The man looked up, and chills of shock swept through Erin. The warrior on his knees before her was none other than Fennen mac Cormac. Dear God! He will know who I am, she thought with panic. No, she assured herself. He could not recognize her. Only her eyes were visible through her visor. Stop shaking, and think! she warned herself. Take great care with your words, or you will lose your brave fighters. Forget that this is Fennen.
“Rise, please,” she said aloud. “I pray merely that we not rid the land of pagans to become pagan again ourselves.”
The majority of the men now stood near by, their war trophies in hand. Erin didn’t mind that they plundered the camps. What the Vikings had had generally belonged to the Irish first.
She lifted her gold-skeined gloved hands. “My friends, we disband. Word will come when and where we will meet again.”
The troops silently melted into the forest. Erin hastily scanned faces. She came upon her cousin’s and inwardly whispered a little prayer of gratitude.
Gregory’s eyes met hers across the camp. He twisted his lips in a quick smile that indicated he was fine, then inclined his head slightly. He knew that she was in panic over Fennen.
Erin spun about, carefully taking an opposite direction into the forest from the one Fennen had taken. She met with Gregory in a prearranged spot, throwing herself into his arms, finally allowing herself to shake with the aftereffect of the confrontation.
“Fennen!” Erin whispered, “Gregory, he might have recognized me. Why didn’t I know that he was with us? You should have warned me!”
“I couldn’t, Erin, he rode in too late. All I could do was accept him graciously, as we accept all Irish who wish to band together. I couldn’t distract you before the battle.” He fell silent, holding her close, then spoke again. “Why have we disbanded, Erin?”
“Oh, Gregory, my father has called a council at Tara, and we must return home! And now we are in for trouble, for Fennen knows you are among the raiders who so successfully plague the Vikings! And Mother believes we humble ourselves and ride to the chapels together.…”
Gregory shook his head. “Fennen will not mention this raid, I’ll warrant. Your father cannot condone the exploits of the Golden Warrioress and her band because we are basically outlaws—doing what we please. Fennen is the king of Connaught. He is supposed to be following the policies of the kings, which right now suggest that all lie low until some organization can be established. He will not admit his complicity any more than I would.”
Erin shrugged. “I hope you’re right, Gregory,” she murmured. “You’d best get the horses, and we need to strip ourselves of this mail.”
Gregory frowned. “How do you know your father is calling a council?”
“Mergwin appeared in the forest.”
“Mergwin!”
Erin nodded and smiled wryly. “That old Druid does have his talents.”
Muttering beneath his breath, Gregory slipped away to find their horses. Erin continued to muse about Fennen. He had greatly endeared himself to her by his actions that day.
By the time Gregory reappeared, she had stripped off her helmet and visor and was struggling with the gold-tinged mail. He helped her silently, then likewise received her assistance.
“Erin?” Gregory queried, strangely hesitant.
“Yes, Gregory?”
Gregory’s back was to her as he carefully bundled their war gear together to be stowed in saddlebags and hidden before they reached Tara. “How did Mergwin find us? How could he have known?”
She shrugged. “Mergwin … well, sometimes he does just know things. Come on, Gregory, we have to find him again and then get going. It is lucky he did find us. My father will believe we have been with him a spell.”
They didn’t have to search for Mergwin. He trotted up to them on his bay gelding, his cape and beard flowing in the breeze. “Well?” he demanded irritably. “May we go?”
Erin and Gregory silently mounted their horses and followed behind him. They had ridden a fair distance before Erin thought to query him. She dug her heels against her horse’s side and came abreast of him on the trail. “Mergwin, why does my father call a council? Has something happened?”
His brooding eyes looked at her strangely, as if he saw something in her face. But then the look was gone and he shrugged his shoulders.
“You might say that something has happened, my lady Erin. Olaf the White has routed the Danes from the Liffey—and taken Dubhlain. The lord of the wolves has returned.”
A shaft of icy fear like none Erin had ever known ravaged her. He was back. Dear God, he was back.
Mergwin’s eyes lit on her again, dark and fathomless as he spoke with a disturbingly emotionless tone. “It is said that he will not be content with Dubhlain. That the Wolf will ride across Ireland. That he marches toward Tara.”
CHAPTER
7
“You will not leave Tara, daughter, while I am gone. I have tolerated all this nonsense about you and Gregory praying at the different shrines, but you will not leave while we fight. Do you understand me, girl?”
Erin felt a terrible lump in her throat. Tears shimmered in her eyes. Her father, her brothers, and Gregory were all leaving to face the Wolf who, it was said, traveled with thousands of warriors. The valleys of Tara were in chaos as the Irish kings banded together at last beneath the Ard-Righ to fight the common foe. “Yes, Father,” she said meekly.
He touched her chin lightly with a finger. “Ah, Erin, I have such a soft spot for you in this old heart.…” His voice roughened again. “But mind me, girl, for I mean it. We will truly have a reckoning if you disobey me when I have this Wolf to contend with.”
Erin nodded again. Her father mounted his horse and she hurried after her mother to kiss her brothers, pausing to adjust Niall’s mantle brooch. “Take care, Niall,” she whispered, trying to smile in return to her brother’s gentle grimace.
“Chin up, little sister. We will soon meet each other again.”
For him, she smiled a dazzling smile. He moved forward to say his final good-byes to his wife and Erin next came to Gregory.
“It seems the Golden Warrioress must disappear for a time,” he whispered. “I’m glad, Erin. You’ll be safe for a while.”
“Gregory, this is worse. I’m so frightened for you and my father.”
“I will come back, Erin. So will your father and brothers.”
“I believe so, Gregory. In my heart, I believe so.”
A tap on her shoulder distracted her from Gregory. Fennen stood behind her. He pulled her around and kissed her lightly but tenderly on the lips. “I will return, Erin, and when I do, we will wait no longer. We will speak to your father and be married at once.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. Perhaps when they returned, the Wolf would be dead and the Viking threat would be over. “Take care, Fennen mac Cormac,” she said softly.
He kissed her again, gently. “We will not be away long, I promise, emerald beauty,” he murmured, then made a great display of mounting his horse and galloping off to whip the men of Connaught into their ranks.
Erin turned to search for Gregory, but he had already ridden on. She saw her mother staring after her father, but Aed too was riding, cantering to reach the front of the mass procession.
Maeve slipped an arm around Erin. Together they watched as the last horse disappeared into the glare of the midday sun.
The days passed slowly at Tara. Chores became more and more tedious and mundane. To Erin had fallen the task of tending the sheep, and instead of letting her mind fill with graphic visions of bloodshed, she would lie in the grass while the sheep grazed and dream that the Irish returned victorious. The Norwegian Wolf had been slain, and she was freed from haunting memories.… Fennen gallantly threw himself at Aed’s feet, begging for his daughter in marriage, and, proud of Fennen’s courage and victories, Aed had agreed, as long as his daughter might be won.…
Just dreaming sent little thrills down Erin’
s spine, and she began to wonder with a poignant and bittersweet pain what it would truly be like to know and love a man with her every breath.
She was musing so on the afternoon that marked the fifth week of the army’s departure from Tara when she was suddenly startled back to reality by the thunder of horses’ hooves. As the sound permeated her consciousness, she sprang to a crouch, the gallop of her heart matching that of the coming sound. How far had she wandered with the flock? It could not be danger. Surely the guards would have seen an intruder.
The pounding of her heart slowed as she saw with pleasure that the rider now slowing to a canter so as not to disturb the sheep was Gregory. She stood in her worn linen robe and shouted his name joyfully, racing down the hill to throw her arms around him as he finally dismounted from his horse.
“Gregory! You’re here! Are you all right? Father—how is he? Gregory, is he all right? Niall, my—”
“Shh …” Gregory murmured, moving away slightly to smile lovingly into her anxious eyes. “Your father and brothers were fine just two days ago when I left them.” He saw the relief flash into her eyes, and he took a moment just to stare at her, never more aware of her stunning beauty. Even in old and drab work clothing, she shone, her eyes so brilliantly, flashingly green against the smooth ivory of her elegantly chiseled features, her midnight hair contrasting with the rose-flushed ivory of her skin, her fine arched brows high with inquiry.
He hugged her again, whispering, “Oh, Erin, you look so wonderful. So very wonderful after all I have seen.”
She pulled away from him anxiously. “Gregory, does it go badly? Why are you here?”
“No,” he said quickly, “things are going well. Your father wanted a messenger to return to Tara with news.” He paused, wondering whether to get to the real point of his return, or to simply allow her the pleasure first of seeing a kinsman alive and well. He opted for the latter. “It’s strange, Erin, that Wolf is a cunning fighter. We have entered into only a few battles. Those that we have joined have been ferocious and ter—” He paused; he didn’t need to describe battle to her. “Olaf strikes a village—but he kills only those who take arms against them. He steals what little he can find in the farmlands, resupplies his troops, but burns nothing and then withdraws.” Gregory frowned. “Do you know, Erin, I don’t believe that Olaf intends to march on Tara. I don’t believe he ever did. I think he is counting on our believing that he will behave as all Vikings before him and we are falling right into his trap and doing just that.”
Erin slipped her hand into her cousin’s and led him up the tiny dun where she had just recently been dreaming of days of peace. She had forgotten all such foolishness now. A frown furrowed her brow as she mulled his words and made him sit so that she could feed him from her packed meal of cheese and fresh bread.
“I don’t understand, Gregory,” she said as he began to eat voraciously. “Why would that sly Norseman want to take on all of the Irish? If he had never threatened Tara, he might have been left alone. Dubhlain has belonged to Vikings for decades. As long as they stay there, we skirt them.”
Gregory shook his head and accepted the gourd of fresh brook water she handed him. He drank a long time, the water spilling over his chin, then he wiped his chin with his sleeve, sighed, and shook his head again.
“I don’t know, Erin, but that’s exactly what worries me. No one can understand exactly what he’s up to. We harry him backward daily; soon we will hound him back to Dubhlain, and yet I don’t believe that we harry him at all. I just don’t know.…”
“I do!” Erin said with venomous enthusiasm. “My father has bested that wolf, that dog of Norway. We will be victorious!”
Gregory sensed something behind her words, something not quite natural. A personal hate so intense … Clonntairth, of course. But it was his family that had been lost to the troops of Olaf the White, and he no longer focused his hate in any particular direction. He fought Vikings any way he could; it was he who had created the spectacular troops of the Golden Warri-oress. It was Erin’s faultless courage and dignity that had made the venture a success, but the dream of vengeance had been his. But he had experienced logic and tactics and politics with his uncle, and he had seen Aed’s controlled wisdom save many a situation in which rash behavior would have been suicide.
He fought the Wolf of Norway now, and that he did was sweet. But warfare could not be personal, and Gregory realized now, a bit amazed, that he did not personally blame Olaf for the loss of his parents. He had, in fact, left a battlefield upon which he stood a chance of meeting the Norwegian face to face. Perhaps it was best that he had for he had seen the golden giant engaged in combat. No man seemed quite so powerful. He was like the wind when he came, flattening all in his path.
He glanced back to Erin, wondering why she was brooding. Then he shrugged inwardly. She had been stronger than he at Clonntairth, but Clonntairth had been three years ago. Despite the valor that only he could appreciate, she was a woman, more emotional than a man. It never occurred to him that the “Viking” she had stumbled across near Carlingsford Lough might have been the Wolf of Norway.
“Tell me, Gregory,” Erin murmured, staring ahead at the sheep, “have you seen Olaf the White?”
“I have.”
“He lives, then? You have not seen him injured?”
“Not even scratched. Many men believe he is protected by Norse gods.” He didn’t like the look in her eyes, and so he decided it was time to talk. “Erin, I petitioned to your father especially to be the messenger to bring news of the battle home. And I selected all who rode with me.”
She didn’t reply, but continued staring at the sheep. He was about to speak again when she finally murmured, “I’m glad you could come home, Gregory. I value your life as dearly as those of my brothers.”
He squeezed her hand. “We shall always be sister and brother,” he said. There was a silence between them for a moment, and then Gregory cleared his throat and spoke again. “I am glad to be home, but a visit is not why I petitioned the duty.”
She finally turned to him, her expression puzzled. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“I need you, Erin.”
She frowned. “I understand even less now, cousin.”
He drew in a breath and held it for a moment. “The Golden Warrioress must ride again.”
“What? Gregory, you must be crazy! If my father were to catch us, I would rather face a score of Danes singlehanded—”
Gregory shook his head. “We are going nowhere near your father. Athrip has been riding scout throughout the countryside. The Wolf does not threaten Tara but a group of outlaw Irish and Danes do. Althrip discovered a camp not a day’s ride from here. He believes that they will attack because Tara is presently stripped of manpower. The wives of the nobles are here, prime picking for use or sale.”
Erin thought for a moment, then spoke. “Gregory, I don’t know how I will be able to manage it. My father made me promise I would not leave, and my mother spends an hour each morning charting out the chores I must attend to about Tara.”
“Erin, there won’t be a Tara if we don’t act.”
“I cannot believe that my father would not send troops.”
“We are the troops. There is no one else. Each day the fighting becomes more critical as Dubhlain is reached. I have all who can be spared! Your father trusts me to win, Erin, and I trust myself. But we must have that element of surprise.”
“Gregory, the guards—”
“Are not enough. You must think of something, you must act.”
He saw the pain flash through her face. He wasn’t quite sure which hurt her the most—donning the costume again and facing the barbarians, or going against the direct orders of her father.
She winced only momentarily, then her beautiful features became devoid of emotion. “I know what excuse to use,” she said, clearly, concisely. “You must tell my mother that Mergwin is ailing. That you will escort me to him. The men will b
e told the same story, and then it will not seem peculiar to them that their golden lady is to meet them in the same area.”
“Well thought, cousin,” Gregory murmured.
Erin stood and dusted dirt and grass from her robe. She gazed at the beautiful buildings in the distance. Tara seemed to glitter beneath the sun. She thought about that long-ago day in Mergwin’s cottage when she had dreamed of being a heroine. Now she was one. Ironically, she wanted to be anything but.
“Come,” she said, reaching a hand to her cousin. “Let us go and allow my lady mother to feast upon the sight of you and hear the good tidings about my father and brothers. Gwynn will plague you mercilessly. And then … then you will have to speak to the wives who will not see their husbands and sons again.”
Gregory slipped an arm around her shoulder. They walked down to his horse and Gregory looped the reins over his arm to lead the animal. Erin whistled loudly to the dogs and the sheep were harassed into movement.
The silent, sad little party made its way home.
Olaf the White played an incredible game of cat and mouse. For days he had struck small villages, disappearing again like lightning, always a step ahead of the Irish, always retreating toward Dubhlain.
But today he had made a stand to fight before the earthworks of Dubhlain. Employing the very forest tactics that—unknown to Aed—his daughter also incorporated, the Viking had enticed the Irish into an ambush. The battle had raged all morning and all afternoon, and continued even now, as dusk began to fall.
Caught in the midst of the bloodshed, Aed bemoaned his age even as he fought. It had seemed that the Irish had long held the field before the hilltop forest. Now he realized that it had all been illusion. One moment he had been fighting among his men, then it seemed that he had no more than blinked to find that he was surrounded by Norsemen on all sides.
I am old, he thought, I have lived a lifetime.
But no man could follow that argument when faced with certain death. He thought of Maeve, of his children, and of the Ireland he had fought to preserve and despite the odds, raised his sword, swinging, slashing.