I go through the exercises twice. I’ll do them again in the afternoon. I climb a tree and look out northwest, trying to see Swan Island. But it’s too far; I can’t even glimpse the sea.
Days pass. I exercise, I walk, I ride, I make myself useful about the place. I fill my time with activity. Dau and his dog work with more cautious steps. On the third day I see them walking together, the dog on a loose lead. The animal is letting him close; it is staying by him. When others come too near, it still shrinks down, shaking. If a traveler brings a dog, this one turns crazy. Its voice becomes a death shriek; it seems uncertain whether to bolt in terror, charge forward to attack, or just possibly make friends. I observe this once or twice and recognize how frightening folk might find it, for the dog is big and solidly built.
On the fourth day Dau comes to find me, without the dog. He’s left the creature in the safe confinement of a stall, overseen by the stable workers. I hardly know what to say to my friend. He’s doing something good. He needs to take this slowly. And he can’t leave the dog on its own for long. I wish I didn’t feel the way I do, as if suddenly what’s between him and me is not important anymore.
“Will you come out for a walk with us?” he asks. “He needs to learn that you’re a friend. That he can trust you.”
“If you want.” I know it sounds ungracious.
Dau frowns. “Something wrong?”
I’m seriously tempted to smack him in the face. And I hate myself for it. I look at him, he looks back, and suddenly I can say it. “I think I might be a little bit jealous.”
After a startled moment, Dau grins. “Help me now and we’ll be away from here sooner. Remember Hawthorn House? I’m hoping they may let us stay there a bit. Just us, I mean.”
Hawthorn House. The place that seems like an inn but is really something more. It’s where I was given my penalty of debt bondage and newly blind Dau encountered his brother Seanan for the first time in years. It did have plenty of rooms; plenty of privacy. Silent serving folk who prepared meals and retreated. Ample stabling for horses. But all of that surely isn’t for the benefit of a pair of thwarted lovers who just happen to be Swan Island warriors.
“And the dog?”
“I’ll work something out. Rules should be flexible. I’ll train him to herd the sheep.”
Anything less like a sheepdog I couldn’t imagine. But this is Dau. If he says he can do it, he probably can.
The days pass. Dau names the dog Justice. It seems a good choice. I become part of the training, so Justice has two people to trust. He learns basic commands: sit, stay, down. Indeed, he is so quick at this that Dau guesses he once had a kind owner but fell upon hard times. Justice learns to be close to the horses in the stables, and then to be close while they are moving around the courtyard. He learns to come to Dau or me when called. He learns to walk beside us without a lead. On a triumphant day, when the sun is high and I can feel home beckoning, Justice runs alongside while we ride. A short ride, true, but we can soon be on our way.
With love and consistency and good feeding, Justice becomes handsome. His eyes are bright; his brindled coat is developing a glossy sheen. He’ll always have scars, not only the visible ones but the hurts inside. There will be times when he remembers the past and is overtaken by fear. But his courage warms my heart.
At last we move on. Our pace is still gradual; we cannot expect too much of our new companion. So an overnight stop, and another, and then we come to Hawthorn House, the long, low building with its lovely trees to either side of the entry. Little birds are everywhere, hunting insects or seeking ripening berries. We ride up to the house and dismount. Dau calls Justice in close and attaches the lead. The door opens and out comes a familiar figure. It’s Illann from Swan Island, a friend from the mission to Breifne.
“You’re here!” he exclaims, not sounding particularly surprised. “Welcome!”
“You were expecting us?” I ask, dismounting. “How did you know?”
“A message by pigeon, from Lord Scannal to the elders, which came by way of the Dalriadan court. Dau, we heard you were cured. That has delighted everyone.”
“Who else is here?” Dau asks. “We’d been hoping for a couple of nights’ rest before the last part of the journey. As you see, we have a dog with us. Justice. He’s been ill-treated in the past and I don’t want to push him too hard.”
“Just me and a few other fellows. They’re heading out on a mission in the morning, and I’m here to greet you and ride back with you. There’s a local couple cooking for us and tending to the horses, though I’ve been helping with that to keep myself busy. Thought you might be quicker. And now I see these very fine mounts you’ve brought with you, I’m even more surprised.”
“Long story,” Dau says. “We’ll tell you later.” His voice is tight. Illann is a good friend and we’re glad to see him. But we had so hoped to be on our own here.
A man comes to lead the horses to the stables at the back of Hawthorn House, which in almost every respect resembles a wayside inn of good quality. Justice pads into the house by Dau’s side, and Illann makes no comment.
I remember something important. “Our baggage, the stuff on the packhorse—there are some rather valuable items in it. Can it be brought straight in here?” I glance around the big chamber that serves as a dining room; there’s not a soul in sight. “Repayment of a significant part of the compensation. From Lord Scannal.”
“Morrigan’s britches,” murmurs Illann. “I’ll see to it right away. Make yourselves comfortable.”
“I’ll come with you.” Dau passes Justice’s lead to me. “I’ll help you get the horses settled.”
I wait, easing my aching back and hoping Illann’s not expecting us to ride on in the morning. I imagine trying to explain our situation to him. Justice sighs, then lies down with his head on my foot. I wish life was a little less complicated. I wish matters of the heart could be settled quickly and decisively. I almost wish Dau and I were still no more than good friends. But when he comes back in a bit later, I remember a wisewoman calling him a handsome prince. I catch a little smile on his lips, and I know I don’t wish anything of the kind. Justice is instantly awake and on his feet. I realize he has neither barked at Illann nor cringed with fear before him. Perhaps Illann has the right smell; perhaps he smells of the stables. He is both Swan Island fighter and trained farrier, and he often works in the landward settlement that is an extension of the island community. An idea comes to me, still half-formed but definitely promising.
It becomes plain, without anyone saying so, that Illann and Dau have had a conversation that wasn’t about our baggage or our horses or the earlier part of our journey. Illann points us toward the room where Dau rested during our last, somewhat fraught visit to Hawthorn House—a generously sized chamber with a comfortable bed and its own anteroom. He shows us the privy and an outhouse with facilities to heat water and to bathe. He advises us that the folk who look after the house will provide supper. And it seems an agreement has been reached that Dau and I, with Justice, will stay on here for three more nights after the other Swan Island warriors in residence have left on their mission. “I’ll still be about the place,” Illann adds. “If only to help you protect all that silver. I’ve got my own place to sleep, next to the stables. I’ll be out of your way.” He pauses, a quizzical expression on his features. “You know I divide my time between the island and the mainland settlement,” he says. “Looking after the horses doesn’t stop me from undertaking a mission when I’m called upon. Some might say doing both means you can’t do either properly. I see it differently. Knowing animals makes me more useful when we ride out on island business. And after the extremes of a mission, I have a new appreciation of what the animals go through in support of our work. Makes it still more important to look after them well, keep them in good health, keep them happy. So I do that work better, too. At least I hope I do.”
Dau and I exchange a glance. One of our earliest conversations on the island, when we were trainees and bitter rivals, was about just this subject, though neither of us approached it with Illann’s wisdom.
“You might give it some thought,” Illann adds now. “With the dog and all. I don’t suppose Cionnaola will be keen to have him on the island, even on his best behavior. I believe there’s a vacant cottage in the mainland settlement.”
I feel a little queasy. My own idea was something along those lines, minus the cottage. But I do not like the image that springs to mind, which is of myself outside that humble abode hanging garments on a line, with a clutch of squalling children at my skirts, watching Dau head off on a mission. That is not my future. I’ve never wanted it and I don’t now. I’m a warrior. If I weren’t, I’d be back in Winterfalls singing at village handfastings.
We stow our gear and settle in. We bathe and change our clothes and eat supper in the big room, the three of us at one end and the party of Swan Island men at the other. There’s no idle chat. They’re on a mission and we don’t get told about it. But I note with interest that one of them is familiar, not from the island but from our mission to Breifne. A sturdily built man meets my eye, gives a nod, then looks away. It’s Garbh, once bodyguard to an unpleasant individual who was then prince of that kingdom. Garbh lost his position because he stood up to dance with me even though I was in trouble with the prince. I know Archu was hoping to help him in some way, and it seems he’s done just that. Garbh will be an asset to the Swan Island team. I’ll ask Archu about it when I see him. After one of the quietest meals I’ve ever had, Dau and I bid Illann good night and return to our quarters with Justice following in our steps.
The other party is still in the house, but once we’re in our own quarters we’re shut off from everything. We close the anteroom door behind us. I could sleep in there, with Dau in the main chamber. But I want to share that big bed and watch the flickering light from the hearth playing across his skin and glinting on his bright hair, and I want to feel his hands on my body and his mouth on mine and . . . My mother gave me instructions when I left home, the sort of instructions a wise woman gives her adventurous daughter, and I can’t forget them. I’ve seen too many women destroyed by childbearing. I’ve seen too many brought low by men’s careless use of them and men’s ignorance of the true cost. A babe a year until you die of it. Too bad if a woman wants something else. Too bad if she has something different to give. Courage, strength, a bright sword. A voice for justice.
“Maybe I should sleep in there,” I hear myself say as I glance back toward the anteroom.
“Don’t,” says Dau. “Please.” In his voice is an echo of the Dau who waited in this very chamber, blind and in pain, to be told he had no choice but to return to the home he loathed and the family he feared. Just possibly, the man who once struck me as arrogance personified is not sure he’s worthy of love. When I don’t say anything, he spreads out his cloak in a corner and encourages Justice to settle down on it. Lays an old blanket over the dog. Makes sure someone has left the dish of water he asked for earlier. Then turns and looks at me in the lamplight. There’s no mask on his face, no trace of pretense. He trusts me. He wants me. He loves me.
“I’ll stay.” I clear my throat and go on. “Only . . . you need to understand, I have no intention of . . . of settling down. I’d be a terrible mother. And I have other things to do.”
I see that Dau is shocked. Has he not considered that certain activities often lead to the birth of children? Do I really have to explain this to him?
“Come here, Liobhan,” he says, reaching out a hand. I move forward despite myself and feel his arms around me, warm and strong. “There are lots of ways we can give each other pleasure without that risk. You think I’d expect any woman to want me as the father of her children? With a family like mine?”
“Oh, but I didn’t mean—that wasn’t at all what I—” I make myself breathe slowly, which is not easy with his hands moving against my body. “Dau, you’re talking nonsense. What about your patience and kindness with Justice? You would make an excellent father. Just the kind of father you needed yourself when you were young.” My treacherous mind shows me an image of the handsome children Dau and I might produce together. I will it away.
“Like your father,” Dau says against my hair.
“Nobody’s like my father. You’d be different, but just as good.”
It’s quiet for a while then, as we touch and kiss and fail to keep our breathing steady. Then Dau says, “Shall we try, then? The pleasure without the risk? Might take a little of the Swan Island warrior’s self-restraint. But I think we can do it.”
“Mm.” Some other time I will tell Dau what my mother taught me about the moon-cycle and at what times one might be less likely to conceive a child. That method is not exactly foolproof and nor are some other possibilities she shared with me. I have a feeling they will come in useful, all the same. But not now, while we remove each other’s clothing and lie down together and use hands and lips and tongues to give each other the most excellent pleasure, all the better for the long wait. It’s not possible to stay silent, and at one point Justice lifts his head and whines. Dau gasps, “Good boy, Justice,” and the dog settles back onto the cloak.
When we’re done—for now—we lie in each other’s arms, listening to the dog’s slow breathing.
“I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry,” I murmur. My hand is warm over Dau’s heart, which beats steadily if somewhat more quickly than usual. “What will we do when we get there? Pretend everything’s as it was before we left? Meet in dark corners when nobody’s around? Or make a grand announcement? Illann will probably tell them anyway.”
“They’ll know the moment they see us,” says Dau, brushing my hair back from my brow with gentle fingers. “Let’s not plan now. Let’s just lie here and go to sleep. And when we get there we’ll make the impossible happen. Isn’t that what Swan Island warriors do?”
52
BROCC
I’m afraid,” Eirne says. “Afraid of bearing a child, afraid of raising a child. How can one person be a mother and a queen, and do both well?”
My heart turns over. “We will help you,” I say quietly, stroking my wife’s silken hair as we lie in each other’s arms, in the shelter of her retreat. It is dark of the moon, and outside all is hushed. Eirne’s strange lamp spreads a golden glow across the leafy chamber. “All of us. I will do my share. A child has two parents.”
“I had two, briefly. They taught me nothing at all. Most certainly nothing of love.”
“Your people love you, Eirne. I love you.” I wish Liobhan was here. If anyone can convey a message of hope, it is my sister. But she is probably the last person Eirne would want to advise her.
“It’s not enough.”
There is such sadness in her voice. I fear for her. I fear for our unborn child, whose movements can now be felt within Eirne’s belly—what magic, our babe is already learning to dance! When we came back from Oakhill, when we told Eirne what had happened there—to Liobhan, to Dau, to True and me—she showed no anger. But as she listened a profound stillness came over her. It was as if she withdrew deep inside herself. Even when True spoke of the healing drops and how he had chosen to use them, she held that disturbing calm. And when she gave me the news of our child—no news to me, since Liobhan had guessed it—she did so with quiet detachment, as if none of it really mattered. Tonight is different. Now she’s telling me the truth.
“You fear the Crow Folk. We will do our best to protect you, to protect the child, to keep the whole community safe. Trust me, Eirne, please. I am learning more about them. We will find a solution.”
There’s a long silence then. Eirne stares up at the ceiling, but I think she sees something quite different, something that darkens her eyes and tightens her jaw.
“What if I don’t love the baby?” she asks. “What
if I can’t feed it? What if birthing it kills me?”
It’s as well she is not looking at me. I cannot mask my unease. It’s a struggle to keep my voice bright and confident. “You’re young and healthy. Surely all will be well. Why not talk to Mistress Juniper? As a wisewoman, she will have answers to all your questions. She must have helped birth many babes.”
“How can you know that, Brocc?”
“My mother is a wisewoman. I could not grow up in her house without learning such things. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.” I do not speak of the times when my mother returned home red-eyed and exhausted from a childbed that had gone awry. I do not tell Eirne that I, too, have my fears, not only of the birth itself but of the years to follow. Hard as it is to admit, even to myself, I am not sure I want our child to be raised in the Otherworld. That child will be as much human as I am. As Eirne is. It will bear equal parts of human and fey blood. As such, it might be brought up in either world. Each world holds its share of risks, its share of opportunities. I was brought to the human world as an infant, too young to remember anything but the safe, loving household in which I was raised. In bringing me to Winterfalls, Conmael did me a great service. Eirne was snatched from the human world as a small girl and left in the Otherworld with fey folk entirely strange to her. It is no wonder she now has such fears. What our child needs is to be born into love, raised in love, taught hope and wisdom and strength. It needs the sort of upbringing I had. I am my mother’s son. I am my father’s son. I must ensure this happens. “We can do this, Eirne,” I say. “Remember how Gentle-Foot was with her little one when it was newly born? That sweetness, that tenderness? That fierce wish to protect? The moment you set eyes on our child you will feel the same.”
A Dance with Fate Page 45