Chapter 7

Grainne lay awake in her bed listening as Lord Finn snored grotesquely by her side. They had not had intimate relations �" that would be on their wedding night �" but the King had made sure that they shared a bed together when the Lord visited. Grainne did not know why, she supposed it was to keep up the image that she and the Lord liked each other enough to sleep in the same room. People could be blind.

She wished they did not have to share a bed, particularly when she could not get the image of Sir Diarmuid out of her mind. He had been invading her thoughts even throughout the King’s council. She knew she should be concerned about her sister’s whereabouts and she was, but it was not enough to push the handsome Knight from her daydreams. She could not go through with this marriage, regardless of what promises she’d made to the King, she no longer felt any reason in her oath. What good would it do for her to marry an old man whom she felt and would feel nothing for?

With one final failed attempt to sleep, the Princess sat up and rose from her bed, watching as the sleeping Lord Finn took this as an opportunity to pull all of her sheets around him. She wrinkled her nose. She could not live with the stench of Lord Finn’s scent woven into her sheets for the rest of his life. Though he was mortal and would surely die, Grainne did not wish to wait by his side for his final day to be rid of him. No, if she had to love a mortal it had to be Sir Diarmuid.

Making sure he was well and truly asleep, Grainne slipped out of her nightgown and changed into a simple brown dress and the most inconspicuous cloak she could find, she did not wish to flaunt her royal status for what she was about to do. She looked down at Lord Finn as he lay in amongst her sheets that had once smelled of lavender and smirked in a fashion that she’d learned from her father as she leant over to carefully pick out a pouch of coins from under his pillow. Carefully, not wanting to rattle the money, she tucked it into the front of her dress before slipping out of the room.

She made her way through the court without being noticed, the King trusted his men to be on guard all the time but they got a bit lax as the night wore on. She had pulled her hood up to hide her distinct white curls which glowed in the moonlight. She could hear the guards jeering and laughing down the hall and she assumed that they had gotten to the drinking and gambling stage of their service. Her father would be infuriated if he found out that he and his daughters and their guests were not under the supervision he had expected.

This made it simple for Grainne to cross the floor of the main hall, using the guards’ noise to mask her footsteps on the stone floor and the clanking noise of the locks on the front doors. She paused when the guards fell quiet, waiting to see if she had been heard. When the laughter resumed, Grainne did not allow herself time to let out a sigh of relief before heaving the door open and slipping out into the night.

 

****

Aynia stood outside the damp, mouldy wooden door of a tiny stone building. It was secluded from the town, hidden among the caves and cliffs of the cove. Aynia could see by the decay around the bottom of the building that when the tide was in the water came right up to the door. Years upon years of waves hitting the walls had caused them to crumble and left seashells and seaweed among the cracks. The tide was out now, the sea was calm and the gentle waves were just about licking the coast.

She could run. She could flee from here and head back for the archway. The Earl was inside the building, stood at the end of the makeshift aisle with the priest and his selected guests; under normal circumstances he would not even hear her footfalls on the soft sand as she fled.

 

But these were not normal circumstances.

 

Before today, the Earl had purchased what he called a ‘wedding gift’ from a Faerie traveller selling spells and enchanted trinkets to make enough money for somewhere to stay. Aynia had always been told by her father not to trust these people, even if they seemed like they were telling the truth. The Fae could be deceitful. She had stood by his side when he declared their activities illegal and anybody seen in a traveller’s wagon would be locked up and their goods destroyed. When Aynia had questioned her father why he had such strong feelings of hatred towards the Faeries, he had told her that it was not any business of hers and dismissed her. To this day she still did not know. She did not wish to be married, but she wished to give life to new beings but she knew that because they would be Fae, the King would not allow it.

The gift was a simple iron band that fit snugly around her wrist. It was engraved with strange markings. Aynia did not know much about magic symbols but she knew enough to know that these were the marks of dark magic. The Earl had presented it to her at his home where she had been held captive for at least two days. He had told her that it was enchanted so that if she attempted to flee as she had done the first night she was there, it would ensure that she would not do it again.

Having studied the Earl’s house for a day while he was out making arrangements for their wedding, Aynia made a mental note of how she would attempt to escape.

The first night was easy to begin with. She lay awake in her bed and waited for the Earl’s snores to rumble through the walls. She waited until he snored for the tenth time before slipping out of the bed and hurrying silently to the door where she waited for another gruesome snort. Using the noise as a blanket to muffle the sounds she was making, Aynia used a hairpin to pick at the lock and waited for another rumbling inhale before slipping out of the room.

She had got as far as the front door when she realised that the Earl had stopped snoring. She could not tell if he had stopped when she had left the room or when she had passed his bedroom door. He could have easily been asleep, people did not snore all night, but instinct told her that he was awake and that he had heard her. She stood frozen, paralyzed and staring at the front door that would no doubt creak loud enough to get his attention. Swallowing her pride and her overwhelming disappointment, the princess retreated to her room.

The Earl had noticed that the locks had been picked and when questioned, Aynia had explained that she simply wished to get a glass of water. The Earl believed her and that day he took her out with him to purchase the bracelet.

Because of the so-called enchanted wristlet, Aynia was free to roam the house for the second night which made it easier for her to escape. The Earl wanted her to be his wife, surely his gift to her would not harm her as much as he had implied.

Just like the night before, Aynia lay awake in bed and waited for the Earl’s repulsive snores to rip through the house before she once again rose from her bed and crossed the room to her bedroom door. This time she would not need to be as careful, her foolish husband-to-be would probably think she was going to get some water.

Aynia hurried out of her room and made her way to the front door, trying the handle and almost gasping in surprise that it was not locked. Everything seemed to be going too well, if Aynia was not so high on adrenaline she would have stopped to think about this and realised that the Earl must have put so much faith in the trinket that he had not bolted the door shut. This had to mean that the bracelet was not as harmless as she had thought. But as soon as she flung the door open, she was running into the night, her soul singing of freedom and her heart beating with the hope she felt when she first arrived back in Darkwell. She would seek out her cousin, report the Earl’s behaviour towards her and have her sisters brought to the Kingdom of Darkwell where they would start their new lives together.

She was barely ten yards from the house when a searing pain spread through her wrist causing her to stop in her tracks and look at her arm. Around the rim of her bracelet she could see that her skin was red and bubbling with blisters, as if she had been burned.

She had been burned. Her whole arm felt like it was on fire and the bracelet was glowing red hot. She knew that the skin directly under the band was burning too. She forced her arm to her side, breaking again into a run and pushing herself on telling herself that there must be someone that could help her. She could not remove the band herself, it was too tight around her wrist as if it had been made to fit her specifically.

She ran another few steps before the pain became unbearable and Aynia covered her mouth to muffle a scream as she looked again at her wrist. Her skin had started to peel, her flesh melting away to reveal the tendons of her arm. The stench of burning flesh filled her nostrils and she gagged when she caught sight of a glint of white bone.

Aynia wretched and gagged at the sight, the pain was unbearable, the heat travelled through her veins like a raging fire, enveloping her arms in invisible flames. The glow of the bracelet seemed to her like it was grinning vengefully as she writhed in pain, mocking her for attempting to flee, for doubting the Earl’s intentions for her and being foolish. The energy the adrenaline had given her suddenly left and she dropped to her knees, placing her hand tentatively over her wrist as she sobbed until sunrise.

The Earl had found her the next morning curled up in the grass, her wrist in tatters and shivering feverishly. She remembered him hauling her to her feet by her hair and dragging her back to the house where he presented her wedding dress to her, making no comment about her wrist because he knew she would not attempt escape again.

He was right. And now she stood three days later outside of the building that would be her wedding venue and massaging her wrist, it had healed as soon as Gerald had touched her but it was still tender from the few nights before. She would not run again, she did not have it in her to run again. She was not strong enough to feel that pain another time. So she stood and waited for the dreaded ceremony to begin, the ceremony which would seal her fate and tie her not only to the land she loved but also the man she had grown to hate.

She jumped when the doors opened and a hand reached through the doorway and grabbed her elbow, pulling her inside. Flowers were shoved in her face, their colours flashing before her eyes; Tulips, Baby’s Breath, Daisies and Iris. She held them loosely in her hands, like a dead thing as she walked down the aisle to meet the Earl.

He was standing in an immaculate suit, hands loosely behind his back and a smile that seemed to her like a triumphant grin but to the guests it appeared to be one of adoration. She refused to look him in the eyes as she came to a stop by his side. She had nobody to give her away, nobody to wish her luck in this ghastly union. For the first time since arriving back home she thought of her father. He could not know where she was. She wondered if he was worried about her and wanted her to come back.

She refused to cry as Gerald lifted the veil from her face and smirked down at her, taking the flowers from her hands and passing them to one of the guests sat closest to them. From his brought shoulders and wicked eyes, Aynia guessed he was a relative. She looked back at the Earl as he took her hands in his. She lifted her chin to look at his eyes, looking directly into the dark pools of blue, searching for a glimmer of care or pity for her.

The last tiny shred of hope she had fizzled away when she found nothing but possessiveness and cruelty. She looked away from his eyes as the priest began to speak the words of matrimonial binding but the words were muffled as if she was hearing them from under water. She let her mind go blank as the ceremony began.

 

There was no hope for her now.

 

****

 

Grainne tightened her cloak around herself as she walked cautiously through the village of Thornacre. She never walked out alone into the night; she had no desire to usually. But this was important. On any other occasion, she would have invited Fenne along with her to keep her company but this was more important than that and she did not step out of her home to go on a pleasant stroll in the moonlight.

The village at night was eerily quiet, not a single sound could be heard, not even the wind rustling leaves or a dog yapping in its sleep. Grainne’s body was alive with anxiety but she would not stop now. She had a job to do. She kept walking through the village and out of it towards a small patch of land known as ‘traveller’s field’.

In Darkwell, travellers selling magic spells as ways to earn money for a place to stay and a meal were banned. Grainne did not know the precise reason why her father had banned them from entering his kingdom, but throughout their time in Darkwell he had always warned her not to go anywhere near or speak to them and always chided her for asking anything about them including why he hated them so much.

Grainne stood at the edge of the wall that separated the village from the field and looked around at the wagons dotted around the grass. Flickering campfires casted shadows where they shone over groups of people who disassociated themselves from the conventional way of living and chose to live closer to the land. These people seemed alien to Grainne, but she was not filled with the bubbling hatred her father felt when the mayor of Darkwell had banished a handful of them to Thornacre as some kind of ironic act against the King. He had no choice but to live with them now that he had made their way of living illegal in Darkwell. They were all criminals now.

Grainne’s mouth grew dry as she looked around at the wagons. This was Traveller’s Market, a place where the waggoners gathered to sell their goods to each-other and those who either stumbled upon them by mistake or were into their traditions. Or those who were like Grainne and needed something to aid their needs.

Swallowing her fear, Grainne tightened her cloak around herself and started to walk towards the parked wagons. She paused only once to admire the beautiful wagon steeds that were grazing and drinking from a trough after a long day or roaming around Thornacre and the surrounding kingdoms. She had a horse of her own, Beetroot, but he was nowhere near as glamourous as these gorgeous creatures.

The buzz of the market swept over Grainne as she walked into the midst of the gathering. Shouts could be heard by sellers, barking the prices of a range of exotic things, the screams merging into one wave of noise that Grainne could not pinpoint what was what. People who should not be awake at this hour gathered around the stalls like flies to rotting apples and waved money like flags in the faces of the owners.

Experienced buyers skilfully wove their way by locating minute gaps between people and squeezing through. The inexperienced walked slowly and aimlessly, their expressions full of confusion and worry and seemed to regret coming. Grainne spotted a few pickpockets weaving through people, getting close enough to swipe a purse from their unlucky victims, ever the opportunists.

The deafening chaos of the market was enough to make Grainne want to turn around and leave, but as she turned around to look behind her shoulder she realised that it was too late for that now. She had unknowingly been submerged among the mass of sweaty bodies and commotion. She kept her hood pulled up and her purse close to her body as she pushed herself through the crowd.

She somehow managed to get to the other end of the market to a darker, quieter patch. At first she thought that nobody was selling anything down there and began to retreat when a voice, croaky and old with dark undertones spoke from behind her;

“What can I do for a young lady such as you, missy?” Grainne whirled around to see a small man hunched up with his back against an old wagon.

A horse was lying tiredly on the ground next to him, far away from the other steeds. Like the man, the horse looked old and weary but lacked the deep saggy wrinkles that cracked over the man’s face. He raised his dark and bulging eyes to look at Grainne, arching his bushy eyebrows

“Well?” Grainne was caught off-guard but refused to let the traveller see this.

“Are you… Do you sell potions?” She asked quietly. The man tilted his head back and laughed, or what Grainne thought would have passed for laughing once upon a time. Instead harsh wheezes left his lungs, as if he had trouble breathing.

“Do I sell potions? Do I sell potions? Young girl, I am don’t just sell potions, I make them” Grainne eyed the man suspiciously but stepped forward

“What kind of potions do you make? Do they work?” she asked him

“That all depends on how much you are willing to pay” The man smirked up at her.

Grainne stepped so she was closer to the counter opposite to him and pulled out her purse from inside her cloak. She raised it above the surface and let it go, smiling triumphantly at the satisfying thump it made as it hit the surface. The sound of rattling coins was equally as satisfying but not as satisfying as the man’s reaction to the sound of wealth.  He grinned toothlessly at her and rose to his feet with a groan and beckoned her into the back of his wagon

“Come with me. Bring the money with you. For those gold coins, you are worthy of the finest potion I have ever created”

 

****

The wedding did not last long, the reception even shorter. After their first dance as a married couple, Aynia had to stand quiet and let Gerald show her off to his friends. They were much like him in the way they spoke, dressed, acted and even in appearance. The Earl did not seem to have any relatives here but his friends could easily pass for brothers.

For once in her life, her heart ached with longing to be back in Thornacre. She wanted her sisters to hold her, she wanted to bathe in the lake and go on long adventures on horseback. A lump had formed in her throat when she was asked by a friend of Gerald’s about her opinion on the flower arrangements and she almost started to sob when Gerald had excused them and escorted her out of the building.

She knew he was drunk before they even got outside; he was swaying as he walked and babbling on about nothing, his words slurred and he constantly tripping over his feet. Aynia had hoped that when they returned home, he would pass-out on his bed and she would be left alone for a good few hours to gather her thoughts.

 

If only that were true.

 

Aynia pushed the vivid memory to the back of her mind by squeezing her eyes shut and thinking of beautiful things like the moon’s reflection glistening in the lake, her mother’s smile, her sister’s ice sculptures, but the images that were once vivid recollections had faded over time and warped into fresher, horrific memories instead.

In her nightmares she could see Prince Aulom, down on one knee with a ring in his hands and a hopeful smile. No, not hopeful, desperate. She recalled his face when she had declined his proposal and remembered how he had extended his long, thin hand that had never seen the plight of battle. His fingers were like claws when he had torn at her dress, his body like a boulder as he had crushed her. The memory was so vivid that she swore she could still taste his blood in her mouth when he bit away his ear and sent him fleeing like the coward he truly was.

She could not defend herself against the Earl. Gerald was stronger, more brutal and experienced in taking down an enemy than the young prince. When she had clawed at him, bit him, he had clamped her fists down with his bear-like hands and made her pay for the tiny scratch she had given him.

A choked sob rattled through her chest and she curled up tighter in her small space in the Earl’s bed. A big, meaty arm was wrapped loosely around her, the weight of it making it difficult to breathe and even more difficult to wriggle away from.

She didn’t know how long it had been since the wedding, she was beyond caring. There was no escape from this room now, the Earl insisted that she stay in his bed and she knew by now not to defy him. When the Earl was away, he chained her to the bed and only gave her scraps of his food when she did not have the energy to stay awake.

Her magic was gone, not faded, gone. The familiar warmth of it in her veins had fizzled away leaving her cold and helpless. Her body was aching; jolts of pain erupted unexpectedly when she had tried in vain to sleep so she had taken to lying awake and trying to think of a life away from the Earl. If only she could remove the bracelet somehow and run away while he slept. There had to be a way. All Aniya could do was hope that one day the Earl would tire of her and either let her free or just leave her unsupervised so she could free herself. Curling up tighter and wrapping what was left of her nightgown around her, Aniya shut her eyes and tried to sleep.

 

****

The indigo of the night sky was beginning to recede as a grayscale blue began to make its way over from the horizon, reminding Grainne of the way ink creeps along a page when water is dropped into it. It was still dark, but she knew dawn would soon be coming.

Villagers were beginning to retreat from the market, moving in flocks like geese making their way back to their nests. She knew she did not have time to loiter around.

The man had taken all of the contents of her purse before ushering her out of his wagon and closing up for the night. Grainne did not care for the amount spent on the significantly tiny bottle of sparkling blue potion, as long as it worked it did not matter how much money the thieving man took.

With the little bottle tucked into her cloak, Grainne made her way out of the now empty market and back towards the Thorn Court. She cursed herself for not bringing her horse with her as she traipsed through the mud and prickling grass, she would be able to move much faster if Thunderfoot was there with her, but it was too late to regret things now. All Grainne could do was push herself on and try to get home at a reasonable time to prevent her plan turning to shambles.

She eventually reached the walls of the Thorn Court before the sun had an opportunity to rise. It would rise soon, though, so Grainne had to keep going.

Two new men were stood on guard outside the main entrance to the court. Grainne kept in the shadows as she made her way to the stables where, true to his word, Sir Diarmuid was tacking Thunderfoot and his own stallion to prepare them for travelling.

 

****

 

Before she had gone to the market, Grainne had snuck into Sir Diarmuid’s chambers while her fiancée was training with her father so they could have a chance to bond before they became in-laws. She could not help it; Diarmuid would not leave her mind. She knew she had to be with him, they were meant to be together.

Sir Diarmuid had been in the process of removing his tank-top in preparation for a bath when she had barged into his room. The sight of his well-toned torso had her heart racing just as much as it had been when she had first seen him at the dinner when he was fully-clothed. Much to her disappointment, he had swiftly pulled his shirt back down when he realised that he was not alone.

Grainne could feel a blush creeping over her cheeks but refused to show her infatuation to the warrior. She held her head high and crossed the room with purpose to the handsome Sir Diarmuid who tipped his head in respect

“My lady, I was just about to have a bath” He told her, his stance was defensive but respectful as he gave her a once over as she stood there in front of him. She was still in her party gown but it looked as if she had tightened her corset by the way her bosom was practically falling out of her dress. Diarmuid tried not to stare. She was to be his masters’ wife.

“I can see that, Sir Diarmuid. Please, proceed with your bath. I only wish to talk” She replied, stepping a little closer towards him

“I would rather we speak fully clothed, your Highness” Sir Diarmuid replied, his brows crossing. Grainne smiled at this and stepped further towards him, close enough that their toes were almost touching

“Very well, then.” She said “I have a proposition for you, handsome one” Sir Diarmuid’s hand reached up to flatten his hair over the mark on his forehead but he knew by the way Grainne was watching him that it was too late.

His guts twisted. There was no cure for the effects his mark had on others. Not that he knew of at the moment, anyway. He had had the mark his whole life, he could not help the effects it had on people, but the shame and guilt he felt when it enticed them to him never left his mind. He had ruined many courtships, even more marriages and caused people to lose themselves in madness when he had rejected them.

He was in deep trouble. If Lord Finn was to find out, he would be as good as dead. He would find out, he would find out the minute he laid eyes on his fiancée. She did not look the same as she had at the party, she had looked sad and withdrawn but now her eyes danced with glee and her smile was as radiant as the sun glistening in the snow.

“What are you proposing, your highness?” He asked carefully, bracing himself for the usual demands of marriage, intimacy and sometimes offspring. Grainne’s eyes danced over him like she was trying to take all of him in all at once

“I cannot marry your master. I loathe him. I detest him” She told him excitedly, he stopped himself from holding her arms to still her jittering.

“Okay, well, should you not be telling him this?” he asked

“My father will be furious. No, he cannot know. Which is where you come in,” She replied. A disturbing thought sprung to his mind, he could only imagine the possible plans Grainne had for him. Did she want him to take part in an affair? Taint her virtue to repulse Lord Finn? Instead the proposal was much more unexpected “I want you to run away with me” Sir Diarmuid blinked at this

“What?” He asked, just in case he was imagining it.

“Run away with me, Sir Diarmuid” She repeated, smiling so much that he feared her face would split in half.

“I can’t,” Sir Diarmuid said “My loyalty lies with Lord Finn, and so should yours” A scowl replaced Grainne’s giddy smile and Sir Diarmuid almost flinched at the way it took over her whole expression. She was a Dark Goddess; she was not to be messed with. He knew that, but neither was Lord Finn.

“Either you come with me, sweet one, or I will be forced to put a geis over you. So either way, you are coming with me”

A geis was a curse, whether of obligation or prohibition, similar to being under a spell. If someone under the spell violates the associated taboo, they would suffer dishonour or even, in some cases, death.

On some occasions, there were multiple geisa put in place, and one had to choose to violate one of them in order to maintain another. This was widely known within the high rank, the greatest warriors and Kings would constantly trip over their various taboos. In such cases, the ‘personal’ geis would often be sacrificed in favour of the ‘public’ one to stop anybody finding out what evil had been bestowed upon them.

Sir Diarmuid had heard stories about these twisted curses. A young man from Westhallow by the name of Cúchulainn had multiple geasa over him for slaying one of the smith’s ferocious guard dogs with his bare hands. As punishment for this, he was under geis never to eat the flesh of a dog.

One day, after many adventures, an old woman camping on the roadside offered him refreshment of a meal containing dog meat. Cúchulainn was also under geis never to refuse hospitality, and so was faced with a dilemma; which geis should he break?

His decision would inevitably violate one of them. To refuse the woman’s kindness, generosity and hospitality would damage his public persona, so he chose to break the private taboo, and accepted the dish. This decision was ultimately to lead to his death

Only Goddesses could bestow a geis upon someone and only a Goddess could have one removed. This was precisely the reason why Sir Diarmuid had accepted the Princess’ proposal without acquiring one of his own.

And so it was agreed, Grainne would go out into the night to seek a potion to put the guards to sleep while Sir Diarmuid would sneak to the stables and prepare the horses for the journey. They did not know where they were going, which both excited Grainne and terrified Diarmuid, but he complied anyway, knowing he had little choice in the matter.

 

****

Grainne smiled at Diarmuid as she approached the horses, resting a hand on Thunderfoot’s velvety nose before looking up at her handsome prize as he finished saddling his horse and began loading his bag onto the side.

He looked adorably rumpled, as though he had been sleeping before he had come out. He was wearing a simple tunic and riding breeches and boots, he could not ride out into the night looking like the nobleman he was. Grainne smiled to herself as he turned to look at her

“I thought you may have gotten lost” he commented, giving the saddle a wipe with his hand as though he could see dust that Grainne couldn’t.

“Of course I didn’t. I know this Kingdom like the back of my hand” Grainne retorted

“Did you get it?” He enquired, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow that had Grainne wonder how he maintained them so nicely. She smirked at him, reaching inside her cloak to reveal the tiny bottle. Diarmuid shook his head disapprovingly “You are definitely out of your mind”

“Manners, Diarmuid. I am still a Princess,” She scolded him and he ducked his head a little in respect. She lifted the hem of his tunic, finding a loose stitch and tearing off a rough square of material before he could stop her and handed it to him with the bottle “A few drops of this on cloth should do, hold it up to their mouths and wait for them to fall limp”

“What if it does not work? What if it is merely water?” He asked her looking at the bottle dubiously

“It will work. Now go, hurry” she commanded. He opened his mouth to protest but caught the look in her eyes that promised him a geis and thought better of it. He bowed his head, moved passed her and began to run towards the court as silent as a cat.

Grainne crept silently out of the stables and towards the walls surrounding the court to get a better view. She ducked behind the less crumbled wall and peered over it. Sir Diarmuid was pressed up against the wall of the court, edging himself towards the corner of the entrance. The window to her father’s chambers was directly above him and she held her breath in anticipation. Luckily, the room stayed dark as Diarmuid made his way passed it and approached one of the guards silently from behind.

Grainne’s knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of the wall, the crumbled stones were digging into her flesh but she could not let go until she knew it was over. She watched in a state of apprehension as Diarmuid spilled a few drops of potion onto the cloth of his tunic before replacing the cork and slipping the bottle into his pocket.

The tension was too much for Grainne to handle. She bit down on her lip and continued to watch, wishing she had been the one to take down the guards instead. Surely she would not have been this slow. Her heart raced as Diarmuid approached one of the guards from behind and quick as a flash drew an arm around his neck and pressed the drugged cloth to his mouth. The guard struggled, his arms flaying at his sides and his legs kicking but his struggles were in vain and eventually he fell slack into Diarmuid’s arms.

The second guard had heard the struggles and kicked at Sir Diarmuid, reaching to draw his sword from his sheath but the handsome man was too fast. He swung a punch into his abdomen and kicked his sword out of his hand. While the guard was doubled over, Diarmuid stuffed the cloth up to his mouth and waited while the guard struggled until he fell limp just like his partner.

Relief swept over Grainne like a wave and she rose from her hiding place and watched as Sir Diarmuid broke into a run towards her, irritation flashing over his expression

“What are you doing sitting there? Someone would have heard that, we need to move. Quickly.” Grainne only smiled at him as he clasped hold of her hand and they ran back to the stables. He dropped her hand to mount his horse quickly, as casually as climbing a flight of stairs. Grainne hauled herself atop Thunderfoot’s back and dug her heels into his sides until he broke into a gallop.

Sir Diarmuid followed close behind, constantly checking over his shoulder at the two fallen guards until they became nothing but specks in the distance.

Unfortunately, he was so intent on checking for guards that he did not notice that the shred of cloth, wrapped around the bottle of sleeping potion, had slipped out of his pocket and landed in the grass.