UNDAUNTED ROSES
by Pat McDermott

Excerpt - UNINVITED GUESTS

An emergency mission to rescue her brother Liam sends Ireland's Princess Talty
and her warrior companions, Breda and Pauline, to an 11th century Ireland.
They travel with newfound friends to the home of Leesha Ni Lorcan, Trainer of Warriors,
a woman Talty will never forget. Will Leesha welcome them?

*******

Breda and Pauline walked with Liam, who said he’d filled them in on our recent chat about Kincora. I added to our intel, such as it was, by sharing Gayth’s report on Kincora’s distance from our current location.

Breda skipped over a tree root growing across the road. “What the bleedin’ feck is our current location, Tal?”

“We’re in Munster, on the edge of Killaloe, in a very old County Clare, though they don’t call it Clare here yet. We didn’t call it Clare in our world until the end of the thirteenth century.”

Though Pauline seemed indifferent to whatever we called it, or when, her pleasure at being here thrummed. “I’ve read about Kincora. Maybe we’ll see it.”

“And maybe we won’t,” I said, though part of me hoped we would.

Liam grinned again. He’d no doubt read my thoughts. Breda and Pauline fell in behind us, and he and I fell into an amiable silence that gave me time to think.

However long we might be here, and whatever happened while we were, we had no choice but to accept our current situation. I meant to savor the unscheduled break from my royal duties. Tuning in to the natural music gracing the cool night air seemed a good start. A concert composed of clip-clopping horse hooves, the rattle and scrape of wagon wheels, and the cries of nocturnal birds accompanied us. Gurgling water joined the concert as we drew near the bridge, a small but sturdy structure spanning a rushing stream.

Perhaps the scent of the water tipped off the horse and the dogs that they’d soon have a meal and a well-deserved rest. The horse whinnied and picked up speed; the dogs raced ahead of the wagon and led us across the bridge.
On the other side, three teenage boys held blazing bogwood torches. The resulting glow reminded me of a stage play whose lighting was set to mimic darkness while allowing the audience to view the scenery and actors.

Gayth, MacLoughlin, and O’Connor roared cheerful greetings at the young men, leaving no doubt in my mind that these lads were their sons. If they noticed the rest of us, strangers in twenty-first century hiking attire, they said nothing. Perhaps they were being polite. More likely, they’d seen enough foreigners to know that others besides the Irish existed.

We followed the men to the open gate of a circular stockade wall, a classic Celtic barrier constructed of thick timber posts set upright in the ground. I’d viewed replicas of these defensive walls in reproductions of ancient Irish forts and homesteads. This wall was new to me. Either it had always been present and I’d never seen this area, or the need to build it had arisen since my last visit. The thought disturbed me. Gayth had mentioned warfare.

After we passed through the gate, the young men closed it and set a bar lock across it. One of the boys climbed onto the wagon seat. When Gayth laughed and ruffled the boy’s curly hair, I pegged them as father and son. MacLoughlin and O’Connor walked with the other boys.

Breda watched them go. “Are we almost there? I’m fookin’ knackered.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Carney said, sounding amused, “but we’ll soon sit down to a proper meal.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a bite to eat,” Pauline said.

“Nor would I.” My stomach ached with hunger pangs. We’d finished the food in our backpacks hours ago.

A moment later, the round thatched cottage I remembered so well came into view, though it looked bigger than I recalled. I questioned Carney about it.

“We’ve enlarged it,” he said. “We’ve added more outbuildings too. Places for the learners to sleep and bathe, and stables for the horses. Mam’s reputation as a trainer of warriors has grown. Many families send their sons, and even a few daughters. She also welcomes travelers to stay in her extra huts.”

Would she welcome us?

*******

Cauldrons hanging from tripods swayed over fires in an open courtyard surrounded by a fence of interwoven branches and saplings. I caught whiffs of mutton, beef, onions, and other enticing aromas I couldn’t identify.

Attired in long gray tunics and aprons, five ladle-wielding women tended the cauldrons. I recognized one of them from my previous visit. If my recollection was correct, her name was Alva.

A sixth woman, dressed in a dark woolen gown and a fur-trimmed cloak, emerged from between two cauldrons. Her regal stance and the tall, thick walking stick she held made her look like a queen with a royal scepter.

Leesha.

A long, single braid hung at the front of her left shoulder. Silver had overpowered the copper-colored hair I remembered, yet her face in the firelight showed few signs of aging.

Gayth left the cart and stood smiling before her. “God be with you, Mam,” he said, kissing her cheek. Carney repeated the filial greeting.

“Welcome home, my sons.” Leesha hugged Gayth, and then she hugged Carney, whose wolfhounds were right behind him. Tails wagging, they woofed at her. “Ah, here’s my good pups!” She chuckled and rubbed their heads. “A fine welcome to you too, Flann MacLoughlin and Tomas O’Connor. We were worried when you failed to arrive by dusk.”

“Forgive us, Mam,” said Gayth. “We were delayed by travelers we met along the way.”

He stood aside. She gasped when she saw me, recovered in seconds, and assumed the defiant manner of a fighter prepared to strike a detested enemy.

So much for being overjoyed to see me.

She raised her stick and slammed it at the ground. “You! What hawthorn tree did you crawl through this time?”

The hawthorn tree. The Fairy Tree, believed to guard the gateway to the Otherworld, the realm of the Good People. What else would she think? From her furious rage, she wanted nothing to do with us. How could I blame her?

The dogs growled. Breda and Pauline positioned themselves to protect me. Liam stood beside Breda. They kept their expressions neutral, as did Gayth and Carney, who said nothing. What could they say? Would they help us, or had this been some sort of trap?

I stepped close enough to Leesha to see her tighten her grip on her walking stick. Her suspicion broke my heart. “We came through no hawthorn tree. Misfortune brought us to this place. We met your sons on the road by chance.”

“By chance? I doubt that.”

“I speak the truth. We bear no ill intent to anyone here. My companions and I are tired and hungry. May we please stay the night? We’ll sleep in the barn, or wherever you say, and we’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

She scowled at my brother and the loyal friends who stood prepared to defend me. “Enda! Where are you, boy? Give me your torch.”

The young man who’d joined Gayth on the seat of the cart obeyed. Holding her walking stick in one hand, Leesha raised the torch and studied me more closely in the light of its fluttering flames. “You look as young as you did all those years ago. How can that be? And who are these tricksters?” Extending her arm, she likewise studied Pauline and Breda, shining the light at last on Liam. Then her piercing glare bored into me. “What the devil are you doing here?” She handed the torch back to Enda, threw down her stick, and shrieked.

She’d land a good punch or two before Breda or Pauline could intervene. Whatever happened, I’d take it.

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