An Involuntary King: the Tale Continues

[The following story takes place just after the reunion of the king with his wife and children and Shannon with Rory at the end of An Involuntary King: A Tale of Anglo Saxon England. If you are planning to read this novel, be warned that some of the contents in these stories are spoilers for events in the book.]

After the Reunion

Shannon lifted his head from where it lay on Rory’s chest. His face was puffy, tear-streaked, but he was smiling his lop-sided smile. Then he frowned. “Ochon, Rory, what a mess they made of your face.”

Rory raised his eyebrows ruefully. “That they did. Mayhap it will make my battle tales more believable.”

He glanced to the side, just seeing the king’s and queen’s embracing forms disappear as the welcoming throng closed behind them.

“Will ye not be going after her, then, boyo?” Shannon asked.

Rory shook his head. “She’ll not be after needing me. She has her lord and now he has her and their wee ones. ‘Tis for that I fetched her.” He grinned into his friend’s concerned face. “I should like to spend this welcome with ye, me friend.”

Shannon’s face lit like a sunburst. “Then off to the Blue Lady, lad, and we shall celebrate with wine, women and song… or in your case, just wine and song.”

Rory grimaced at the reference to his celibacy, dedicated as it was to the unattainable queen. He put his arm around the shorter man’s shoulders and started up the street. “I’ll be assuming’ the alehouse be in the same place as before. Grand so.”

At the alehouse the Ulstermen were greeted with delighted surprise. Everyone in Lawrencium had heard that the Irish mercenary commander O’Donnell had hanged Rory. Yet here he was, somewhat the worse for the treatment he got at the man’s hands, but nonetheless alive and seemingly well.

As Shannon sought out the alehouse’s owner, Leofwen, to share the unbelievable news and get his friend and himself well supplied with her ale, Rory found himself drawn to one of the crude tables near the fire. The cacophony of welcomes and questions about his deliverance made his head ache. The group parted as Leofwen made her way through it like a ship into fishing boats. “Rory, Rory, God be praised!” The stout woman’s bright face was running with tears. She drew him to her be-aproned breast and held him to her in a mighty embrace. “Shannon has been mourning ye something awful. We all have been. Praise God that he has brought ye back to us.”

Rory made a mental note to seek Leofwen out and hear more about how Shannon had spent his time since he and the queen returned from Affynshire. He had seen the redness of his lifelong friend’s eyes, the puffiness of his face, and smelled the ale on his breath.

Now he was drawn to a bench and seated, Leofwen bringing ale to every cup, refusing payment and casting tearful and happy glances at the returned prodigal as she did. The calls came for the story of his escape as the cheery response to free beer subsided.

Shannon sat across from Rory. He watched his friend’s face wondering what tale he would tell. Would he tell the true reason O’Donnell had taken him?

Rory’s face was somber as he considered his own path. He cast Shannon a questioning look. Had he said anything about O’Donnell’s obsession with him, his designs on making Rory his lover? He gratefully received his answer in the slight shake of his friend’s head. The long years of companionship made any more explicit communication unnecessary.

No, he would not reveal the purpose of O’Donnell’s trading the queen for him when she was captured. He would not reveal what had transpired in the hall of O’Donnell’s fortress. He would not tell them how he had pretended to return the man’s desire, and then hurt him sorely. He would not tell them that the man who set him free was O’Donnell’s lover as well as his lieutenant.

Shannon offered him a way into the story he would tell. “In Hucknall.. they told me you were executed as a spy…”

Rory’s nod and smile were as much a thank you as assent. “Aye, ‘tis true. That be what they said, and sure and if I had gotten away on me own two feet that judgment should have been exactly what I should have done. I should have made me way straight to the king with every bit of information I had garnered in the fortress.”

Leofwen looked betw3een the two men. She noticed the silent communication. There was more to this tale than she would hear. Mayhap she never would know for sure, but she would pay attention. The man, with his broken cheekbone and nose, his drooping eyelid and slight limp might be the outward signs of a much greater hurt. If she could help him heal, she would.

Rory proceeded to tell a story of being tossed into a locked hut and beaten by the mercenary lord’s rough soldiers. He revealed what he could of his remarkable escape. All he recalled, or so he told them, was being dragged unconscious to a cell in the town, then of being carted away and taken over the Trenta in a boat to a monastery. He woke a long time after to find himself cared for by the monks. He was unable to move for his broken bones and injuries. It was only when he learned that the queen was a prisoner of the usurper Gadfrid that he left the monastery. When he reached the king’s fortress the lady was just leaving with the Breton for safety with her children. He followed as best he could, finding her at Lindisfarne.

“Why did you not bring her home straight away?” one man asked.

“We believed the king was killed. It should not have been safe, so it wasn’t.”

Rory glanced at Shannon. He was beaming and happy.

Another man spoke up. “’Twas a good long time from when our good queen returned and the Breton spirited her away. Shannon, was it not? Were you crippled all that time?”

Rory hesitated. He worried how he would explain the delay all the while he was heading east to save the queen if he could. He looked at Shannon’s face. It was averted, considering. He caught the mop-haired man’s questioning glance at him. How could he ever explain to Shannon how he had thought to save him and all others from the pain he felt he had given them?

He opened his mouth to answer when Leofwen interrupted. “’Twasn’t so long a time and the man was near to death. Of course he was crippled. He should have come straightway had he not been. Isn’t that right, Rory?”

The onslaught of questions and congratulations recommenced. Rory had avoided that explanation. At least for now.

Shannon was quickly drunk enough to forget any misgivings, leading the company in song, telling stories of Rory’s and his journeys, and finally collapsing off the bench. Leofwen took him lovingly in hand, and left him in a back room with Rory as she and the others who had carried the man there departed. She caught Rory’s eye as she dusted off her hands dramatically. “He is not the man you knew, my friend. A part of him died when he thought you had.”

Rory gazed at her, then nodde3d. “I thank ye for lookin’ after him as ye did, goodwoman.”

She looked back into his eyes before she nodded and left.

Rory sat on the rushes next to the thin pallet Shannon was now snoring on. Tears sprang to his own eyes. “Och, Shan, how can I ever make you understand?”

To be continued.

You can find many other stories at Welcome to Críslicland.

A Mountain Beltane

[Readers are enjoying the excerpts from An Involuntary King on Historical Novel Review so much that I decided to offer one about a close encounter between the queen and Rory McGuinness.]

When she found the chance, Josephine sought out Rory and asked him, "You are planning to be on your way, you and Shannon? I know you mean to, but can you tell me, how long might you be wandering? We shall miss you both. You know that." Her manner was sincere but light. She wanted to know, but she did not want to unease him.

To her surprise, Rory looked shamefaced. He twisted his cap in his hands and looked down. "Aye, me lady, and I am that sorry Shan spoke up ere I had a chance to speak with ye…"

Josephine watched his face. "There is nothing to apologize for, Rory."

He looked up into her eyes briefly. "Me lady, I dinnae think Shannon plans to return."

"Oh," Josephine breathed. "And yourself?" She hid her trepidation.

"I... I should like to return to Lawrencium, with your permission."

"Rory, you do not need my permission. Of course we want you to come back. My lord and I both care deeply for you and Shannon." She looked at him for a few moments. "Please come back, Rory dear. Will you not?"

He smiled wistfully. "I shall. I promise. But, me lady, Shannon…"

Josephine put a hand on his arm for the barest moment. "I know. He depends on you to keep out of trouble. I know your love for him is great. Come back... when you can. And if you can..." She looked at Shannon, who was walking towards them, "bring him back with you."

Shannon looked at the two solemn faces. "Och, tell me, who died?" Neither replied. He shook his head at his own foolishness and fell silent.

Josephine turned a brilliant smile on him. "It seems the place where I spent my girlhood shall have the benefit of adding your clear voice to the Bealtana festivities, my friend!"

Shannon and Rory both smiled their gratitude. "Och, aye, me lady. ’Twill be as rare a treat for us," Rory said.

The festive company set out for the mountain early the next morning. The track was old but passable as it wound through the forest, ever rising in elevation, until the track became to narrow for the carts. At that point, the carts were left in a clearing set up for them and all, including the small children, continued either a-horse or afoot.

As the spring evening light began to fade, the party finally arrived at the camp. Its remoteness made it unknown and hard to run across, but it was neither small nor primitive. Ruallauh's own wife and children came out of a log house to greet him, pleased and surprised to see him home early.

Before settling in for the night, Josephine walked about in the night air, only the faintest light coming through the thick forest from the sun setting over the mountaintop to the west. She went to the edge of the lake, long and narrow, and sat on a rock. Before she knew it, Ruallauh was crouching beside her.

"Is it as you remember, my lady?" he asked, smiling with his own memories of growing up with his towheaded and scabby kneed little cousin.

She breathed in the mountain air and nodded. "Much is the same, and much brings lost memories to mind. I do miss Affynshire. I wish 'twas not such a journey so I could see you all more often than once every five years."

He stayed by her as they heard night birds join the frogs and wind singing to them in the peace of the mountain.


"Sire, my sister has written to say she shall be delayed a few days."

Lawrence took the message and broke the seal. While he unrolled it he gave Lorin a rebuking glance. "The only way you can know that is if you also received a message but delayed bringing this one to read your own. You think to make me wait?" He was not jesting.

Lorin colored. "I beg your pardon, sire, it shall not happen again."

Lawrence nodded, his glare unabated. He looked at his own message. "I suppose I need not bother to read this, since you know everything in it." But he did not wait for the duke to reply. He scanned the first several lines, his face shifting from effrontery to disappointment. "Ah, it is as you say, she is delayed. But 'tis for a happy reason. I must not be selfish when she sees your family so infrequently. She will be on the road after Bealtana. The children will be sad." He put down the message. "You may go."

Lorin started to say something sympathetic, but thought better of it, bowed, and left.

Once the duke was gone, Lawrence unrolled the message again and read it more at his leisure.

May Eve found the company gathered where the mountain rose to a rounded meadow with few trees. Chill as it was, they wished to be the first to see the sun rise to the east in the dawn. Josephine found herself wakeful, looking as she was in the direction of Lawrencium, where no doubt her love slept peacefully, dreaming of her. She sat on the fur that Ruallauh placed on the ground for her, her knees drawn up to her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs for balance and for warmth.

She felt more than heard Rory come up beside her. "Sit with me, my friend," the queen invited. She felt his body's warmth as he lowered his long limbs to sit by her side. "Nay, share the fur," she said, moving over to make room. She could smell his body, always strangely like deep woodland. He placed himself next to her, leaving the barest gap, afraid for their bodies to touch.

"'Tis goin' on dawn, I am thinkin'," he said quietly. "Can ye see the faint hint of light o'er the hills?"

She rested her chin on her knees, listening to the slow breathing and occasional snores of the children who tried in vain to stay up for the morning light. "Aye, though that means 'tis already Bealtana in Lawrencium. If 'were flat between us, we should have seen the morn ere this."

"D'ye think the king wakes for this dawn?" Rory inquired.

"Nay," she sighed, "'tis not his way. He does not set his mind upon such traditions. Much as my brother does not. He might seek to greet the dawn to please me, or he might greet it on the morning of a battle, otherwise, my lord sleeps." She sighed thinking of the delicious warmth of him in bed beside her. "I will be glad when the sun is well and truly up... it is cold!" The queen shivered.

Rory looked over at her concerned. "Lady, may I offer ye me cloak?"

Josephine accepted it, feeling the warmth he infused it with warming her own shoulders and back.


Many of the adults who managed to greet the dawn slept in the warmth of the midmorning sun while servants set up the festivities and watched as the children played games on the mountain meadow. Shannon remained with them, as engaged in their play as they were. Rory dozed but mostly watched where the queen slept some distance from him, lying on her fur and still covered with his cloak. It would smell like her, he thought with a smile. She was lying on her side, her cheek cradled on her crooked arm. Her face was relaxed and peaceful. Her lips curved slightly in a dreaming smile. Her shoulder rose and fell as she breathed. Rory felt his love for her buzz inside him, and he could not help but let a quiet chuckle of pure joy escape his lips.


A maypole set in the middle of the mountain meadow cast its long, thin shadow on the ground as the company feasted and the afternoon grew warmer still. Long ribbons tied to the top and crowned by spring flowers in a garland curled and drifted about in the breeze. Shannon obliged the company with a song as the children, and some adults, danced around it, weaving the sheath the ribbons made. Rory backed away, shaking his head, when he was invited by Ruallauh's wife Mairead to be a dancer. Josephine joined the dance, and he did not want to find himself facing her when the music stopped and chaste kisses exchanged.

Shannon watched Rory carefully as the light started to dim. "That be more mead than ye usually partake of, boyo."

Rory was enjoying the simple peace and camaraderie of the servants to whose fire he wandered. He reassured Shannon with a merry smile. "Now go and break that bond your faithless mistress held you to. That serving woman seems to want to help you."

Rory's vision was swimming as the two bonfires were lit. He shook his head to clear it. He was starting to sober in the chill night air. He looked around the two fires to see the queen's cousins holding their wives to their sides, their arms around the women's waists. Servants paired up too, from the stout cook and her husband to the younger unmarried lads and lasses. He noticed Shannon with his arms around the servant woman, his face almost touching hers, his lips moving in sweet words or perhaps a song.

He was deep in a reverie of the growing flames. When a sound beside him caused him to look up, he saw the queen standing beside him, her arms wrapped around her again. She did not look cold, but rather content and smiling. Her eyes twinkled as she glanced over at him. Or was that the firelight reflecting in her blue eyes? He returned her smile.

Servants led the cattle between the fires for the blessing, the light and warmth making them seem otherworldly as it reflected off their flanks, and the party joined their voices in song. The mood rose to a merry pitch. With the more reverent and soulful songs of the season it mellowed again. Rory noted the queen shivering. He reached to her without inhibition and put his arm around her shoulder. She smiled her thanks.

Rory saw Shannon start to stroll off with the blushing servant. He saw Ruallauh take his wife in his arms and kiss her. The other cousins in turn embraced their own wives. Other less distinct figures either joined or went off arm-in-arm. Rory turned to Josephine. She faced him and smiled up at the tender face of this man who towered over her. On an impulse he could never later explain, he leaned down and put his lips on hers.

Her jerk of surprise broke Rory's sense of dreamy unreality. She pulled back, pressing herself away from him with her hands against his chest. He looked into her face dismayed. "Och, me lady, I am sorry! I forgot meself! I didn't mean…"

Josephine turned her face away. "Nay, Rory, I understand, it was the moment. But... but... we cannot..." She knew she had let herself be lulled by the companionability of the moment. How could she not? Life in his presence was so sweet, how could she but keep him by her, overlooking what his feelings meant, for him, for herself. "Oh Rory, I am so sorry... I should have realized..."

She looked back around and up into his face, seeing misery there. She was struck speechless by the depth of it. She put her fingertips to her mouth, her eyes round as she saw his pain.

"This is not right, me lady. I beg of ye, let me go, I... I..." He couldn't finish.

A feeling of loss overwhelmed her. "Oh Rory, why can we not go back as if this ne'er happened? Can we not go back to being dearest of friends?"

To her horror, instead of accepting this gratefully or at least with peace, Rory turned on her a look of agony. He turned abruptly and strode away.

[Find out what happens next in Nan hawthorne's An Involuntary King.]