“Your hand,” Artagan said, eyeing the sling. “Shouldn’t that be bound up properly?”
Then we fell silent, looking at each other. This was new, for as man and woman we were strangers; and yet it was familiar and comfortable, for at its heart our bond was unchanged. “We sound like an old married couple,” I said. “Come, sit down by me awhile. I’m keeping an eye on Finbar. I think that odd creature he’s talking to is the changeling child who was put in his place as a baby.”
Artagan sat down beside me and took my good hand in both of his. He lifted it and touched his lips to the soft skin on the back. “Did I mention that I love you?” he murmured.
“Once or twice,” I said. “But I’m always happy to hear it again.”
He turned my hand over and kissed the palm. “I love you, Maeve,” he said. “I did from the first moment. But you knew that, I think.”
“From the first moment? As I remember it, you were quite frightened of me back then.” I recalled the two of them running wild out in the forest, and the long, slow process of earning their trust.
“Frightened, yes. But fascinated, too.”
“It was Rhian’s cooking that fascinated you, be honest.”
Artagan smiled. “You drew me to you,” he said. “The scared dog, yes, but also the troubled man within the dog. Both parts of me loved you. Your courage; your kindness; your generosity; your sheer stubbornness. Your sweet words and gentle touch.”
“I can’t believe you saw all those things as a dog. You just knew I was the one who set down bowls of food and let you sleep on the bed.”
“I see them now, Maeve, and that helps me remember how it was then; remember it with a man’s understanding. I hope very much that your father will agree to our marriage. I do not like to be away from you, even for as long as it takes to bathe and change my clothing.”
I kissed his temple, wondering again at how easy this was, how lacking in either pretense or awkwardness. “I feel the same,” I said. “When you went away just now I felt as I did the first night I took you up to the Sevenwaters keep and my mother tried to banish you to the kennels. Bereft.”
“Will Lord Sean need a great deal of persuasion? Will he require incentives? A long period of waiting? I do not think I would cope well with that.”
An offer from the son of an Uí Néill chieftain? For the daughter everyone thought doomed to be forever unwed? As a strategic alliance, this marriage would be even more significant than Deirdre’s. “I imagine he’ll want to get to know you a little, as a man rather than a dog,” I said, repressing a grin. “He may be quite stern and he’s sure to submit you to an interrogation. But I believe he will eventually warm to the prospect.” Seeing his expression, I added, “On the matter of waiting, we must work on both of them, my father and yours. My mother won’t need much convincing. I hope Lord Cruinn—” I stopped myself.
As a dog, Bear had always seemed to understand what I could not put into words. “Maeve,” he said, “my father respects and honors you. He admires you. This news can only delight him. Believe me, dear heart.”
Admiring someone was all very well. It did not follow that a man would want that someone as his son’s wife, especially if her disability might make her an embarrassment in his household. Artagan and I would wed anyway; there woud be no keeping us apart. I knew that as I knew moon followed sun across the sky. But this might be a cloud over the future. I did not want to set son against father. “You say he admires me,” I said as I realized the implication of his words, “but how can you know that?”
He looked down at his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “I talked about this with Tiernan and Daigh while we were bathing. Our perceptions, during that time, were somewhat mixed. My instincts were those of a dog, most certainly. To hunt, to eat, to provide for those under my care…” He glanced up, a little smile on his lips.
“I eat raw meat only in dire emergencies,” I said. “And I would be glad if that part of our journey was kept between you, me and your brother.”
“As for my father, I did not know who he was when I saw him that day at your father’s keep, and neither did Tiernan. Only that he was important to us, someone we knew, someone dear and familiar. When I watched you and my father together tending to Swift, I saw that you were safe with him. I knew I could relax my guard. A dog’s judgment. But I was not entirely lost within my animal form. I can look back on that time now and remember it as a man remembers. For Tiernan it is much the same.”
“What about Daigh?”
“I do not think he was treated well; he bears the marks of old beatings all down his back. But Daigh was always able to dismiss the bad things with a joke, a song, a tale; in that he has not changed. Maeve, I know about the others. I suspected they were all gone. Finding Niall that day in the forest…it tested me hard. Something in me knew that if I had been a man I might have saved him. I spoke to Ciarán before, privately, and he told me how the others died. I have told Tiernan and Daigh.”
“I would have done it, dear heart.”
“Shh,” Artagan said. “That, at least, I could spare you. I am restless to return to Sevenwaters, Maeve, to bring my father some good news at last. But the healers insist that we sleep before we consider moving on.” He smiled. “I have become accustomed to sharing your bed. I suppose I must forgo the delight of that until we are husband and wife.”
“Another reason to ask our respective fathers if the wedding can be soon,” I said, reaching up to brush his cheek with the back of my hand. “I will be cold at night without my Bear. Lonely. Perhaps I need another dog.” To conduct this kind of interchange felt remarkable; it was not something I had imagined I would ever do. I could not stop smiling.
“Not yet, please. Let me reclaim the space that is rightfully mine before I am asked to share it.” His fingers moved to my temple, where the mark of my burn disfigured the skin. “I imagine,” he said, “that at any moment we will have company here; I believe Ciarán wishes to examine your hand. So I should kiss you now, while there is still time.” As he leaned in to do so, Finbar swung down out of the tree and pelted over to the pavilion.
“Maeve! I met that boy! I talked to him!”
Artagan and I exchanged a rueful smile. “Later,” he said as Finbar ran up the steps.
“Did you see?” My brother’s face was flushed with happiness.
“I did. In this place, I’m seeing something remarkable every time I turn my head. Finbar, how wonderful that you spoke to him! I know how much you wanted to.”
“He tried to warn us earlier—his people suspected Caisin was up to no good; they even knew about Luachan—but he didn’t have time to explain. He can’t talk the way we do—it’s all signs and little sounds, sort of chirrups and creaks. But it didn’t matter. Everything worked out the way it was meant to.”
I was struggling with this statement when Ciarán came across the sward, carrying a willow basket packed with little stone jars and rolls of cloth.
“I cannot say that you look well,” my uncle said, coming up the steps and setting down his supplies, “but undoubtedly you look happy, the three of you. This has been a difficult time; a testing time for all.” He seated himself on a stool beside me, turning his mulberry eyes on me in close scrutiny. Finbar settled himself cross-legged on the floor. “Maeve, I want to see that hand,” Ciarán went on. “I suspect you have broken bones.”
“Artagan was far more seriously hurt than I was. He took the blow on his head. And he was burned. You should—”
“I have examined Artagan’s burns,” said Ciarán. “They are not severe. He’s been very lucky. As for his head, it did sustain some damage, yes, but the Old Ones have a powerful gift. They have sewn him up and spoken charms over the wound; it will heal. Now show me this hand.”
Artagan untied my sling. I could hardly bear to move my arm; the pain was intense. His strong hands came out to support the injured limb while Ciarán performed a thorough examination. Although he was both deft and gentle, it hurt
enough to bring tears to my eyes.
“There’s at least one bone broken, perhaps two,” my uncle said eventually. “An honorable wound, as your others were.” He looked at Artagan. “You know, of course, that this hand cushioned you from a blow that would otherwise have killed you.”
“I do, and it humbles me.”
“Maeve,” said Ciarán, “your courage defies comprehension. Now I must bind this up. Finbar, be ready to pass me what I need. As for you, Maeve, no working with horses until the bones are mended, you understand? Indeed, no strenuous activity of any kind at all.” He cast another glance Artagan’s way.
“I’ll do my best to keep Maeve quiet,” Artagan said, “as will her maidservant, I’m sure, but she is her own woman.”
Rhian. I found myself smiling again. She would be fascinated by this tale of magical happenings and strange creatures. I would not tell her all of it; I had no wish to darken her dreams.
“It occurred to me,” observed Ciarán as he went about wrapping my hand—Finbar passed him in turn a pungent green salve, a moss-like padding and a broad strip of linen, “that the two of you might be planning to ride to Tirconnell in the near future. Any such journey should wait until you are both recovered. Maeve, you should not subject this hand to the jolting movement of a horse. Not to speak of the fact that Sean and Aisling will want you home awhile before…Well, perhaps I am a little ahead of myself.”
“Why would they—oh.” Finbar’s face fell.
“Artagan asked me to marry him, Finbar,” I said gently, “and I said yes. But I don’t expect Father to give his permission immediately. That’s not what fathers do.”
“But you’ll be going away.”
There was no way to soften the truth. “Yes, we will. And I will miss you very much. You’re the most remarkable of brothers. One of a kind.”
“There will always be a welcome for you in my father’s house, Finbar.” Artagan’s deep voice was full of respect. “I hope Lord Sean will be amenable to your spending some time with us in Tirconnell. The place is full of dogs and horses; there is also an extensive collection of manuscripts. My brother is something of a scholar. I believe you would enjoy it there.”
“And there’s a precedent,” I said. “Aunt Liadan and Uncle Bran fostered me for ten years; their youngest son, Coll, spent two years at Sevenwaters. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t do something similar with you, Finbar, if you’d like it. I can’t suggest it to Mother and Father immediately, but in time I should think they’d consider letting you come.” They would not want to send their only son away, but there was the alliance with Cruinn. My marriage to Artagan would set it in place; a fostering arrangement could only strengthen it.
The bandage was almost done. As Ciarán completed the binding, a small being came up the steps carrying a tiny green cup shaped like a flower. The being seemed something between a dwarf and a hedgehog. Its eyes were deep-set and distinctly non-human.
“Thank you, friend,” Ciarán said, taking the cup. “Maeve, drink this and don’t ask questions. Be assured that everything that passes your lips while you are in this hall is quite safe. The same goes for you, Finbar, and for all of your party. It was one of the first requirements I set out in my new role here.”
I drank; the draught tasted of grass. The bandage was done. Artagan helped me get my arm back into the sling. My hand throbbed a little less. I became aware of how tired I was, oh so tired, as if the events of the last few days had finally sunk into my bones and my blood, now there was no need to be constantly ready for trouble.
“I spoke further to Luachan while you were bathing,” Ciarán said. “He told me Caisin offered you a significant reward for your cooperation and you refused it. This before you understood she was not a friend.”
“I was offended that she thought I might accept a bribe.” A shiver ran through me. “And when I refused, when she thought I would not help her, she told me a cruel lie. She said Bear and Badger were dead. She told me Mac Dara had killed them, that he had…” I stopped myself; the most hideous part must not be spoken with Finbar present. “She knew that would set me in a black fury. She knew that lie would turn me to her purpose.”
“A wicked deception,” said Ciarán. “She must have been astonished when you refused her bribe. That was a powerful gift to offer.”
“This is the way I am now.” I lifted my free hand. “My honorable wounds are part of me. If salves or stretching or onion-skin poultices could have regained me the use of my hands, I would have been blissfully happy. Aunt Liadan tried all those things and many more, to little effect. Caisin’s suggestion of a magical cure seemed…too easy. It felt wrong. It felt like something I would spend the rest of my life regretting.” When nobody made comment, I added, “I know it is a decision most folk would find hard to understand. I’m not sure I understand it myself. But if she asked me again now, I’d give the same answer.”
“It makes perfect sense to me,” Artagan said, moving his fingers gently against my temple. “Such a choice is all Maeve.”
The hedgehog-dwarf was still standing quietly beside us, the empty cup in its three-fingered hands. Now it performed a grave little bow and addressed me. “Your courage is equal to your sister’s, Lady Maeve. The folk of this realm owe you a greater debt than they realize. I have with me a healer from my own people. We have not seen the marks of burns such as these before; would you allow us to look more closely?” From nowhere, another of the Old Ones appeared. It wore a hooded cloak of brindled fur. A golden mask covered its face. The mask was a cat’s; eyes of gleaming green peered out through the holes.
There seemed no harm in the request, and I was well beyond feeling embarrassed. I held out my good hand, if such a misshapen thing could be called good, and the two beings peered at it. Cat Mask touched it with a furred finger, turned it over to compare the soft skin of the back to the ugly scarring of the palm. The creature wrapped its hand around each of my fingers in turn, humming a vague little tune to itself as if deep in thought. It reached out to lay its palm against my other hand in its enveloping bandage.
“If you had perished in that long-ago fire,” the hedgehog-dwarf said gravely, watching as its companion performed its strange ritual, “who would have come with your brother to turn darkness to light? We might have waited a hundred years more, two hundred, to see Mac Dara meet his destined fate.”
It was true, I supposed. Maybe this had been the only chance in a lifetime, or several lifetimes, for the elements of the geis to come together in one place. Caisin had planned it, of course; she had used Luachan and she had used us. Used us sorely and lied to us grievously, for of course it was not Mac Dara’s people who had taken the dogs by force, but those of Caisin herself. Why coax Finbar to a place of refuge high in a tree, if not so I must leave the dogs behind while I fetched him down? But…
“What about the Disappearance?” I asked. “Why would Mac Dara turn three men into dogs, but condemn the others to their bizarre deaths? Or was it Caisin who changed them? How could she know I would become so close to the brothers?”
“Visions.” It was Finbar who spoke. “She may not have seen everything, but if she was looking for hands that cannot hold, or brothers in purpose and in kind, or a proud, bold steed, she might have seen them in her scrying vessel. She could have seen you in the fire, long ago, the way I did. She might have seen you training Swift or coaxing the dogs out of the forest. Probably she can conjure up whatever she wants, like Cathal. Past, present or future. Real, unreal, possible, impossible.”
“But how did she know the words of the geis in the first place? How did she know what to look for?”
“Ah,” said the hedgehog-dwarf, and there was a world of sadness in that sound. “She learned it from one of our kind. One who was unfortunate enough to be present, long years ago, when the charm was spoken over Mac Dara’s cradle. Caisin got word of this and sought her out. She obtained what she needed by the cruelest of means. That was a day of darkness; a day of great sorrow
for our people. And of shame.” He bowed his head for a moment, and nobody spoke. Then he said, looking up, “Today is brighter. A new dawn. We will be sad to bid farewell to Mac Dara’s son; he is a staunch friend of our people. But we are content.”
I could not imagine, now, that I had ever thought Caisin might be a good person. I shuddered at the risk I had taken, for myself and for Finbar. “Where is Cathal now, Uncle Ciarán?” I asked.
“Down by the stone basin. He is much troubled by what has unfolded today; he needs time alone.”
Remembering the look on Mac Dara’s face when he saw that his son had come home, that moment of utter transformation, I understood how hard this must be for Cathal. The Lord of the Oak had been evil. He had been cruel. He had killed without mercy and had caused untold misery. But he had still been a father, and in his own way he had loved his son. It might be a long time before Cathal came to terms with this.
“You asked what happened that day in the forest,” said the hedgehog-dwarf. “I can tell you. Mac Dara’s folk attacked the riders. There was a skirmish and the riders scattered under the trees. Three moved more swiftly and escaped their assailants’ reach. The others fell victim to the enchantment ordered by the Lord of the Oak. It was long and cruel, a spell that twisted their minds. We would not meddle with such a potent charm; we could not help them. He prolonged their lives until it suited him to make an end of them, each in turn.”
“I have a recollection of fighting an enemy that was no human warrior,” Artagan said. “Our horses bolted. I was thrown, alongside my brother. And we were changed. That is the sum of it.”
“A spell was cast over the two of you and over your friend,” the hedgehog-dwarf said. “Not by Mac Dara. Not by Caisin Silverhair. Not by any lord or lady of the Tuatha De Danann. By my people. We did what we could to keep you from the same fate as your companions. Your friend fled in panic; he wandered long in the woods before he fell into the clutches of the Fair Folk, who kept him as a plaything. You and your brother reached kinder hands.”