I find that after all I am shocked, though I have no trouble believing this unsavory story. “It’s good that you told me,” I say. “A very poor kind of joke. Don’t speak to anyone else about this, and if you see your friend from the kitchen, warn him to keep quiet. Not that I want to cover up for such oafish behavior, but if my brother hears this has become the subject of gossip, he’ll be quick to punish anyone who’s suspected of spreading it.” A pot of hot soup, gods! Men do engage in crude humor from time to time. That I’ve experienced before. But such an act of impulsive violence goes far beyond that. Seanan is usually controlled in his anger. This troubles me badly.
“Would he do what he said?” Corb sounds hesitant now. “When he’s wed, I mean. Would he do such a thing?”
Oh, yes, I think. My brother is cruel to the core. To abuse others excites him. “I must make sure he’s denied the opportunity,” I say with a lot more confidence than I feel. “A pity my father believes me to be a liar and a troublemaker. I cannot go straight to him. But perhaps someone else will listen. Don’t worry, Corb, I won’t divulge where I heard the story, and I will take action to protect this young woman.”
Corb doesn’t ask how I can possibly do that, or who I will speak to, or anything of the sort. He just says, “Thank you, Master Dau. I mean Dau.” I find his trust in me frightening.
Lord Ross and his party are expected in two days’ time. There’s activity everywhere, including on the training ground. Maybe our men will invite Ross’s to engage in a few practice bouts. Or shooting at targets. I miss that kind of thing; I miss it more than I can readily admit to myself. If Liobhan gets me to that place . . . if there truly is a cure . . . I must set that aside. Wait until her year is up. I must apply myself to a more immediate task.
I’ve been selfish. I heard them talking in the stables about Ross of Fairwood and his daughter and I let it wash over me because my mind was all on the tale Liobhan had told about the magical cure. Now I must act. The marriage can’t go ahead.
I can’t march into the house and tell my father the truth—that if Ross’s daughter weds Seanan, her life will be destroyed. Father never believed me when I was a child. Why would that have changed? If I confront him, he’ll support Seanan. I can’t tell any of his people. They’re all under Seanan’s thumb. No, this must be treated like a mission. I must put a strategy in place. First things first. I need a foothold in the house. My father’s councilor, Naithí, seems an appropriate choice. I don’t expect an open-armed welcome. I haven’t set foot in the house since the day Brother Íobhar moved me out to make way for his ailing monks. But, like it or not, I am Lord Scannal’s son. I will put on the guise of a nobleman and move boldly forward. “Corb,” I say. “We’re going up to the house.”
Corb insists we return to our quarters first. He makes me put on a clean shirt and brush my hair, and he shaves off my untidy beard, managing not to cut me. Liobhan’s not back yet. I wish she could come with me, but that can’t happen. Corb still officially has the job of nurse and keeper, though surely most of the household must know who’s been doing the bigger share of the work.
I hate behaving like the nobleman I was born to be. I can’t help the fact that I resemble my brother Seanan, but acting like him makes me feel soiled, degraded. I will try to balance the confidence of privilege with courtesy and restraint. I will push down the dark shadows. I will not let the memories undo me. It’s a test. I’m a Swan Island man. Blind or not, I like a challenge, and I will meet this one bravely.
The guards on the door are surprised to see me and Corb. I hear it in their voices. Someone calls the steward, Iarla; I remember him speaking to me with courtesy during those difficult first days.
“Master Dau! You look well. What can I do for you?”
“Iarla. I did not have the opportunity to thank you earlier for your kindness in welcoming me when we first arrived here. Were I ever to establish a household of my own, I would want just such a man as yourself to oversee it.”
“Thank you, Master Dau. I wish the circumstances had been different. We’re required to follow orders, as I expect you understand.” He clears his throat. “Have you been comfortable out there in the stables? Well cared for?”
“We do well enough, thank you. Corb here has been an excellent companion and assistant.”
“And will you now be returning to the house? Should quarters be prepared?”
“Not yet, Iarla. I’m here to speak with Master Naithí, in confidence. I hope he can make time for me. He’s not expecting me.” I lower my voice. “I’d be glad if this can be managed as discreetly as possible.”
Iarla is expert at what he does. “Certainly, Master Dau. Follow me. If you’ll just wait in here, I will find Master Naithí for you.”
For this visit I’ve dispensed with the crutch. With one hand on Corb’s shoulder I follow the steward along the hallway and into a chamber. I recall the place. In the past, this was where folk waited for audiences with my father or the other senior members of the household.
We’ve barely begun to settle ourselves when Iarla returns. “Master Dau. Master Naithí will see you now. This way.”
The councilor is in a different chamber. It feels much roomier, and it’s warm. Was this once a scribe’s workroom? I can’t remember. Naithí greets me, ignores Corb, thanks Iarla and dismisses him. The door closes.
“Please be seated, Master Dau.” Naithí’s tone is measured, careful. I wonder if every word I say will go straight to my father. Perhaps that’s one of the duties of a chieftain’s councilor: to report back in meticulous detail. “How may I assist you?”
The situation is strange. If I had lived a different life, if I had grown to manhood in this household as a respected son of the family, this man would have listened to my concerns without question. As it is, I am an outsider, unknown to him before that awkward meeting at Hawthorn House. I could understand if he were not prepared to trust me with anything.
I haven’t thought how I am going to put this delicate matter to him, save that I will give less detail than Corb gave me. Hint at some concerns, maybe, without mentioning the source. Suggest that everyone take more time for reflection. But I realize that isn’t going to work. To achieve what I want, I’ll have to do something every part of me shrinks from. I’ll have to be my father’s son.
“You know we’re accommodated in the stable block, yes?” I go on without waiting for an answer. “I heard that Lord Ross of Fairwood will shortly be visiting my father, along with some family members and an escort. You probably know that Lord Ross has a son of about my own age. He and I were friends long ago. Someone mentioned that Cormac might be a member of this party. If that is so, I would like to renew my acquaintance with him during the visit, especially as it seems possible we may be kinsmen by marriage at some point in the future.”
“Indeed,” Naithí says. “This visit is for the purpose of discussing that possibility, Master Dau. And I have been informed that both Master Cormac and his sister, Sárnait, are on the way here with Lord Ross.”
“Yes, I gather it will be quite a large party. I and my two assistants are currently accommodated in an area that was formerly the harness room. I doubt that the visiting horses and grooms can be housed in the manner Lord Ross would expect unless that area is opened up again. Which leaves the three of us with nowhere to sleep.”
I wish I could see Naithí’s face. He’s not stupid; he knows where this is heading. But he’s not dealing with the man who sat shocked and helpless at that hearing back in Dalriada. He’s talking to his chieftain’s son, and he knows it. “Go on, Master Dau,” he says.
“I imagine Lord Ross would think it strange that a son of the house and his attendants were banished to the stables or to an outhouse solely because that son is blind. I can get about well enough with the assistance of Corb here, or of Liobhan. Liobhan understands the treatment I require for my eyes and the headaches that some
times visit me. And, being a trained warrior, she has the expertise to help me maintain my strength.” I pause. Naithí makes no comment. Corb holds the silence appropriate to his position in the household.
“I have jarred my ankle slightly, but that occurred while attempting an everyday task and it is almost better. I am eager to stretch myself; on occasion, a little too eager. You will understand, Master Naithí, how frustrating it is for a fighting man to find himself weakened as I was for some time after the accident.”
“I was never a fighting man, Master Dau. But yes, I understand. And I also understand your argument where Lord Ross is concerned. If Master Cormac was your friend, he will expect to see you; it is widely known that you have returned home.” He draws a long breath, then lets it out. “It would indeed be better to accommodate you in the house. You and your helper here. I will have a word with Iarla.” And when I don’t reply, he goes on, “You would take the evening meal in the great hall. Sit with the family.”
There’s a but in his tone. “But my brother won’t care for that arrangement?”
“Master Seanan will understand how important it is that matters are arranged appropriately while Lord Ross’s party is here. The betrothal—” He falters; he’s said more than he meant to.
“Is Lord Ross’s daughter promised to my brother, Master Naithí? Or is that only under consideration?”
“The latter. It’s been discussed. The young lady has met Master Seanan only very briefly in the past. This visit will provide further opportunities. Your father hopes the matter may be settled while they are here. An alliance with Ross of Fairwood would greatly strengthen Lord Scannal’s position.”
I want to ask if he thinks my brother a suitable match for a young girl. Or for anyone. All I say is, “How old is the prospective bride, Master Naithí?” I may have met her once or twice back then, but Cormac had several sisters and I have no memory of them as individuals. In those times I did not go out of my way to make friends, since doing so seemed likely to place them in jeopardy.
“I believe she’s in her fourteenth year, Master Dau.”
Corb makes a little sound of shock, quickly suppressed. I swallow a curse. So young. This can’t be allowed to happen. “Thank you, Master Naithí. Please do speak to Iarla about suitable quarters for us. Not just me and Corb. Liobhan as well. I need an attendant available day and night, and it’s too much for one. Besides, only Liobhan has the required nursing skills.”
“You press me hard, Master Dau. I’m well aware that Master Seanan has barred your friend from the house. She is not your personal nurse. She is a bond servant.”
“I don’t recall any law stating that a bond servant cannot sit in the hall with other serving folk at mealtimes, provided she conducts herself appropriately. And Liobhan is my personal nurse. When Brother Íobhar and his monks came to stay in this house, Seanan passed my care over to her, stating very firmly that if she doubted his capacity to have his folk look after me in an appropriate way, she could do it herself. Which she has, very capably, or I would not be fit enough to sit here talking to you now, Master Naithí. I require her to be accommodated with Corb and me. The ideal arrangement would be a room with a large antechamber. That way we can observe the proprieties. And she’s to be allowed in and out of the house without challenge.”
He clears his throat. “Your brother—”
“Master Naithí. Is this my father’s house still? To the best of my knowledge, he remains chieftain of Oakhill. Or does he no longer make his own decisions? If the common sense of this suggestion eludes you, please take it to him. And don’t forget to remind him how odd it will seem to Lord Ross and his family if I am not accommodated as a son of the household should be.” I pause. “Liobhan is included in the agreement or I sleep in a horse stall and make sure our distinguished visitors know about it. Tell my father that.”
Naithí clears his throat. Time passes, and neither he nor Corb says a word. I wait. Eventually the councilor speaks. “Your father relies increasingly on Master Seanan to act for him,” he says. “I will pass on this message, of course, but the chances are Master Seanan will be dealing with the matter.”
I find myself shocked. Whatever I may have thought of my father’s refusal to believe me when I told him the truth, he always seemed well respected, not only by the highborn folk who came to speak with him, but also by the more lowly ones who worked for him. It’s hard for me to believe he would trust that weasel Seanan to make important decisions on his behalf. “My father is surely still in his right mind and well enough to perform his duties as chieftain of Oakhill,” I say, not making it a question.
“In his right mind . . . yes. But Lord Scannal has been somewhat distracted of recent times, Master Dau. Increasingly forgetful. Easily tired. Since Master Ruarc entered the monastery, more and more matters of strategic planning have been passed to Master Seanan.”
This is deeply troubling. “Has my father seen a physician? Is it known what ails him?” I may loathe this place. I may be counting the days until I can leave it. But the thought of Seanan as chieftain has never been a good one, and that it should happen sooner rather than later paints a grim picture for the folk of this household and of the region. I came into this room playing the part of Lord Scannal’s son because it suited my purpose. But like it or not, I am Lord Scannal’s son. Perhaps it is for me to do something about this.
“I don’t believe a physician has been consulted, Master Dau. When a family member is unwell, the head infirmarian from St. Padraig’s, Brother Petrán, generally pays a visit. And, of course, Brother Petrán is in residence here now, until such time as the rebuilding is complete. But busy. Very busy. It is unfortunate that Master Ruarc—that is, Brother Íobhar—was called away so suddenly.” A pause. “I will instruct Iarla to prepare sleeping quarters for you and your young man here—what is his name?”
“Thank you. His name is Corb. His family works one of the neighborhood farms.” I pause for a count of five. “And Liobhan?”
Naithí sighs. “I am certain Iarla can find something appropriate. I will explain to Lord Scannal that perhaps the situation has not been assessed quite correctly. But I cannot answer for Master Seanan. If your friend is able to . . . blend . . . with the household . . . to be discreet . . . not to draw attention to herself while the visitors are here . . .”
There’s a silence then, and I imagine both Naithí and Corb are thinking what I’m thinking: that Liobhan tends to draw attention even when she’s not trying to. “We might make an agreement, Master Naithí,” I say. “You speak to my father on this matter, stressing the need to present a calm and united household during Lord Ross’s visit. And I speak to Liobhan about being discreet. Mm?”
“A calm and united household is something to strive for, Master Dau.”
“I imagine it is, Master Naithí, though I may not be the best judge, never having lived in such a household. Thank you for your time and for your discretion. We will return to the stables until we receive word that our new quarters are ready for us.”
* * *
* * *
Liobhan is back in the harness room. She’s in good spirits after a challenging round of exercises—she informs me that three of the guards completed the sequence with her, with master-at-arms Fergal watching—and she smells sweaty. It occurs to me that if she’s going to be living in the main house and eating supper in the hall, she’ll need another change of clothing. And so will I.
“Where were you?” she asks.
I clear my throat. I feel oddly nervous. “Up at the house, talking to Master Naithí. Liobhan, Corb told me something I didn’t like, and you won’t like it either.” I pass on the unsavory little story. She greets this with deathly silence. “We can’t let this betrothal go ahead,” I say.
“The marriage has probably been planned since this poor girl was an infant.” Liobhan sounds grim. “What can you and I do about that?”
“Corb,” I say quietly, “you need not stay if you have other things to do. Just let me know if a message comes from Iarla, will you?”
Corb understands that he’s been dismissed and heads out into the yard.
“When Corb told me what he’d overheard I was tempted to rush in boots and all,” I tell Liobhan. “I wanted to spew out every foul thing I know about my brother and tell my father such a man should never take a wife or sire children. But I know Seanan inside out. He would convince everyone that this was all in my mind, that no such events had ever happened, that I have been spinning wild tales since I was a small child. He’d probably think of some way of blaming you, perhaps for putting these notions into my head. I’ve promised Corb I won’t expose him as the source of the information.”
“Didn’t someone get burned in the kitchen? Weren’t there witnesses?”
“Fear of the repercussions will keep them silent. That’s the way it’s always been in this household.”
A charged silence. “This is not all right, Dau,” says Liobhan in her fierce voice.
“I’ve known that for a long time. I lived with it every day for thirteen years. But yes, we have to warn this girl. And not by charging in to the rescue or making a big public scene.”
“Mm.” Liobhan bends to poke the fire back into life. If she has any suggestions she keeps them to herself.
“I do have an idea.”
“Tell me. I’ll make a brew, help us think better.”
“When I went to see Naithí I didn’t have much of a plan. But one thing’s obvious and that’s our leverage. Neither my father nor Seanan will want Ross or his daughter to see any signs of trouble in the family. They’ll know I’m back home; news travels fast, and Ross’s son Cormac was my friend in the early days, to the extent that my brothers made it possible for me to have friends. Cormac and I shared a love of dogs. I don’t know what he was told about Snow’s death, but I do know he’d never believe the story that I went crazy and killed her.”
A Dance with Fate Page 25