The hours pass by quickly. We ride into a clearing, and I catch my first sight of the fortress. A medieval stone castle sits on a hill, partly shrouded in mist, overlooking an expansive lake protected by stone walls. The view takes my breath away. The castle shimmers in the afternoon light against the backdrop of snow-covered mountains across the lake.
A breeze carries the scent of tranquil waters and pine. A red stag emerges from behind the trees and blocks our path. I pull back on my horse’s reins as a herd of red deer and a spotted fawn cross in front of us. When the last one crosses, the stag walks off the road and leads them into the woods.
The road we are on leads straight into the fortress. The stone wall surrounds the castle, with an entry gate and towers. I stop and gaze at the castle and the nearby marsh, where a pair of white swans are floating. Mallard ducks swim nearby with a clutch of ducklings following their trail through the tall marsh grass. A large heron glides down and lands in the marsh. It dips its head into the water and comes up with a fish that it quickly swallows as it stands there looking for more.
I absorb the peaceful setting, open the wineskin, and finish the wine, placing the empty skin into my saddlebag.
“I forgot just how beautiful it all looks after I have been away,” Liam remarks, urging me to follow.
Guards are walking the ramparts as we approach.
A flock of geese flies over the lake when an archer on the castle grounds lets loose an arrow. An unlucky goose falls limply from the overcast sky as a large, wiry-coated red wolfhound dives into the water. The dog swims back with the fallen goose, bringing it to the waiting archer, wagging his tail in complete happiness. He gives him a bone and takes the goose, jumping back as the dog shakes off the water.
The gate opens, and a couple of guards on horseback in chainmail armor and gray helmets ride out and gallop up to us, carrying spears as we near the castle. Liam raises his hand to welcome them. They speak Gaelic and stare at me.
One rides up, removing his helmet. He brushes back his long brown hair, exposing a scar running across his left cheek, barely missing his eye. “I hear you came willingly. Is that true?” he asks in perfect English.
“Yes. It was inevitable, regardless of whether I came willingly or not. I chose to come in comfort.”
The warrior laughs. “How true. I am Thomas O’Donoghue, chief of the guard. Lord Donal has been expecting you.” He reaches out his hand, staring at me through his battle-hardened gray eyes with warmth in his greeting as if we were old friends.
I feel the power in his arm as he grabs my wrist in a warrior’s welcome. “I look forward to meeting him,” I say, contrary to what I am actually thinking, a little unsettled about being kidnapped. But then I remember what Danu said. I need to do this.
“Follow me,” he says, turning his black steed and returning to the entry gate.
“Thanks for your hospitality,” I say to Liam.
He stretches out his hand. “Until we meet again.”
I grasp his hand. “Until then. Thanks again.” I loosen my horse’s reins and urge my horse to catch up with Thomas.
Rocks cover the road leading to the fortress. The gate guard lifts his visor and looks me over, his gray eyes piercing into mine, before letting me pass into the courtyard. We cross through a tunnel of sorts, with a portcullis and arrow slits to fend off any invaders.
The courtyard looks like a small village. There is a horse stable next to a blacksmith’s shop. Several guards sit around a fire pit watching a kettle being heated, while a woman fills their mugs. Three archers are practicing with their bows on a leather target, and two guards duel with wooden swords. They all stop and look at me as I follow Thomas to the stable.
Thomas dismounts, handing his horse’s reins to a man wearing a brown tunic and leather apron. I dismount, patting my horse, as the man grabs his reins and leads my horse away.
We climb the steps to the castle entrance. A guard in chain mail armor opens the door and lets us inside.
The room we enter has a high, vaulted ceiling with candle sconces on the wall. Wood paneling covers the interior.
I hear a door open, and a red-headed girl walks out and stands on the balcony, looking down at us as we enter. She looks vaguely familiar, or maybe she reminds me of the red-headed girl riding in the wagon I passed yesterday. Either way, she looks stunning, and my heart stops when I look into her eyes. I pause, thinking of what to say, when I am interrupted.
“We are going to the next room,” Thomas says, urging me to follow.
A guard stops me before entering, placing his hand on my chest and muttering something in Gaelic.
“It’s all right,” Thomas says. “He just needs to take your sword before you enter. It’s a precaution.”
“That sounds reasonable.” I unsheathe my sword, handing it to the guard, and look back to see the girl on the balcony smiling. I wonder if she is the daughter.
The guard opens one of the wooden double doors and motions for us to enter.
We walk into the next room, stepping onto woven rush mats covering the stone floor. An older man is sitting on an elaborately carved throne on a raised platform, with red curtains hanging off a valance behind it. Another man is standing before him, wearing a simple brown tunic, holding his leather-brimmed hat, and speaking Gaelic.
Candlelight comes from a corona chandelier suspended above the center of the room. Fire blazes in a stone fireplace against the wall. I can feel the heat when we enter.
A man standing to the throne’s right, wearing a long yellow tunic with brown fleece over his shoulders and a woolen cap, walks up to us.
He asks Thomas something in Gaelic, piercing me with his aging brown eyes.
“Yes,” Thomas says. “He only understands English. The king asked to see him when he arrived.”
“Wait until he finishes addressing the farmer. You can stand by the fire.”
We walk over to the fireplace as Thomas picks up a log and throws it on the fire. “This shouldn’t take long,” Thomas says.
The warmth from the fire removes the chill from my bones from the long ride. I listen to the man pleading in Gaelic.
“What is the man saying?” I ask.
“His cows were stolen. He’s worried about paying the taxes and feeding his family.”
“Is that normal?” I ask.
“The borderlands are difficult to maintain since the thieves come from land outside the king’s rule.”
“What will you do?”
“If the king permits, I will cross over to the neighboring land and bring back his cattle. It could cause a war, which we are trying to avoid.”
The man kneels on his left knee and nods to the king. When he stands, the king says something to Thomas.
“Wait here,” Thomas says as he approaches the king.
Thomas speaks to the king and the farmer in Gaelic.
I look around the room, noting the mounted stags around its perimeter. The walls are plastered yellow with wooden crown molding. An elk rack mounted above the fireplace spans its width. Then I notice a side room where someone is writing on parchment and paying attention to the king’s discussion. I guess that must be the clerk recording the king’s business.
After some discussion, the man leaves, and Thomas gestures for me to join him.
He turns to the king and bows. I do the same, seeing that this is probably customary for meeting royalty.
Thomas says something in Gaelic that I don’t recognize, but I hear my name, “John de la Roche.”
“Fáilte romhat, a Sir John,” the king says. “Tá rudaí iontacha cloister agam fút.”
I have no idea what he had just said. I shrug my shoulders in the universal language. “Sorry. I don’t understand.”
“He doesn’t speak Gaelic, my lord,” Thomas says.
The King nods. “Welcome, Sir John. I have heard great things about you.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, being careful not to call him my lord since he wasn’t. “I am confused about the urgency of this meeting.”
“I have been waiting for years for this opportunity, and I think you will understand in time.” He rises and walks over to me. A little taller, but his age has caught up with him, with white hair past his shoulders and a white beard. He wears a long blue tunic with a cloak made of white fleece and a belt made of gold.
He extends his hand, and I reach out to shake it. He grabs my wrist instead, as a warrior would. “I am so glad to finally meet you.”
I feel the strength of his grip and look into his fading blue eyes. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, sir.”
He looks down at my muddy boots and clothes. “We will dine this evening, but first, you should get cleaned up and some rest from your journey.”
“I’d appreciate that, sir,” I say. “It was a long ride.”
He turns to Thomas. “Have the servants show him his room and prepare his bath.”