Celtic Storms by Delaney Rhodes Read Free Book Online

now and leave Patrick alone, he needs his rest,” she said peering solemnly at Patrick through the candlelight. “Pease, oh pease, pease”, Braeden begged in his high pitched toddler voice.
    “Patrick, do you wish me to take Braeden with me?”asked Mavis. Patrick shook his head as he wrapped his arms around Braeden and they drifted off to sleep together. Braeden had shared Patrick’s bed on many occasions since that first night. Braeden had a way of calming Patrick like none other.
    The night terrors had lessened throughout the years and as Patrick grew, the grip the trauma had on him dissuaded. Airard and Braeden had become his closest companions. He gradually climbed out of his shell and regained his speech. Although he still stammered and sputtered, he was able to communicate what he wished – that is, when he wished it. There were few things that caused Patrick to seek conversation, but when he did, people tended to listen.
    Wise beyond your years.
That’s what Airard had said.
A keen mind and a noble soul.
Patrick could only hope it was so. Growing up the eldest son of the Laird, with a broken fighting hand, a halting tongue didn’t prove great promise.
    Patrick bent down to wipe the hair from Braeden’s face as he slept. In an instant, Patrick’s world had turned upside down. He was to be married, and essentially he would be responsible for the remainder of Braeden’s rearing. At some point in the future, he knew he would have to explain to Braeden about his parents, his sisters, and that his life was in danger.
    The sound of thunder alerted Patrick to the lateness of the hour. No doubt Airard would wonder what had become of him and what had happened. Airard had been his mentor, his instructor and his closest friend. It would be hard to leave Airard behind and he would miss him greatly.
    ***
     
    Patrick gently closed the door to his chamber, headed down the long corridor towards the stairways to the bottom floor and traipsed towards the kitchens. Glenia the castle cook was busy with setting out the meal. Several women worked feverishly loading platters and filling the mugs to be placed in the great hall. It was nearly time for the evening feast but Patrick knew he would spend his meal with Airard at his cottage.
    He poked his head around the large stone hearth and gestured towards Glenia. “Pl-ple-please see that Braeden has his m-me-meal in my chambers, Glenia,” Patrick requested.
    “And what of yours?” inquired Glenia as she wiped a trickle of sweat which beaded on her forehead.
    “I shall be with Air-Airard,” he turned and exited the kitchens towards the back of the keep and headed towards the castle walls.
    Patrick dreaded heading outdoors, but needed desperately to speak with Airard. Airard resided in a small cottage towards the back of the castle wall not far from the blacksmith’s forge. There was a winding pebble path that led just past the stables towards the forge which sat on a slight hill and faced towards Airard’s cottage.
    Lightening broke across the sky lighting the path towards the cottage. A driving rain began just as he stepped outside the doors of the keep.
But of course it would rain now that I’ve seen fit to venture out.
    The smell of horse dung and mud hung in the air as Patrick fumbled towards the cottage with his cloak covering his head. He had grown accustomed to the rain and had gone through an abundance of clothing and linens in a short time. The wash women could barely keep up with their duties as it had not stopped raining and there was hardly anywhere to lay aside the freshly washed items to dry.
    They had taken to hanging clothing and linens everywhere there was a spare spot near a hearth that could be found. It had irritated Airard so to see bed linens and table dressings hung near the hearth in his forge that Patrick feared he would succumb to the heart sickness.
    I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard in my life
, Patrick thought to himself. If Patrick hadn’t