Read Celtic Storms for Free Online

babe’s comfort by providing coin and counsel, but the child needed to be reared in a community where he could learn and grown. They had even seen to it to provide the services of a wet nurse until the child could be weaned.
    Patrick was fifteen summers the day that Braeden came to live with the MacCahans. Just three years after his mother’s death. Patrick had barely spoken at all until the week that Braeden arrived. He took to the infant immediately, as if he sensed a loss and longing that were kindred between the two.
    After all, the child had lost his parents and he had no voice of his own. Monae, Laird MacCahan’s new wife, had taken the child to rear as one of her own. Having never had children herself, Monae gave unselfishly to the rearing of the child – and he made her proud.
    Braeden was a precious child - loving, sweet and curious. He learned quickly and easily and sought to please everyone. Patrick was the perfect older brother to all his brothers, but Braeden especially had a fondness for Patrick that few understood.
    Patrick regained much of the use of his voice just as Braeden was learning to speak. Although Braeden could be annoying, Patrick had an unyielding patience about him that others envied.
    He had never anticipated leaving MacCahan castle. It had never entered his mind. He was to be the Laird of the MacCahan clan when his father wasn’t able. As the eldest son, it was the way. Under no circumstances could Patrick envision a suitable reason that his father would change course so drastically and dramatically - and a forced marriage at that.
    What have I done to displease my father so that he would put me out of my own clan? Are we in such need of a dowry that I am to be sold off as a hired hand?
    The dowry would come in handy, that much was true. After all the turmoil the MacCahan’s had suffered recently with the flooding, the loss of the crops and livestock, and the cost of rebuilding of the lost cottages - the coin would be welcome.
No - that couldn’t be it.
    My father is a steadfast and reasonable man; no doubt we have plenty of stores to get us through the coming winter and long into the summer. Surely there is enough.
    Patrick set the mug of ale down on the bench between him and Ruarc. He had only been in his father’s chambers for a few moments, but already had a sense of foreboding he knew he could not shake. “What are you keeping from me father?” he questioned.
    “Patrick, it has never been my intention to keep you in the dark about what has transpired. I only told you, and the rest of our clan what you needed to know to keep you safe,” stated the Laird.
    “I am a gro-grown man, Father!” retorted Patrick. “Ye’ve no need to hide matters from me. I’ve never once given ye any reason to believe I have a l-l-loo-loo-loose tongue!”
    “Silence!” roared Breacan. “Hold your tongue Patrick so that we may speak.”
    Ruarc interjected, “Patrick - we have a very delicate matter for ye to attend to; one that is pivotal for the survival of my clan; one we will trust only to you. It is your rightful place and an honor and we have the utmost faith that you can carry out your destiny.”
    Ruarc reached over and placed a firm squeeze on Patrick’s shoulder. He gripped his forearms and looked him right in the eyes.“Patrick - You are to be the new Laird of the O’Malley clan,” he hesitated.
    “And you are to return Braeden, unharmed, to his rightful home.”
    Patrick jumped at the words – startled at their meaning
. His rightful home? His parents are dead! He belongs with the O’Malleys?
    Ruarc sputtered and paced the length of Laird MacCahan’s meeting room. He tugged at his long beard in introspection as if searching for the right words and how to cushion the blow. The other men nodded in support.
    Ruarc spoke slowly and deliberately, “Patrick, when Braeden came to MacCahan castle, his parents were not dead. His parents were actually protecting him. There were certain