Brigid of Ireland (Daughters of Ireland Book 1) by Cindy Thomson Page A
Authors: Cindy Thomson
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daughter’s home and plunged a dagger into Brigid then. But it hadn’t worked and as a high druid, he could not do it himself. The gods expected druids to obey a strict code of behavior. He needed someone else to commit necessary but unseemly deeds. He’d done it before when he hired beggars to dress in white robes and terrify the monks. And successful, that was. Those men had done little to advance Christianity since.
Troya shifted from one foot to the other and hissed, “Why do ye do that marching around? Makes my head spin.”
“Silence!” His pacing habit helped him compose his words and served to unnerve those watching. He delighted in the experience, thought it more delicious than a harvest’s first fruits.
He continued to pace around the old woman and think. This Brigid, the one a passing prophet once spoke to him about, had received the prophecy of being either a curse or a blessing. And now she had become a Christian with works and deeds, not in word only. Her power was so great that her god obeyed her command of destruction. She’d already cursed an apple orchard and seen its red fruit shrivel like beached salmon. Her displays of power had to cease. He paused and brought his fingers to his chin. If not extinguished, then perhaps such power could be used for his purposes.
Ardan tapped the old woman’s shoulder with his walking stick. “Ye’ll have the honor ye deserve, and the gods will know. They bless those who have high standing among men.”
Gullible woman. Her bitterness had caused her to be rejected by the master of Glasgleann, opening the door for Ardan to use her. Things were going well. Eventually, Brigid would be eliminated by Troya’s hand and King Dunlaing would have Troya executed.
Troya grinned. Her mouth contained few teeth. She bowed in front of him. This was almost too easy.
“Troya, at times it is a burden that I am the only one in all of southern Ireland who understands the skirmish that must take place – a conflict not resolved with swords on a battlefield, nay.”
She cocked her head and wrinkled her thin nose. No matter. He alone understood. This struggle was for the hearts of the entire Irish race. He had to be clever and timely to assure that everyone would do as Troya did – bow to him, the leader of all the druids, and not to the god of Patrick and Brigid.
He remembered the prophet’s words. “Brigid, the one born to Brocca, shall be Ireland’s curse or blessing. I cannot predict which path she will follow.”
The prophet couldn’t predict. That could only mean that the woman’s actions would determine her fate. Ardan pondered the meaning and circled his apprentice once more. She stared with questioning eyes which he ignored.
A blessing was Christianity’s way of saying that belief in their god would overtake the island, but a curse – that was something for a druid to command.
Chapter 11
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.”
Proverbs 13:12
When Brigid returned from delivering the fox, she thought it best not to stay so close to Dunlaing, and bid an affectionate farewell to Liam, his brother and his family. Ardan was Dunlaing’s druid and he was after her. Besides, she wanted to head west toward her mother. All she knew was that her mother belonged to a druid in Munster, but somehow she’d find her.
Meandering through the countryside and around rocky outcrops and clusters of forests, she kept her eyes toward the setting sun. She attempted to collect all the bits of information she had in her mind and make sense of them.
Cook had said the druid treated her mother well. How could she know?
Brigid slowed the horse to allow herself time to think. She remembered that strange shepherd who had surprised her at Glasgleann. He’d said Cook had not told her everything. Brigid smacked her hand on her forehead. MacFirbis’s woman had spoken of the love of her youth! They had to be one and the same.
Brigid shook
Troya shifted from one foot to the other and hissed, “Why do ye do that marching around? Makes my head spin.”
“Silence!” His pacing habit helped him compose his words and served to unnerve those watching. He delighted in the experience, thought it more delicious than a harvest’s first fruits.
He continued to pace around the old woman and think. This Brigid, the one a passing prophet once spoke to him about, had received the prophecy of being either a curse or a blessing. And now she had become a Christian with works and deeds, not in word only. Her power was so great that her god obeyed her command of destruction. She’d already cursed an apple orchard and seen its red fruit shrivel like beached salmon. Her displays of power had to cease. He paused and brought his fingers to his chin. If not extinguished, then perhaps such power could be used for his purposes.
Ardan tapped the old woman’s shoulder with his walking stick. “Ye’ll have the honor ye deserve, and the gods will know. They bless those who have high standing among men.”
Gullible woman. Her bitterness had caused her to be rejected by the master of Glasgleann, opening the door for Ardan to use her. Things were going well. Eventually, Brigid would be eliminated by Troya’s hand and King Dunlaing would have Troya executed.
Troya grinned. Her mouth contained few teeth. She bowed in front of him. This was almost too easy.
“Troya, at times it is a burden that I am the only one in all of southern Ireland who understands the skirmish that must take place – a conflict not resolved with swords on a battlefield, nay.”
She cocked her head and wrinkled her thin nose. No matter. He alone understood. This struggle was for the hearts of the entire Irish race. He had to be clever and timely to assure that everyone would do as Troya did – bow to him, the leader of all the druids, and not to the god of Patrick and Brigid.
He remembered the prophet’s words. “Brigid, the one born to Brocca, shall be Ireland’s curse or blessing. I cannot predict which path she will follow.”
The prophet couldn’t predict. That could only mean that the woman’s actions would determine her fate. Ardan pondered the meaning and circled his apprentice once more. She stared with questioning eyes which he ignored.
A blessing was Christianity’s way of saying that belief in their god would overtake the island, but a curse – that was something for a druid to command.
Chapter 11
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.”
Proverbs 13:12
When Brigid returned from delivering the fox, she thought it best not to stay so close to Dunlaing, and bid an affectionate farewell to Liam, his brother and his family. Ardan was Dunlaing’s druid and he was after her. Besides, she wanted to head west toward her mother. All she knew was that her mother belonged to a druid in Munster, but somehow she’d find her.
Meandering through the countryside and around rocky outcrops and clusters of forests, she kept her eyes toward the setting sun. She attempted to collect all the bits of information she had in her mind and make sense of them.
Cook had said the druid treated her mother well. How could she know?
Brigid slowed the horse to allow herself time to think. She remembered that strange shepherd who had surprised her at Glasgleann. He’d said Cook had not told her everything. Brigid smacked her hand on her forehead. MacFirbis’s woman had spoken of the love of her youth! They had to be one and the same.
Brigid shook
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