“Aofa is willing to marry Dermot to cement an alliance, aren’t you,
Aofa?” Morgana demanded, pushing her sister forward as she
desperately tried to avoid an all-out battle between the assembled
men.
“But
I
am not willing to marry
her
. Nor is my
brother Brendan. No, it must be you, Morgana. Therefore, name your
champion, and let’s get this over with,” Dermot insisted, sounding
almost bored with the whole affair.
“I am my own champion,“ Morgana announced to the crowd, amid
mutterings of ‘Impossible!’ and ‘Ridiculous!’ from the group of
English mercenaries.
“In that case, we name Ruairc MacMahon as our champion,” Dermot
announced, as he waved his gauntlet to signal that Ruairc should be
brought forward in chains to the front row of the crowd.
Morgana gasped as she took in his badly bruised face and saw that he
could barely sit astride his horse, let alone lift a sword against
her.
“Nonsense, what trick is this!” Morgana bridled, as all eyes focused
upon her shocked white face.
“Ruairc is my named champion. If you wish to bring the MacMahons to
justice, you must fight him,” Dermot demanded arrogantly.
“No, it is not permitted,” Seamus, the elder MacMahon spoke up
promptly.
“Ruairc was cast out of the clan after the death of Conor Maguire,
and so cannot fight on our behalf!” he informed the crowd, with a
kind look at Morgana which showed he was on her side in spite of his
own family loyalties.
“I take him back then, and restore his rights fully in front of all
you here assembled,” Dermot said nonchalantly, playing the game by
the rules, and enjoying Morgana’s discomfiture immensely.
“No, it is not possible,” Seamus rejected his words.“There must be a
vote by the clan, and in any case, a champion is meant to defend the
innocence of the accused. Since Brendan has already admitted his
guilt, Ruairc is not permitted to suffer in his stead.”
Dermot looked at the older man with a venomous glare, and then
conceded, “In that case, then, our champion must be Brendan.”
“I won’t fight her. I wish to marry her!” Brendan countered.
“But you have admitted your guilt! I am the chief. You will do as I
say or be removed from the clan,” Dermot argued.
“No, Dermot, you want him killed so you will reign supreme in the
clan. I won’t fight him to the death,” Morgana spoke up.
“But you must, if you wish your case to be answered before God,” the
elder MacMahon cousin reminded her hesitantly.
“Can’t we just stop this now!” Morgana pleaded desperately. “Restore
Ruairc, then I will marry him, and no one will be harmed.”
Both Brendan and Dermot turned on her.
Brendan stepped forward. “If I can’t have you, I’ll make sure Dermot
and Ruairc don’t either!”
Brendan’s facade of love and kindness towards Morgana slipped as he
leaned even closer to her, so that only she could hear, and taunted,
“I hope you die better than your brother did, my dear. He sounded
like a stuck pig, squealing for mercy, mewling and crying.”
Morgana’s stomach lurched, and unthinkingly she smashed her fist up
into Brendan’s face before Finn pulled her away abruptly.
“Thank you for that, Morgana Maguire. It will make killing you a
positive delight,” Brendan gloated as he swung up into his saddle
and put on his helmet and gathered up his lance and sword.
Dermot declared, “It will be a trial by combat to the death. Morgana
may put on her armour now, and then we shall proceed.”
“Morgana, for God’s sake, don’t do this!” Ruairc shouted, his green
eyes imploring her not to fight.
Finn grabbed Morgana’s arm as she turned to move into place. “Are
you mad? You can’t do this! You have no armour. Even if you did, he
is a skilled knight! He’ll cut you to pieces!”
“I can’t back down from this challenge, Finn, for if I do, I will
never be fit to lead either clan!” Morgana argued, as she moved over
to where the horses had been tied.
“Then I will fight!” Finn offered.
“I’m sorry, Finn, I can’t let you die in my place. I could never
forgive myself if that happened.”
“Are you telling me you have no faith in my fighting skills!” Finn
demanded, the hurt evident in his pale blue eyes.
“I have
every
faith in them, which is why
you
are
the head of the clan and the troops if I don’t succeed. But more
than fighting skill, it takes strategy. My wits are the only things
able to tumble Brendan down off his high horse,” Morgana said
cryptically.
“I’m sorry, Finn, but I need to take back my loan of Darkie,” she
added as she began to examine the bridle and reins.
Then Morgana checked the saddle girth, and began to shorten the
stirrups quickly.
“Are you out of you mind? That horse isn’t as fast as our other
mounts, you have no armor....” Finn begged.
Morgana silenced him with a telling look. “If I run away now, I will
have to keep on running. You know what to do if I am killed. And if
you ever get a chance to speak to Ruairc again, well, just explain
my reasons, and beg him for his understanding and forgiveness.”
Morgana leapt up onto the horse’s back, and secured her feet into
the shortened stirrups. She threw off her cloak, and with her dagger
in her left hand and her sword in the right, she grasped the reins
and rode to the mark the elder MacMahon had made.
“Seamus, I trust you to see to it that all is done fairly, that the
truth is known and Ruairc restored to his lands titles and fortunes,
no matter what,” she said firmly as she looked down at the elderly
man.
“I will, my dear,” Seamus reassured her, “but you must take this
lance.”
“I have no need of it.”
“You can’t sacrifice yourself like this, child! Here, take it
quickly before Dermot calls on you to start,” the old man urged.
“I have no need of it, but if it makes you feel better, I shall take
it.” Morgana smiled, and sheathing her sword in its scabbard, she
took the heavy lance in her right hand.
Morgana caught a glimpse of some riders approaching in the distance,
and with a joyous heart she saw it was Patrick. She knew with
certainty then that their mission to capture the two main MacMahon
strongholds had succeeded.
But just then, Dermot lifted the banner, and called for them both to
make ready.
“Morgana, don’t do this, please. It’s sheer madness,” Ruairc
implored, his voice cracking with grief.
“I love you, Ruairc, but this is the only way to settle things
between us all. Remember our madness when we were younger, Ruairc,
and you’ll understand,” Morgana said quickly.
Dermot lowered the banner to signal the start of the joust, and with
a curious emptiness in her mind, Morgana let her instincts take over
as she spurred her horse and took off at a gallop down the field.
She and the old faithful horse rode as one, like a centaur, as she
steered Darkie over to the left with her knees, riding him closer
and closer to Brendan’s mount as it thundered straight towards her.
The long deadly lance grew ever nearer, and at the last possible
moment Morgana threw her own away and gripped her dagger firmly.
She could hear Ruairc’s voice a long distance away screaming, “No,
don’t! Morgana!” but the blood thrummed in her veins as the horse
and she moved in perfect accord. Morgana narrowly escaped the point
of Brendan’s lance as she crossed in front of his steed, and raising
herself up to nearly her full height in the stirrups, she jumped off
her mount and toppled Brendan backwards out of his saddle.
Brendan’s sword flew to the ground, landing upright with its
bejewelled hilt buried firmly in the boggy soil. Brendan was impaled
on his own blade as his armour-clad figure tumbled to the ground.
Morgana narrowly escaped the sharp point herself as she landed on
his chest.
Though the wind was knocked out of her from the fall and the impact
of Brendan’s heavy armour through her padded jerkin, she flipped
open his visor and put the point of the dagger to his throat. But
now she saw the blood spurting out of his mouth and looked down to
see the blade sticking straight up from his abdomen.
His eyes bulging in frantic disbelief, Brendan struggled and
screamed in agony, and begged, “Don’t let me die like this!”
“You let Conor die exactly like that. It’s God’s punishment,”
Morgana rasped.
Ignoring his weakening cries, Morgana rose shakily to her feet as
Brendan’s life ebbed away. She stalked across the wide field over to
where Dermot waited, disbelief written all over his face.
“Victory is mine,” she declared, stabbing her sword into the ground.
“I now ask for justice.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Maguires, MacMahons, and English soldiers waited in an agony of
suspense for Dermot’s response to Morgana’s triumph.
His brows knitted threateningly as he desperately tried to save his
crumbling world.
“You didn’t fight Brendan fairly!” Dermot accused. “Marry me now, in
front of all these men here assembled, or the clan shall fight.”
“Marry Aofa, and I will marry Ruairc. Thus we can avoid any more
unnecessary bloodshed,” Morgana wheezed, trying to draw breath
enough to be heard.
“No, I want only you!” Dermot insisted, as he dismounted from his
horse and tried to drag Morgana away with him.
A sudden movement out of the corner of her eye caused Morgana to
leap out of the way. She shoved the flying white figure towards
Dermot, who fell with a gasp, clutching his chest.
Aofa had snatched Finn’s dagger with the intention of killing
Morgana, but Divine Providence appeared to have guided her hand, for
she had stabbed Dermot straight through the heart instead.
Aofa began to scream as she saw Dermot fall flat on his face with a
gurgle.
She turned to attack Morgana once again.
Morgana brought up her sword to parry the blow. Aofa was so powerful
in her fury Morgana was brought to her knees. She waited for what
seemed an eternity for Aofa to strike the final fatal stab, but a
cowled figure in the crowd stretched out its arm and ran Aofa
through with a mighty sword.
Morgana fell to the ground as the body of her dead sister landed on
top of her. She looked up disbelievingly as Mary pulled off her cowl
which had concealed her.
“It is finished. They are all dead now, and all have got what they
deserved, except for myself,” Mary said with grim satisfaction.
“You are the undisputed chief of the clan, Morgana Maguire.
Do with me what you will.”
Morgana was helped to her feet by Seamus MacMahon, and Finn, and she
swallowed hard as she declared, “You saved my life, Mary. My sister
was guilty, and you have won justice for the family. I refuse to
punish you for her death, since she deserved to pay for killing my
father.Live long, and may you prosper in my service, if you are
willing to continue on at Lisleavan.”
Mary smiled. “I am willing, provided that Ruairc MacMahon is your
lord.”
Morgana blinked in surprise, and then turned to Seamus.
“What is your will? Does your clan wish to fight, or will you take
Ruairc back as rightful heir to all his father’s properties, and
allow our families to be united?”
“I am truly sorry for all you and your family have suffered, child.
Though we must have a family council regarding the second matter, I
believe none of us are willing to fight. You have shown
extraordinary courage this day, and we hope the deaths of Brendan
and Dermot will atone for the great wrongs they have done to you and
Ruairc,” Seamus answered.
“Thank you.”
She smiled joyously as Ruairc, finally released from his chains,
hobbled up to Morgana and pulled her into his arms.
Morgana winced. “Careful, my love. The ribs are a bit sore.”
“You frightened me to death! I was certain you were going to be
killed,” Ruairc agonised against her hair as he held her tightly to
him.
“Well, I wasn’t killed. While we are talking about terrible frights,
can I scold you for the mad trick you played on me yesterday,
cutting the rope at Carrickdoo, and staying behind so I could
escape! Look at you, you need to lie down and rest!” Morgana rebuked
Ruairc.
“Let’s forget it all, shall we? Brendan, Dermot and Aofa are dead
now. They can’t ruin our lives anymore.”
Ruairc kissed her firmly on the lips.
At length they broke off the kiss and both blushed at all the men
staring at them.