Morag looked at Ashk while answering the question. “I thought their being here might bring up memories that were … distressing … especially after the attack by the Black Coats.”
“Were the memories distressing?” Ashk asked.
“No.”
Lyrra frowned. She’d asked the question, but only Morag and Ashk understood the answer.
Then Morag looked at her. “Ari is here.”
“Ari?” Lyrra’s heart gave a funny little jump before settling back to a proper rhythm. She took a step toward Morag. “Ari is here? She’s well? And …and Neall? Is he here with her? Is he well?”
“They’re both well. She carries their first child.”
Lyrra laughed while tears filled her eyes. “Oh, this is wonderful! Aiden will be so pleased. Do you think —?” She looked into Morag’s dark eyes and some of the pleasure drained away. Black Coats attacking. Morag galloping away from the Clan house after seeing them, worried about distressing memories.
“You thought our being here would upset her?”
“Yes.”
You’re here, Morag. Why wouldn’t your presence upset her just as much? She knew the answer to that. She and Aiden had come with Dianna to celebrate the Summer Solstice with Ari, and, while they’d meant no harm, they hadn’t come honestly. They’d used the glamour to wear a human face and hide that they were Fae. They hadn’t known the magic Ari would call up when she did the spiral dance would reveal them for what they were. Their reasons hadn’t been cruel, but they had lied to her. They’d all lied to her. Except Morag. Morag had come to Brightwood as who and what she was. And in the end, she was the one who had helped Ari and Neall get away from Brightwood, from the Inquisitors — and from Lucian and Dianna.
Lyrra wiped the tears that dampened her cheeks. “I understand. Is it likely that she’ll come to the Clan house? Aiden and I … We’ll stay out of sight.” It hurt more than she expected to say that.
Morag shook her head. “She’d like to see you and Aiden — as long as Aiden doesn’t make her sing.”
Lyrra opened her mouth to make a hurried assurance, then just sighed. “When it comes to Aiden and hearing a new song, I’m not willing to promise anything. Although, I suppose I could threaten to sing loudly and off-key for the next month if he pesters her.”
“That sounds like a suitable punishment,” Ashk said dryly.
Lyrra nodded. “For Aiden it would be.” Morag looked at Ashk. “Neall and Ari may be coming for the evening meal.”
“They’ll have to stay until morning,” Ashk said. “I already told her that.”
Lyrra glanced at each of them and realized Morag and Ashk not only understood each other, but they also felt equally protective of Ari and Neall.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Lyrra said. “I’d better get back to Aiden.”
“Ari was hoping you and Aiden would be willing to sing a few songs this evening,” Morag said.
“It would be our pleasure.” Smiling at both of them, she hurried through the corridors of that part of the Clan house until she reached the room she and Aiden had been given.
He was still sitting on the window seat, silent. He stood quickly when she rushed across the room. When she threw her arms around his neck, he held her tightly against him.
“Lyrra?” he said worriedly.
She leaned back, and she knew he didn’t understand the tears welling up again as she smiled at him. But he would. Oh, he would.
“Aiden, I have wonderful news.”
Morag watched Lyrra hurry away before turning back to face Ashk. “I apologize if my hasty departure caused a problem.”
Ashk shrugged. “Nothing an apology from me can’t mend. And if it can’t be mended, so be it.”
Morag studied Ashk. “When I got back to the Clan house, I talked to a couple of the hunters standing watch. They told me Aiden and Lyrra would be killed if they tried to leave. Those were your orders.”
Ashk met her eyes without flinching, without regret. “Those were my orders. Now that I know why you left so hastily, I’ll withdraw that command.” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I’m glad they didn’t test my sincerity.”
“Did you really think the Bard and the Muse were a threat?”
Ashk shook her head. “If they’d truly been a threat to the Clan, or to anyone else in Bretonwood, you wouldn’t have run, Morag. You would have killed them yourself.”
Ashk settled on one of the benches that formed a halfcircle in front of the Clan house. Aiden and Lyrra took the center bench, quietly tuning instruments in preparation for the evening’s entertainment.
She’d spent most of the time before and during the evening meal watching them. Especially Aiden. She’d seen the sign of nerves as he’d rubbed his hands on his trousers when Ari and Neall had ridden up to the Clan house. She’d seen the strong emotions in his face and in his eyes when Ari shyly approached him — and realized it was meeting Ari last summer, however briefly, that had begun the journey that brought Aiden here now. She’d seen his delight when Morphia greeted him — and his relief when Morag came up to talk to him. She’d listened as Aiden and Padrick talked about traveling through the Mother’s Hills — and laughed together about someone named Skelly and his sweet granny.
And she felt an ache in her heart that he hadn’t arrived a month earlier when he could have walked down a forest trail and looked into the wise, dark eyes of an old stag.
Padrick joined her, took her hand in his. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The light squeeze of her hand told her he knew where her thoughts had gone.
She looked at Caitlin and Evan, sitting on old blankets with a pile of other children, protected within that half circle of benches filled with adults. The men who formed the outer part of the circle were all armed. They’d found no nighthunter nests close to the Clan house, but she knew there were still some out there. She could still feel a wrongness in the woods. So they would be cautious, careful.
Aiden and Lyrra began with an instrumental piece, followed by a bright little tune. Then Lyrra spent a couple of minutes teaching the children the chorus to another song.
They were all laughing and applauding at the end of that song when a shout of alarm had the adults jumping to their feet.
Ashk’s heart pounded in her chest as a dark horse cantered toward them, chased by one of the youths standing watch over the corralled horses. Like the armed hunters, she scanned the trees and the shadows cast by the torchlight for any sign of danger — and sensed nothing.
The horse wove his way between people who prudently stepped aside until he came to a stop at the edge of the blankets filled with children.
“I don’t understand how he got out,” the youth said, panting from the chase.
“It’s all right.” Aiden’s voice was a blend of embarrassment and resignation. “He just wants to hear the music.”
The dark horse tossed his head in what might have been a nod of agreement.
The youth trotted back to the corral. The adults settled back in their seats. The horse pricked his ears.
“Back, Minstrel,” Aiden said firmly.
Minstrel hung his head, positioning his ears to create a woeful expression.
Aiden pinched the bridge of his nose. “Two steps back.”
One step. Two steps. Still looking woeful.
Aiden picked up his whistle. Minstrel lifted his head.
Like the rest of them, Ashk watched with delight as Minstrel arched his neck and did his trotting-in-place dance to Aiden’s tune.
When the applause died down, Aiden said, “Take a bow, Minstrel.” His eyes widened and Lyrra sprawled on the bench in gleeful laughter as the horse extended one front leg, curled the other, and lowered his head.
“I don’t think the Bard was expecting that,” Padrick whispered.
“No, I don’t think he was,” Ashk whispered back. Aiden’s effort to control his expression was as entertaining as anything else so far.
Th
ey listened to funny songs and love songs and, finally, at the end, another instrumental piece that was quiet and peaceful.
Padrick slipped an arm around her waist, brought his lips close to her ear. “He’s a good man, but he can’t win this battle alone.”
“I know.”
“Will he meet the Hunter?”
She didn’t answer until the last notes of the song faded on the air. “He’ll meet the Hunter.”
Chapter Thirty
Aiden wandered toward the sturdy, makeshift table that held the Solstice feast, curious to see what Ari was doing. She kept glancing around while she held her hands close to the sides of one dish after another. Maybe whatever she was doing meant they’d be eating soon. He hoped so. The scent of the food was making his mouth water and his stomach growl.
He was still a few feet away when Neall stepped out of the cottage’s kitchen door, saw Ari, and frowned.
“You’re doing too much,” Neall said, striding over to Ari.
“It’s just a little fire to keep things warm,” Ari said defensively, turning to face him.
Neall rested his hands lightly of her upper arms. “If you do too much, you’ll be tired by the time you finish the dance and you won’t enjoy the entertainment Ashk has planned afterward.”
Ari smoothed nonexistent wrinkles on the embroidered shirt she’d made for him. “It’s our first Summer Solstice here. I want it to be perfect.”
“It won’t be perfect, Ari,” Neall said with a smile. He kissed her. “But it will be wonderful.”
Wondering how to move away without drawing attention to himself and ending their quietly intimate moment, Aiden saw Padrick approaching.
“Neall, I wonder if I can borrow Ari for a few minutes. Ashk has a couple of things she needs to discuss with her.”
Ari glanced over to where Ashk was sitting with a few other women, including Lyrra and Morphia. “She just wants me to sit down and rest — like someone else I know.”
“That may be so,” Padrick agreed. “But I was sent to fetch you, and I, as a dutiful husband, am here to ask you to allow yourself to be fetched.” He shifted his face into a comically woeful expression. “If I go back empty-handed, I’ll get a pillow and blanket tonight instead of kisses and cuddles.”
Ari huffed in an effort not to laugh. Then she noticed Aiden. “Does the Bard have an opinion he wants to express?”
“Indeed I do,” Aiden replied. “Your gown is lovely.” Ari blushed a little and grinned. Aiden grinned back at her.
Padrick and Neall just looked at him.
“You’re supposed to have a way with words, and that’s the best you can do?” Neall said.
“Since Ari isn’t arguing with me, I’d say I’ve done very well,” Aiden replied.
Padrick and Neall looked so disgruntled, Ari laughed. “Very well, Padrick. I’ll not undermine your influence as husband or baron.”
Padrick offered his arm to Ari, winked at Neall, and led the young witch to where Ashk waited.
“More ale, Bard?” Neall asked.
Aiden lifted his tankard in a salute. “I’ll make do with what I have, thanks. I want a clear head tonight. Do you know what Lady Ashk has planned?”
Neall shook his head. “Well, there’s a traditional dance this Clan usually does at Harvest Eve, but Ashk decided to do it tonight as an entertainment for the Clan’s guests. That’s why she requested a fire pit in the meadow to hold a small bonfire instead of the brazier Ari would normally use tonight.”
They both looked back at the table wistfully.
“If I round up the children, they’ll become impatient if they aren’t fed soon,” Neall said.
“Which means the rest of us will get to eat, as well. That sounds like a fine plan.”
With a mischievous grin, Neall headed out to the part of the meadow where several children were playing some kind of odd game of tag with Merle.
Aiden drank the last couple of swallows of ale, draining his tankard. A Fae Lord. Oh, the face was certainly human, but there was no denying that Neall was a Fae Lord. A young Lord of the Woods. And a fine young man.
“Blessings of the day to you, Aiden.”
Aiden turned. Morag stood a few feet behind him.
“Blessings of the day, Morag.” Before she could speak, he shook his head. “You made your apology, and it was accepted.”
“I hurt you,” Morag said softly.
“Yes, you did. But I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same.” He looked over to where Ari sat with the other women, laughing about something. “She’s different here.”
Morag shook her head as she moved to stand beside him. “No, she isn’t.”
He turned so they both stood facing the meadow, watching Neall and Merle herd laughing children toward a trough where they could wash their hands. “She is. She’s bloomed.”
“She’s accepted here — by the Fae, by the villagers. Here, she’s a Daughter of the House of Gaian. Here, she’s wanted for herself, not for what she has or what she can do for someone else.”
“And she has love’s jewels.” Aiden sighed. “You made the right choice, Morag, giving them both the chance to get away from Brightwood … and the Clan there. Lucian cared for Ari. I’m sure of that. But he wasn’t in love with her, and I think he always would have found her … wanting … in some way, would have wanted her to be something other than who and what she is. He would have cared about her, would have continued to be her lover, probably would have sired a child on her in order to assure that there would continue to be a witch at Brightwood, but he wouldn’t have refused an invitation to a Fae lady’s bed when he went to Tir Alainn — and he never would have looked at Ari as if she contained all the joy in the world.”
“For Neall, she does.”
“I know. And she loves him.”
“Yes, she does.”
He didn’t want to talk about Lucian or Brightwood or the past anymore, so he was relieved when he saw Ashk and the other women walking toward the table — and he noticed Neall and the children approaching from the other direction, with Merle tagging along, looking hopeful. Studying the children, Aiden suspected the young shadow hound had good reason to feel hopeful about getting a share of the feast.
“Oh,” Morag said. “Ashk said she had the cooks roast a couple of chickens, especially for you, but she wasn’t sure if you preferred breasts or thighs. For some reason, Lyrra found that very funny.”
Remembering Ashk’s last comments about chickens and eggs, and seeing the way she was smiling at him as she approached, Aiden felt his face warm a bit. “Wonderful.”
“I’m glad I’m not playing tonight,” Aiden said, putting an arm around Lyrra’s waist as he watched the musicians check their instruments
“No, you’re not,” she said, laughing quietly. “If they lent you an instrument, you’d be in the middle of them.”
“I don’t know the songs.”
“When has that ever bothered you?”
It did bother him a little. There was music here that had never been heard beyond the western Clans. The fault of those who had been the Bard before him. His fault since he’d become the Lord of Song for never having visited the western Clans until now. “I’ve played with them for the past few nights. Tonight I’ll simply enjoy being entertained.”
Oh, a few minutes of hearing the melodies of the songs they were playing tonight was all he would have needed to follow along with them, and play well. He didn’t tell Lyrra that he’d asked about playing with them tonight, and the musicians had looked uncomfortable and told him Ashk wanted his full attention on the entertainment.
Lyrra gave him a skeptical look, but didn’t have time to say anything before Ashk hurried up to them.
“Come along,” she said, looking at Lyrra. “I’ll show you your place for the spiral dance.”
“My place?” Lyrra said nervously. “I can’t participate in the dance. I’m not a witch.”
Ashk studied her for a moment. “You have wood
land eyes. That means you claim some kinship to the House of Gaian. Tonight, that’s all you need.” She grabbed Lyrra’s hand and pulled her away from Aiden. “Come along. The steps are quite simple. Neall! Come along now!”
“Neall doesn’t have woodland eyes,” Aiden said to Padrick as the Baron of Breton came to stand beside him.
“No, he doesn’t. But his mother, Nora, was a witch. So he’ll join the dance.” Padrick smiled as he watched Ashk demonstrate the dance steps for Lyrra. “Ashk used to dance with Nora for the Solstice. She’s been looking forward to joining this dance again. Having Neall and Ari living here means a great deal to her.”
Not because they’re useful, Aiden thought as he watched several of the Fae take their places to form a large, loose circle, but because they are dear to her. For her, they’re like the favorite nephew and his beloved wife, finally returned home.
He heard the drums set a slow, measured beat to indicate the dance was about to begin. His heart pounded a little too quickly. He’d seen the spiral dance last Solstice, had felt the magic in Brightwood answer that dance. But Ari had danced alone that night, and the power they’d felt when she drew all that magic to herself and released it again had frightened the Fae who had come to her cottage pretending to be human.
“You’ve a hungry look about you, Bard,” Padrick said. “Did you have enough to eat?”
There was a hunger in him that had nothing to do with a full belly. He hadn’t realized how much he’d craved seeing this dance again when he knew what to expect. “Hmm?” Aiden said, feeling impatient with conversation that was distracting him. “Yes, I had plenty. Wonderful food. The only thing I’ve tasted that was better was some brown bread we’d had at a village on the way here.”
“Brown bread?” Padrick asked sharply. “Where was this?”
“A village. We took a road off the main one and had a meal in the village tavern.” Aiden frowned. He didn’t want to be impolite, but Ari was walking over to the circle; the actual dance would start any moment now.
“You stopped in Wiccandale?”
“Didn’t have a sign posted anywhere, so I can’t tell you which village it was.” Aiden turned his head slowly and stared at Padrick. “Wiccandale?”