By this time the night had caught up with them, so that the children were laid to rest. Excusing himself for the night, Tormod carried away his daughter to her room. With Fenella and Teasag carried off by Finn MacFinn and Deirdre, who placed them in the room the sisters shared.

  Escorted back to her own room, wherefore she was advised by the son of áed that he intended to hold the wedding two days from then. “I had hoped to marry upon my pa’s favourite day, the one which he wed my mother upon some forty-seven years ago. It is the holiest of Ziu’s days and the paragon Zilas, whom my father dearly loves above all other holy-men.”

  This news restored the stone that lay in Kenna’s heart so that it fell past her stomach down to her feet, so that she lost all joy for the night.

  Left to her own devices, for the remainder of the evening, she strove to find ways to escape. Her first thought as you might expect was to ply what talents she had to this end, by sewing together what cloth there was in the room, notably that laid out upon the table.

  That cloth having been left there by the servants for her to use to make a wedding dress, with the cloth of fine linen and silk greener than the ground out in the courtyard. It was her initial hope to piece together these clothes to form a rope of sorts and escape through the window.

  The difficulty she found was that there was no real ledge to lower herself down upon, only the surf of the sea far down below. What was more, was that she did not have the necessary cloth she suspected to imitate any of those old fairy-stories we are all familiar with, wherein the heroine always escaped in such a fashion.

  Her next thought was to cut apart a small roll of linen with which to note down a message, to slip to the sell-swords of the Gormcruach. So that they might in this way mount a rescue for her. The trouble with this plan was twofold; she was illiterate and did not have anyone to deliver the message for her.

  It was at this time, a new scheme developed deep in the recesses of her spirit, one that was as risky as it was manipulative. So that she came near to rejecting it, at the memory of the saying in the Canticle, notably the book of Tenjin which forbade lies and dishonesty.

  Still, she could no more assent to this marriage than she could resign herself to her fate back in Glasvhail. It was this decision that caused, her to ask Tormod the next day if she might not meet with the druid he hoped to have oversee, the celebration.

  This awakened the hitherto sleeping suspicions within the son of áed, who cast darkened eyes upon her, with a frown that appeared to reach as far up as his lined forehead. “Why may I ask, do you wish to meet with Abbot Teàrlach?”

  Hesitant over how to answer him, she thought at great length over how best to answer him on this matter. Her desire for freedom such that she took the risk to open up to an extent, feigning resignation and grief, which were directed in a different direction than she had previously expressed, “Because I had hoped to have him invite, my dearest friends join me in this celebration.”

  The resignation in her voice caught him off-guard, so that he studied her at some length, only to speak with visible relief. “I am glad you have come around, so to speak to the notion of marriage to me. For I admire your cunning, and steel-will a great deal; in many a-ways you remind me most strongly of my own sire, áed. This is why I desired your hand so desperately.”

  The earnestness in his words, uttered so eagerly in the room he had provided for her as she sat by the window knitting together the silk and linen cloth he had bought for her, had a strange effect upon her. It was not that she grew to love him then, for she did not. He was her captor and not her hero. However, she did find herself moved and very much touched by the force of his admiration for her.

  Coughing a little in embarrassment, she added to bring his attention back to her favour, “It is my hope to also have him fetch for me my pupils Doada and her sister Helga. I shall not be able to sew together a dress worthy of such a union in time, not without delaying the ceremony, and therefore require aid.”

  This request was one he was hesitant to agree to. With some pleading though, he gave up if on condition that she include his daughter Rhona, in the needle-work necessary for the dress.

  This condition to train his daughter in her arts was one that she suspected was partly to place a spy near her, to ensure that she continue with her work, and in part to bond her to the wee lass. A lass that she continued to have mixed feelings towards; and was thus loath to agree to spend the day with yet could not find a way to have her message sent without acquiescing to.

  It was the elderly abbot who after his arrival, admitted to her in bitter tones to the fact that the refugees and Gormcruach, whom she was delighted to learn (though she hid this joy) had remained within the lands of áed.

  Their refusal to abandon her was something, for which the former warrior-abbot was keen to remedy alongside Tormod. For this reason, they were keen to transmit her message to them that she was in good health and prepared to foster peace between them and the spare heir of áed.

  “Inform them that I will have need of Helga and her sister and that I desire to have Ida- oh and Arran present for my wedding!” Kenna said to the two men, with the two of them swift to wonder who this ‘Arran’ was.

  “Who is Arran?” Tormod asked curiously.

  “The chieftain of the Gormcruach and a dear friend, you will know him by the length of his beard and his great height.” She answered him, speaking readily without hesitation, certain that the sell-sword in question would understand what she hoped for from him.

  “I am to invite him and this Ida to your marriage, with the lasses to assist you in your preparations?” The old bearded abbot queried politely with a hint of disdain in his voice, having no great love for her or her ‘friends’ than she did him.

  *****

  After his departure, it was but a question of hours ere she was joined by the daughters of Ida, with the two of them arriving shortly after Rhona had.

  The granddaughter of the High-King’s favourite entering with reddened cheeks, her late arrival due entirely to her tantrum against spending time with her. With her father refusing to listen to her, the lass not one to remain unhappy for very long, being a child she was soon distracted with her needlework- a task she was rather sloppy in the working of, in Kenna’s opinion.

  Because of the lass’ lack of education in this important art, she thus, spent more time showing her how to hold her needles, and to work them with some of the spare linen than she did actually work upon the wedding-dress. This took place during the few minutes between Rhona’s entry into her room and the two youths’ arrival.

  When they did, the two of them threw themselves upon the woman they admired so much, in a torrent of tears. Holding them close to her, she felt as one who has not seen the suns in months, or as a parched man in a desert who has discovered a well of clean-water, or a milk-cow.

  A dam burst forth and for the first time in some time, Kenna found tears moistening her own eyes so that as she held them she joined them in their sobbing.

  Once their sobs had abated she dabbed at her eyes with the piece of linen she had been working at the table, with Rhona. The lasses took a bit longer to cease their crying, and when they did they listened to her tale with consternation, wherefore they recounted their own tales.

  “It took some time before everyone was calmed and gathered back together, so frightened were they of a renewed assault. The difficulty was that Elspet convinced most to abandon you, until we had caught up to the very worried Gormcruach, it was thereupon the northern-most hill in sight of the castle that Arran raged against all present.” Helga explained to her, with tear-sleeked cheeks, sounding as though in spite of the days that had passed since that time, still shocked.

  “Really? Why would he do that?” Kenna blurted out, before she could stop herself, so stunned was she by the fact that a near to complete stranger could feel so attached to her.

  “He was furious- livid even, at the prospect of your capture, and it was then that he declared his refusal to allow anyone to leave, if we did not first free you. He shamed all those who fled from Glasvhail and made it clear how little he regarded us.” Doada answered with a shudder, “He and mother had a terrible squabble, and even Freygil and Thormvrain sought to argue with him, but he would not move from his threats against us and Nordleia.”

  This reaction on the part of the leader of the Gormcruach stunned and worried Kenna, who felt glad now that she had sent abbot Teàrlach to secure peace, between all three groups.

  It was at this time that Rhona made her displeasure at having hitherto been ignored until this time known, complaining at some length. “You promised to teach me to sew better, yet all that you are doing is talking about this ‘Arran’, and your friends, Kenna! That is not just! I demand you teach me more!”

  This drew a moue of displeasure from Helga, with her sister rolling her own dark eyes at the child, asking as she did so, “And who is this lass?”

  “I am Rhona, granddaughter of the laird of this castle!” Rhona proclaimed in haughty tones, hands on her hips.

  With a long-suffering glance to the other lasses, Kenna said to them, “Aye and she is the one I have been tasked with teaching to sew, as that part of her education has been sorely lacking. Now ladies it is time to get back to work.”

  And work they did.

  For hours they toiled, and knitted, with needles clacking and cutting through the cloth as they threaded it all together, with such gusto that warriors in raging battles could only have envied them their zeal. Though she was not entirely much assistance, Rhona adapted quickly and began to show marked progress in her sewing, so that in time Kenna offered cautious praise.

  Helga for her own part remained fixedly against the lass, criticising all that she did and complaining at length, “Nay, how can you take pride in such negligible accomplishments?” For which her sister scolded and reprimanded her.

  It was then that it became clear to Helga that Doada had in her a profound passion for all children taken to the lass. It was for this reason that at every time the daughter of Tormod complained about her sister that, Doada rounded upon the older lass, who for her own part only grew more disdainful of the child.

  Seeing this growing dissent between them, Kenna scolded them all, saying, “I would almost prefer to have my throat slit than to listen to one more bitter word between you three. Either be quiet and work, or I shall have the lot of you thrown out this very window!”

  “But it was Rhona who started it,” Objected Helga with a scowl at the lass whilst pointing at her, for which she was rewarded with the younger lass sticking her tongue out at her.

  “Rhona cease that at once, or I shall rip out that very tongue, as for you Helga you are older, set an example, as the lady you ought to be.” Kenna growled furiously, shaking her head at the older lass, not understanding why she was comporting herself so poorly. “Really, you were so much better behaved in Glasvhail, when you sought to displace Daegan in my son’s affections.”

  “I would not be so sure of that latter part, just as I am not so certain that Rhona should be scolded so harshly by you lady Kenna.” Doada countered with a pitying glance to Tormod’s child.

  “Doada, do not undermine my authority in this matter,” Grumped the seamstress.

  *****

  After this, much of the squabbling was slightly more contained, with it taking place typically when Kenna’s back was turned. As though she could not hear them hissing at one another, with Rhona attempting on occasion to whine for the seamstress’s protection. Knowing that children were a fickle, pernicious lot if given this sort of preferential treatment over one another, this she did not give.

  It was towards the end of the day, after hours of this quietly determined sewing-day that Rhona exclaimed at the sight of the fine dress that her father’s supposed ‘intended’ had woven together. “I’faith, Kenna what a pretty dress! I had no inkling you could sew so neatly, or weave together silk so swiftly! You are a better hand at this, than even auntie Deirdre or old Seona down in the village!”

  Flattered and pleased in spite of herself, Kenna replied with a thin smile, “Thank you lass, doubtlessly old Seona would be wounded to hear you speak so.”

  “Aye, you are quite talented Kenna, you should take her praise without objection,” Doada advised with a teasing grin that could well have belonged on the lips of the lass’s husband, Bhàtair, who was a man renowned for his farces.

  Kenna simply shrugged in response. She was the way she was, and this she would not change for all, the world. At least not wholly, for she did recognise the need to soften herself somewhat, in matters regarding her son, whom she felt ashamed that she had not thought of in hours.

  “Are you going to make a standard for our family, or a tapestry like that which the Queen made for the High-King?” Rhona asked of her, the question one that surprised the seamstress who stared at her, baffled.

  “The Queen wove a tapestry for the King?” Doada asked politely of her with a warning glance towards Helga who pouted, at this treatment of her. “Was it beautiful?”

  The lass confirmed both points, with Kenna plunged down into the depths of despair at this knowledge. Not because she wished for the monarch’s wife to be a terrible seamstress, but rather because of how it signified that her prior ambitions to woo her with her own needlework had never been possible. Though, she had begun to grow distant from her own dreams, Kenna nonetheless felt some grief at its loss.

  “What accomplishment of the King’s did she weave?” Doada queried.

  “All of them; from his escape from his father’s tower the night of the old Mormaer’s murder, to his throwing down thirteen years later of Razenth and his father’s murderers. Oh and of the fall of the old king Donnchad,” Said the child almost bouncing in the seat she was sitting in, to the seamstress’s left, with Doada seated to her own left.

  This response amused the naturally maternal Doada, who hummed in response.

  Helga for her own part felt threatened all over again, so that she asked of her, “How do you know this?”

  “Because, my grandpappy is important, he is friends with the King unlike yours likely was!” Rhona taunted with a sneer.

  “Enough of that sort of talk, Rhona unless you wish for me to slap you,” Kenna threatened.

  “But-” Rhona stopped almost mid-word, when she caught sight of the menacing glower that the woman her father adored, sent in her direction. Pouting, she mumbled, “Well he is.”

  “Do you like tapestries?” Kenna asked of her, taking pity upon the child if clumsily so.

  This encouraged Rhona, so that she nodded several dozen times before she threw herself into an elaborate series of descriptions and explanations about the variety of tapestries she had seen in her short life.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Most of which were in Calyndros, Inverdúnis and also in Carreyrn-Keep, the laird being one that she had described as half daft, for reasons that eluded Kenna and the other women present therewith her.

  *****

  The night ended with the dress finished, and Tormod dismissing the lasses forthwith back to the encampment of the people of Glasvhail and the Gormcruach.

  Sending them away with his own message that if they did not depart soon, he would have his father’s warriors assemble within the mead hall, something that both women took utterly seriously. In a foul mood, the two sombrely returned to the camp thereon the distant hill wherefore they informed all of the menace that loomed over all of them.

  They also returned with a few choice foods as the laird’s son had no desire to comport himself in wholly an intolerable fashion towards those his ‘bride’ loved.

  This gift was the bare minimum that they might have desired from him, with the caravans of fruits and bread hardly removed from the weight of his threats against them. Returning with the lasses was Kenna’s previous dress, though this was sent on her instructions after she had donned the wedding-raiment that she had rapidly put together.

  This was an important part of her plan, with the seamstress spending a good measure of the morn’ praying to the goddess Scota and the war-god Ziu, for her own safety and that of those she loved. Kneeling by her bed, with her hands spread to either side of her.

  Adding the moment she heard Deirdre knock upon the oak-door, a swift prayer to Turan to guard her chastity, and for Tormod to be swept up now by a more sensible love, and to shed his nigh on mad passion for her.

  The silk green-dress was one which was simple in design, with paler-green sleeves at the edge near to the elbows of the dress so that it extended to her wrists. With the rest of the dress going from her neck to just above her ankles, and with dark-green thistles woven into the hem of the skirts of the dress. She had favoured a simple leather black girdle, out of the four brown and darker-brown ones that had been given to her by Tormod.

  It had been years since she had dressed so formally, with the feel of the silk unfamiliar to her. This was due to how she had never worn silk in all her life, in spite of having worked with it for more than twenty years since she had inherited her shop, from her master.

  When Fenella and Deirdre caught sight of her, they sought to have her hair braided in twin braids thrown over the front of her shoulders as she had done for Daegan, during the All Hallows’ Eve Festival of the god Fufluns.

  “You look beautiful,” Fenella exclaimed with such eagerness that Kenna almost believed her.

  “Thank you lass, that is very kind of you to say,” She replied with a hint of scepticism in her voice.

  “She is right, you do wear that dress well, with a bit of effort you could prove yourself quite the beauty,” Said Tormod’s good-sister after a thorough study all around Kenna that made her cheeks flush red. It felt strange to do so, as she had not blushed in such a fashion in almost twenty years. “Now allow us to do your hair,” Deirdre after she had given her another nod of approval, with an air of satisfaction to herself.

  “Nay, I prefer it in the simple fashion I have worn it hitherto this day,” Kenna stated in reference to the simple bow she ordinarily favoured with it tied close to her scalp, and then at times pressing it up beneath her bonnet when she wore it.

  “That shan’t do on your wedding day!” The noblewoman hissed in outrage, disgusted at the very thought of doing anything at all in a simple fashion.

  Kenna grimaced to herself. This was hardly her wedding day, for she had no intention of proceeding with the ceremony. Though, as she thought about the particulars of the theological and philosophical implications, she began to become doubtful about her situation.

  Not about the question of securing her freedom, that at least went without question. But as her son had once discussed with a red-faced Conn, the question of when a man and woman were considered married was up to interpretation.

  It was in Conn’s estimation that a couple were only bound to one another the moment that the druid pronounced the vows. Cormac had countered with the question if it was more binding if a druid of Turan presided over the nuptials than any other?

  To which Conn had said yes, with Cormac then having given his thoughts on how the Canticle’s book of Turan declared a couple man and wife once they entered the temple, after the first of the rites of marriage. A detail that had made everyone stare in astonishment, for they had no notion of such facts, save through hearsay, while Conn became so red-faced that he had had the then twelve year old lad chased from the temple.

  The truth was as Kenna later discovered thanks to Daegan, who could never keep a secret from her that, Cormac had learnt to read Romalian thanks to Corin.

  The thought that she might be bound to Tormod from the moment she entered the abbey was a horrifying one.

  Worried regarding this matter, while the man’s sister helped her to arrange her hair into the twin braids, though Kenna would have preferred not to wear.

  “We should apply a little rouge that I have in my room, from my previous visit with Baltair to Sgain,” Proposed Deirdre with the sort of easy kindliness to her that Cormac might have demonstrated.

  “Nay thank you, I do not wish to appear as a doll might.” Kenna refused hastily, still worried about the matter of at what point in the ceremony she was to be bound to the nobleman. It would not do if it was near to the entrance, for that would prove itself a betrayal to her mind, against Murchadh.

  Deirdre and Fenella strove and argued in favour of make-up and rouge, which was of crude design in comparison to that found in Theodosianople or certain parts of Gallia.

  With much of it shipped from the latter kingdom. Though they failed in this endeavour, they did succeed in planting upon her head a circlet made from a garland of thistles and flowers. Gold-lilies, which had become popular in the after-days of the Queen Marthe’s marriage to the Thistle-King Siomon, were the principal flowers on her head, with some purple, white and blue lilies and roses also planted upon her brow and in her brown hair.

  Their desire to have her prettied up for Tormod was more out of affection, for the warrior than for her, it still made her heart tighten with remorse for what was to come. They would surely feel betrayed, the widow mused feeling pity for them.

  *****

  As though to spite all her worries, it took little time for her to cross from the castle, through the village and to the southern temple which was an hour away on foot. It would be the monks of Ziu, who were engaged to bless the union due to the sacredness of oaths sworn in his name. With Kenna arriving there so swiftly due to the grooms left at the keep who had prepared two horses for them.

  Carried forthwith to the temple in under an hour, they arrived to find that almost a third of the large town of some a thousand people had shown themselves. They had come, more out of curiosity to see the lady that had captured the admiration of their beloved Tormod.

  Of the some two hundred and fifty or so people present, for they had a strange affection for the man who had won their affection with his careful stewardship of the needs of the town and the local countryside.

  The sight of the crowds that stood outside the temple, awaiting her filled Kenna with dread, so that she trembled a little from where she sat a-horse behind Tormod’s groom. Her deer-skin boot shod feet rested on the left side of the horse, and was suddenly of great interest to her. Sliding down from the horse, wherefore she was escorted rather uneventfully to stand before the doors to the monastery’s abbey.

  It was there that Tormod stood waiting for her, as was tradition in the lands of Caledonia. Inside of the temple stood many of the household servants and some of the guards that Tormod favoured, along with some of the villagers of Nordleia. The reason for this was that the Caleds celebrated three wedding ceremony traditions. The first had been deemed unlikely to have Kenna willing to participate in it.

  The first tradition involved the groom carrying stones in a basket called a ‘creel’ and this creeling tradition involved him carrying the stone-basket all around the village until he reached her home, wherefore she was to greet him with a kiss. Welcoming him in this manner as her intended, with the difficulty for the laird’s son being that it was doubtful the seamstress would perform this part of the ritual, or that it could be done given her home had been burnt to ashes.

  The second part took place before the temple doors, and involved the recitation of the creed of unity between man and woman, as read from the book of Turan in the tongue of the Caleds.

  After this came the last rite, which took place within the temple itself, where the same section of the book would be read in Romalian. What was more was that clan cloaks were to be worn, if the couple belonged to certain clans, and they were to be torn off by the groom who was to bind them together. The problem with this for Kenna was that she did not belong to a clan, though she did have her travel cloak, as provided by Deirdre. She had a sneaking suspicion that it was Tormod’s hope to proceed with this particular rite.

  The temple interior had a high-vaulted wooden ceiling, with painted images of the most noteworthy of Ziu’s servants and heroes from past centuries decorating the walls. The walls had been built with red-wood taken from the local temple and with the ground laden with benches for people to seat themselves, with each of them facing forward in the direction of the statue of Ziu.

  The war-god was depicted as a man in his prime of life, with a thick-long beard and a simple hauberk with his sword thrust down before him, with his hands on the pommel.

  The whole statue was three times larger than the average man, and made of local ash-wood and welded into the back-wall of the temple. To either side of the aisle that led up to the altar of Ziu would stand the red-robed monks all of whom had their hoods pulled up, and were to be preoccupied with reciting the ancient Romalian hymn from the book of Turan.

  This sounded odd to hear the beautiful love-psalm recited by the deep voices of the male monks, when the song had been intended to be sung by Turanian nuns.

  Or so this would be how things would play out, as things stood they sang the old psalm of celebration of the goddess, in the Caled tongue. All of them lined up in the courtyard of the temple, dressed in their finest robes and with almost stern looks in their eyes.

  “Eagles squawked and flew, skies high were blue,

  Airy breezes trailed about through trees-laden with dew,

  In the glades as upon the hills as a shooting-star,

  Light was seen and tall and fair seen from afar,

  Turan could be seen dancing this is true,

  Hair shimmering and glowing as might a star,

  Pink dress a-flaring as she wove along the glade,

  Thereby the cedars her giggles resounded,

  Snow-white and poppy-red,

  Arms unblemished danced down then above head,

  Jays and herons, and deer gathered,

  All as awed as I by she most-fair,

  Her titters joy itself and without an evil-thread,

  Tresses wove then dove, gold her hair,

  O heart throbbing and eyes a-tearing,

  How could a man not love the maid in the glade?

  Dress flashing blue then pink anew,

  Birds swooned from trees-laden with dew,

  In the glades as upon the hills prettier than a star,

  Her light was seen from afar,

  Turan o Turan you of the pink hue,

  Hair shimmering and glowing as might a star,

  Doubtlessly you weave still thy spell in the glade.”

  At the end of the assembly of people, just before the temple doors stood the hooded abbot, with his thick beard flowing down to his chest. Hunched, he arrived with Tormod standing before him, with his beard newly trimmed and long hair tied together in a simple braid.

  With the man dressed in a simple green silk tunic, and dark green woollen trousers, and his feet shod in deer-skin boots, with his hands in turn shod in leather riding gloves that were honey-brown. His tunic was also adorned at the hems and sleeves with little red-silk hatchets embroidered into these parts of the tunic.

  In all he cut an impressive figure that seemed all the grander with his scarlet-silk cloak with its deep-red crossed hatchets on the back of it, pinned into place with a hatchet-shaped silver brooch.

  Kenna could freely admit as she was escorted by the man’s houndsman, who had waited at the doors for her, in order to fulfill this duty, that Tormod was incredibly handsome. He appealed to her with his masculine air and figure, which was muscular and tall where she was feminine and petite.

  Her oath to Murchadh though remained foremost in her mind though, as she reluctantly allowed herself to almost be dragged down the courtyard of the abbey. Brought forward to stand by the entranced and immensely pleased Tormod, who had his daughter just behind him, Kenna found that the lass’s dress was a fine red-silken one that she could have sewn together better herself. This raised a sense of irritation within her heart so that she felt a sense of contempt for the local seamstress, as the dress was not only uncomfortable for the lass but visibly ill-fitted.

  Many of the villagers though hardly took notice of this, or of the monk who came to stand a short distance behind father and daughter, or of how several monks came to stand by the groomsmen.

  Not all the people of the village or monks were human though, with there being a healthy population of Tigruns, Ratvians, Minotaurs, Satyrs, and even a few Centaurs present. Many of whom appeared friendly with the nobleman, and delighted in rude or playful jests at his expense.

  The sense of community of the people of Nordleia could only prove itself an inspiration for one who had seen her own people divided continuously, in the most heart-breaking of circumstances.

  The abbot hunched forward as he was began the recitation, “We have all come together on this most sacred of days, to celebrate the union of two of the most special people in our locality. It is therefore my honour to wed these two together.”

  His voice caused much confusion, especially in the participants in the wedding, for he hissed and sounded low and his voice was ragged. None could quite discern all that he said, though they could guess the vast majority of it.

  For her own part, Kenna soon realized why it was that his voice sounded so awful, hereafter she was a little relieved and a little amused.

  He coughed, just as people began to murmur, and Fenella’s sister Teasag asked loudly of her mother, “Mama why does abbot Teàrlach’s voice sound so strange?”

  “Tush dearest,” Shushed her mother if uneasily so. “It is rude to point and to whisper so.”

  This exchange along with many others served to redden Tormod and his daughter’s ears, with the latter visibly upset while the former was more concerned for his old friend. “Are you unwell brother? Your voice is scratchy; mayhap one of your disciples could oversee the rest of the ceremony?”

  “Aye let me help you abbot,” Volunteered one of the lesser monks, who was dressed in white, proof that he was a monk sworn to Orcus, the lord of the dead.

  It was then that the strangest event of all, at least in the eyes of those unprepared for the treachery that had been wrought by the man they deemed the abbot occurred: Bursting forth from another of the abbey doors, came a man dressed in a too-short tunic made of white linen, brandishing a sword at a few hauberk adorned Gormcruachs appeared screaming.

  “Stop! Cease this at once!” The bearded old man shrieked loudly enough to disrupt the proceedings in their entirety.

  With a shrug of his shoulders, as all turned upon him, Arran drew himself to his full-height, pushed aside the white-monk of Orcus and drew from its scabbard girded to his sash, a small dagger that he pressed upon the stunned Tormod’s throat.

  “Back, back the lot of ye! Lest death should befall thy precious laird’s son,” He menaced to the shock of all present, with the real Teàrlach coming to a halt at the back of the crowd to the right-hand side.

  “What is the meaning of this? This is a holy place, and a sacred proceeding!” Deirdre objected, offended by his disrespectful act of sacrilege.

  Though she might otherwise have been offended herself, Kenna placed no stock upon the holiness of this day at that moment. For the day of Zilas had already been profaned to her mind, by Tormod and those around him, when he had sought to force her to assent to marry him against her wishes something that went contrary to all of the goddess Turan’s teachings.

  Marriage was sacred in her eyes, and not to be undertaken lightly, with the act of uniting man and woman one that could never be severed once it was done. Because of this, the man had to consent as did the lady and her kindred, with Kenna and her son having not been consulted on the matter, therefore this marriage was invalid as far as she knew (or so her son and Conn might have argued).

  “Ne’er you mind lassie, and no one move!” This last part was expostulated by Arran, just as several of the local warriors and monks made to move. “I want distance between the lot of you and the ‘couple’ who stand before me.”

  This order was punctuated with the dagger being placed nearer to the throat of the younger man, near enough to cut a small trail of blood. This felt a tad extreme in Kenna’s opinion yet she did not voice her worries, looking to Arran she waited as did all the rest of those present.

  Deirdre reached out to pull the ‘bride’ away, only for one of the monks to cast away his robe and with a growl revealed himself to be Cailean, with his terrifying double-headed war-axe in hand, removed from where it was supposed to be tied to his back with a bellow. “Back! Away with you woman!”

  “Do not harm either of them!” Tormod boldly proclaimed taking a small step towards the women, with a protective spark in his eyes.

  “What a rich statement, considering what it is you intended to do,” Arran mocked ere he motioned for another warrior who had cast away his disguise, “Seize the lass, mayhap they will all behave better once we have her in hand.”

  “Wait Arran-” Kenna said when she heard this, indignant at his taking up of a child-hostage. Such a thing went against everything she believed in.

  Arran would not heed her words, preferring to have his man seize the screaming and crying Rhona, who terrified out of her wits called for her father to help her. He might well have done something, were it not for the dagger at her throat.

  Cursing the men who had stormed his wedding, Tormod could do little, and with his men too confused and bewildered to do a single thing, to stop the barbarous sell-swords, whom could not number more than a dozen men.

  Kenna meekly followed betwixt a number of the warriors, who had arranged for the horses to be at their disposal, and had Tormod and Rhona mounted upon two separate ones.

  That of the nobleman had its reins handled by Arran who mounted after him, as to Rhona she was placed upon that of one of the Tigrun Gormcruach. Mounting the same horse as that of Arran who helped her up, once he was already in place, and without further ado they raced out thither through the gate, and into the waiting fields.

  The fields that stretched out were leagues long, and appeared empty in their entirety to her eyes, with the suns on the cusp of setting, giving the whole of the land an orange halo that only added to their beauty. The sea in the east was the perfect blend of orange and blue, with a dash of pink and crimson also intermingled with these brilliant colours.

  The castle of áed MacMurchadh, ordinarily a toughened grey-stone building was afire with the same beauty that had coloured the fields and sea.

  So that for the first time since Kenna had laid eyes upon it, it did not appear so menacing, but rather appeared almost to be a work of art. An almost holy one planted thereupon the hill of Nordleia by the sea by the gods themselves. Gone was the looming, imposing figure that had so daunted her, in its place was a warm, almost grandfatherly building.

  But what most appealed to Kenna, was the line of trees that waited upon the horizon. It was there that, the vast crowds of the fugitives of Glasvhail and the Gormcruach united under Arran were. The two groups moving further and further north on the mercenary-chieftain’s orders.

  The sound of the dozen horses’ hooves thundering upon the ground, a feeling of relief overcame the widow in the wedding dress once she was out there, at the knowledge that she was free.

  But this sentiment was weighed down by the sacrilegious act that had been committed in the name of her rescue, and at the taking of a child hostage. She said little of these sentiments, as they rode just as the suns began to set. Facing forward, Kenna deliberately forced herself not to ponder about the implications of what had just been done.

  For all knew that áed and his son Baltair would not take the news of Tormod and Rhona’s capture well. To the contrary, when they heard of what had happened, there would be much blood spilled, Kenna realized with a morbid feeling of doom settling itself upon her spirit.

  She only prayed that Arran handled that matter with far more care, than he had the delicate matter of their escape. Because he had gone awry from her plan to only have her seized, and had taken the opportunity to potentially awaken the anger of all Nordleia…

  https://www.youtube.com/@BrosKrynn