Page 63 of A Celtic Vow
“Help you.” Aodh pulled her closer to his side and kissed her temple, unable to help a smile when he realized what he’d been up to. “Your heart ached for the villagers and the conditions they suffered, so you sent me out as often as I could get away to give them leftovers from the kitchens.” He was never so proud both then and now for her charitable ways and kind heart. “And I loved ye more than I already did for it.”
“And I loved you all the more for putting your life on the line every time you did it.” She shook her head. “Because those were even more perilous times than your own, and you had no one to protect you.”
“I could have defended myself,” he assured.
“Of course, you could.” She patted his chest in friendly reassurance. “Despite having no weapon and having possibly run into seasoned warriors that far outweighed you. Not to mention all the thieves about.”
“Me being one of them,” he reminded with a grin.
He was about to go on when their surroundings swirled away, only to return to the chamber with the red chair. To what surely had been the great hall in this unusual castle. He still didn’t understand the chair, though. Why it went from being so elegant and grand to something it seemed its current monarch had soiled himself upon.
“’Twill not be much longer,” her younger self said softly from where they stood in front of the window. She dared to cup his cheek briefly before their chaperone cleared her throat in disapproval. They shared a shy smile, clearly smitten as she went on. “Then yer da will see what I have seen all along.”
Yet Aodh felt a waiver in their hope. A fear that pleasing their fathers was a losing battle. One well-founded when the memory swept away for a flicker of a moment only to reappear, showing them what happened shortly after.
Her father sat like a sloppy king in his chair with young Aodh and Constance on either side of him like trophies to be displayed. Moments later, Aodh’s father swept into the room as though he owned it. He had always looked at the whole of Eire’ that way despite only ruling the north.
Meanwhile, her father struggled to his feet in a fight against his ever-expanding belly and notched his multiple chins at Aodh’s da. “I give ye yer son, m’leige.” His bulky rings clanged when he made a hand flourish at young Aodh as though presenting something he himself had created. A possession rather than a human being. “Compliments of me kingdom and its promise to ye.”
Naturally, not compliments to his daughter.
Aodh recognized his father’s shock, only discernible by the twitch in the corner of his mouth as he closed the distance and eyed young Aodh over. His da clasped his chin roughly and turned his face this way and that, inspecting him like he might a stallion for breeding.
“’Tis remarkably improved.” He pinched his lips and peered closer. “A wee bit o’ drooping still around the corner of the eye but all and all....”
He kept talking, but it was drowned out by a great deal of commotion coming down the hall.
“M’lord.” A servant skidded to a halt at the doorway and looked at Constance’s father with bulging eyes. “They are here,” he stuttered. “The-the-they grace us with their presence.” He shook his head. “All doors were opened for them. Every last one.”
Her father had no chance to respond before his man spun, dropped to his knees, and pressed his forehead to the ground. The moment everyone else saw who had arrived, they did the same, including the kings who had been so haughty moments before.
“It’s her,” Constance managed, her breathing irregular when three women entered with long white hooded robes. Bits of bones, stones, and other talismans hung off the blades cinched at their waist. One stood in front. The other two, just behind her. “One of those two women behind the one in front is Siobhán.”
She looked just like she did in this life, only younger.
“She doesn’t seem nearly so severe yet, though,” Constance noted. “If anything, she seems...kind.” She shook her head. “Yet I sense the opportunist under her peaceful façade.”
As did he and didn’t trust it one bit.
“Ye honor us with yer presence, na cinn gan ainm, Unnamed Ones.” Her father’s gaze remained firmly on the ground. “How might I be of service to the gods?”
“Ye might be of service by giving us yer daughter.” The gaze of the druidess who stood ahead of the other two went from young Aodh to Constance’s younger self. “Assuming she remains an innocent.”
“Of course she does,” her father swore, calculating even as his head remained bent. “For she is meant for a future king. Promised to a future king. Unless...”
“Unless nothing,” Aodh’s father seethed, keeping his head down as well. “She is promised to my son. ‘Twas promised, so ‘tis a sacred oath.”
“Was it bonded with blood, then?” The head druidess went to Constance’s younger self and cupped her cheek as though she were the most precious thing she’d ever touched. “Because I see now ‘twas not sealed in flesh. She remains an innocent.”
“And she is,” her father assured. “Moreover, she is every bit as powerful as ye might have heard. As ye very likely feel even now.”
Aodh felt how hard it was for his former self to remain quiet when all he wanted to do was steal her away from what was about to happen. And itwouldhappen because Constance was no more ordinary in her last life than she was in this one. She was incredibly special. The only problem? Everyone around her saw her for what she could give them, where he only saw everything he wanted to give her.
A life of love and charity.
A family they could raise with the same values.
Silence fell as the head druidess kept staring into young Constance’s eyes as if she saw so very much. Yet all the while, he didn’t miss the way Siobhán’s sly gaze flickered between their former incarnations.
