His feet pulled out from under him, Galen fell heavily onto his backside. The impact of the fall was so severe that his sword was knocked out of his hand. He stretched his arm to retrieve it, but came up short, the blade having landed too far away.
The throng, having gone mad with bloodlust, roared their approval.
Hit with a burst of dizziness, black spots danced before Laoghaire’s eyes, her vision blurred with tears. She wanted to turn away, to avert her gaze, but could not bring herself to do so.
I do not want to watch him die!
Incited by the cheering crowd, Blàrach flung the spear aside and thrust his balled fist into the air in a triumphant display.
To Laoghaire’s horror, Galen suddenly turned his head and peered directly at her . . . exactly as he had in her vision.
“No!” she screamed.
But Galen continued to maintain eye contact with her until—in a blur of motion—he unexpectedly rolled to one side at the very instant that Blàrach’s sword swung downward. The lithe maneuver saved his life, causing the sheriff’s blade to plow harmlessly into the ground.
Immediately seizing the advantage, Galen vaulted to his feet, his movements as nimble as an acrobat. Rearing back his foot, he forcefully kicked the sword out of Simon Blàrach’s hand. The blade glistened in the sunlight as it flew through the air and ended up embedded in the piled kindling beneath her.
In the next instant, the point of Galen’s drawn dagger was pressed firmly against his opponent’s meaty jowls. Cowering, Simon Blàrach fell to his knees, knowing full well he was a doomed man.
There was a shocked stir in the crowd as everyone suddenly realized that their champion was not long for this world, the sheriff having made a fatal miscalculation.
“I yield,” Blàrach rasped on a ragged breath, his voice barely audible.
Having been on the verge of jabbing his dagger into Blàrach’s throat, Galen suddenly withdrew his blade. “By my right of victory, I spare your miserable life. Use it well.”
Reprieve issued, Galen spun on his heel and stormed over to where the monks were huddled on the far side of the arena, more than a few of whom recoiled in fear at his approach.
“I trust that I have successfully proven my lady wife’s innocence,” he said to the abbot, his chest heaving from his exertions.
Although he looked none too pleased by the outcome, Abbot Theodore nodded curtly. “I release her to your custody.”
With the dagger still grasped in his hand, Galen made his way to the pyre. That they both survived the ordeal unscathed made Laoghaire wonder if she was ensnared in a dream.
How can it be that Galen eluded his death, when I’d seen it so clearly in my vision?She could only assume that she’d been right in refusing to believe that the events foretold in ataibhsewere written in stone.
God endowed us with free will so we can choose our own destiny. But even as she thought that, Laoghaire recognized that love also played an integral part in what just transpired.
Her vision blurred with joyful tears, Laoghaire watched as Galen climbed several rungs of the ladder. At feeling the ropes give way under his dagger, her relief was so great that she swayed slightly. Galen put a gloved hand to her waist to hold her steady while she navigated her way to the ladder.
When, a few moments later, her bare feet touched the ground, she slumped against Galen, unable to hold herself upright.
“’Tis ended,” she murmured.
Galen gazed intently at her, and on his face there was a look of deep longing. “In this ending, I pray thee that we find a beginning.”
“I, too, yearn to begin anew,” she whispered, burying her face against Galen’s broad chest.
Oblivious to the crowd of gawking onlookers, they stood there, locked in a tight embrace. Laoghaire felt Galen clench and unclench a fistful of her hair, felt him shudder against her. When she pulled her head back, she saw that there were tears glistening in his eyes. She framed his face between her hands, and in the next instant their mouths came together in a hard, passionate kiss.
“Make way for the king!”
“The king!” she and Galen exclaimed in unison as they instantly pulled apart from one another.
Catching sight of Robert the Bruce—his fur-trimmed mantle flowing behind him as he entered the forecourt—her eyes went wide with surprise.
She then peered at the crowd and watched as the clustered bystanders began to disassemble in an unruly fashion. With great haste, people moved to one side or the other amidst a flurry of excited gasps and heated whispering, even as they snatched caps off of their heads and made awkward attempts at bowing as the king walked past them. Their almost comical reaction made Laoghaire suspect that none of the locals had ever laid eyes upon Robert the Bruce. Or any king for that matter.
One brave soul called out, “God save King Robert!” An exclamation that seemed to please the Bruce immensely.
