An almost superstitious dread filled her as she moved among the ancient stones. Older than Rome, they were, older even than the Britons; they had been standing here beside the sea when her ancestors had first come to these shores. A place of power, this light-filled ring, where echoes of sacred rites eddied across the centuries, vibrating through her bones as she passed each hulking, ancient monolith. She laid a hand against one cold surface and snatched it back again as though burned, almost willing to swear she had felt the cold dead stone buzzing with eerie power beneath her palm.
Brenna McEgan, jittery and uncertain as well, did not argue the point.
It had felt like the stone was buzzing.
"What was this place used for?" Brenna whispered aloud, needing to hear a human voice in this deep well of silence and secure in the knowledge that her whisper would not carry down to the beach, as the wind was blowing steadily in the other direction.
Morgana's answer was also whispered aloud, for the queen shared her jitters. "It is said," she murmured, "that this was a place of worship for the god of youth. Marriages have been held here since Briton Celts first came to these shores, centuries before the Romans. It is also said in my family, all of us Druids in a long, unbroken line, that kings were made in this circle, border disputes settled, and queens betrothed, as well."
"Were you betrothed here?" Brenna asked.
A wave of grief ran through Morgana, prompting Brenna to offer an abject apology.
"Nay, there is no need. In my way, I loved Lot Luwddoc very well, but I am certain of his comfort in the Otherworld. He was a fine father, an excellent king, and an honorable husband. His temper was his greatest failing, but he could be gentle and kind, as well. Yes, I was betrothed to Lot Luwddoc in this circle of standing stones. I was very much younger, then," she added wistfully.
A deeper grief told Brenna that Morgana had borne the king of Gododdin several more children, besides the two sons still living, sons and daughters lost to the fevers and the childhood illnesses that had claimed the lives of as many as half the children born, before the advent of antibiotics and aspirin and other miraculous drugs taken for granted in Brenna's time. Marriage and motherhood had been difficult for Morgana of Galwyddel and Ynys Manaw. Brenna, who had not yet married, grieved with her.
They had lost count of the number of turns they'd walked around the circle when a glint of moonlight on sail caught Morgana's attention. An instant later, the priest shouted up to her, "Queen Morgana! A ship is rounding the headland!" She picked up her skirts and ran toward the shore for a better look. Yes, it was a sail, the familiar sail of a Briton fishing sloop. And there was another ship with it, a low-slung Irish warship, with moonlight glittering on the shroud lines as they rounded the headland and made sail for the Lochmaben shore. Her heart had begun to pound very hard and her palms were wet against the folds of her cloak. Dear God, she breathed silently, they've come, they've really come with him... But did they come in friendship? Or was Medraut a prisoner aboard the fishing sloop, perhaps forced by an Irish crew to lead them to this trysting place?
We'll know soon enough, Brenna retorted prosaically, even as the priest waiting on the shingle, the elderly abbot who had officiated at Morgana's own betrothal, stared in astonishment. "Queen Morgana, that's an Irish ship! What is the meaning of this?"
"The salvation of Britain, I fervently pray."
The old man's eyes widened and his acolyte's jaw dropped. The abbot sputtered, "You've—you've offered alliance? With the Irish?"
She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Think you there is a better way to guard our western and northern borders in this time of trouble? Yes, I have offered alliance with Dalriada. The alliance of marriage between the royal house of Dalriada and my nephew, to whom I will give Galwyddel. Father Auliffe, alliance now buys us time, precious time to meet the Saxon threat, and ensures that our borders will not be raided by those who are tied to us through the marriage bed. And what better way to send the word of Christ amongst them, than to convert their heiress and send priests north into Dalriada with the holy word of God?"
Abbot Auliffe stared at her a long moment more, then began to laugh, very quietly. "Oh, Morgana, you are ever the shrewd one. Your father would be that proud, he would. What Artorius will say, I shudder to think, but I feel you have the right of it, this time. What better way, indeed? Very well, I will perform the marriage, which is clearly why you asked me here, this night."
She smiled, in a wave of tremendous relief. With the church behind her decision, even Artorius would think twice, protesting it. "Thank you, Father Auliffe. We will have need of your wisdom and the skill of your scribe, for we must also arrange the details of alliance, no small matter."
He patted her shoulder. "I am honored you have entrusted this matter to me, child. Cleary, lad, you'd best prepare your ink and parchments. Take your things up to the circle, we'll join you there shortly."
The scribe swallowed nervously and nodded, then gathered up his satchel and ran for the Lochmaben Stones, to be ready to record what was about to transpire. Morgana peered seaward, watching the approach of the ships. There was no pier at Lochmaben, only wild and empty shoreline. Both ships bellied their way across the breakers, dropping anchor with a rattle and splash, while sails came snaking down in the moonlight.
A moment later, the rope ladders had gone down the sides and men began tumbling to the shore, men who clutched no weapons in their hands, surely a good sign. And there was a woman with the Irishmen, no, two women, then a third, climbing gingerly down and carried ashore by strapping men, so their long skirts would not become soaked in brine. Morgana held her breath, hardly aware that she'd stopped breathing. Then Medraut came striding across the shingle, greeting her with a glad cry.
"Aunt! You're here!"
He embraced her roughly, eyes shining in the moonlight.
"You are well, Medraut?" she managed.
"Aye, well and happy. Aunt, she's a lovely girl, and her father has agreed to the marriage of alliance!"
"Then you had better introduce me properly, nephew."
A tall, bearded man with a proud bearing was approaching from down the beach. With him were the three women, one Morgana's age, one older woman dressed as a servant, and one a lovely young girl whose eyes shone as brightly as Medraut's. The men who crewed the Irish warship did not approach, but remained on the beach, as the Briton sailors did. Lailoken joined them, grinning in triumph. He swept her a low and elegant bow.
"Queen of Galwyddel, I bring you alliance with the king of Dalriada."
"You have served Britain well then, minstrel. You will be amply rewarded."
His teeth flashed white. "I am all gratitude."
Medraut greeted the newcomers in halting Gael, then said formally, "Aunt, I present King Dallan mac Dalriada, the Scotti, and his daughter Keelin. Riona Damhnait serves the king as Druidess and translator. King Dallan, my aunt, Queen Morgana daughter, widow, and mother of kings."
Dallan offered his bare hand. Morgana accepted the greeting and they clasped forearms. The king spoke in a deep and pleasant voice, his eyes easy and smiling. His Druidess translated. "My king greets you with honor and thanks you for this gesture of friendship. We are pleased to unite our heiress with your heir in holy marriage."
"Greetings to you, King of Dalriada," Morgana said formally, "and welcome to Galwyddel, now the home of your child, who is soon to be sovereign queen. We are happy to welcome her to our family. I have brought with me a priest of our faith, to finalize the vows according to our customs." She turned to greet the Druidic counselor with him. "I am pleased that you have come with our future daughter, Riona Damhnait, for I would be a poor hostess did I not permit the vows to be solemnized by your customs, as well. My own family line descends from Druids of the Brythonic Celts."