I lay awake, pondering the tumult of emotions that had coursed through me since my beloved’s arrival, and thinking that too great a fondness for old tales had perhaps addled my wits. What had I expected, that she would throw herself into my arms? Speak words of love before a whole crowd of folk? Had I imagined she would address me with the same fluency she’d shown in her letters, even after her exhausting journey and the shocking death of her maidservant? Flidais was a flesh and blood woman, not some princess from ancient myth. I’d been thinking like a child, and a selfish child at that.
Tomorrow I would do as Donagan had suggested. I would call my household together and tell them how proud I was of the fine work everyone had done in preparing Winterfalls for this change. I would run through what was expected for the visit of my parents and their substantial entourage. Then I would talk to Aedan about the plans to include the local community in the betrothal celebrations; I would make sure the folk of the village and farms had been consulted.
But before I did any of that, I would go to Flidais’s quarters and speak with her. Exactly what I would say, I was not sure. I must hope that, when the time came, the right words would come with it.
I slept fitfully and woke with an aching head. So much for Donagan’s theory about the mead. I could not possibly visit Flidais at this hour. The light beyond my window was the earliest pale wash of dawn. But I would be unable to settle to anything else until I spoke with her.
My bedchamber had several doors. One to the hallway; one to the small chamber next door where Donagan slept within easy reach. A third door connected my chamber directly with Flidais’s bedroom in the women’s quarters. That door had remained firmly closed since her arrival at Winterfalls, and would do so until we were hand-fasted.
I’d had the women’s quarters expanded and fitted out with all the comforts a high-born lady would expect, along with some additions of my own devising, such as a little chamber with a writing desk. When Flidais sat there she could look through a round window into a patch of garden planted with many of the flowers she had described in her letters. There was a strip of lawn for Bramble to roll on and a little door through which the dog could come in and out of the house unaided. I had seen nothing of Bramble since that first, awkward day.
I threw on some clothes and slipped out without waking Donagan. Folk were stirring. Sounds came to me from the kitchen, where they would be kindling cooking fires and preparing for the day’s work. I went outside; a walk would clear my head.
The royal holding at Winterfalls was substantial and well maintained. While I was growing up, my family had usually stayed here over the summer, and I wondered, thinking back, whether my mother had enjoyed those respites from the formality of Cahercorcan as much as I had. The place had been in capable hands then, and it still was. My steward, Aedan, and his wife, Fíona, had been here as long as I could remember. Their children were of an age with me. My stable master, Eochu, could be abrasive when displeased, but had such a remarkable touch with horses that nobody ever said a word against him. Eochu went everywhere accompanied by his dogs, a pair of brindled lurchers who were the loves of his life, though nobody else thought much of them. Then there was Niall, who tended to the Winterfalls acreage, its fine breeding cattle and its crops, with assistance from a small army of folk and a team of well-trained herding dogs.
My lands extended far beyond the walls of the home acreage, of course; several villages, the small farms around them, Dreamer’s Wood and the wild lands beyond were all part of my holding, and under Dalriadan law there was a give and take requirement between my tenants and me. I provided assistance as required; I helped them in times of flood, fire or other hardship and I arbitrated over their disputes at a monthly open council. The people had been accustomed to my riding down from Cahercorcan for these councils, staying a day or two, then riding home again. Now that I was established here permanently, the whole thing was much easier, since folk could reach me quickly if they needed me.
In the presence of my father and his councillors I had always felt I was only playing at being a prince; that people regarded me as a pale shadow of my father. My visits to Winterfalls for the councils had felt like a sham, though I had done my best to find just and fair solutions to the problems my people brought before me and they had generally seemed satisfied. Now I could be out among them, seeing the problems for myself, perhaps helping resolve them before there was any need for a formal hearing. I could meet folk as soon as they moved into the district, like that fellow Grim, the ill-tempered thatcher. I had yet to meet the healer, Blackthorn, who had opened her house to Flidais on the day of the unfortunate accident at Dreamer’s Pool. That day, my mind had been all on bringing my beloved safely home. And, of course, arranging a burial for the girl who’d drowned. A sad arrival and a sadder farewell. Flidais had been too distraught to attend the ritual we’d held for her maid.
We had a burial ground beyond our grazing land, and we’d interred the girl there. It was in a quiet area near a copse of elders. I walked to the spot now, thinking to say a silent prayer or two. It was a sad thing to die so far from home and be laid to rest in a place your loved ones would likely never visit.
I sat awhile among the graves as the sun came up and the cows stirred themselves, moving at a leisurely pace toward the barn for the morning milking. I said a prayer for the departed – not only the girl who had drowned, but the others who lay nearby, folk who had lived and died at Winterfalls in the service of our family. I practised a skill taught to me a year or two ago by a wandering druid: sitting with my eyes closed, concentrating on sounds, finding music in the way they fitted together. So many sounds. The lowing of the cattle, the singing of birds – chirping, calling, crying, warbling – and the whisper and rustle of their movement in the trees. The flowing of the stream, which was many voices in one. Eochu over by the stables calling his dogs, and one of them barking. And . . . something else, a whimpering, as of some creature in distress. Eyes still closed, I made myself concentrate as I’d been taught, and when I opened them there was Bramble, hunkered down on the other side of the girl’s grave, her coat all stuck with whinnies and burrs. There was blood on the little dog’s face.
I was careful not to make any sudden movement. ‘Bramble,’ I said in a murmur. ‘It’s all right. Good dog.’ If I startled the creature now, she might bolt. Far from all she knew, on open ground, it would be near-impossible to find her. Flidais would be devastated. ‘Friend,’ I said. ‘I’m a friend. I hope your mistress explained that.’
Bramble stayed where she was, big eyes on me. She was shivering with some violence. I kept talking, low-voiced, speaking of matters that might interest a dog, such as a warm fire to lie in front of, a meaty bone, a cosy basket. I mentioned Flidais, who would be missing her little companion. I kept this up awhile, all the time edging gradually closer and hoping nobody would come looking for me and frighten the little one away. And after a certain time, much to my astonishment, for I had been sure that I would eventually have to resort to a sudden snatch, Bramble crept forward, the ghost of a whimper emerging from her throat, until she was right beside me.
I found that I was smiling for the first time in days. Slowly I reached out a hand, holding it where the dog could sniff, and she touched my fingers with her cold nose. She was exactly as portrayed in the painting, where she had been cradled in Flidais’s arms: a delicately made thing, her eyes and ears rather too large for the rest of her, her body somewhat spindly. Her long whippy tail was cautiously wagging now. Her hair was as fine as thistledown and tangled with debris. I did not gather her up; not yet.
‘You are very brave, Bramble,’ I said. ‘Calm girl, good girl. Let’s sit and talk awhile before I take you home.’ Just as well I had come out alone. If I’d had Donagan with me, or a guard, I could not have coaxed my lady’s dog this way without being viewed as ridiculous. My mother would certainly have thought me foolish to address a creature as if it could understan
d me. But this was not just any creature; it was Flidais’s beloved pet. ‘Your mistress once told me she thought you were a fey dog, strayed into this world from another,’ I told Bramble, who had moved to sit right beside my leg, her tiny form warm against me. I stroked her back, gently teasing out the worst of the burrs, and she endured my ministrations with patience. ‘I do not think that can be true, or you would surely not get in so much trouble. Come, show me that front paw. Is it hurting?’
A slow process, but I got all the prickles out and ascertained that apart from a cut or two the dog was uninjured. When that was done she climbed onto my knee and settled there, curled up in a ball with one eye open. It was plain to me why Flidais loved her. I allowed myself to sit awhile, and eventually the eye closed, and I felt the small form relax into sleep. The sun rose higher; the cows conducted a lowing conversation as they went in and out from milking; the stream babbled and a small wind stirred the grasses. Contentment stole over me, and for a brief while I was at peace.
I could not stay here long; Flidais would be frantic with worry over her missing pet. Besides, it must be nearly breakfast time, and I had not told Donagan where I was going. I woke Bramble with gentle words, then wrapped her in my cloak and headed for the house.
‘Of course,’ I said to her as I walked, ‘you have provided me with a perfect excuse to visit your mistress early without seeming over-eager or intrusive. But I am a little ashamed that I thought of that, so please don’t bring it to her attention.’
What Bramble thought was a mystery, though as we approached the house she tensed in my arms, and I regretted that I had not troubled myself to contrive a leash of some kind. ‘Don’t run off now, please,’ I told her. ‘Remember the warm fire, the bone, the kind words? We’re nearly there.’ She did not seem convinced; I struggled to keep her still without hurting her, for every part of her was delicately made.
I went straight to the women’s quarters, not through the house but across the garden I had created for Flidais. The door to the writing room was locked, but further along there was another entry, and here I came face to face with one of my lady’s waiting women.
‘Oh! My lord!’ Not unreasonably, she was taken aback to see me. Then she saw what I was carrying. ‘Oh, you found her!’
‘Deirdre, isn’t it?’ I had made a point of learning their names on that first day. ‘Yes, I stumbled on Bramble while out walking. She was some distance from the house. Unhurt save for a few cuts, but frightened.’
Deirdre reached out to take the dog, but Bramble shrank away, scrabbling against my chest, thrusting her nose under my arm as if to hide.
‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘I might give Bramble to Lady Flidais myself. I do wish to speak with her this morning. Out here, if she prefers, or indoors.’
‘My lady is still unwell, Prince Oran. I don’t know if she can receive you . . .’
I would not be fobbed off again. I fixed my gaze on the hapless Deirdre and used my princely tone. ‘I wish to see Lady Flidais now. I will keep my visit brief. I will wait for her indoors.’ I wondered if perhaps Flidais had not been told her beloved pet was missing. I did not want to cause a rift between her and her waiting women. On the other hand, they should take more care.
‘Of course, my lord.’ Deirdre stepped back to let me in. There was a small chamber immediately within the doorway, and I stationed myself there. As head of the household I was perfectly entitled to enter the women’s quarters, but it would be uncouth to go barging in on Flidais before breakfast. In my arms, Bramble hunkered down, shivering.
Time passed and I began to feel foolish. Donagan would be looking for me. I would be expected at breakfast. Guests would be starting to come in from everywhere. Why was I sitting at my beloved’s doorstep like a supplicant?
‘Prince Oran?’
The voice was sweet and soft. I rose to my feet, Bramble still in my arms, and there she was: Flidais, clad in a violet gown with a fine grey shawl over it, and her dark hair rippling down over her shoulders. My mouth went dry. I could not find any words at all. As for Bramble, she stiffened in my grasp and I almost dropped her.
‘Oh, you have Bramble!’ Flidais exclaimed. ‘Where was she?’
‘Out on the farmland. A long way from the house.’ I made to detach Bramble from my person and pass her to her mistress, but the little dog started a shrill, panicky yapping that drowned any attempt at speech. In the end I stepped back, still holding her, and she quieted.
‘I’m so sorry, my lord.’ Flidais’s pale cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. ‘This is most unlike Bramble; she is always so well behaved. Since the . . . since that terrible day, the day we arrived, her behaviour has been most odd.’
‘I suppose she needs time,’ I said. I could feel the pounding of Bramble’s heart through her whole body. ‘Many changes. A long journey.’
‘Yes, but . . . I do not wish to inconvenience you, Prince Oran. I cannot imagine how Bramble got out.’ Flidais glanced at her maid, who had come in behind her. ‘Deirdre, please shut Bramble in the sewing room, and make sure this does not happen again. She’s not to be let outside without the leash.’
With some difficulty, I passed the dog to Deirdre. Bramble gave a piteous cry as she was borne away; I felt as if I had betrayed her. ‘Please don’t worry about inconvenience,’ I said. ‘I am fond of dogs, as I told you in my letters. I’m glad to have been of service this morning. And please, not Prince Oran or my lord, just Oran.’
‘I am most grateful to you . . . Oran,’ said Flidais.
‘Is your health improved?’ I asked. ‘I was hoping you might be well enough to join the household for breakfast today.’
‘I – I am still rather tired. What happened – it upset me a great deal.’
‘Come,’ I said, ‘let us walk around the garden; this little chamber is not the best place for a conversation. Were you pleased with the writing room I made for you?’
‘The writing room? Oh, yes. That was very kind. Thank you.’
We went down the step and into the garden; Flidais slipped her hand through the arm I offered, and her touch was pleasing to me. More than pleasing. I felt a flush rising to my cheeks, and hoped she would not notice.
‘I drafted a letter to my mother last night,’ I said, ‘suggesting that we consider delaying the betrothal until you are feeling better. I don’t want to rush you. We had planned to hold the ceremony in eight days’ time, but I think that may be too soon.’ My doubts were returning, despite Flidais’s willingness to talk with me this morning. She looked unwell and sounded uncertain. Perhaps she was too well-mannered to say she was not ready for the betrothal. ‘Much too soon,’ I went on. ‘We must wait until you are quite happy with the arrangements.’
‘Oh, but what will your mother think of me?’ exclaimed Flidais, looking everywhere but at me. ‘Such inconvenience for everyone . . .’
‘You’ve been greatly upset,’ I said. ‘And the journey itself must have been gruelling. You must take all the time you need.’ I laid my free hand over hers, trying to ignore the stirring of my body, since it was entirely inappropriate to the current situation. ‘There will be a lot of folk here for the betrothal. Not as many as there will be for the hand-fasting at my father’s court, but many all the same. When my mother descends on the household things can become somewhat overwhelming. She means well.’
Flidais stopped walking, and turned to face me. She took both my hands in hers. ‘There’s no need to wait, Oran. Truly. I do feel somewhat poorly at present, that is true. But I will be myself again soon, I’m certain of it.’ Her smile warmed me, and I found myself smiling back.
‘Let us take a day or two to think about this,’ I said. She looked so frail, her eyes huge, her skin milky-pale, that it was hard for me to imagine her fully restored to herself so soon. If I hurt her in any way, I would never forgive myself.
‘But –’
‘Shh,�
� I said, and laid a finger on her lips. Ah, the softness of them! I snatched my finger away. ‘A day, at least. We will talk about this again tomorrow. Now I must let you go; you’ll be wanting to greet poor Bramble, who was much shaken by her ordeal. I cannot understand how she got out. This garden is walled – I took particular care about it – and I do not imagine your little dog can jump very high.’
‘One of the women must have let her out. I will make sure it does not happen again, Oran.’ She glanced around the garden. ‘It is very pretty here. The flowers are lovely.’
‘I hope you liked my poem,’ I ventured.
‘Thank you, yes.’
‘Perhaps, in time, you will write another for me.’
Her face clouded. ‘In time, yes. Since Ciar’s accident, I’ve been afflicted by headaches, bad ones. When I try to read, my head throbs and my eyes blur. I cannot even think of writing. One of my women read your poem to me. It was very sweet.’
I swallowed a certain disappointment at her comment. ‘Headaches? That is troubling. We should seek the advice of a physician. There is a very capable man at Cahercorcan. Or you may prefer the services of the local healer, Blackthorn. Folk speak highly of her skills. You met her, of course.’
‘I don’t need a physician or a wise woman. All I need is rest.’ She glanced toward the doorway. ‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance, Oran.’
‘You are not a nuisance; don’t ever think that. You are the lady of the house here, and you must ask me if you need anything at all. Now, I am keeping you from your rest, and I see Donagan over there at the gate, with a look on his face that tells me I am late for breakfast. Rest well, Flidais. I’m happy I was able to bring Bramble home for you. I must speak to my household this morning, but I hope later I may come and read to you awhile.’ I bent to kiss her on the cheek, hoping the simple gesture of affection would not offend her. I had not expected to be so unsure of myself. Her proximity filled me with desire, yet I felt as awkward as a green lad of fourteen.
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