Tara believed she was dreaming.
She thought so because she was wearily lounging with Ethne, half-listening to her friend discuss her horse-riding chafing when Erik appeared below her, fair hair tangled with leaves.
She understood the concept of danger. She realised the lunacy of his presence within the gates, walking amongst the mundane locations of Tara's life, the ramshackle stalls, armouries and markets of her Clann. Nightfall had crept in. The vacant lots below were sparsely lit by flickering torches, impressionable to the wind's wiles.
"No..."
By uttering the word, her body forced into action. She fought to maintain a steady calm, not to upset the weather she controlled and in turn alert those around her. With the slightest wrinkle of her nose a soft wind blew the torches out.
Brushing off Ethne, she left her attendants by muttering about menstruation, racing down the steps and out to Erik. Avoiding speculation on her way down the Keep by blowing out the torches nearby with a flick of her wrist.
Darkness gobbled her up. The few people within the market meandered to the back of their stalls to fish out their flint and restart the torches.
She found Erik before her eyes adjusted to the night. Her panic manifested into a desperate search, grabbing him roughly for a quick embrace.
He yelped. She rolled on her toes and, cupping her hand over his mouth, guided him gently towards a dark corner out of view.
Erik began to breathe something in her ear but she quietened him. The addition of his hot breath tingling the nape of her neck was too much. She could not make out the words, solely focussing on the warmth of his nearness. He smelled fresh and salty like the sea. Desire welled up, she wished to arch her ivory neck and let him trail kisses up it. Or nibble gently on her earlobe-
Now was not the time.
She interlaced her sweaty palm with his and waited for the two warriors on patrol to gander a safe distance away.
All day, Tara had been watching everyone's routines, unintentionally scouting their habits as a way to sneak past them later.
The guards receded out of view, rounding the corner to the south of the Keep. They would not loop back for some time.
Tara invoked another gust of wind, rushing the clouds over the moon, obscuring them. Shrouding all forms of lumination.
Now was their chance. She gripped him tightly and pulled him from behind the stall and out into open view, the hair on his head and his height as sure a sign as any that he was not Connacta.
Potters, dyers and other tradesmen milled about after a long labour but no guards and no one with enough energy to catch the couple dashing about. They kept to the long shadows and eventually, through the Keep's door.
She willed Ethne to remain on the roof, unperturbed by her abrupt departure. She willed the serving girls to be gossiping in the kitchens, far away from her daring escapades. She said a silent prayer to the Morrigan, the Dagda and her ancestors for safe passage to her private chambers.
And they listened.
The creaking floorboards never came in as handy as they did that night. The whereabouts of people ambling about prematurely announced by bending wood. Her overfamiliarity with the building's squeaking led them safely up each flight of stairs, trying in vain to keep her footwork light so as not to announce the presence of another body.
Her clammy hands fastened around the bronze door handle and pushed her way in, pulling Erik with her. She secured the door behind them both and let the lock fall heavy.
All that remained were heavy breathing and distant sounds of slamming doors. It was her mind that was loud, roaring at her. Racing with all their possibilities of failure and the impossibility of Erik in her private room.
"Tara?"
It was like her first dream with him in it. Her surroundings familiar yet oddly vibrant and the unlikeliness of his place within it. She turned to see him staring expectantly.
"I can't believe this."
He swanned around her room, eyes rolling to absorb it all, 'Neither can I. This is a lot smaller than I presumed."
She harrumphed, moving away from the door and listening ears. "I'm sorry to disappoint. Mind if I show you my counsel room?"
He made a dismissive hand gesture. A lofty one reserved for a pampered son of a chieftain. She would know. She often received it from her brothers.
She pushed past him to the pointy, red door. Showing a stranger the inner sanctum of her Clann's workings, she marvelled at the novelty of it. She had noticed many oddities creeping into her world since his shipwreck and loved it.
The noises of awe were exaggerated and goofy, making her laugh. His light-heartedness eased her and any remaining jitters. His fingers touched everything, grazing the huge tusks of a boar head atop the fireplace, scrutinizing the sharp, hooked tips.
She moved in tandem, telling herself it was the warmth of the roaring fire that brought her this close to him.
"That tore a hole in my great-uncle's leg when he was young, nearly tugged off the entire thing. Poor sod, uncle Turlough was in a horse-drawn cart for the remainder of his life," She realised the morbidness of her chatter, a story repeated a thousand times upon entrance to the inner sanctum, so she tried to lighten it again, 'Apparently, he was fantastic with the flute, our Turlough, always said the beast could never rip that from him."
A chuckle.
His attention fell to the brooch in a delicate glass case, trussed up on a beaded pillow. "That belonged to Rí Áodh, the fire-born lord who had the huge yoke smelted from the three defeated Ulaid kings -- its centre is iron, from the two poorer kings, and is gilded with gold."
But her audience had already moved on, leaning on a cabinet to gaze intently at her favourite piece within the collection.
"Yes," His interest in it stoked her, "A representation of the Dark King, Dorcha, modelled an age ago and passed on proudly. It was hewn from local sandstone and the hair painted with dried berry."
Erik traced his fingers over the treasure, 'Your berries can give that kind of orange? His hair looks exactly like yours.'
"They used our blood, too."
His lip quirked, 'Your blood has an... alternative colour as well?"
She flushed, unwittingly divulging her Clann's well-kept secret, yet his words betrayed yet another similarity between Connacta and Soren. "Yes, it's lighter than the blood of No Blood, a Nob. What of yours?'
His expression relaxed, visibly relieved, "Ours too, even lighter still. The legends say our blood is flecked with starlight. Stars in the nightsky are the glows of distant campfires of the gods."
Unbelievable. She matched his grin.
'And the eyes?"
"They were painted with a pigment from seaweed."
He was impressed and marvelled over the contents. She remained back to the fire, warming her wringing hands. It was preferable to maintain a distance now, heart thrumming so violently in her chest she thought he was sure to hear.
She was constantly desperate to be around him. Yet, when she was physically close to him, her heart leapt up her throat and her shyness affected her so much she wondered if she would ever be comfortable near him. Perhaps she did not want to be. His presence was thrilling.
He took his time inspecting all around him, but the longer he looked at everything but her, the more anxiety increased. She raised to her tiptoes, rocking back and forth, angling her head to peer out the narrow window. Praying to her gods not to see guards running around outside with pitchforks before they found Erik in here. It would not be long until they found their much-needed earthshaker free from his bonds, counting the nine heads meant to be imprisoned and finding eight.
"Why are you back?"
"You're not happy to see me?"
She felt rude. Even still, she kept her true glee secret and pushed herself off the fireplace, saying, "I would be happier if you were back in that mud-hut."
The heavy chair screeched as he dragged it from the table and plopped himself in it. "You prefer keeping me locked away, in that cavern or your dreams?"
She mirrored his movements and sat down in the chair across from him. "I prefer keeping you around, in general. The longer you're here, the more chance my brothers will find you."
He folded his arms across his chest. "And the more chance my brothers die in your custody."
"All those men are your brothers?"
He rolled his eyes and suddenly pushed himself from the table. "No, most are blood relatives but regardless, we are a Brotherhood. I would like you to take me to them now."
The mood had taken a turn. Gone was humour, replaced with tight lips, folded arms and solemnity.
She audibly swallowed, lost for what to do next.
"It's easy,' He seemed to know what she was thinking. 'Take me to the prison, let me back to my brothers."
"If you go back, I don't know how I'll get you back out-'
"That's an issue for another day. For now, I want to see my men and make sure no more have died.'
There was nothing more to say. Nodding dumbly and tidying everything he touched away to cover muddy tracks. Moving to the window for a last cursory glance for witnesses, she noticed her fortune quickly run out.
"Damn it!"
"What?" Erik's chest pressed against the back of her shoulders, their bodies flush, his hand splayed on the window to get a closer look.
"My brothers are back,' They were dismounting their horses and leading them to the grooms for brushing down. Oisín and three other warriors dismounted as well. All exhausted and muddy from days riding, back and forth, to Naithí lands collecting taxes.
Mules and horse-drawn carts filed through the gates behind them, laden with harvested crops, cattle and slaves.
"It seems my Ostmen are not the only men fond of raiding."
There was a smugness in his voice. It made her bristle, and his proximity began to annoy rather than excite her.
"It's not raiding. They're collecting the annual stipend from the lesser kings and people. It's taxation, very different from your piracy and slaughter."
Erik began laughing so heartily she jabbed him in the stomach and pulled him to the floor, out of view of the window. Her fear only made him laugh louder, ostensibly uncaring if he was heard or they were caught.
'What are you doing? You'll get us both killed.'
He lay upon his elbows, smiling wryly, grin growing the angrier she got. The familiar feeling of being baited rose. Her brothers did it constantly, winding her up and saying things to annoy her solely for their amusement. Erik, too, was riling her.
'I'll stop being loud when you get off your high horse.'
She raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar metaphor.
His snarky smile softened, 'Stop implying you and your big red brothers are any better than me and mine, and I'll stop annoying you.'
Regardless of the imminent danger, her brothers surely on their way up to see her and her nine hostages, she was drawn in by his disarming charm and readiness to reach a compromise. Her lips pulled up and she relented.
"Now,' He pulled them into a standing position, his fingers all purple and cold. 'Use that magic of yours to give us a distraction. You're gonna take me hostage, again.'
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In her room, staring out the large window, Tara wildly windmilled her arms while Erik cracked open a plant pot and smeared himself in soil. Her breaths were short and shallow. She kept her eyes on the weather and away from the funny sight of Erik, dirtying himself for imprisonment, too fresh and clean.
The creeping colds of winter had wilted every leaf from their branches, heaped high in red and orange piles on the forest floor. Those dead leaves were her target. To move them high in the sky with winds, outing torches and obscuring their path from view, a tornado of leaves would mask their movement.
He was busy making himself look hostage-like and less as if he had been free to walk and wash as he wished. No one had yet mentioned his escape to her, which filled her with hope no one had noticed, what was the difference between eight and nine hostages? Her men could be slow on details, but quick to anger when they realised their mistake.
She hoped to be far away if that happened.
Then they were out of her room. Great gusts of wind howling in the air hitting the pair as they scampered up over the castle's high walls and ramshackle scaffolding. The walls were in a constant state of repair.
Reaching one of four watchtowers, they hid out of sight from the guard and any spectators below, her leaf tornado dissipating slowly. Catching their breath, Tara peered over the bars to see if a path to the mud huts was clear.
Unfortunately, her preoccupation with the path below made her miss the creaking boards of an assailant sounding near them. The only signal was Erik's elbow jab to her side.
Naturally, they both stood up, caught in the act of escape -- or rather, unescape. She did not want to look more suspicious than they already did.
"Tara! I knew I would find you skulking about up here."
She turned to the voice, unwilling to face her brother with Oisín behind him, with a hand on his hilt ready to fight. Conn did not share the surprised look of their warrior guard.
Sneering, pronounced dimple on his chin, he said, 'Pray tell Tara, what are you doing with your hostage? Out of his bonds?"
Her mouth opened, then closed. Opened and closed, like a fish choking on air. Any excuse escaped her and the only words running through her mind confessed her guilt.
"There you are!'
Ethne was barreling the opposite way, 'Oh Osh, give over. Why are you two up here bothering our rí and esteemed guest? Surely the feast should be your concern."
Ethne threw a cloak around Erik -- he was shivering violently in the cold. Tara berated herself for not noticing.
She fussed around him, amping up her familiarity with the hostage to divert Conn's glare. Her husband looked none too pleased about the heavy petting.
"Exactly, that's why we came looking for Tara. Your presence was missed.'
This was her cue to speak. They all looked at her with varying degrees of gullibility.
"Ah... Ah yes, I thought it time to introduce myself to the notorious earthshaker." A thin-lipped smile.
"And I," Ethne elbowed her way past Erik and Tara to her husband, weaving an arm around his waist. 'Wanted to come along, for her protection and to witness the lad speak Gaeilge."
"We were tormenting the hostage,' Finally, Tara's mind was able to concoct a lie. 'We spent the day on the rooftop guessing things about them, and after hearing him speak as Gaeilge we decided to interrogate him for information on his land and customs. We were just so bored."
Ethne was grinning sweetly and batting her lashes, the picture of innocence. Tara tried her hardest to match the naivety.
Oisín seemed appeased, trusting in the idle impulsivity of his wife and rí. Sometimes, their prejudices against women worked in their favour.
Conn, notoriously, was much harder to convince. His crossed arms and chewing jaw betrayed his unwillingness to believe an innocent answer.
Tara bit her lip. She could sense his misgivings and suspicions. Showing the hostage around their compound, letting him become familiar with where doors and possible exit strategies were was not acceptable. By not making smart decisions, Conn's big brother instincts stirred and she felt his burning glare of disapproval.
"I'll send for the guards, get him back to the hut. I was only trying to help -- butter him up for all the work he's gonna do for us."
Ethne was nodding, acting as cheery as possible and Oisín seemed unperturbed by their day's antics. Conn's expression did not budge. He said, 'Good, you're right."
She locked eyes with Ethne, short of breathing a sigh of relief.
"You should send for the guards, get him back to the hut."
She stifled a long-suffering sigh. When he disapproved of something, it felt more like he disapproved of her whole being.
She nodded and sent a beseeching look to Oisín, who dutifully stepped forward to usher Erik away. He was mercifully gentle, corralling the Soren man away quietly while Conn's eyes bore into her soul.
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Later, alone with her brothers, Conn let her have it.
"You disappoint me. You really brought that hostage on a grand tour, didn't you? What happened to the bloodthirsty Tara of old, who sent storms and winds to displace hundreds of enemies in battles?"
She winced at the reminder.
"You've gone soft and worse still, this hostage is the only one with power capable of rivalling yours. How can you let him roam free? You know what would happen if you were his hostage."
She re-focused on the feast before them, prepared to make her case, "I had a vision. Just like those druids you love so much. A giant elk appeared before me in it and led me to a fortress of stone and earth-- outlining all of Connacht if we let the earthshaker live and harness his affinity." She leaned over beseeching, desperate to make her brothers understand despite her ruse, "Just as I use my power to keep the weather here good and land fertile all year round, his power can be used to build up the Keep and everything we've let slide because we've been too busy fighting."
Cuán speared meat with his knife, "I like fighting."
"Yes, and I like the idea of protecting everyone in the village and living longer than seventeen years."
Conn snorted, "We'll see if you survive child-birth,"
Their plain words hurt, "Why do you think I waged war rather than married? A girl's fiercest battle is giving birth. I fancy my chances in actual battle, wouldn't you?"
They nodded, too engrossed in their food.
"Like mother?"
Neither of them replied, just kept on eating. Her pleas were falling on deaf ears. She attempted to escape an arranged marriage so often her brothers had become immune to any discussion about it.
Tara did not mind. So long as they quit their incessant questions on Erik.
Why he was out of his cage and what he eventually saw? How on earth the foreigner had picked up their language? What to do with the Christian priest now his Latin translation was useless?
Her bloodthirsty brothers suggested the priest be burned at a Call to Session for entertainment. Tara agreed, knowing if not the priest, it would be Erik and his brothers next.