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Post by laurenne on Jul 8, 2010 1:21:32 GMT -5
I'm gone for 2 weeks and look how much I miss? I have to know what happens next. I love this story.
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VolleyErica3
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Cabin Lass
Music = my life *points* the green guys name is Fredward ^_^
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Post by VolleyErica3 on Jul 8, 2010 15:02:41 GMT -5
*gasp* OH NO!! SOMEONE NEEDS TO SAVE KEITH!! and i KNEW devon would be a bad guy!!! *scolds devon*
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Post by Ghost on Jul 12, 2010 14:52:26 GMT -5
Keith did not stop until he reached Kells, a town that lay directly on his path to Donegal.
There was a pub there, at the inn called the Red Dragon, whose offerings of food and drink were famous. It would be a good place to stop and rest before he made the long push back to the western coast of Ireland.
As Keith approached the town in the dead of night, the good weather turned foul. Thick clouds that had blanketed the sky throughout the day finally burst, sending down a steady cascade of cold rain. By the time he reached the Red Dragon, Keith's cloak was a soaked mess that only served to shield his clothes from becoming completely drenched.
Storm was taken from him the minute his feet touched the solid ground outside the inn. He thought little of it, instead trudging inside the dry inn and sweeping his hood off his dripping head. He loved the water, but not when it fell in torrents from the sky.
The innkeeper, a thin, haggard sort of man, tilted his head to one side as Keith approached him. "Your name."
"Keith Harkin," the messenger said above the noise of the tavern.
The man nodded to himself, not appearing to care that Keith stood creating a puddle in the middle of the floor. "Harkin, you say. Not from around here, are ya?" Keith stared at the man but did not answer.
"There's a knightly sort of man waiting for you. Got an accent like yours, too." Keith frowned. "Who is it?"
"I didn't think to ask," the innkeeper shrugged. "But he said he was waiting for a man named Keith Harkin, and to send him up immediately when he arrived. He's in the back room—straight through that door and down the left corridor."
Keith sighed, thanked the innkeeper, and wove his way through the crowded tables to the door at the back of the room. There was a burly, dark-clothed man sitting in one corner, but the messenger was too tired and wet to notice or care.
He pushed through the door and turned left, walking down the dark corridor until he neared the last room. He knocked, thinking it was rather unnecessary to do so; the squelching his shoes made with every step would have announced his presence to the entire county by now.
The door creaked open, and Keith found himself looking at familiar figure, a man by the name of Brennan—the highest member of the Donegal Castle guard.
"Let him in, Brennan," Keith heard a low voice say from within.
The guard swung open the door and ushered the messenger inside. A fire had been built up, and the blazing flames cast dancing shadows across the walls. Sitting on a chair by the fire, long legs stretched out comfortably in front of him, was Sir Devon O'Boyle.
Keith's heart dropped to his boots.
"Take off your cloak, Keith," the knight said. "You're drenched."
Keith did not move. "What are you doing in Kells, Sir Devon?"
The knight straightened in his seat. "I'm here on Lord Derry's business, of course. Why don't you join me by the fire? You are creating a pond."
He gestured to Brennan, who nodded once and then slipped out of the room, leaving Keith alone with Sir Devon.
"And still you do not move? Remove your cloak, at least."
Keith could not bring himself to do so.
"You have been to see Lord Dublin, of course," the knight said, "and are just now making your way back to Donegal, are you not?"
The messenger did not reply. Sir Devon looked at Keith through dark, glimmering eyes. After a few minutes of silence, he continued, "I know why you are quiet, and why you have not moved since you came in, and why you stare at me with that expression."
Keith swallowed as his heart began to pound. The knight stood, his hauberk clanking and his boots thumping.
"Did you believe that I would not think you had a brain in your head simply because you are a peasant? That I would assume you would not realize that the letter was not penned by Lord Derry? I know you are literate, Keith Harkin. And Lord Dublin is not a fool, either. The handwriting of Ireland's Bane is well suited to me, is it not?"
Keith struggled to maintain an emotionless look in his eye. In Keith's mind, the knight had as good as incriminated himself.
"Doubtless," Sir Devon continued as he turned to stand by the fire, "you rushed off as soon as you learned of the danger to your lord. But alas, you will surely not succeed in warning him."
The letter burned in Keith's concealed pocket. If he could only get away…
"You are a predictable peasant, Harkin. I knew that you would stop in Kells before making the long ride back to Donegal. The rain was a boon, of course," he added with a glance back at the messenger. "It made your chances of stopping here increase."
Keith gritted his teeth. "What do you want of me, Devon?"
The knight cast him a smirking, satisfied gaze. "You have already done everything I required of you."
The messenger frowned.
"Ah yes, the confusion is evident on your face. I see no harm in explaining it to you; Lord Derry will never know that I am the greatest danger to him. That is where you entered the plan, of course. You see, when I return to Donegal, it will be to inform Lord Derry that I have found the English contact for County Derry—and he was right under our noses, so to speak. And, of course, he will never again set foot in Derry, or Tyrone—likely he will live forever in exile, paying for the great treachery he has committed."
The implication, the meaning, of the knight's words burst upon Keith like the crashing ocean surf. "You cannot keep me away from my home."
Sir Devon's grin was malicious now. "Can't I? Peasant that you are, you have not yet seen the full extent of the situation."
Keith resisted a rising urge to step backward as the knight faced him fully. "You have a family, do you not, Harkin? There is no need to answer—I know that you do. You may decide to return to Donegal in order to warn your lord of the danger to him. If you set foot in County Derry—and there is no guarantee Lord Derry will believe you if you do reach Donegal Castle—you will sacrifice the lives of your wife and children. But if you do not return to Derry, you will compromise the safety of your lord. "
Keith's heart plunged to the tips of his wet boots.
"So I leave you with a choice: save your family, or save your lord. You cannot protect both. And now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to Donegal Castle." Without giving the messenger any time to reply, Sir Devon O'Boyle swept out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Keith stood in the center of the room, friendless, horseless, soaked, and alone.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 12, 2010 17:41:04 GMT -5
Oh my gosh!!!! No! This cannot be! Do hasten!
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Post by CelticLass91 on Jul 12, 2010 17:53:33 GMT -5
Ghost! Great story! Poor Keith! and OH, that dastardly Devon!
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Post by laurenne on Jul 12, 2010 18:40:17 GMT -5
Poor Keith. He has to find a way to protect both. Update soon, please.
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VolleyErica3
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Cabin Lass
Music = my life *points* the green guys name is Fredward ^_^
Posts: 174
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Post by VolleyErica3 on Jul 13, 2010 15:56:00 GMT -5
NOOOOOO!!!! THERE'S GOTTA BE A LOOP HOLE SOMEWHERE!!! more soon please?!?!?!?!?!
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Post by Ghost on Jul 15, 2010 15:34:13 GMT -5
*** Damian McGinty, Lord of Derry, was restless. He had lost track of the days since he had sent Keith to Dublin, but he knew that none of the nights had passed easily.
This particular night was worse than the others. After what seemed to be hours of tossing and turning, Damian finally climbed out of bed. He left his suite of rooms, winding his way through the dark, quiet corridors until he reached the battlements of the castle walls.
Perhaps a walk through the cool night air would calm him.
The guards in their house on the wall by the portcullis were rowdy tonight; they tried in vain to muffle the sounds of their merrymaking. Damian did not care if they were noisy, so long as they kept their eyes open for danger.
The guard who patrolled the wall that bordered the keep had just crossed onto the adjacent battlements. A dark figure stood in the center of the near wall, his long cloak waving in the gentle breeze.
The man turned at Damian's footfall. Lord Tyrone's blue eyes were almost silver in the moonlight. "A little chilly to be out in just a tunic, eh, Damian?"
"I welcome the cold tonight. I could not sleep."
Both men turned back to the night sky, clear and dotted with shining stars and silver moonlight. The distant surf crashed far below them.
"I could not sleep, either."
Damian folded his arms in order to ward off the breeze that rippled through his clothes. "You did not just have to send one of your best men on a mission that could claim his life."
"Not this time," Ryan said quietly. "Nor when I was as young as you are. But I have had to do it in the past."
The younger lord sighed and ran a hand through his unruly brown hair. "And I do not know if I can protect my people from the English."
"I do not think anyone would agree to being invaded and attacked. You can only protect them up to a certain point. After that they will have to defend themselves, Damian."
For a moment there was silence, broken only by the steady tread of the two pacing guards and the laughter wafting from the boisterous guards by the portcullis.
Damian sighed again, muttering almost to himself, "If something should befall him… Have I sent him to his death?"
Ryan turned to face the youth. "Damian, I know that you are unsure of yourself as the lord of Derry. You are young, and you are being tested with trials that many older men will never face in their lives. But I assure you that you have made every decision I myself would have, had I been in your position. Let us pray that your messenger makes a swift return, with lighter tidings from Lord Dublin."
Damian nodded, but his face remained fixed in a frown.
"Has any word come from Sir Devon?"
The younger lord shook his head, and silence fell again for a few moments.
"Damian…I need to return to Tyrone. I will stay with you until Sir Devon or your messenger returns—whoever comes first. But then I must depart."
Damian nodded without meeting the other man's eye. "Of course. You have your own county to protect."
Ryan laid a hand on Damian's shoulder. "You are a fine man. And a compassionate lord. Never doubt that, Lord Derry."
Lord Tyrone left the battlements to go back inside the keep, leaving Damian alone under the glowing moon.
It would be a good while before Lord Derry returned to his bed.
*** Keith hunched over the mug in his hands, staring blankly into the amber ale. He was running out of money, and time.
He had wandered aimlessly for days after the incident at the Red Dragon, stopping in taverns when the need for food and drink overpowered everything else. But now, exhaustion had added to the hunger and thirst, and he had forced himself to stop here.
Wherever "here" was.
The drunken men around him grew steadily louder and rowdier. A band of players had stopped in this town a few days before, and had been making the rounds not only to the homes of the nobility there, but also to the taverns. This particular band of players included a few shapely women (who danced!), who had elicited much of the current crowd's excitement.
Although the minstrels had provided the commoners with well-played tunes for entertainment, Keith could not stand to watch them. One of the women—a tall, dark-haired beauty—reminded him too much of Shannon.
The thought pained him. How could he choose between his family and his lord? To protect one would compromise the other. He could not abandon his family in order to protect them, could he? What if Sir Devon went after them anyway? But he could not return openly to Donegal; he would be the cause of the deaths of his family.
He could not choose between the two. How could he? If he chose one, the destruction of the other would stay in his memory forever. Was there no way that he could protect both his family and his lord?
"I hate you, Devon," Keith muttered.
The noise around him died down as the dancers left their makeshift stage. Keith looked up, half curious about the next act, and saw a surprising but welcome sight. A familiar man of medium height, darkish hair, and unique patch of beard had taken the crowd's attention. He stood with a lute in his hand, and introduced himself as the head of the group.
"I am Neil Byrne," he said. "We are Lord Derry's players."
When the minstrels and players had finished their act, Neil immediately made his way to the table where Keith had situated himself.
"I noticed you almost immediately, mate," he said. "What are you doing here?"
Keith shrugged as Neil slid into the seat opposite him, laying his lute on the table between them. Someone came and plunked a mug full of ale in front of the minstrel.
"I don't know what I'm doing here," Keith replied.
"Did Lord Derry send you?"
The blonde man did not answer and did not meet his friend's gaze, instead rubbing his own tired eyes.
"So you are not in County Tyrone on an errand, then."
"Is that where we are?"
The minstrel frowned and leaned over the table. "Keith, you look terrible. What happened?"
Keith took a breath, staring resolutely into his ale. "I cannot tell you everything. But I was sent to Dublin on urgent business. While there, I discovered that Lord Derry is in grave danger from a man close to him. Lord Dublin sent me back to Donegal to warn him."
"How long ago was that?"
Keith shook his head. "Over a month now, I think."
"But how did you end up here?"
"The man who posed the threat to Lord Derry intercepted me. Neil, he threatened my family. He threatened Shannon."
Neil frowned again. "Does he wield that much power? Who is he?"
"I can't tell you. I don't want you to be cast as a co-conspirator if they find me. And I am not sure that my absence will protect Shannon and the children. And Lord Derry must be informed of the danger to him. It is imperative."
"But what can we do? Whoever this man is, he threatened to—what, imprison your family?—should you return to Donegal."
Keith gritted his teeth at the memory of Sir Devon's threat. "He said he would kill them."
"Good lord, Keith, what in heaven's name have you gotten yourself into?"
The messenger could not answer, and so they fell into silence.
It was in that silence that a plan took root in Keith's mind.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 15, 2010 16:32:55 GMT -5
Oh no! I have to know what happens now!
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Post by laurenne on Jul 15, 2010 19:56:15 GMT -5
Yay, I love it. Neil will make everything better.
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Post by CelticLass91 on Jul 15, 2010 22:32:55 GMT -5
yay!!!! NEIL! oooo SO can't wait for the next update!
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VolleyErica3
Beta
Cabin Lass
Music = my life *points* the green guys name is Fredward ^_^
Posts: 174
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Post by VolleyErica3 on Jul 16, 2010 14:32:08 GMT -5
*points* LOOK! ITS NEIL!! more more more!!!! ....please ^_^
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Post by celticbear on Jul 16, 2010 19:26:51 GMT -5
I love, This story. It has all the earmarks of a Historicial Romance Novel! Please Update soon! I can't wait to hear what Keith's plan is to beat Lord Devon.
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Post by Ghost on Jul 19, 2010 13:08:53 GMT -5
*** Back in Donegal, a fierce sea wind whipped through the town, rattling its way into all the cracks of the houses. Inside her home on the most inland section of Donegal, Shannon Harkin shivered involuntarily. It was nights like this one that made her desperately long for her errant husband.
Shannon sighed as she watched Patrick poke a giggling Nicole with a wooden spoon. Not that these were the only times she missed him, of course. She missed Keith whenever one of the children smiled like he did, or said something that came directly from their father's way of speaking. She missed Keith whenever she cooked, cleaned, did laundry. She missed him whenever she spoke to her sister, who was recently married. She missed Keith whenever she looked at her own stomach, where she was absolutely certain their third child grew.
It had been over a month since he left on his latest, dangerous task. She missed her husband constantly, but she refused to allow his absence to impact the regularity of the family's daily life. She went on as though Keith spent all his days at the castle, and his nights at the tavern—as though he would come home after Shannon and the children had gone to bed. It was a game of pretend, and yet the illusion kept depression and dark thoughts away from her.
But Shannon could not keep her children's memories fresh—nor her own. If Keith continued to stay away for so long, Patrick and Nicole would soon surely forget their own father—and Shannon could not bear to think of that.
Just as she could not bear the child within her on her own.
Shannon Harkin was not a weak or delicate woman; delicacy had always been her sister's characteristic. But Shannon needed Keith, needed his strength and calm beside the emotional storms that ruled her. He grounded her—he had always grounded her. He kept her sane when she wanted to lose control.
Nicole stopped giggling as Patrick poked her a little too hard in the ribs.
"Mommy, Patrick hurt me!" she wailed, and threw herself into her mother's arms.
Shannon lifted her up, allowing her daughter to nestle her head against Shannon's neck.
"I told you this would happen. Patrick, apologize to your sister."
The blonde little boy hung his head. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Nicole. I didn't mean to." Nicole looked at her older brother from under her dark hair. She had stopped crying, and half grinned at Patrick.
Shannon saw a flash of Keith as the boy dimpled and said, "Wanna go play castle?"
Nicole practically leaped out of her mother's arms to join him, saying, "I the princess! I the princess!"
The two children disappeared into their parents' bedroom.
"Just don't hurt yourselves," Shannon called after them.
She laid a hand gently on her stomach, where Nicole had accidentally kicked in her scramble into her mother's arms. Shannon was going to have to tell the children about their new sibling. And, most likely, have to explain how it was possible that Mommy and Daddy were having another baby when Daddy had been gone for so long.
A few minutes later, as Shannon tried to decide which article of clothing to mend first, a heavy knock came at the door. Patrick and Nicole appeared in the doorway to the main room.
"Is it Grandpa Georgie?" Patrick asked.
"Let's see," Shannon said as she went to the door. It ought to be her father. No one else would come visit them at this hour.
She slowly the opened the door. Although this was probably the safest town in Lord Derry's territory, Shannon had grown more cautious since Keith had last left. Something about his latest task, and the way it had troubled him, did not sit well with her.
Standing outside her door in the gathering darkness was a pair of burly men clad in the garb of castle guards. What had Keith said about men like this? Something about Sir Devon's handpicked men being big and strong and intimidating.
Shannon's blood froze. Sir Devon's men.
Oh, lord.
"Shannon Harkin?" one of the men said. His voice boomed throughout the small house.
Her knees knocked together under her dress, and she struggled to stay calm. "What is it?"
"I am Brennan, head of the Donegal Castle guard. We come with orders from Sir Devon O'Boyle himself. He sends word to you."
Shannon closed her eyes and took a breath, waiting for the words that would rip her world apart, stiffening her legs against any possible collapse.
But those words never came.
Brennan ignored her distress and continued. "You, and your children, are to go to Donegal Castle immediately. We are to accompany you, in order to ensure your arrival. Sir Devon will be waiting for you there."
Shannon opened her eyes. What? "Did he tell you his reasons for this?"
Brennan shook his head. "Only that we must depart immediately."
Shannon did not move.
The second guard, who had not yet spoken, took a step forward. He growled, "You have no choice, woman."
"Mommy?" Nicole whimpered.
Shannon ignored the impatient guards and went to her children. She knelt on the ground before them, placing her hands on their shoulders.
"We're going to visit the castle," she said.
Shannon hoisted Nicole onto her hip and took Patrick by the hand.
"Right now, Mommy?" Patrick asked.
"Right now, honey."
The children were confused, unsure whether to be excited about a trip to Donegal Castle or to be as nervous about it as their mother was. Ultimately they were quiet, especially when Shannon left the house darkened, and when the two soldier guards moved to flank the three of them on either side.
There was no noise on the ensuing march, save the tramp of the guards' boots against the path and the occasional howl of the wind as it blew around them. Patrick huddled into his mother's skirts, unable to hold his cloak fully around him. Nicole had burrowed herself under the sweep of Shannon's hastily adjusted cloak. The girl had used her own small cloak as a pillow for her head where she laid it on her mother's collarbone.
Shannon had given up on trying to stave off the wind. It had long since blown off her hood, and the wind sent the cloth rippling and flying in all different directions around her, often whipping the guards in the legs and back. Her long hair, too, which she had braided earlier that day, swung about in the gusts of wind. She focused on keeping her children warm, and on not thinking too much.
They reached the castle after a short time that had seemed to drag on for hours. Shannon's arm was frozen in place, wrapped around her daughter, keeping the girl safely in her mother's protection. Her other hand clutched Patrick, afraid that he might leap away at any moment.
"Look, Nickie," Patrick exclaimed. His hair was as messy as his father's usually was. "The castle! Look!"
Nicole peeked out from under Shannon's cloak but said nothing.
The portcullis rattled open, and Shannon wondered how many times Keith had walked this same path.
Sir Devon O'Boyle's guards led Shannon and her children through the courtyard and into the castle keep. They trudged through the dark corridors and up several flights of stairs.
Shannon bent to pick up Patrick after the second flight of steps, ignoring the combined weight of her two children. They must be going to the highest level of the keep.
They left the stairwell and entered another dark hallway, stopping at the very end in front of a nondescript wooden door.
One of the guards opened the door and ushered Keith's family inside.
"Sir Devon O'Boyle will see you tomorrow," Brennan said before he shut the door in Shannon's face.
"Wonderful," she muttered under her breath.
She set Nicole and Patrick on the floor, and looked around them. They were in some kind of bedroom. A large one. A single, wide bed and a wardrobe lined one wall, and the fireplace next to them was empty. A large window, covered only by a thick crimson curtain, stood opposite the fireplace. A few chairs and a table stood just where they had entered, and a lush rug covered the majority of the stone floor.
Several candles had been lit, and set in different places all over the chamber.
Shannon frowned. Our stay was expected?
"Time to sleep," she said.
Patrick and Nicole were nearly asleep on their feet. Shannon blew out all but one of the candles, and then set about preparing her children for bed.
She dropped down to Patrick's level.
"I'm sleepy, Mommy."
"Of course you are. You walked the whole way to the castle by yourself. That was very brave of you."
The child shook his hair, trying to clear it from his eyes but failing—as his father always did. Patrick rubbed his nose and asked, "Brave like Daddy?"
Shannon smiled for the first time since the castle guards had arrived at their house. "Just like Daddy."
"Nickie!" Patrick cried, whirling away from his mother. "I'm as brave as Daddy! Mommy said so!"
Nicole, sucking on a corner of her under tunic, toddled over to her mother, who still crouched close to the floor. Placing her small hand on her mother's knee, Nicole asked, "Am I brave, Mommy?"
"Yes, honey. You have been very brave, too."
"But not like Daddy," Nicole said flatly. "I'm brave like Mommy."
Shannon smiled again.
Nicole stumbled across the room to the bed. Patrick had already climbed on, somehow using a combination of the bedclothes and the bed itself in order to hoist himself onto the high mattress. Nicole attempted to join him, but could not lift herself high enough.
Shannon bit back a laugh as she went to the bed and lifted her daughter into her arms. "Honey, you're not as big as Patrick is yet."
"Mommy, are you going to sleep in this bed too?" Patrick prodded. He had already created a nest for himself out of blankets and pillows.
Lord Derry may live simply, but he certainly possessed more wealth than he let on. The bed alone was more comfortable than Shannon could have imagined.
Undoing Patrick's nest to many protests, she said, "Do you see another bed here? Now hush, Patrick. It's time for bed, and if you have a nest covering the entire place, where are Nicole and I going to sleep?"
The children giggled. They were exhausted from the journey to Donegal Castle, and the hour for their bedtime had long passed. They did not argue that it was time to go to sleep, instead lying down immediately under the covers next to each other. Nor did they giggle and whisper, as they usually did at night.
Shannon blew out the last candle and slipped into the bed next to Nicole.
"Mommy?" Patrick whispered drowsily.
"Mmm?"
"I love you."
Shannon smiled. "I love you too, Patrick."
Nicole nestled closer to her mother and kissed her on the cheek. "Goodnight, Mommy."
"Goodnight, honey."
As Shannon drifted off to sleep, she prayed that whatever mess Keith had become embroiled in would soon be resolved. Let him come home safely.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 19, 2010 21:22:08 GMT -5
Oh no! What could he be plotting?! Hurry!
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