not with Teague threatening their borders.
Rohrke needed a powerful al y. And he would have one as soon as he wed the daughter of King Maitias Mac Murchada.
He should never have hesitated with the marriage. Sláine Mac Murchada was a comely lass in possession of a generous dowry, and Rohrke should have wed her the day Maitias made his offer.
And yet naught burned between them when their eyes met. No shock of awareness sizzled through Rohrke when he looked upon Sláine’s lithe form. She would never be the woman of his heart. Not that such a thing was crucial in a royal marriage. But he’d hoped to wed a woman he could look upon as something other than a sister.
Rohrke’s Druid, Sedric, had advised him to marry Sláine anyway. Her father’s al iance was far too important to cast aside such an offer.
Rohrke scratched the back of his neck. His clan had ruled this fine corner of Ireland for centuries, and there was no better land to be found in al the country. ’Twas no wonder Teague wanted it. But he would never have it.
Teague Ó Fionn’s aggression was entirely unforeseen. Only a year ago, Rohrke had al ied with him against the King of Uisnech, together defeating him soundly. Rohrke did not know what had happened to ruin their friendship. This antagonism of Teague’s felt very strange. He could think of no reason for it.
Rohrke felt the air cooling, and saw that Áine had nearly made her journey across the sky, and would soon lie down to sleep in the west. In the meantime, a mist formed over the grass and tal shadows fel on the land, turning Rohrke towards home – the vil age of Bal ygur.
The wind arose suddenly, and he felt the chil of night skittering down the back of his neck. A moment later, a wizened old woman touched his sleeve, causing him to jump.
“What are you about, crone?” he barked.
“Lost my way,” she croaked.
Rohrke jabbed his fingers through his hair. His agitation did no one any good. He needed to get back to the vil age and begin preparations for war. “Where are you going?” he asked the old woman.
“To Clynabroga.”
She lost her footing, and when he took her arm to steady her, he felt an odd sensation rush through his hand and up his arm. He released her abruptly. No doubt ’twas merely due to his nerves over Teague. “Ach, woman. Clynabroga is a fair day’s walk.” He looked at her bent body.
“Two, maybe three days for the likes o’ you.”
“Which direction?” she asked, as though he would al ow an old woman to begin such a long walk at that hour. Alone.
“You’l come with me.” He turned to glance north-east, in the direction of Clynabroga. “I’l find someone to take you there on the morrow.”
But when he looked back to her, she was gone. He searched in every direction, but she’d disappeared in the mist. Rohrke muttered a smal curse and took to the trail back to Bal ygur.
There was naught he could do about the woman now, but he hoped no one would find her corpse on the morrow. Not only would it bother his conscience for the rest of his life, it would be the worst omen possible. He needed only favourable portents as he embarked on war with Teague Ó Fionn.
“Ah! There you are,” said Geileis Riaghan, approaching him on the footpath. She was a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty who’d appeared with her servant, Peadar, in Bal ygur a few weeks before. Rohrke wondered about her, but every time he started to ask questions about who she was and from whence she’d come, he lost track of his thoughts. But not this time. He was determined to keep his wits about him as they talked.
She took his arm and walked beside him. He felt potent and mighty when she stood alongside him, and he knew anything was possible. “Did you see an old woman walking this way?”
“Old woman?” Geileis laughed. “Who would be out at this time of night? Surely Áine does not walk these hil s at twilight.”
Rohrke masked his surprise. The thought of Áine had not come to him,
Rohrke needed a powerful al y. And he would have one as soon as he wed the daughter of King Maitias Mac Murchada.
He should never have hesitated with the marriage. Sláine Mac Murchada was a comely lass in possession of a generous dowry, and Rohrke should have wed her the day Maitias made his offer.
And yet naught burned between them when their eyes met. No shock of awareness sizzled through Rohrke when he looked upon Sláine’s lithe form. She would never be the woman of his heart. Not that such a thing was crucial in a royal marriage. But he’d hoped to wed a woman he could look upon as something other than a sister.
Rohrke’s Druid, Sedric, had advised him to marry Sláine anyway. Her father’s al iance was far too important to cast aside such an offer.
Rohrke scratched the back of his neck. His clan had ruled this fine corner of Ireland for centuries, and there was no better land to be found in al the country. ’Twas no wonder Teague wanted it. But he would never have it.
Teague Ó Fionn’s aggression was entirely unforeseen. Only a year ago, Rohrke had al ied with him against the King of Uisnech, together defeating him soundly. Rohrke did not know what had happened to ruin their friendship. This antagonism of Teague’s felt very strange. He could think of no reason for it.
Rohrke felt the air cooling, and saw that Áine had nearly made her journey across the sky, and would soon lie down to sleep in the west. In the meantime, a mist formed over the grass and tal shadows fel on the land, turning Rohrke towards home – the vil age of Bal ygur.
The wind arose suddenly, and he felt the chil of night skittering down the back of his neck. A moment later, a wizened old woman touched his sleeve, causing him to jump.
“What are you about, crone?” he barked.
“Lost my way,” she croaked.
Rohrke jabbed his fingers through his hair. His agitation did no one any good. He needed to get back to the vil age and begin preparations for war. “Where are you going?” he asked the old woman.
“To Clynabroga.”
She lost her footing, and when he took her arm to steady her, he felt an odd sensation rush through his hand and up his arm. He released her abruptly. No doubt ’twas merely due to his nerves over Teague. “Ach, woman. Clynabroga is a fair day’s walk.” He looked at her bent body.
“Two, maybe three days for the likes o’ you.”
“Which direction?” she asked, as though he would al ow an old woman to begin such a long walk at that hour. Alone.
“You’l come with me.” He turned to glance north-east, in the direction of Clynabroga. “I’l find someone to take you there on the morrow.”
But when he looked back to her, she was gone. He searched in every direction, but she’d disappeared in the mist. Rohrke muttered a smal curse and took to the trail back to Bal ygur.
There was naught he could do about the woman now, but he hoped no one would find her corpse on the morrow. Not only would it bother his conscience for the rest of his life, it would be the worst omen possible. He needed only favourable portents as he embarked on war with Teague Ó Fionn.
“Ah! There you are,” said Geileis Riaghan, approaching him on the footpath. She was a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty who’d appeared with her servant, Peadar, in Bal ygur a few weeks before. Rohrke wondered about her, but every time he started to ask questions about who she was and from whence she’d come, he lost track of his thoughts. But not this time. He was determined to keep his wits about him as they talked.
She took his arm and walked beside him. He felt potent and mighty when she stood alongside him, and he knew anything was possible. “Did you see an old woman walking this way?”
“Old woman?” Geileis laughed. “Who would be out at this time of night? Surely Áine does not walk these hil s at twilight.”
Rohrke masked his surprise. The thought of Áine had not come to him,
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