Authors: Adrianna Wingate
“I think most of all it is because I feel strongly that I have been making my journey to you, Daniel, all of my life.” She said with much contentment in her voice.
They both remained quiet knowing no other words were needed between them and before falling off to sleep, firmly wrapped in his arms, Maura told herself…
“This is truly where I am supposed ta be and
secrets
no more shall there be.
Coming Soon...
A
Warrior's Daughter
by
Adrianna Wingate
Prologue: Ireland 1541
The glacial undercurrent from the north, eerily whistled in the death march. Steven thought the skin of his face would crack from the bitter November winds as he shoveled the last crumbles of dry earth onto his beloved Ophelia’s grave.
He looked up and to the east, but there was no glorious yellow orb to greet him. On the contrary, the menacing gray clouds roiled with anger, on this, his darkest of days.
The mourners passed by, one after the other, dressed in their best mourning finery. The men and women, alike, wore native saffron cote hardies, covered by dark gray surcotes and black woolen tunics, despite the precise orders handed down from King Henry VIII that the saffron colors were forbidden to be worn by the people of Ireland. The King meant this to be a dire insult to Ireland's sons and daughters, given that they thumbed their noses at the crown for not accepting the King’s generous offer to re-grant to them their rightful property.
...The O’Neil clan would continue to defy Henry at every turn, despite the fact that Ophelia paid the ultimate price with her life.
Each male member of the clan respectfully honored Steven and Ophelia by wearing heavy chained hauberks covered by brass breast plates bearing the crest of the O’neill.
All in attendance are at a loss, for no words can describe the pain they feel for their dear brother. Each member of the clan passed by in silence and placed fresh thistle upon her gravesite, the men solemn, the women dabbing a kerchief at the corners of each eye.
Father Riley’s somber voice can be heard in the background delivering the eulogy, ended with the prayers of the rosary... "
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."
Steven is numb and dazed as he follows through the emotions of his grief, starring through the faces of the well wishers as they pass by his woman’s final resting place. A few brave souls did try to give their words of solace and hope. That just seemed to heighten his agony over the loss of his beloved wife.
“You will get past this pain, son, and eventually move on ta brighter days.” He heard William O’Neil’s words echo in his ear. His benefactor meant well, but the words did naught to ease the over whelming urge to reach down and pull his Ophelia from the freshly unearthed ground. He wanted to unleash a tirade of rants onto every mourner who gave their obligatory speech of how all of this would pass and he would move on to avenge her death with the blood of every English soldier who dared to set foot on their Island. Ophelia
was
his life and there would be no
moving on
for him without her.
Steven Donnelly was an appointed warrior chieftain. All of the surrounding lands and holdings he'd acquired were given to him and Ophelia on the day of their wedding, less than a year earlier, by William O’Neill, High Chieftain of the O’Neill Clan. Steven looked upon William as a father, since he raised him after his own father, Robert Donnelly, died in battle.
William’s wife, Lauren, approached Steven, and gave her most profound and sincere sympathy at the loss of his wife. "I give you affection, my son." Then whispered her sentiments in Gaelic, “Mac ag, Tugaim cion duit”. She said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.
Lauren turned to William and said, "I'll be damned if the last words I speak over Ophelia's grave are in English. She died like a soldier and I will speak to her husband in our own language."
Danika is next to give her deepest sympathies but cannot find the words, for Steven is more than just a member of the O'Neill Clan, he has been the secret love of her life, since childhood. Danika, Steven, and Ophelia had all grown up along side each other, from childhood. Danika is the eldest of William’s five daughters, and certainly not the daughter possessing the most beauty of his passel. Most would describe her as being the most handsome of William’s daughters. She possesses the rugged chiseled look of a warrior and the attire she donned today would not change the minds of anyone in attendance.
Danika was not dressed as the other women were, in their gray mourning dresses, rather, she decided to respect Ophelia in death as she had in life, by dressing as every warrior present, wearing her black tunic and woolen trousers, with the O’neill crest emblazoned on the polished tempered breast plate over her hauberk.
Some of the women attending thought this display to be a sign of disrespect. But Danika thought just the opposite. She is giving Ophelia the same respect she would any brave warrior passing on into the great abyss. Danika felt nothing less than the highest respect for her best and only female friend. She stood close behind Steven with her calloused hand resting upon his shoulder in respectful silence.
From the moment Danika stood next to Steven the wind began to whip up, harder still, twisting the dry dust upon the top of Ophelia’s grave into a wild funnel cloud, causing the crowd of mourners to break apart and head toward the garrison. The portentous evil of the blackened sky had the more superstitious gatherers touting versus of an ill-omen befalling the clan. They are certain Ophelia is angered by her friend’s bold physical display toward her husband and will rise up out of the grave to exact her will against them. They scramble like back alley rodents as the icy torrents of hale begin to beat down upon them.
Danika and Steven remained frozen in place as the icy hot stones pelted their bodies. The fierce howling winds could not drown out the clangs of each stone hitting their armor. Danika’s long wavy auburn tresses slapped across her face, leaving a few desperate strands clinging to her dry, cracked bottom lip.
William interrupted their silent vigil, encouraging Steven inside the garrison to speak in private. “This be the hardest of all losses, my son. There is naught ya can do but ta live the grief and draw strength from the knowin’ that ya woman is with all the fallen before her... all of those who died for the cause. Ya must push through this hardest of times as the warrior I raised ya ta be, Steven.” William paused a moment to allow Steven time to adjust his thoughts.
The sudden intense stiffening of his back and forearms let William know Steven's manner had changed. The warrior within him was intently listening to his fatherly advice.
“You are a strong man and will not allow yaself ta succumb ta the depths of ya sorrow.
Ya tribe needs ya ta lead them in war against this bastard Englishman. Ya must wrap ya pain around ya like a suit of armor and rise up against our enemy. Do naught let Ophelia’s death be for nothin’. For the time bein’ immerse yaself in the day to day tasks that present themselves, until one day ya will begin ta live again."
"Ya are a great leader, Steven. Ya people rely upon ya for direction during hard times.” William breathes in a heavy sigh. “…and my son, hard times are upon us. Ya tribe needs ya more now than ever." William paused, then looked toward the scattering masses and said... "Look at them, scatterin' like flies at the first sign of perceived evil. They scream of plagues and curses like frightened children. They know nothing of true evil until they would have to live under the thumb of those bastard Tudors. A plague would be a blessing than to live under English law."
Steven raised his angry, swollen eyes to meet William's and said, "I 'm not understandin' how this coulda happened. Where were you when the bloody English were torturin' my wife? Ya promised me when ya sent me to deliver the dispatches to the Marshal's, that ya would look after Ophelia." Steven's eyes darted, searching William's for an answer.
"Those bastards took my family, William." He continued, not allowing William to respond. "They ripped my son from his mother's body and hung him on a post and left her to bleed to death. They're animals and they must pay." he said through clenched teeth.
" Son, the chore of leading ya people, is what will see ya through. But ya've got ta stand and fight. I know ya wanted to live in peace, but as long as Henry is alive there will never be peace...Ya do understand what it is I am sayin', doncha? Henry will never stop until all the Irish are wiped off the earth. His message to you should be clear...he killed your son and raped your woman. No, son, you hold onto your anger. It will serve you well when the time comes to extinguish the reign of Henry the VIII." William fanned the flames of Stevens anger. "Lauren and the gels want ya ta come home with us for a while. Rebuild ya strength." William gave a manly slap to his back. "You are a warrior, Steven, I know you will do the right thing by your family and your people."
“Thank you William. I will think on your words and try to live up to ya high opinion of me. I must decline ta visit at this time as I have much ta do ta prepare for what we both know will be the most difficult leg of our fight to keep control of Ireland from that son-of-a-bitch Henry.”
As the day ended and the last prayers were spoken by Father Riley, Steven was more than ready to be by himself with his thoughts. He returned to stand for a long while over his wife’s grave and wondered how he would manage one day without her smile, her friendship…her love.
Danika approached Steven, in silence, to give comfort to her life-long friend. The beauty of their friendship was no words ever need be spoken for each to understand the feelings of the other. She placed her hand to his forearm and spoke to him in Gaelic the words of strength, love and honor. “Neart, gra agus onoir, to you my dearest friend”.
Steven turned toward Danika, naturally and without thinking, he clung to her. He needed to feel life at that moment. He craved the closeness and warmth he knows he will never again experience the same way, as with the first love of his life... and just as quick, he let go of Danika, turning from her, trying to hide his warrior's tears. However, one single tear did manage to escape and trickle down his cheek. He immediately brushed it aside, took in a deep breathe and abruptly walked away.
Danika stood there in the cold, with no one to soothe her grief. Not just for the passing of her friend, but for the misery she felt inside for her beloved Steven.