1
The wind whipped between the rocks, howling like a wolf. I stood on the edge of the cliff staring at the frothing water far below my feet. A fierce gust could pull me off balance or the ground could crumble under me and I’d fall to my death.
Or I could leap, arms outstretched to embrace the air.
It would be so easy. Just a single step—
“Muireann!” Nanny’s voice broke the fog before I saw her stooped form and beaked nose. She toddled up the old, perilous path, her round body threatening to pitch over into the water. I stepped back from the ledge, ready to keep her from falling.
“I thought I’d find you here,” she shouted over the wind. My braid was long undone, wild tendrils whipped my face.
“Oh,” Nanny scolded. “your hair.”
I’d been standing in the wind so long my lips were numb. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It will to your bridegroom.” Nanny tugged and tsked. “Fey locks, like your mother. I’ll have to comb it out before the crossing. Unless you were thinking of leaving now?” Nanny’s voice was mild, but her dark eyes were sharp as a raven’s. She already knew why I’d climbed the cliff this morn.
If Nanny had not come, I would’ve found it in me to take that final step. People would say I’d fallen to my death and the sea cheated the son of the Uí Néill chieftain of his chosen bride.
Nanny’s breath came in harsh puffs, misting the air. But she swallowed whatever she was about to say and raised a brow instead. “Is that the way you wish to go, then?” Nanny casually craned her neck to look down at the rocks. “I’ll tell them all you died.”
“It won’t deter Dòmhnall.” My bridegroom had promised he’d take this island one way or another. Marriage was our best option, he’d explained, but he wouldn’t mind shedding blood.
Marrying was the only way to prevent war. So, I must give up my life for my loved ones.
“It’s not too late,” Nanny said gently. She wouldn’t blame me if I tried to escape this marriage one way or another.
“No, Nanny. I’ll do my duty.” But I cast one longing look at the sea then followed my ancient nurse down the cliff and back towards home.
“So much fog this morning.” Nanny chattered as I helped her over the slippery rocks. “Twill make it hard for your bridegroom to fetch you.”
“It will break by midday,” I murmured. Would that the fog would shroud this island and hide it forever.
“Not this fog. Thick as a witch’s brew.”
I raised a brow at her. I was not the only woman the villagers called ‘witch.’
“Oh, I didn’t stir it up,” Nanny waved a hand as if she was talking of making stew, not controlling the weather. “Your mother knew how to call a storm, but she never taught me.”
“Nor I.”
“Pity.”
“We could not hide forever,” I murmured.
“We could, but your father would not like it. Your mother had a place she kept hidden away. A cabin on a tiny island. It’s still hidden by her spells, but a woman in need could find it.” Nanny’s eyes were black as a raven’s, staring into mine.
I shook my head. “I promised. Even if I run and hide, Dòmhnall will still come. And father would be in trouble.”
“Your father should’ve never promised you to him.”
“He had no choice,” I whispered. We’d reached the edge of the village and anyone might overhear us. I quickened my steps, linking my arm with Nanny’s to urge her along.
“What is the world coming to, that women are pawns in the hands of men? If your mother was alive—”
The wind whipped up, tossing her words out to sea. We bowed before the howling force, squinting and turning our faces aside.
Out on the water, the mist boiled with strange shapes. The swirling grey solidified for a moment into a curving prow. I started. Was that a ship out on the water?
“What is it?” Nanny shouted, looking where I stared.
“Nothing.” Nothing emerged from the fog. Not a ship, not a ghost. Perhaps I’d seen a vision but more likely it was nothing at all.
We ran the rest of the way to my father’s hall as wind sang like a lone wolf, a piercing cry of sorrow.
Once inside, Nanny secreted me to her favorite room off the kitchen. Here the light and warmth from the great hall’s hearth fire seeped in, but the herb bundles hanging from the lower roof gave us some privacy. Servants hustled about, but none dared trespass Nanny’s realm. I sat and sipped an herbal brew while Nanny fussed with my hair.
“Shall I tell you the story?”
“Why not,” I sighed. I’d heard all of Nanny’s stories before, but it would help pass the time.
“Once there was a great and fearsome warrior named The Wolf. He was the strongest and best of the king’s men but wished to keep his strength forever. He went to a witch for a spell to make him the greatest warrior of all time. The witch warned him that her magic had a price. She would make him the greatest warrior of all, but he—”
I closed my eyes and allowed Nanny’s voice to take me away as her clever fingers untangled the snarls in my hair. By the end of the story, my dark mane was tamed into a respectable plait befitting of a lady. And I was calm.
“There,” Nanny said at last, stepping back. “Now you can change, and you’ll be ready for the crossing.”
“I’m not changing.” The gown I’d worn to hike the hill wasn’t my best, but it was clean, and the color reminded me of my mother’s eyes. Paired with my sturdy boots, it would serve to deliver me to my intended.
“You’re wearing that to the wedding?” Nanny sounded scandalized. “What will the Uí Néill think of us?”
“The same as they already do.” I rose from the stool. I had no great height, but I towered over Nanny. “That we’re pagan savages.”
“Don’t let Father Pátraic hear you say that.” Nanny crossed herself but her rolling eyes belied her piety.
I grinned. “He knows he has work ahead of him to make our people forget the old ways. He’ll think it easier with me gone.”
“Dòmhnall won’t let you keep the old ways.” Nanny bustled about, gathering herbs into a linen cloth. “The Uí Néill keep the Christian faith.”
“I’ll never abandon my mother’s teachings.” I crossed to the hearth and gazed into a bowl of water. For a moment, smoke seemed to cross its surface. I stilled, willing the vision to come to me. My mother could scry at will, but my own visions came to me unbidden.
Before the smooth surface could show me anything, Nanny plopped down on the hearth, bumping the bowl. As she tsked and wiped up spilt water, the smoke swirled away.
“Your husband might insist you do. According to Father Pátraic, Christians prefer their wives silent and biddable.”
“Silent maybe. I doubt I’ll have much to say to the Uí Néill. But my new husband has a lesson coming to him, if he thinks I’ll be biddable.”
“Good lass.” Nanny handed me the linen bundle. “Keep that secret and safe. You’ll know how to use it, if the time comes.” She winked but I tucked away her offering carefully. My mother taught me to use herbs to ward off sickness and prevent quickening since I was old enough to tend a fire. I had my own herb sachets in my packed belongings. I’d not bear Dòmhnall a child unless I wished.