My 200th Post

After the Reunion, Part 3

Shannon knew that Rory could not stay away from the queen for more than a day or two. "Like a moth to a flame, so he is," he muttered to himself. And he knew as soon as those delicate wings of his were singed at the edges again, his and Rory's time on their own was at an end.

It was good to see the man's reunion with the king. Whatever Shannon had thought of Lawrence in the past, he saw him now for the warm and tender man he was when not faced with a threat. He clearly did not see the tall gangly storyteller as a threat, for his smiling bear hug almost lifted the Ulsterman off his feet. Nor did it take long before Lawrence and his queen had clasped each of Rory's arms to propel him back to the children's lodging.

Shannon hung back, letting them all have their reunion. He was not overlooked however. Josephine saw her children set to climbing all over Rory, then glanced up to see Shannon leaning idly in the doorway. She came over to him.

"Is it not a blessing, praise God, to have him back?" she said as she put her arms around him. Like she, he was nowhere near as tall as the two other men, and their time together during Gadfrid's short reign had put them on a much on an almost equal footing. Not that Shannon ever was subservient. It was, as he said, "not me way."

Shannon smiled back into her eyes. "It is, indeed it is. As long as he was gone, thought I did he must be dead. Then there he was, grand and bonny, just in the nick of time." He put one arm around her shoulders, causing Lawrence's bright smile to flicker momentarily. Josephine looked back up at her husband with a frank face, and the king shrugged and turned his attention back to Rory and the children.

Shannon whispered into the queen's ear, "Now did Himself tell you how he came to be in that monastery?"

Josephine looked blank. "Lindisfarne? He followed me there. Oh, you mean the one where he was taken after the hanging? No, we have not spoken about it. 'Tis too unpleasant a topic. Why? Has he not told you?"

Shannon shook his head, "Nay, he did so, and he does not know all of what happened. I suppose we shall be after never learning what passed. But I am curious about one thing.."

Josephine stopped her slow walk to where the children were prattling at Rory and waited for Shannon's question.

The children caught sight of Shannon and Tavish crowed, "Shaddod!" which started the rush of four little sets feet up to Shannon and four sets of arms to throw about his legs. Shannon gave the queen a "we can talk later" wink and crouched to gather the little ones in his own arms.

"Watch the lute, now them, don't smash it," he cried, laughing.

At dinner Lawrence quizzed Rory about his last meeting with Elerde. Josephine was off conferring with the steward at the moment. "Heading north, you say? What did he say about m y wife."

Rory looked back at him earnestly. "He said to go to her, nothing more."

"And he had his men with him?"

"Aye, all of them that I recall."

Lawrence took a gulp of wine and asked, "And none of them said anything to you?"

Rory shook his head. "Nay, save that they were that surprised and happy to see me not dead."

Lawrence sat back in his ornately carved chair. "What did happen, Rory? By the time we knew you were taken by O'Donnell we believed it was too late to rescue you."

Rory waved the implicit guilt away. "I am that certain 'twould have been by then."

Lawrence looked uneasy. "Shannon told us. Told us about O'Donnell's.. interest in you that is. Is that what happened, what he wanted you to, that he did...?"

Rory put the king out of his embarrassed misery. "Aye, he wanted me for a lover. But it did not happen. Should I have been so inclined, I should not have wished to.. with O'Donnell."

Lawrence lifted one eyebrow. "But you are not so drawn, so why you did not submit is not important." He was giving Rory a way to avoid expressing his vow to be true to Josephine. Although everyone knew of it, including Lawrence, he was the one person who did not want to discuss it.

Rory considered the king levelly for a moment. "He had a lover of his own, a Scot. methinks that was who saw me away from my peril."

Lawrence held up his cup for more wine as the servant passed along with a pitcher. "There was a man, with O'Donnell, in that final battle."

Rory looked up from his trencher. "Not tall but well made, dark hair and beard? Not as dark of the Breton lord?"

Lawrence nodded. "Aye. When O'Donnell was killed, the man avenged him on the killer. That was my lady's cousin Ioruert. Then Ruallauh killed him."

Rory looked aghast. "MacDhui killed Ioruert. Ochon." He put his face in his hands.

The days went on, each person struggling to return to a normal life. Two years of danger, of bloody battle, of estrangement and loss left them all stunned. Further there was much to catch up on, simple tales of how they all got on, but many as well that were almost as difficult in the telling than they were in living. Lawrence grew so grim as Josephine related her journey after the ambush on the Lincoln road through the usurping and her escape that she found herself leaving out the tenser moments, which only made him angry.

Shannon and Rory spent the first days making the rounds of the Celts who lived near Lawrencium, but slowly a tension developed between them. Shannon saw Rory watching him with a frown whenever he got drunk. For his part, Rory would catch Shannon giving him a speculative but reserved looked, the reason for which he hoped he did not know. That was the one thing he did not want to explain, not to anyone.

Shannon was drinking a great deal, almost continuously. In a time where the accustomed drink was ale for breakfast, dinner, and supper, one had to drink a good deal and stick to the ale from the last of the typical three brewings from the malted barley which had a much higher alcohol content. Shannon did both. Further, he did not hold his drink well, was a stumble down, sloppy drunk whose behavior amused most, but not Rory.

Rory made his mind up to speak to Leofwen's healer friend. He found her outside the back of the alehouse helping Leofwen with her baking. The woman stood up with her hands pressed to her lower back. "So now you have a question too?" she groaned.

At Rory's blank look, she realized he was not aware that Shannon had approached her earlier that day. "Shannon was at me with questions about you. He was curious about your injuries and how they would have healed. I told him I could know nothing without talking to you and examining those injuries." As she spoke he came up to him and was fingering his left eye whose orbital bone had broken badly enough to make his cheek deformed and his eyelid droop. She tut-tutted over. "This really is too bad. And you such a handsome man."

"Shannon spoke to you? What did he want to know?" Rory's blood ran chill.

The healer ran her hands down Rory's arms and torso. "Your cracked ribs seem to be healing. What's wrong with your knee?" She stopped and registered his question. "He wanted to know how long it would take for injuries like yours to heal."

Rory frowned. "I see," he said quietly. He turned around and walked around the edge of the alehouse.

"Wait!" the healer called. "Was there something..."

Leofwen and she exchanged looks. Leofwen confided, "Shannon thinks Rory stayed away longer than he needed to."

The healer crossed her arms over her chest. "Why would he do that?"

Leofwen shrugged. "You know that Shannon went through hell thinking Rory was gone. If it is true that Rory did not come and did not even send word, then all that suffering need not have happened."

The healer gazed at her friend open-mouthed. "No it need not have! I don't understand. Why hasn't Shannon asked??"

Leofwen pressed her lips tight together. "I think Shannon is afraid to. He thinks it might be something he would rather not know."

Continues...

After the Reunion Continued

[Continued from An Involuntary King: The Tale Continues.]

Shannon woke with a start. He moaned, pulled himself to a sitting position on the alehouse floor, and put his head in his hands. The little light in the room was nevertheless blinding to his hung-over eyes.

“Now are ye not a sorry sight, me lad,” came a voice from the doorway that led to the brew room.

Shannon whipped his head about, causing a wave of nausea to surge up from his belly. “Rory!” he choked out. He struggled to his feet and made a straight line to the bucket kept in the corner for the purpose. While he retched he heard soft laughter from behind him.

“Glad, so I am, to see how ye welcome me home.” A cloth appeared at Shannon’s shoulder, and he took it and wiped his mouth. He turned round eyes on the very tall man who reached to help him stand.

“Ruarín!” Shannon stared up into his friend’s face. He remembered the day before and Rory’s return with the queen and her children on the boat. He remembered the ruin of Rory’s face and reached to touch his cheek where it was misshapen .

“Let’s get ye a wee bit of ale to restore ye.” Rory took his elbow, and Shannon let him lead him to a bench by the firepit.

Leofwen came in from the brew room with a clay bowl and a pitcher. She clucked her tongue and shook her head at Shannon. “God’s blood, man, what a way to welcome your long lost friend back to the world of the living.”

Shannon smiled weakly. “That’s what he said.” He gratefully took the bowl and drank. “None for ye, then ?” he said to Rory, who sat down next to him.

“Nay, ‘tis not to me taste any longer,” Rory said in his gentle voice.

Leofwen took her leave,, giving the two Ulstermen some time alone. Shannon was gazing at Rory, a look of wonder on his face. “I recall ye telling a tale to the alehouse about being hanged for spying. That is not what happened, is it?”

Rory sighed. “Nay, it was not. Methinks ye know the purpose O’Donnell had in taking me.”

“I know he wanted you, like a man wants a woman. That was no mystery. We knew that of him of old. With Master Ishaq.” He nodded slowly, looking at Rory’s averted face. “He pressed his desires, then, I see. And either those desires were cruel or ye rejected him.”

Rory smiled wryly and cast down his eyes. “I did more than reject them. I hurt the man.”

Shannon paused, then gave a sharp laugh. “Good on ye, me lad.”

“But that be why I was beaten, so it is. “ He looked up sideways into Shannon’s considering stare. “And why I was to be hanged.”

Shannon refilled his bowl. “Then how.. how did ye escape? The soldiers in Hucknall, they were sure you were after being hanged.”

Rory sat up straight and shook his head. “I can’t tell you, for I do not know meself. At one point I thought I had been hanged. I saw a man hanging from a tree and thought it was me. Then I found meself being nursed in a monastery near Grantham. I can only guess.” Seeing the other man’s expectant look, he went on. “There was a Scotsman, O’Donnell’s lieutenant, who must have arranged for someone else to hang in me place.”

“Why? Why should O’Donnell’s lieutenant help you?”

With a shrug of his thin shoulders, Rory replied, “I don’t know. But it is all I can think of.” He turned curious eyes on Shannon. “Does anyone know what happened to them. To O’Donnell and to MacDhui?”

Shannon shook his head, his mop of red curls dancing on his scalp as he did. “I know the king said O’Donnell was killed in the battle for Ratherwood, but he said nothing of the other.” He added, “Now wait, there was another. The man who killed the queen’s cousin after he killed O’Donnell.”

“MacDhui would do that, avenge his… commander, that is. Which cousin?”

“The youngest, Ioruert.”

Rory winced. “Ochon, Ochon,” he moaned. He looked towards the outer door of the alehouse. “Then me lady had sad news at her homecoming as well as glad.”

Shannon reached for the pitcher again. He noted Rory’s look of disapproval but made as if he had not. “What happened to the mercenary, Lord Elerde?”

With a sigh, Rory answered, “Methinks the lady sent him packing. He was on his way north with his men when I saw him. She was at the Holy Isle, alone but for her children.”

Shannon gave him a considering look. “Ah, about time, that is.” He seemed to think something over. “Ruari,” he ventured, using the Gaelic form of his friend’s name. “Ye should be thinking of leaving as well. “ He saw Rory’s sharp look of panic. “She has but one love, and ye know it. Time ye were leaving her to it.”

Rory glared at him, then glanced away.


Up in the fortress on the bluff, the king could not take his eyes off his wife and their children. They all sat in the queen’s own chamber where the children slept the night before. The nursery was too painful a reminder of their captivity under the usurper,. As it was, they did not want their parents to leave them to go to the king’s chamber. All six, children and parents had crowded into the bed to sleep the first night together. Lawrence and his beloved were content. There was time for their more intimate reunion later.

“My love, do you know what happened to Rory? Why he is alive?” Lawrence asked her.

She glanced up at him distractedly. “Nay, just that he escaped. I do not think he wants to remember.”

Peter, who sat on the floor playing with his cat, Ducky, with a piece of string, looked up. “Where is Rory, Mama?”

Josephine smiled warmly at her eldest son. “He will come see you today, I am sure of it. He just wanted to see Shannon first.”

Peter nodded slowly, going back to playing with the cat. “Ow!” he cried. “He scratched me!”

Lawrence stood and gently picked up the cat. “Time for play to be over. Let your mother see that scratch.” He took the cat to the door and put it outseide.

Josephine was already examining the hand, declaring the wound minor and healing it with a motherly kiss. “It did not even break the skin. You will be all right. Why don’t you take your sisters and brother to the Hall for something to eat?”

She saw her husband’s face cloud as he reluctantly let the children go. Once the door was closed, however, he turned back to her and put his arms around her. He put his face in her hair near her ear and took in a long, deep breath. “Oh Josie, I thought I might never hold you like this again.”

She settled gratefully into him. “I never believed what they told me, that you were dead. I knew that if you had died, I would have felt it.”

He pulled his face back. She saw the pain in his eyes. “I thought I saw you killed. On the ramparts. They tossed a woman over them in your clothing to make me believe it was you.”

Josephine reached to his cheek and stroked it with the flat of her palm. “Oh my dear, my dear, how horrible.” She reached up to pull his head down to hers and put her lips on his lips. She tasted the tang of tears in his mouth. His kiss grew more insistent.

“Josie, Josie, I need you,” he whispered roughly into her ear.

“Aye, my darling, I need you as well.”

Lawrence tore himself away only long enough to throw the latch on the door. By the time he was back, she was stretched on the bed waiting for him.


“Sweeting…” he hesitated later, as she lay with her cheek on his chest, still reeling from the intensity of their conjugation. “Where is the Breton?”

He felt her go stiff. Then she said in a light voice. “Gone. I sent him away.”

She felt his nod against the top of her head. “Good,” was all he said. But unbeknownst to her he had a look of grateful relief on his face. He tightened his arms around her.

To be continued.

See more stories at An Involuntary King, Welcome to Críslicland.

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.