Ailleacht

Chapter 5

Ionachta was lying on his bed, reading a book, when his father barged in.  His head was immersed with the legends of old and he jumped in fright when the door banged open.  He composed himself quickly.

‘Ionachta, you insolent rat!’  His father roared.  ‘How dare you not show up at the Airgead Estate as I instructed?’

‘I told you, I have no intention of courting Fraochun,’ he replied calmly, without taking his eyes off the book before him.

‘And I told you that she is a beautiful woman that any man would be lucky to marry, especially a useless, impudent one, such as you!’

‘She is heinous, and I pity the man who marries her.’

His father went red with rage.  ‘You think you are too good for her?  You think beauty is not enough to marry for?  You think you can live next to a repulsive crone your whole life?  Well, we’ll see.’

The rage dissipated, replaced by an almost feral glee.  Ionachta flicked his eyes over his father’s face, instantly returning to his book, but unable to purge the picture from his eyes.  His father was excited about something.

‘Slave, get in here!’

Ionachta heard shuffling outside his door but refused to raise his eyes from his book again.  He would not give in to his father.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a hunched over person enter his room.  His father grabbed the slave by the arm and shook him back and forth.

‘This will be your own, personal slave from now on.  It will follow you around, everywhere you go.  It will be in your sights at all times.  We will see how long it takes before you beg for a bride as beautiful as Fraochun.’

He flung the poor slave to the ground, where he shrieked in pain.  That Ionachta could not ignore.  He jumped off the bed to help him, and heard his door slam as his father left.

He reached out for the slave, noting how thin his arm was, and dotted with boils.  His grip was gentle on his arm as he lifted him up, but he still flinched.  Ionachta surmised he must be used to being treated terribly.  Not that that excused his father’s actions.

‘Are you okay?’  He asked gently, speaking as if to child or a spooked animal.  ‘I am sorry about my father.  He is not a very kind man.’  The slave remained silent.  ‘It’s okay; I am not going to hurt you.  I promise.’

The slave looked up at him then, and he was startled to be looking into a pair of dark green eyes; eyes the colour of the ocean.

‘Why not?’  The voice was course, as if he had recently suffered a coughing fit.  It was an honest question.  This poor creature could not imagine why someone would not want to hurt him.

‘Because I am not my father, or the people who held you prisoner.’

He could not tear his gaze away from those hypnotic eyes, and suddenly, as if a spark in his brain had finally connected, he realised the voice was much too high to be a man’s.

‘What is your name?’  He asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, so he could see her face better.

Her voice was soft and sweet.  ‘Madrai.’