Chapter One
80 AD
Rain pelted his head as he tied up his horse to the wooden post outside his family’s home. Darkness had fallen hours before and every bone in his body ached from his journey west, but he should have been used to the elements by now. These scouting missions had become more and more frequent as trouble continued to brew. At two and twenty summers, Flynn Mac Greine was more than used to living in a world full of war and he would do aught for his king, Tuathal. But on this night, when the rain felt more like boulders crashing down on his shoulders, he was more than happy to finally be home from his latest mission. He would report to his king on the morrow. For now, he was certain his mother would have leftover stew for him like she always did.
When he went to open the door to seek comfort from their hearth, his brother came up from behind him, also soaked to the bone and weary from their journey.
“Forget something, brother?” Brennain said, and shoved Flynn’s satchel into his hands.
He was so tired that he had almost left his satchel out all night in the rain. Not that it mattered. The leather sack was already as wet as it could possibly be, as were its contents in most likelihood. “My thanks,” he grumbled, and he slung the satchel over his tired shoulder.
“Mal has been finding more and more clever ways to hide,” Brennain grunted as they walked through the door.
“Aye. And by the time we report to Tuathal that we have located his camp, he will likely have relocated yet again,” Flynn whispered. “I will not stop until the man is dead.”
“Mayhap, but that was not our order.”
“I know this well, Brennain. ‘Tis the only reason I let him live. My arrow could have ended the bastard’s life in the blink of an eye and he deserves it too, for the treatment of his poor daughter.”
Only a few moons ago, a lass named Elwynna had come to their village of Ráth Mór, seeking to warn King Tuathal of her father’s attempts at building an army. She was the kindest of lassies, but she had been ill-used by her father, who allowed his best warriors to take turns with her. Elwynna had been injured during a battle that day, but their healer, Maggie had taken her in and nursed her back to health. Since then, Elwynna had found love and married one of their finest warriors, Àdhamh, who was also Maggie’s brother. All three of them lived together in a small cottage very close to Flynn’s own.
If one thing made Flynn’s blood boil, it was the misuse of women. He had seen it too many times in his life and though the women in his own family were renown across the land as brave and powerful, that was not the case for many other lassies, such as Elwynna. Flynn would like nothing more than to take the life of her pathetic father, who was also the very cause of all these tiresome missions.
“You visit their home often, do you not?” Brennain whispered as they carefully dropped their sodden satchels on the hard-packed earthen floor of their home. His parents were likely asleep, and the brothers never wished to awaken them.
“Nay. I visit when I have business with Àdhamh, ‘tis all.” Flynn scowled at his brother. He knew where his meddlesome brother was going with his question and he had not the patience for another interrogation. Flynn was naturally a private, reserved man and, unlike his brother, he would not sleep with any lass who batted her eyes in his direction. He was a man who sought his relief as needed, but he did not tend to need it as often as his woman-loving brother.
“I believe you visited Maggie on more than one occasion,” his brother prodded. Flynn wanted to box his brother’s ears but they were equally matched in height and size, both being larger than average. Their father, Brocc, was not only one of the largest warriors in the land. He had been king of his own tuath for several years before joining High King Tuathal’s ranks. Everyone knew well enough not to mess with the three Mac Greine men, and Flynn also knew better than to try to best his brother. It would only end up with them both rolling on the floor until they were red in the face, and then their mama would come and box both their ears.
“I sliced my cursed arm open during warrior training and she is the cursed healer of the cursed tuath. Aye, I went to see her… to get stitched up.” He was much too wet and cold to deal with his brother’s prodding observation at the moment.
Brennain snorted in complete disbelief, but blessedly left it alone. So what if Flynn found Maggie’s shiny blonde hair mesmerizing when the sun was at its highest and shone down on it, making it gleam like the wheat in the fields on a breezy day? And so what if her bright blue eyes reminded him of just the way the ocean gleamed on the horizon? So what if her skin was as white as fresh buttermilk, her lips the same shade as the pink roses growing outside in his mother’s garden, and her curves reminded him of… well, his bed, and all the things they could do in it? All right, so he found Maggie to be beyond perfect. It did not mean that he visited her far too often or decided even his smallest wounds required her skilled touch.
Unclasping his cloak, he heard it fall to the floor with a soggy thud just as he pulled his tunic over his head. His trousers clung to him like a second skin and proved much more complicated to remove as he struggled to yank them down his muscular legs. His mother would be angry if he left them in a pile on the floor, as many years of scoldings had taught him. Wringing them out over the hearth fire, he watched the flames pop and hiss as the droplets of water rained down on them.
Draping the garments over a bench, he shot his brother an exhausted look over his shoulder. “I am done. My bed is calling my name. Good night.”
Just as he reached his bed and pulled a warm, dry fur over his bare torso, his brother smirked and began to strip his own clothes off. “Good night, brother. Sweet dreams of Maggie.”
Flynn growled at his brother from across the room and chucked a bar of soap from the table by his bed at his brother’s head. Brennain dodged quickly and the soap landed in the hearth fire. “Arse,” Flynn murmured to his brother.
“Och, Mama made that soap just for you with fine spices. She will have your head.” Flynn stilled. Brennain was right. His mama made the best of soaps and she had gone out of her way to make that one just for him. He would owe her an apology on the morrow. She was the sweetest mama any child could ask for, but raising two rowdy lads had made her half-crazed at times.
“Go to bed,” he huffed. How two grown men could argue like wee lads, he was not sure. They were only one summer apart in age, and both had the black hair of their father and bright green eyes of their mother. Little distinguished the two physically, but their personalities often clashed, Brennain generally being extremely loud and outspoken. Flynn preferred to stand back and observe in silence. ‘Tis what made him one of the very best informants Tuathal had, and that was precisely why Flynn also preferred to keep away from others. People asked too many questions and he knew more than most in this village. It was best to keep it that way.
Turning over in his bed, Flynn closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to drift. As usual, the swirling thoughts in his mind shifted into the form of a beautiful lass with blue eyes and golden hair.
* * * *
“Och, thank the gods you are home safely!” he heard his mother’s shrill cry of delight just before her arms encircled him in a hug. Still abed, he groaned as his mother’s grip tightened like a vise around his chest. “I always fear the worst,” she wailed.
“Let him go, Una. He is a Mac Greine warrior. He is capable of aught and more,” his father, Brocc boomed from the other side of the room. Cracking an eye open, he saw his papa leaning against the wall as he bit into an apple, almost consuming the entire piece of red fruit with one bite. Even at almost fifty years of age, his father was large, fit, and formidable.
“If I want to dote on my sons, I shall,” his wee mama said indignantly, before squeezing the life out of him once more.
“I am fine, Mama. Go torture Brennain instead.”
Brennain laughed from the table as he slurped down a steaming bowl of porridge. “She already did, wee brother. I also told her that you destroyed her soap.”
“Awe… shite,” Flynn murmured as he sat up and ran a hand through his disheveled black hair. “I did do that. My apologies, Mother.”
Waving a hand in the air, she brushed his concerns away. “’Tis all right. I am only glad to see you have returned. I can make more soap, but I cannot make more sons.”
“We can try,” his father suggested, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. She giggled as if they were a newly courting couple and not a married one of over twenty years.
Groaning, Flynn found his trousers and yanked them up his hips quickly, tying the string. His parents never stopped with their love play and it was enough to make a man go mad. He loved his parents, but with his father being a king and his mother being one of the legendary Sisters of Danu who helped save all Ériu two summers ago in the battle that won the High Throne for Tuathal, he and Brennain had grown up with heavy expectations of success. Sometimes all Flynn wanted was a wee wife and a home of his own, but until then, spying for the king was his life’s work and he was the best at it.
Walking over to the cauldron, he grabbed a clay bowl and filled it with hot porridge. Steam rose up and the sweet smell of honey filled the air. He loved how his mother sweetened their porridge with honey. “We must eat quickly and report to the king,” Flynn said around a mouthful of food.
“Aye,” Brennain agreed, standing quickly from the table.
“Did you gather any new information?” their father asked; he finally loosened his grip on his wife.
“Nothing that will be of use. We found his camp, but until Tuathal is ready to gather troops and rid the world of that bastard Mac Rochride, the bastard will only continue to move about the land, gathering more allies as he goes.”
“Tuathal has his reasons for waiting. He has spent his entire life fighting battles… and winning. He knows what he is doing,” his father claimed.
“I know. But until then, ‘tis my responsibility to keep an eye on the man and continue to report back. And every time I do, the man moves again.” It was a frustrating mission, but it was essential, he knew. He only hoped his orders would change into something more fulfilling soon.
“We need to report to the king right away. Let us go now, so we make it to warrior training on time,” Brocc stated, moving toward the door. His sons followed without question. Flynn was more than ready to report to Tuathal and, hopefully, be given more orders. He quite enjoyed the work of an informant. He was naturally quiet and reserved, and years of training had taught him to be stealthy, observant and cautious. He longed for more someday, but as an unmarried man, he was the best person for the task.
The village was already bustling as the people of Ráth Mór set out to do their daily tasks. The ironsmith pounded away in his shop, and the smell of freshly baked bread drifted on the cold wind. The road was still muddy from last night’s downpour and Flynn dodged a fairly large puddle to his left. Though a few clouds floated overhead, the sky was as brilliant a blue as… Maggie’s eyes. He winced at his foolishness. When had he become such a sorry sot? He had bedded enough bonny lassies in his lifetime and none had ever truly stuck in his mind. And yet, aside from small conversations and needing her aid with a few less than severe wounds, Flynn hardly knew the lass.
She was the sister of Àdhamh, he knew that much. They had come to Ériu from Alba after their other sister, Paulene, had been murdered by her cruel husband. Maggie had lived a sheltered life and was quite shy. She also seemed fearful of men, especially larger ones, which included him. He did not ever want to cause her fear, so he found himself torn between seeking her out one day and keeping his distance the next. There was just something about the lass that drove him wild. Unfortunately, he could do naught about it. Nor would he. He was busy serving his king and his missions were dangerous. Every new order put his life at risk and he could never drag a woman, especially one as innocent as Maggie, into his chaos.
Smoke billowed from the tops of pointed thatched roofs as their occupants burned their hearth fires. It was a familiar comfort and one he never took for granted. On any day, he could end up sleeping upon the soggy forest floor with naught but his plaid and cloak for warmth. The comforts of home must be appreciated whenever possible.
“You are quiet this morn, Flynn,” his father commented when they approached the king’s large home.
“He is quiet every day, Pa,” Brennain chortled. “’Tis nothing new.”
“Mayhap not, but I know my son well enough to know that he is stewing on something.”
“Nay,” Flynn shrugged. “’Tis naught. Only wondering about my next mission,” he lied. He would rather be gutted with his own sword than admit he had been comparing Maggie’s eyes to the cursed sky once again.
Speaking of Maggie, her brother Àdhamh was diligently guarding the entrance to the king’s home with a harried expression on his face. His hazel eyes widened with warning when they approached. The sounds of a wee babe crying from within caught Flynn’s ears. “Is something amiss?”
“Aye. King Tuathal and Queen Leannan are distraught. Their wee lad, Fedlimid, has a fever. My sister and wife are in there now, trying to calm the poor child… and his parents.”
“Is it serious?” Brocc questioned with worry in his voice.
“I cannot possibly know,” Àdhamh shrugged. “I pray not. You may enter; King Tuathal still wishes to speak to you.” Àdhamh stepped aside and pushed the door open.
The hearth fire flickered from the gust of air and the sounds of the wailing child intensified as they slowly walked through the entrance.
“Truly, I believe he is only cutting teeth,” he heard Maggie’s sweet voice say as soon as he entered the home. His gaze immediately raked over her, his heart rate picking up so fast it felt as if he had been kicked in the chest by a horse. “The lad is approaching one summer of age and I can see his wee gums are swollen. Often it can cause discomfort and a wee fever,” Maggie continued while she rummaged in a basket atop the table for an item.
Her golden hair gleamed in the firelight and her purple dress fit her curves perfectly. She had not yet noticed his arrival, which Flynn preferred because it allowed him to silently observe her in her natural state. Most times when Maggie saw him, she shut down, becoming silent and evasive. Flynn believed she feared him and it made his heart ache to think such a thing, but mayhap it was best. The more she avoided him, the easier continuing his secluded life of gathering information about the enemy would remain. He had no time for complicated relationships, and he knew that if Maggie even showed him the slightest bit of favor, he would be lost to her spell.
“Here.” She took a small clay jar with a wax seal out of her basket. “’Tis a tincture of chamomile and lavender. Simply rub it on his gums to help soothe the pain. Also, soaking a clean linen cloth in cold water and applying it to the gums will soothe and numb the swelling. Chewing on something such as a carrot will help the tooth break through the skin. I truly believe this will help wee Fedlimid. If his fever does worsen or you see other signs of illness, please fetch me.”
Queen Leannan calmed considerably as she took the clay jar from Maggie with a shaky smile. “My thanks, Maggie. You are truly a wondrous healer. We are so blessed you and Àdhamh came all the way from Alba to join our tuath.”
With a slight curtsy to her queen, Maggie smiled. “’Tis nothing at all, Queen Leannan.” Flynn watched her in wonder as she spoke so assuredly, so full of knowledge. How he wished he was privy to this side of her all the time.
Just then, Maggie shifted and finally saw him standing near the door. All the color drained from her face as her eyes widened. He saw her swallow hard, the slim column of her throat bobbing from the strain, and he frowned at her reaction to him. Was he truly so frightening? No other lass had ever looked like she would flee when she looked at him.
Fortunately, Àdhamh’s wife Elwynna had no such reservations and smiled widely when she saw they had all arrived. “’Tis the three handsome Mac Greine men,” she said, with her hands on her hips and a friendly grin. “I have been on Maggie’s heals for several moons, but I am learning so much about healing. She is wonderful, do you not think?”
Flynn, straight-faced and silent, nodded noncommittally to Elwynna’s compliment of Maggie. He agreed very much with her, but it would not do to show any emotion where the lass was concerned.
“Indeed,” his father fortunately responded. “’Tis a fine thing to have a skilled healer. To have two is a blessing. Ráth Mór continues to grow. We need you two lassies to keep us in fine form,” he grinned.
Maggie chewed her plump bottom lip nervously and picked up her basket, wringing her hands tightly against its handle. She was clearly uncomfortable, but Flynn tried to not take it personally. His brother and father alone were intimidating, but all three of them together tended to make people stand a bit straighter. The urge to give her a small smile started to overcome his resolve to keep her at a distance. He simply could not abide her fear of him.
He was not arrogant at all, unlike his brother who could flash a grin and make lassies fall to their knees, and he knew it well. Nay, Flynn knew enough from experience that he was considered a well-made man and he had two dimples that the lassies seemed to appreciate. Still, he hardly felt the need to use them, especially when his goal was to keep his private life private. But at the moment, his goal seemed to be shifting toward making Maggie feel more comfortable around him. Her blue eyes nervously flashed at him and he gave her what he hoped was a small, inviting smile that would ease her distress, yet not invite a lengthy conversation.
So, when her cheeks turned pink, he felt he had made a minor improvement in overcoming her fear of him, but then she seemed to panic, like a doe in the woods hearing a twig snap. With no word or warning, Maggie zoomed past them and out the door, the scent of rose petals and lavender trailing behind her. Och, she even smelled good, but she had run away from him. His pride bristled.
Brennain slapped him on the back hard enough to make him take a step forward. “She likes you.”
Flynn scoffed at his brother and rolled his eyes. “She likes me as much as wee Fedlimid likes cutting teeth.”
Elwynna walked past him slowly with a knowing look on her bonny face. Raising one blonde brow, she leaned in to whisper, “My sister does not do well around the lads, even those with dimples.”
Flynn went back to frowning, only this time in confusion. He supposed it was just as well. He would likely be on the road again by the morn. Lassies simply had no place in his life.
Once Maggie and Elwynna shut the door behind them, Tuathal Techtmar, High King of Ériu stepped forward, holding his wee son in his arms. It was quite a sight to see such a huge, powerful man gently holding a wee crying child. “Have you information on Rochride’s whereabouts?” he looked at both Flynn and Brennain questioningly.
“Aye,” Flynn replied. “He and his army reside in the woods to the west, for now. They move as fast as the wind, it seems. He also has more men every time I track them down.”
“I see,” Tuathal said with a nod. Queen Leannan, who was also Flynn and Brennain’s cousin, stepped forward to listen to their reports.
“If I may, my king…” Flynn hesitated, but he needed to get his feelings out in the open. “I wish to do more on my next mission than simply locate their camp. I feel strongly that Rochride is planning something. Mayhap an attack, but not quite yet. His army grows but is still much too small to take us on. Still, my instincts tell me he is up to something,”
Putting up a hand to stop Flynn’s speech, Tuathal nodded in agreement. “I am of the same mind, Flynn. I was going to ask more of you on this mission. I need to know what he is up to. You and Brennain will infiltrate his camp. He has never seen your faces and at the rate he is adding men, I do not believe he or his men will be wary of the two of you. You are a master at blending in and staying silent. Brennain is a master at casual conversation and charming information out of people. Together, I think you will succeed. It will be dangerous.”
Flynn squared his shoulders and felt a rush of excitement. He was ready for this. If he was going to spend his life gathering information for his king, he could at least use a bit of adventure. Anything was better than simply using his tracking skills every time. Any man could do that; so many of his skills were being unused.
“Aye, my king. We shall do it,” Flynn said, looking at Brennain, who smiled widely at the prospect. His brother always wore his emotions outwardly.
“My lads will not let you down, Tuathal,” Brocc added. “They have spent a lifetime protecting Ériu.”
“Aye, and I would not be where I am now if not for your family’s support. I trust any member of the Sisters of Danu’s family with my life. After all, I married one of them, did I not?” Tuathal looked lovingly at Leannan and she blushed gently at his compliment.
When their meeting had finished, Flynn and Brennain were anxious to return home to pack their satchels. At dawn, they would leave once more and this time, Flynn hoped to find out exactly what that bastard Rochride was up to.