“You sent him away, knowing he might try this?”
“I did not send him away. He could have remained with us. He was—he was an outstanding student, capable of great things; extremely skilled in all the arts of the mind and in the craft of magic. There was no need for him to leave us. Indeed, the threat posed by his ancestry could far better have been controlled within the confines of the sacred circle and of our community. He chose to go. He chose to put that behind him. I failed, Liadan. I failed him, and in the end I failed my family as well.”
“You once told me,” I said, “not to feel guilt since things would unfold as they must. That was a long time ago, right at the very start of this. Now I hear you saying that this is somehow your fault. Perhaps you’re wrong about that. Maybe the whole thing is part of some pattern, a pattern so big that we cannot see more of it than the tiny part where we belong. That was what the Fair Folk told me, that we couldn’t understand and so our choices were flawed. It seems sometimes as if we are no more than puppets that they manipulate to suit themselves. But I think we have a greater power than they are prepared to acknowledge, or why would it matter to them so much that I might take one path or another? Why would they set such store on keeping Johnny safe? Perhaps it is indeed only through small folk such as ourselves that the prophecy may be fulfilled, despite what they tell us.”
“And after all,” said Conor quietly, “it was through human strength and endurance that Lady Oonagh’s enchantment was undone before, not by a powerful intervention of the Tuatha Dé. You are saying, then, that I may be wrong about Ciarán?”
“From what you tell me, he is neither weak nor ignorant. Despite his anger, he is surely a young man who will weigh his choices carefully and with some skill. I cannot believe that because he is her son, he must inevitably work evil in his life. To say that is to say we have no choice at all in what we do, in how we live. I don’t believe that, Uncle. Perhaps we do have a short span in this world, as the Fair Folk tell us; perhaps our scope is somewhat limited. But within those limits we do have the power to change things, the power to make choices and to go where we must. If I have learned anything about myself, it is that I will not be a tool of some lord or lady and dance to their tune, not if my heart calls me onto another path. You brought Ciarán up to be balanced and wise. He bears that within him as well as the blood of the sorceress. What you imparted to him so lovingly through the long years of training has made him strong. Perhaps he is stronger than you think.”
We did not speak of these things again; and at length, when summer had advanced into autumn, and Johnny could sit up by himself and move along by an odd, half-crawling, half-creeping motion, Conor departed with his silent, white-robed brethren after him. All that he said to me was, “Keep him safe, Liadan. For all our sakes, keep him safe.”
Chapter Thirteen
There had been no word from Eamonn, other than an escort sent to see his sister home. For that I was profoundly grateful, for the last conversation between us was graven deep in my mind, along with the memory of his kiss. By autumn I was able to tell myself, with reasonable conviction, that he must at last have accepted no for an answer and decided to get on with his life. I was sorry if my decision had made things difficult for Sean, or for Liam, whose links with Eamonn were vital not only to their joint defenses but also to the success of any venture against Northwoods. Both had commented on Eamonn’s silence. Still, it was early days yet. In time, the alliance would be as strong as ever, for was not Aisling to wed my brother next spring? That would heal many wounds.
One warm afternoon close to Meán Fómhair, when the harvest was nearly over and apples hung ripely glowing in the orchard, I took my son down to a secluded part of the lake shore. Here, the fringe of willows came almost to the water’s edge, and the curve of the shoreline ensured both shelter and privacy. It was a golden day; the lake surface glittering with light, the forest starting to put on its autumn raiment, a drift of orange, scarlet, and yellow around the somber green of pines that crowned the ridge tops. As children, we had spent happy days here swimming and diving, climbing the trees, and inventing countless new games of adventure. Now, I let my son go naked on the sand, where he created strange patterns with his newly learned, half-crawling gait. And later I myself stripped to my shift and took him in the water with me, trusting that the work of the harvest would ensure we were undisturbed. Johnny grinned with delight, revealing his two new teeth, as he felt the cool water on his skin. I lifted him gently in and out with little splashes.
“This time next year, I’ll teach you to swim properly,” I told him. “Like a fine salmon, you’ll be, or a seal maybe. Then they’ll all start telling me your father was a merman or a selkie.”
We played and played until he grew tired, and I put him on his little motley blanket to rest in the shade of the willows. He was not quite asleep, but seemed content to lie there awhile, gazing up at the intricate pattern of light and shadow made by the long leaves and talking quietly to himself in some infant tongue I could not quite understand. Fiacha perched in the branches nearby, watching. He had been anxious while we were in the water, flapping overhead with squawks of concern or pacing on the water’s edge, where his small, neat footmarks still imprinted the sand. Now he was quiet. I went back into the water and swam, looking up to check Johnny from time to time before I ducked down under to let the coolness wash over my face, then bobbing up to flick my hair back in a spray of droplets. It was a good feeling, as if, in the strong enveloping hold of the water, I could, for a brief while, forget the complications of my life, the decisions that faced me, forget secrets and duplicity and risks, and enjoy again the innocent freedom of childhood.
At length I grew cold and began to wade back to the shore. On the little blanket, Johnny lay sleeping. He would be hungry later. I stood knee deep, wringing the water out of my hair. There was no sound, no movement, but something made me look up. The small hairs on my neck prickled, and I knew I was being watched.
Under the willows, as still as if he were himself part of the forest, a man stood. If you did not know him, you would have thought the complex pattern that marked his features was simply a trick of the light, a play of sun through willow twigs. He was dressed very plainly, in subdued gray and brown, suitable garb for a man who wishes to pass through wooded country unseen. If he bore a weapon, I could not see it. It seemed the Painted Man had found the mystic forest of Sevenwaters no more of a challenge than the marshes of Sídhe Dubh. Or perhaps he had been allowed to enter.
He made no move. Clearly, I was going to have to emerge from the water clad only in my dripping shift and somehow think of the right thing to say. I waded to shore with as much dignity as I could summon, but it is hard to feel in control of a situation when you must bend to squeeze water from your skirt, when your arms and shoulders are exposed and half your chest is bare, and your feet are covered with sand, and there is not a comb or mirror in sight. I reached the spot where my gown and shawl lay on the sward above the little beach, but he was there before me. Behind us, on the other side under the willows, the babe had not stirred.
Bran had my shawl in his hands, and he reached to put it around my shoulders. So much for choosing the right words. I could scarcely breathe, let alone say anything that made any sense. The shawl fell to the ground, and his arms went around me, and mine around him, and I felt his lips on mine, touching gently in a kiss of such sweetness that it left me close to tears. He put his hands one on each side of my face, his thumbs moving slowly against the skin of temple and cheek, as if he could not quite believe I was there in his arms. The hunger in his eyes belied the restraint of his touch.
“Oh, Liadan,” he said under his breath. “Oh, Liadan.”
“You’re safe,” I managed, as my fingers moved softly against the back of his neck, and my heart thumped rather fast. “I had not hoped—but you should not be here, Bran. Liam’s men keep a watchful guard. And he still believes—I I have not told him the truth about my sister and how
you helped her. I owe you a great debt for what you did.”
“Not so,” he said quietly. “You paid, remember? Now come, let us observe the code for a little before all control is quite lost. Sit here by me.”
Then he bent to pick up the shawl and put it around my shoulders.
“Now,” he said, taking a deep breath, “we must sit down, three paces apart, and I will give you some news.”
“I know my sister is safe,” I said, sitting as he instructed. He settled on the grass nearby. “A—a messenger came on the day my mother died.”
“I see. Your mother—this will have caused you sorrow.”
I nodded, still finding it hard to speak, hard to breathe, hard to collect my wits at all.
“There’s other news that will interest you,” Bran went on. “News I came by on the way here, which may not yet have reached the ears of your uncle or your brother. Uí Néill is dead. Strangled in his sleep, as he made camp by the pass to the north. This occurred some time ago, before midsummer, I’m told. They’ve been keeping it quiet; there are strategic reasons for doing so. The attacker was not identified. Fled in the night, and the body not found until daybreak. Must have been a man with strong hands, who knew how to move soft in the woods.”
My mind raced ahead into possibilities that terrified me. “I see,” I said in a whisper.
“Could it be that there is one among your kinsmen who knew the truth? One who was not afraid to administer due punishment for what was done to your sister?”
“I think maybe Sean guessed at the truth,” I said slowly. “But he has remained here at Sevenwaters since my mother died.”
“Did you tell no one?”
“You sound surprised. But that was your own suggestion. Are you taken aback, that a woman could show such strength of will?”
“Indeed no. I am coming to realize I cannot classify you simply as a woman. In all things, you are yourself.”
“Nonetheless, I did tell them the truth, eventually. My father, and Sorcha. I could not let Mother die believing Niamh had perished. I told them what you had done for me.”
We sat silent, and I pondered the astounding possibility that the Big Man, nurturer of growing things, arbiter of every dispute, might have put his large hands around Fionn Uí Néill’s neck and squeezed the life out of him.
“I wouldn’t let it bother you,” said Bran, without emphasis. “Like many another secret killing, this will probably be attributed to the band of the Painted Man. With so many ill deeds to our credit, what’s one more? Your father has at least taken one step, now, to compensate for his past weakness.”
I scowled at him. “Must a man kill and maim to earn your respect?”
He regarded me levelly. “A man, or a woman, must at least be able to make sound decisions and abide by them. If a man has responsibilities, he should not relinquish them on a whim. If he chooses the path of lands, and family, and community, then he must shoulder that burden for life, not toss it aside to follow any woman who dazzles him in passing.”
I sighed. “I wish you could have met my mother. You’d have only needed to speak with her once to change your opinion entirely. As for my father, he made a difficult choice when he came here to be with her. He did not shirk responsibility; he simply changed one burden, as you put it, for another. She needed him, Bran. She needed him as …” My voice cracked, and I held back the words. As I need you. I would not say it.
We sat silent for a while, and then he said, “I cannot stay long. I must see your brother, for my mission is but half completed. Are there other women nearby, or are you quite alone here?”
“We’re unlikely to be disturbed. Why do you ask?”
“I—I told myself I would exercise restraint when at last I saw you again, but I—”
His words were lost because suddenly our arms were around each other, and our bodies were pressed close, and the tide of pent-up desire flooded through us, for it could be held back no longer. And it was very sweet indeed to feel the hardness of his body against me and the urgent touch of his hands through the damp fabric of my shift. All faded, but those sensations. It was as if there were no man, no woman here on the shore beneath the willows, no Bran, no Liadan, simply two halves of something broken that must now, at last, inevitably be made whole again. I sighed and pulled him more tightly against me. He whispered something and moved subtly, and I gasped. Then there was a wailing from the other side of the little cove, and a cawing from the branch above, and we both went very still. The wailing increased, and we moved apart and rose, and I walked over to pick up my son in my arms as Bran stood motionless on the grass, his face very pale.
“Sorry,” I said, ridiculously. “They can’t wait for their dinner at this age.” For my son was hungry, and cross, and there was no choice but to sit there in full view, and pull down my shift and put him to the breast. The wailing ceased instantly as he began to suckle, and the raven held its tongue, perched there above us. Fiacha had not warned me of Bran’s arrival. That was a strange lapse for such an effective watchdog.
Bran did not move. He was staring, his eyes shocked, his expression again remote, a mask.
“Clearly, you wasted no time,” he observed. “Why did you not mention this before? What game were you playing?”
Memories of another such conversation came flooding back painfully, and tears of hurt and outrage pricked my eyes.
“What do you mean, I wasted no time?” I whispered angrily.
“My informants usually do better. Nobody thought to tell me you were wed and with a child. I was a fool to come back here.”
I was torn between insane laughter and affronted tears. How could a man with a reputation for success in the most difficult mission be so unbelievably stupid?
“I thought you came to see my brother,” I said shakily.
“That was true enough. I did not lie to you. But I also thought—I also hoped—clearly my judgment was faulty. That you would ever—I cannot believe that I allowed myself to be taken in so a second time.”
“Indeed,” I said, “your judgment has gone sadly awry if you would believe such a thing of me. Then I would be no better than some creature of the roadside who gives herself to any man for the asking.”
Despite himself, he had moved close again, and squatted down nearby, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of the infant feeding.
“I suppose they found you a suitable mate, as they did for your sister,” he said bleakly. “At least you did not wed that man, Eamonn Dubh. I keep a close watch on him; that, at least, I would have known. What chieftain’s son did your family select for you, Liadan? Did you find, once you lay with me, that you had a taste for it and could wait no longer for the marriage bed?”
“If it were not for the child, your face would bear the mark of my hand for that,” I said, moving my son to the other breast. “Clearly, you have not yet learned to trust.”
“How could I, after this?” he muttered.
“Your prejudices blind you to the truth,” I said as calmly as I could. “Have you asked yourself why I am still here at Sevenwaters instead of with my husband?”
“I would not hazard a guess,” he said bleakly. “Your family appears to follow a set of rules all its own.”
“That’s good, coming from you.” A pox on the man; he scarcely deserved to be told the truth. How could he misread me so badly?
“You’d better tell me, Liadan. Who is he? Who is your husband?”
I took a deep breath. “I have remained here because I have no husband. Not that there was a lack of offers. I did indeed have the opportunity to wed, and I turned it down. I would not give your son another man’s name.”
There was complete silence, save for the small sounds the child made as he sucked and swallowed. He had become an efficient feeder and soon enough he had drunk his fill and wriggled out of my arms to go off exploring again. He crawled erratically over to Bran, planting a little starfish hand on the long, patterned fingers, examining them
with apparent fascination.
“What did you say?” Bran was sitting extremely still, as if he feared to move at all, lest the world should come crashing down around him.
“I think you heard me. He is yours, Bran. I told you once I would have no other man but you, and I have never lied to you nor ever will.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Since I have lain with but one man, and that only for the one night, it seems to me there is no doubt whatever. Or have you forgotten what passed between us?”
“No, Liadan.” He moved his fingers just a little on the grass, and Johnny sat down suddenly, with a small sound of surprise. He gazed up at his father, his gray eyes reflecting the fascinated apprehension of Bran’s. “I have not forgotten. Such a night, and such a morning, remain graven deep, no matter what follows. But this—this I cannot believe. I must be dreaming. It is surely some fantasy of the imagination.”
“It did not feel much like a fantasy while I was giving birth to him,” I said dryly.
He looked at me, mouth set very grim indeed. “Why didn’t you tell me? How could you not tell me?”
“I came close to it, when I saw you at Sídhe Dubh. But that was not the time; and besides, it seems to me you already bear more than your share of burdens. I hesitated to add another. And yet, I did want you there. I wanted you there so much, to share that moment of joy when our son came into the world.”
There was another silence. Johnny tired of the hand and crawled away onto the sandy shore. Bran watched him, and there was a look in his eyes that made my heart turn over. But when he spoke at last, his voice was under firm control.
“You know what I am. You know the life I lead. I am not a fit man to be a father or a husband. As you said yourself, I have no trade but killing. I would not see my son become another such as myself. He is better off without me, and so are you. I cannot hope to understand your kinsfolk; but I know that whatever your father’s failings, your brother is a good man, well able to protect and provide for you. This should be farewell for us, Liadan. I cannot become the man you need. I am—tainted, deficient. Best that this child never knows who his father was.”