Chapter 47: Chapter 47: Married!

Aonair pressed his ear to the door. The footsteps grew fainter. Soundlessly, he lifted the latch and peered out into the empty corridor. On magiced feet, he flew down the hall and up the stairs to the eastern turret. No sooner had he closed the door behind him, than grunts and the thud of boots against the rungs of a ladder reached him. In two steps, he had positioned himself behind the ladder. He leapt onto the stone wall, crawling, like a spider, twelve feet to the top. There he lay on a crossbeam beneath the thatch.

Shay exited, and without replacing the floorboards, shuffled from the room. Aonair sprang to the floor, slid down the ladder and sprinted through the dark passageways to the throne room, his magiced eyes like a cat's.

All of Castle Togair crowded the walls: soldiers, servants, the royal portrait painter, the physician, her father's keeper of the flocks—all dressed in their best. When Saoirse and Alyse entered, her father—regal, with his crown upon his head and his sword sheathed at his side, sat on his throne. Her mother, beauteous, stood by his side. Lord Nathair had stationed himself on her father's left. Next to him—Saoirse could see only the booted legs and the middle of a man. His head was engulfed in magic, like a sparkling blanket had been draped over him. Alyse whispered in her ear, “Why, such a handsome man, I have never seen.”

Saoirse froze.

Togair stood. “Come daughter. Meet the man I have chosen for you to marry, Fallon Nathair.”

“Fallon?” she turned aside, speaking to Alyse in a hushed whisper. “My father thinks Fallon a dim-witted idiot.”

“Surely, you are mistaken,” Alyse said. “His countenance is like that of an angel. Oh, you will be so happy.” Alyse pushed her forward toward Fallon; Saoirse stumbled a few steps. “Go on now. Before he changes his mind.”

“Whatever are you doing?” Lady Togair rushed to Saoirse side. “Come quickly.” With a bruising grip, she dragged Saoirse down the length of the great throne room until she stood in front of the magiced Fallon. “Please excuse her. She's just shy. Don't worry, Saoirse, he already knows that you've lost your virginity to . . . oh, who knows who.”

Saoirse looked at her mother with horror.

But her mother kept speaking. “What does it matter, dear? He's already forgiven you.”

Lord Nathair came to stand on Saoirse's right. “Do not you find him beautiful?” he asked.

Hyperventilating, gasping for breath, she said, “Father, I-I do not-do not wish to be married.”

“Nonsense.” Lord Togair stood and clapped Fallon on his back. “He's perfect. Come, come.” He motioned with his hands. Saoirse found herself pushed and prodded until she stood before the throne, her soon-to-be-husband at her side, a priest in front of them. She refused to say the prescribed words.

“I agree for her,” announced Lord Togair. “She is obviously not herself.”

Like a giddy child, Lady Togair chirped, “Me, too. I agree, too.”

When it was done and she was wed, Fallon leaned forward to kiss her. The magic about him, reeked of ash and tasted like rotten eggs. Ohhh . . . Disgusted, she turned away.

Nathair pressed his lips together. “My lord, my son and I have a gift for his bride. Perhaps you would allow us to take her to our chambers—only briefly—to present her with it.”

“Yes, yes. Then return, we must feast!”

When the three left, Shay came forward and whispered in Lord Togair's ear.

In the passageways, behind the walls, Aonair slumped. She'll be happy now. He's the better man. His heart ached within him. He fell to his knees.

About his legs, pink and yellow and blue lights twinkled. His bare feet glistened green, purple, and orange. His belt sparked a deep brown. Enchanted, he rose. A path appeared before him, marked with stars of silver and gold. Transfixed, he followed the lighted way.

Her wobbling voice was just on the other side of the wall. “I'm terribly hungry. Could we stop by the kitchen?”

“No, my dear daughter,” Nathair hissed. “You'll have plenty to eat at the feast.”

They passed through the door to the guest chambers. Small holes, well-placed in the intricately carved paneling, allowed Aonair to glimpse the room beyond.

“Hold her!” Nathair commanded.

Fallon complied, gripping her arms. At once, Saoirse pushed out with her magic, hitting Nathair in the back; he bashed into the wall. Fallon, his eyes wide with shock, stood unmoving as if he’d grown roots.

“Get the claw!” shouted Nathair.

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Taking both of Saoirse’s hands in one of his, Fallon forced her across the room toward a wooden box lying on top of a chest at the foot of the bed.

Saoirse breathed in, pulling at the magic covering Fallon, but it was sticky. It clung to him like pine sap. She couldn’t hold it.

Snap! It bounced back into place, hitting Fallon. They fell.

Painfully, he tightened his grip. Again, she breathed in, the merest dribble of the magic covering Fallon entered her mouth. Yuck . . . Its taste was unsweetened chocolate and burnt toast. Grimacing, she sucked more of it off Fallon. The bitter magic like bile burned in her mouth.

As Saoirse drew the magic from Fallon, Aonair glimpsed the true man beneath. Without magic, he was small of build, but well-muscled, with horrible teeth, sporting a jagged scar that ran down the left side of his face. Gagging, Saoirse spit out the repulsive magic. Like it was tied to Fallon by an invisible spring, it sprang back in place.

Behind the wall, Aonair whispered to himself, “He is magiced. I’ll not believe my eyes.”

Nathair, crawling along the floor, found the box and opened it. To Saoirse's eyes, a blinding light filled the room.

She screamed.

Aonair burst through the wall and, with a single blow, knocked Fallon unconscious.

“I can't see. I can't see,” Saoirse cried. Reaching out with her hands like a blind person, she tried to find the door. Her world was filled with white light, so bright it burned her eyes, as if she looked into the sun—while the thundering of a waterfall filled her ears, drowning out every other sound.

Aonair snatched the claw from Nathair's trembling hands and thrust it into the man's thigh. As blood gushed from the wound, Togair and Shay burst through the door.

In the blink of an eye, Togair took in the scene before him. Saoirse stumbling and blind, Fallon unconscious on the floor, Nathair bleeding and pale, and—

“Aonair Laoch.” Togair's eyes widened as all the pieces of the distorted puzzle in his mind snapped in place. “How, I wonder, did you come to be miraculously healed?”

Nathair pointed, “He has a dragon claw, my Lord. And he has injured my son.”

“Kill him!” Togair shouted to Shay. “He consorts with dragons!”

With the claw as his weapon, Aonair beat back Togair and Shay, clubbing them, dodging thrusts of their swords as if they were clumsy children. He hopped on rabbit's legs, he kicked like a mule. Saoirse, pushed aside by the fighting men, struggled against the hot light. It was different now, part white, part a beautiful sapphire blue. The more she looked into the blue, the more the pain receded.

“Aonair.”

In seconds, Togair and Shay lay unconscious at Aonair’s feet. As Aonair thrust the claw back in its box and closed the lid, to Saoirse’s eyes the blinding light vanished. Exhausted, she collapsed to the floor.

Aonair threw Saoirse over his shoulder, picked up the box and jumped through the hole in the wall into the passageways.

Fallon, his head spinning, weakly opened his eyes.

As footsteps sounded in the hallway, Nathair, bleeding, dragged himself across the floor, pulled Togair's knife from his boot and slit Togair’s throat.

“Father?”

Guards rushed into the room.

“Aonair Laoch has killed Lord Togair and kidnapped Saoirse.” Nathair pointed to the hole in the wall. “After them!”

The guards gave chase, and for a moment before the servants rushed into the room, while they were alone, Nathair whispered to his son, “You are wed to Saoirse and heir to Castle Togair.” He inclined his head toward Lord Togair and the blood pooling under Togair's head, “and now Lord of Castle Togair.”

The guards, with no one to guide them through the maze of passageways, were soon lost. While Aonair, moving with the speed of a buck, quickly arrived at the sea door. As he opened it, the cloudless day revealed his childhood friend floating face down in the water. Laying Saoirse on one of the great stones and the box beside her, he turned him over. “No, no. Dara." He held the dead body of his friend close to his chest whispering in his ear over and over, "Dara. Dara. No. No."

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