath her brown tresses, he squeezed with reassurance and met her troubled emerald gaze. “You have already spoken the vows that matter most. There is naught to fear in adding the priest’s blessing to our union.”
“I did not want a mate,” she whispered, moisture glazing her eyes.
Aye, she’d made that clear enough. “But you have one.”
“Yes.”
“I would be your husband as well.”
“’Tis the way of things,” she agreed with little enthusiasm.
He leaned down so their foreheads touched. “Aye.”
“It does not feel right that Abigail and Talorc are not here to witness it.” There was too much true sadness in Ciara’s words for Eirik to believe she was merely trying to put off the ceremony.
“We will ask my grandmother to come to the Sinclair holding to officiate in the public rite of a Chrechte mating upon our return.”
“You promise?”
“I do.”
“All right.”
He lifted his head and kissed the top of hers. “It will be.”
She shrugged and it bothered him.
“You are not agreeing simply to avoid your father challenging me.” As effective as the Balmoral’s methods, Eirik wanted unfettered agreement from the woman who would promise before God and man to share her life with his. “I would not kill him.”
Her gaze rose to meet his, her green depths dark with certainty. “I know.”
“Good.”
“I will not shame him.”
Eirik liked that reason even less than her agreeing to the wedding out of fear. “There is no shame in being my mate.”
“Do we have to discuss this now?” she asked, jerking her head toward the others in the room as if he had forgotten they were there. “If we are going to stand for the priest’s blessing, it is best we get it done.”
Eirik had an irrational impulse to call the whole thing off but stifled it. Whatever her reasons, Ciara had agreed to bind her life to his. It was a place of starting.
She would come to understand how well they were matched in time. He would allow no other outcome.
Ciara’s hands were cold as she placed them in Eirik’s before the priest spoke his blessing on their marriage. The words in Latin flew over her head without registering as she fought her inner demons over this wedding.
She’d agreed, not out of fear of the challenge or her shame, as Eirik thought. Of course he was right, what kind of shame could there be in mating such a strong and loyal Chrechte? She was proud, if terrified, to claim him for her own.
But she wouldn’t have…if she’d had the choice. Only she didn’t. She’d known that the night before. Her instinct to fight the additional bonds between them that this wedding would create had driven her initial denial, but she was no fool.
Not really. And now that the Chrechte vows had been spoken, there was no going back.
She was mated. If Ciara lost Eirik, she might well lose her mind as her mother had, but the option of living without him was no longer open to Ciara, either.
She could only hope becoming pregnant proved difficult as it did for so many Chrechte. She needed time to conquer one terror before taking on another. And she was far from conquering the dread being mated birthed inside her.
But love was an emotion that would not be denied, no matter how hard she tried. She loved her adopted family every bit as much as the one of her birth. And she loved her mate with everything in her soul.
It was not merely Ciara’s wolf that demanded overt connection to him. Her human heart craved it as well.
And always would.
She only hoped that in time, he would learn to love her as well. She suspected that if he did not, the dread inside her would only grow.
Eirik spoke his vows in a strong voice that rang throughout the hall. Ciara said hers with equal conviction. If she was to do this thing, she would do it with the whole of her considerable will.
Emily wanted to host a gathering at the latemeal to celebrate the nuptials, but neither Ciara nor Eirik were willing to put off speaking to the elder, Boisin.
Despite two nights without dreams or visions, Ciara’s sense of urgency had continued to grow in regard to finding the Faolchú Chridhe. And as her mate, Eirik appeared to share it.
So, after hugs of congratulation and many hearty pats on Eirik’s back, their little party of four borrowed horses from the Balmoral and rode out.
Boisin lived in a thatch-roofed cottage nearly an hour’s ride from Balmoral Castle. A white-haired old man sat on a bench outside whittling. He ignored, or did not hear, the approach of their horses, his focus entirely on the small wooden figure in his hand.
When Ciara and her companions drew near, Eirik raised his fist to indicate they should stop. Then he swung down from his horse before turning to help Ciara do the same.
The old man stood with the help of a walking stick. “Welcome, clansmen of the Sinclair. You can take the horses around back for a bucket of water and grazing.”
“Thank you, elder,” Eirik said and then nodded his head toward Lais, who grabbed the reins for two of the horses and led them away.
The others proved their good training by staying where they’d been left.
“You are Boisin?” Eirik asked.
“Aye, and who might you be?” Though the way the elder looked at them, she felt he already knew the answer.
“I am Eirik and this is my mate, Ciara.” Eirik laid a proprietary hand on her waist, but Ciara found she did not mind. “Our companions are the healer, Lais, and the seer, Mairi.”
Boisin gave Mairi a long look filled with what seemed like joyful relief, but how could that be? “So, that is your name, child. Called after the Virgin Mother then.”
“Mairi was my grandmother’s name as well,” the seer said in a quiet voice.
Boisin nodded and then met Eirik’s gaze. “You’ve come to hear stories, I’m guessing.”
“Aye. We came in hopes you would have time to share a conversation and a cup of refreshment with us.” Eirik handed the old man a skin of wine. “We would be honored if you would share your stories as well.”
“I’ve a little time, I suppose. My great-granddaughter’s birthday is a week off yet; her little figures can wait a bit.”
Ciara looked down to the whittling the man had set aside and was surprised to see a set of three exquisitely carved fairies, though the third was not done. No bigger than three inches tall, they were the perfect size for a small fist to hold in play.
“We thank you,” Eirik replied.
Boisin cocked his head to one side, giving Eirik a long look before saying, “You’re welcome, but we’ll be sharing more than stories, Éan prince. You’ve come for answers and I have them.”
Lais came back for the other two horses, giving Mairi a searching look, as if checking for any change in her well-being in the few minutes they had been apart.
She rolled her eyes. “I am fine.”
“Aye, she is safe here, with me,” Boisin said, his tone as if he was speaking of family, not a total stranger.
And then, leaning heavily on his cane, Boisin led the way into the cottage.
Inside, they found more furniture than most crofters could boast of. A table and four chairs took up one side of the single-room dwelling. A bed and chest took up the other.
The wall by the table had actual cabinets with doors, rather than the open shelves most would have made do with. But the most amazing element to the furniture was the intricate pictures carved into nearly every surface. Chrechte symbols, wolves, and conriocht were the most predominant art. The cabinet doors depicted a wolf curled into the body of a dragon though, the dragon’s tail curved over her as if in protection.
Chills went up and down Ciara’s arms at the sight. It was her and Eirik, she knew it was. Though she could not imagine how that could be.
“Your furniture is lovely,” Mairi said into the silence that had fallen over the group inside the cottage.
“I’ve spent my life carving and working with wood.” Boisin grunted. “Most of the furniture you saw at the castle was made by me, or mine.”
“You put your visions into your work,” Eirik said, his gaze fixed on the cabinet that had so entranced Ciara.
“Sometimes, I do at that. Important visions anyway.”
“You are a seer?” Mairi asked with awe.
“Aye, lass. With a few more years’ experience than you, but no greater a gift.” He shuffled to one of the chairs and sat down. “Join me. I’ve no mind to get a crick in my neck talking to you all.”
Eirik and Ciara sat, but Mairi went to the cabinet and opened it without saying anything. She stood for a moment inspecting the contents before pulling five intricately carved goblets out. She brought them to the table.
Boisin gave her an approving nod, and then poured wine into each goblet before placing it in front of one of them, leaving Lais’s near Mairi’s.
Ciara’s goblet had a wolf carved into one side and a woman holding a stone on the other. The carved lines that radiated out from the stone made it seem like the stone glowed near as bright at the sun.
She looked over to Eirik’s goblet and saw that it had a dragon carved all the way around it, but a raven was etched into its base. Mairi’s goblet also had a wolf, but the other side had a woman surrounded by the small animals of the forest.
She met Ciara’s eyes, her own filled with wonder. Then Mairi cast her glance toward Boisin. “How did you know?”
“About your affinity with the small creatures of the earth? I saw it, just as you saw me in dream after dream. I’ve been calling you to come and learn, lass, for years now.” He sighed. “But you could not come before this. It has all happened as it must.”
“What do you mean?” Ciara asked, feeling like she was in the presence of true wisdom.
“The little one’s journey ends here for now. I’ve much to teach her and not many years left to do it in.”
“She said she had to join the quest,” Lais said from the doorway. “The Faolchú Chridhe has not been found yet.”
Boisin took a sip of his wine and gave it an approving nod. “The quest brought her here, where she needs to be. ’Tis all.”
“But—”
“You’d best decide if you want a mate, or not, young eagle.” Boisin narrowed his eyes at Lais, his expression turning crafty. “I’ve got a grandson who would find this little girl lovely indeed.”
“Want is not the problem,” Mairi said softly when Lais looked ready for an apoplectic attack.
Boisin shook his head. “Ah, the boy does not feel worthy.”
“I am no boy.” Lais had finally found his voice.
Boisin did not appear impressed. “Son, when you’ve lived the years I have, you can call boy those you like.”
Lais opened his mouth to argue, but Mairi shoved a goblet of wine into his hands. “You must be thirsty after seeing to the horses. Take a drink.”
Looking bewildered, the eagle obeyed, but as he lowered the goblet, his eyes focused on the carving.
Lais’s goblet had a wolf with an eagle perched on its back. The other side had the Chrechte symbol for love and mating entwined as it often was in the markings used to signify a mating.
He studied the carving for several seconds in silence and then frowned at Boisin. “What does this mean?”
“It means that if you are man enough, your future can be brighter than you think you deserve.”
Lais shook his head, but did not reply. He moved to his usual spot…sentinel behind Mairi. Ciara noted that for the first time since she’d met the other woman, the young seer looked unworried by anything.
Boisin pointed a gnarled finger toward Ciara. “I’ve waited long enough for your arrival as well, child. I was beginning to think I would die before you answered the call of the stone.”
“I am sorry.” Heat stole into her cheeks as shame at her own cowardice engulfed her.
“You learned to fear your gifts before you learned to use them.” The understanding in the old man’s still bright gaze soothed the pain in Ciara’s heart. “’Tis understandable, but ’tis also reason for rejoicing that you are here now.”
“You know of my dreams.”
“I have a story to tell you, child. Will you listen?”
“Yes.” How could she do anything else?
Boisin cleared his throat, took a sip of wine, and then cleared his throat again. When he began to speak, it was in a voice that could mesmerize an entire clan.
“In the days before our people settled into homes of wood and farming, the Chrechte wandered the earth. We hunted for our food and gathered what the earth provided. Some years were bountiful, some lean, but always we waged war for the right to hunt in bigger territories. Much as the clans fight for bigger borders on their holdings today. In those days, there were three races of the Chrechte. The Faol, a fierce people who shared their natures with the wolves.”
“I know what the Faol are,” Ciara said with a tinge of exasperation.
“A good story cannot be rushed.” Boisin frowned reprovingly. “And it loses its strength when you interrupt, do ye ken?”
Properly chastised, Ciara nodded. “I apologize.”
“’Tis understandable. You are impatient to reach the end of your journey, but if you rush, you may miss the signs for which way to go.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Now, as I was saying.” But he went through his sipping his wine and clearing his throat ritual again. At this rate the elder was going to be inebriated before he finished his tale.
Ciara was determined not to interrupt the flow of words again.
“There were the Paindeal, another people fierce in battle and fond of war as well. They shared their natures with the big cats of prey and even a wolf would think twice before engaging them in battle. The final race were the Éan, the people of the Chrechte most likely to remember the true spiritual ways. Though they shared nature with eagles and hawks, birds of prey, they also shared their nature with the ravens, birds with no instinct to kill. ’Twas the ravens who were charged with keeping their sacred stone and designated the rulers of their people.”
Ciara had not known that, but it made sense to give those with the greatest power a nature not so warlike. The wolves and cats of prey did not have any species like the ravens in their races.
“Among the Paindeal their keepers of the stone came from the cats as black as night and larger than any wolf in the wild. But the wolves connected to the Faolchú Chridhe were white as the snow. The only wolves whose males had the ability to control their shift from their first transformation.”
He took a long drought from his goblet. “Each of the races had a protector. The Faol were protected by their conriocht, the Éan by the dragon and the Paindeal by the griffin.”
Ciara was not the only one to gasp at the confirmation that not only did Paindeal exist but they could become griffins.
“If you would lay your swords on the table,” Boisin said to Eirik.
“One is Ciara’s.”
“Aye.”
Ciara nodded her assent when she realized Eirik was waiting for it. Both swords were laid carefully across the table, their hilts in easy reach of Eirik’s big warrior’s hands.
Boisin pointed to the handle of Ciara’s sword with a finger shaky with age. “See for yourself. The conriocht, the dragon and the griffin.”
Ciara and Eirik had already seen the handles, but Lais and Mairi took a moment to look closely at the decoration on the swords.
“But then where are the Paindeal?” Eirik asked.
“All in good time, Éan prince. All in good time.”
Eirik sighed, but nodded.
Boisin cracked a grin. “Ah, the impatience of youth.”
“I apologize, elder,” Eirik said.
“No matter. Listen well, young prince and you will learn things the Éan have forgotten. Each race had its own particular strengths and weaknesses. The wolves reproduce with the most ease, though not as prolific as their human counterparts. The Paindeal healed from any illness or wound short of a mortal one with a shift. The Éan could shift at a younger age and were gifted with more seers and often had special Chrechte gifts with greater impact than their other brethren.”
“So, the Faol can have gifts like the Éan,” Ciara mused to herself.
Boisin didn’t chide her for interrupting again, but nodded. “They can indeed, though only the Éan have healers like the eagle here, and only those found most worthy by the stone at that.”
“Oh.” Lais looked dumbstruck as he seemed to realize how very unique and special his gift was.
Mairi merely smiled and nodded at him serenely.
Ciara wondered what the seer had experienced in her dreams of the elder. Whatever it was, Mairi was obviously content to be at the old man’s table and listening to his stories.
“In addition to having more children, the wolves’ protectors were more numerous. The Paindeal had one, perhaps two griffins who would live for centuries. But when one died, it could be a generation or more before their stone called forth another. The same was true of the Éan’s dragons.”
“Eirik is going to live hundreds of years?” Ciara asked in shock, forgetting her vow not to interrupt.
“Aye, barring treachery. He will. As will you.”
Hope blossomed inside her. “What do you mean?”
“You are the first true kelle born in more than a century. All others that have come before you failed to find the Faolchú Chridhe, but you will. And you will live to see your loved ones die, though not your mate. You must live, for you will save the Faol from utter destruction.”
Eirik reached over and took her hand. “All will be well, faolán.”
She tried to believe him, but the old seer’s words were not comforting, despite his promise of long life for her and Eirik. “Utter destruction?” she asked in a hushed tone.
“Aye.” Sadness came over Boisin’s features. “A plague is coming. A quickly spreading illness so great, the likes of it have never been seen before. Many will die here and in the lands across the sea. It will attack the Chrechte with even greater a virulence than it does the humans. Without the Faolchú Chridhe and its power to heal, the Faol will all die in that time.”
Horror sent chills through her. “No.”
“Aye. A seer is not always pleased by his visions,” Boisin said, whether simply in acknowledgment or warning for Ciara and Mairi, she did not know. “You must follow the stone to its hiding place behind the stone wall that is not a wall at all and bring it to the sacred caves on Sinclair land. You will return it to its proper place in the cavern of the Faol. You will know this hidden cavern by the etchings on the wall.”
She thought of the cave she had seen in her vision and thought he was right, but that didn’t help her in finding the stone or the hidden cavern for that matter. “I don’t understand.”
“To be sure, I don’t, either. If I did, I would tell you. My own family’s descendants’ lives depend on it.”