Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [160]
“You owe him,” he quietly suggested, “at least some thanks, and an apology.”
“Apology?” Her voice was rising sharply.
He decided to go on the offensive.
“Dear God, woman, are you so blinded by your hatred of Brian that you cannot see the generosity of spirit of the man from Fingal? He ignores your insults and tries to save your children from ruin, and still you cannot see anything but a malice that is of your own imagining entirely. It’s a fool you are,” he burst out. “You could have had the man for a husband.” He paused. Then in a lower voice and, apparently with satisfaction, he added, “Well, you are too late for that, anyway, now that there are others.”
“Others?”
“Of course.” He shrugged. “What would you expect?” Then, suddenly and unceremoniously, he left.
It was February when the news began to arrive at the port. Remembering the King of Dyflin’s warning, Morann had been expecting it.
The Vikings were coming. From the Isle of Man, just over the horizon, its Viking ruler was bringing a war fleet. From the faraway Orkney Islands in the north, another great sailing was coming. Warrior chiefs, merchant adventurers, Nordic pirates—they were all making ready. It would be another great Viking adventure. Who knew, if they defeated old Brian Boru, there might even be a chance to take over the whole island, just as Canute and his Danes were doing in England. At the least, there would be valuable pickings.
In Dyflin, by the middle of the month there were all kinds of rumour.
It was said that the King of Leinster’s sister, the turbulent former wife of Brian, had even offered to marry again if it would help the cause. “They say she’s been promised to the Isle of Man king and to the Orkney king as well,” a chief close to the family told Morann.
“She can hardly marry them both,” Morann remarked.
“Don’t count on it,” answered the other.
As yet, there was no word from King Brian in Munster. Was the old warrior aware of the preparations in the northern seas? Undoubtedly. Would he hesitate to return against such odds, as some in Dyflin still supposed? Morann did not think so. He had no doubt that the cautious conqueror would, as usual, take his own time. At the end of February, a ship arrived from the Orkneys with definite news.
“The fleet will be here before Easter.”
It had been in early January, as he had been despairing of ever finishing his work in time, that Osgar had received news of a very different kind, from Caoilinn. She apologised for failing to send a message before, but explained that she had been trapped in Dyflin throughout the siege. A little guiltily perhaps, she sent him tender expressions of affection. And she let him know that, for reasons she did not explain, she would not be marrying again, after all. “But come to see me, Osgar,” she added. “Come to see me soon.”
What could he feel, at such a message? He hardly knew. At first he received it calmly enough. He realised that it had been some time since he had even given her a thought. During that day, he had gone quietly about his business as usual; only at the end of the afternoon, as he put his pens away and his fingers encountered the little wedding ring that still resided in the bag, did he suddenly experience a sharp stab of recollected emotion at the thought of her.
She came to him that night in his dreams and again when he awoke in the dark January dawn, bringing with her a strange sense of warmth, a tingling of excitement—he hardly remembered when he had last felt this way. Nor did the sensation depart, but remained with him throughout the day.
What did it mean? That evening Osgar reflected carefully. When he had returned to Glendalough after his uncle’s death, he had suffered from melancholy moods for some time. His inability to go back to Dyflin and his abiding sense of failure over Caoilinn had been hard to bear. With the news of her forthcoming marriage, however, a door in his mind seemed to have closed. She was departing once again into the arms of another.