Mac Dara? The Lord of the Oak was the same person as the devious prince of the old tales? How could I possibly face up to such a legendary figure, surely one of the most powerful forces in the Otherworld? I should snatch this opportunity and get away as soon as I could. “I thought this would be an exchange,” I made myself say. “The . . .” I would not call Becan a changeling. “The other child for my brother.”
There was a little silence. “No need for that,” the woman said. “Come, step through the gate.”
Was she saying that against all expectation I could take both babies home to Sevenwaters with me? That I could spare Becan the uncertainty of a future amongst folk who were prepared to give him away, and save my brother as well? If I did not seize this chance I would regret it forever.
“All right,” I said, and reached to unfasten the gate. It was awkward with the fire stick in my hands.
“Clodagh!” A shout, and running footsteps behind me. A hand snatching the burning brand from me, another grabbing my fingers and wrenching them from the latch. “What are you doing?”
“No, Cathal! Let me go! You don’t understand, they have Finbar—” I struggled to get my fingers on the gate, but Cathal had dragged me back out of reach. Now he had his arm around my waist from behind, his grip iron strong. “Let me go!” I sobbed. “He’s just there, I can reach him! Cathal, please!”
On the far side of the hedge the woman in gray stood silent, eyes fixed on us. She watched awhile as I fought and pleaded, then she spoke again. Her frosty tone turned me still and silent in Cathal’s arms.
“As a guardian, you do a poor job,” she observed. “You almost let her drown. Now you sleep while she wanders.”
“What do you want with us?” It was a challenge, bold and strong, but I could feel a trembling in Cathal’s body that belied the confidence in his words.
“All this way, and you do not know?” the woman asked, and I wondered that I had ever thought her friendly, for now her lovely eyes were hostile.
“You lied to her,” Cathal said. “Do that again and you’ll answer to me.” This time I heard something in his voice that frightened me, and to my surprise, the woman of the Fair Folk took a step backward.
“A warning for you,” she said with a little cold smile. “Do not leave her alone again. Next time she might go too far for you to follow.” She motioned to her companion, and together they turned their backs and walked away without another word, carrying Finbar with them.
“No—wait—!” I cried, but they moved into the shadows and were gone.
“Back to the fire,” Cathal said.
I stood frozen, resisting the pull of his arm. Had I got this so wrong? Had I been utterly blind? That had been my brother. I was sure of it. “They had Finbar,” I said, and my voice came out small and wobbly. My nose and eyes were running and my hand hurt. “They had him, Cathal. He was right there.”
“Come, Clodagh. Whether that was Finbar or not, he’s gone now and those folk with him. You’re cold and shocked. Come back to the fire and you can shout at me all you want.”
But when we reached the fire, I sat down and found that my anger was all gone, with only sorrow left in its place. “I was so sure she was Deirdre of the Forest,” I said, “the woman who has appeared to Sibeal in the past, as she did to my grandmother long ago. A benign presence. It seemed so easy. She said she wanted to help us. It seemed right, Cathal.” I bent over my hand, trying to get my fingernails around the end of the splinter.
“Let me.” He sat down beside me, took my hand in his and examined the sliver of wood through narrowed eyes. “It’s in deep; I might need to use a knife.”
“Just do it, please. I’m sorry, Cathal. The look in her eyes at the end . . . I forgot the warnings. She mocked the Old Ones. She said they were only meddling. And perhaps they are. I don’t know whom to believe anymore. I don’t know whom to trust.”
“Trusting me might be a good first step.” He had taken out a long-bladed knife. He held my hand firmly and maneuvered the weapon with skill. I shut my eyes; that seemed to make it hurt less.
“If I didn’t trust you, would I be letting you do this?” I said grimly. “Cathal?”
“Mm? Keep still.”
“She said the Lord of the Oak was the same person as Mac Dara. You know, the Otherworld prince from the old tales, the one who was always scheming and plotting and trying to get more power for himself. A great battle leader, but quite devoid of any sense of right and wrong.”
“Uh-huh. Take a deep breath, Clodagh.” A sharp pain. A moment later, shocking in its sweetness, the touch of his lips on the palm of my hand, where the hurt had been. My eyes flew open, but he had already released his hold and was turning away. “Best let me put some salve on that. I’ll tend to your cuts at the same time. I should have done it earlier.”
“You’ve hardly had any sleep—”
“When I did fall asleep I nearly lost you.”
“I said I was sorry.” I felt my shoulders droop. “I should have known this was too easy: the safe place, all our things provided for us, time to think, to reflect . . . But why would those people bring Finbar and then take him away? Weren’t they the Tuatha De? They’re Mac Dara’s folk; if I’m supposed to present a case to him tomorrow, why would they do this? That woman, she was . . .” A shiver ran through me. “I thought she was a friend, but the way she spoke . . . she seemed angry.”
“I cannot tell you who they were,” said Cathal. “But I believe their sole intention was to lure you outside the hedge on your own. To draw you away from my protection, Clodagh.”
“If that’s true, I’ve been stupid. Dog Mask said it was dangerous to go outside the hedge, and still I would have done it.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Cathal said, sitting down again with a pot of salve. “We’ve both made mistakes. It’s human to do so. Believe me, I have no great certainty that my choices are right. Let me tend to your face, Clodagh. Look at me.”
I looked at him, and perhaps there was something in my eyes that I had intended to keep veiled until another time, another place, but right now I had not the strength to guard my expression. Cathal took an unsteady breath and let it out in a sigh. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t,” he murmured, then put his long hands on either side of my face and kissed me. And although he had done so twice before, this felt like the very first time. It was tender and lovely, deep and thrilling. It was like the pealing of bells, the singing of a lark in the dawn sky, the scent of apple blossom, the colors of a rainbow. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing myself close to him. I felt his hands against my back, my waist, then his fingers gentle on the swell of my breast, kindling a fire deep in my body. I made an involuntary sound of pleasure and felt him go suddenly still. A moment later his lips left mine and his hands were withdrawn.
“No,” he said shakily. “I can’t. I can’t do this, not here, not now.”
Bitter disappointment flooded through me. My body was aching for him; the feelings in me were beyond what I had believed possible. “Why not?” I burst out.
Cathal put his hands up in front of him, palms toward me, as if he were warding me off. “I can’t allow it to happen,” he said. “It isn’t right. When you get back to Sevenwaters you’ll thank me for this, Clodagh.”
“Not allow this to happen?” My distress made me shrill, but I couldn’t help it. “Do you think I have no mind of my own?”
He was avoiding my eye now. “You know what my father did,” he said. “My mother offered herself to him, believing his false promises. He took his pleasure then abandoned her without another thought. I’m that man’s son. Now tell me you still don’t understand why I have to say no.”
“That’s rubbish,” I said, struggling for some measure of calm. “I’m nothing like your mother; I’m a completely different woman. Besides, I don’t remember your making any promises, false or otherwise, except to keep me safe on my mission. Anyway, we don’t actually have to . . .” I felt my face grow
hot.
“Go on,” said Cathal, sounding a little more like his old self.
I drew a deep breath. “I wasn’t suggesting, necessarily, that we would . . .” I could imagine Deirdre listening to this speech and laughing at me. “I mean, we may be alone out here, far from our own world, but . . .”
“You’re tired, shocked and upset,” Cathal said. Now he sounded like a father counseling a wayward child. “If you weren’t, you’d never dream of considering this, Clodagh. You’re Lord Sean’s daughter. I’m . . . what I am. If I let this develop any further I’d be taking advantage of you at a time of weakness, whether you choose to call it that or not. Save yourself for Aidan. You’ll be grateful to me, believe it.”
“Bollocks,” I snapped, a tide of humiliation sweeping over me. “Forget the whole idea. Clearly I misjudged the situation.” I tried very hard to conceal how close I was to tears. “Pass me that salve, I’ll tend to my cuts myself.”
“I’ll do it,” Cathal said. “It’ll be an exercise in self-restraint.”
And it was, for both of us. Whatever his motives were for rejecting me, I had been wrong to think for a moment that he was indifferent. His fingers were as gentle as the first time he’d done this, but far less sure. They were shaking as they moved along the lines on my face. I saw the desire in his eyes, and in the softening of his tight lips, and I heard it in his breathing, as unsteady as my own. I kept very still. Tears brimmed in my eyes but did not fall. I hadn’t misjudged the situation so very much after all. He was making no attempt to disguise the fact that he wanted me. “When we get home,” I whispered, “I’m not letting you run away. I just won’t have it.”
“Ah, well,” said Cathal, “if that day comes, I might have some things to say to you that can’t be said now.” He reached with his thumb to brush the soft skin below my eye, arresting the spill of tears. “This job is done, and now you should try to sleep, Clodagh. Whatever happens tomorrow, you’ll need your wits about you. These folk twist our minds with ease. I’m hoping your dog-masked guardian will stay by your side while you finish your quest, and keep you from straying again. I’d rather not have to restrain you by force.”
“I can’t bear to think of Finbar so close and being taken out of reach again. They didn’t seem interested in Becan at all.” I glanced over at the sleeping child, a tiny mound under his blanket.
“A trick. Whoever that was at the gate, it was not the person you must deal with here. These are not the kind of folk who grant favors without payment. It must be an exchange, as you expected. I can’t say I took to that thing in the dog mask, but the evidence suggests you will be safer trusting it than these others.”
“Because of the bond of kinship, you mean?”
Cathal’s smile was all self-mockery. There was not a trace of amusement in his eyes. “A bond of kinship is not necessarily a guarantee of trust,” he said. “But here we are, with little knowledge of the realm we stray in, facing the need for life or death decisions. If I were you I would consider these Old Ones as benign as anyone can be in such a place. When it comes to the final audience, or whatever it is that awaits you, you’d be best to rely only on yourself. Trust no one.”
“Except you, you mean.”
“When it comes to the end that may not be relevant, Clodagh. Now wrap yourself up and get some rest. I’ll stand watch until morning.”
The night seemed long. I slept in fitful bursts, my slumber a tangle of troubling dreams, and woke from time to time to see Cathal on guard, seated before the fire or standing close by, gazing out toward the hedge of thorn, which was invisible in the thick darkness. At one point I was woken abruptly as the silent voice of my twin sister broke into my thoughts: Clodagh! Answer me! I slammed down my mental shutters, blocking Deirdre out. Tonight I simply did not have room for her in my mind.
A little later, Becan awoke and I tended to him, then lay down again with him next to me, knowing it would be the last night I would feel his curious, sharp-edged body snuggled close to mine. It was almost time to say goodbye. I hummed to him as he fell asleep, using the tune of my ballad, but not the words. That song was too sad for a little child. Out in the forest, the wailing creature added its sorrowful voice to the music.
There was a dawn of sorts. A faint light filtered down through the trees; birds uttered tentative cries. Maybe, maybe! called one, and another answered, Too soon! Too soon! It wasn’t a particularly encouraging start to the day, but at least it was bright enough to see what we were doing. Cathal walked the perimeter of the hedged area and reported that apart from the birds there was no sign of life outside it, though he had looked over the gate and discerned footprints on the soft earth there. I built up the fire and prepared food. At home my father, an early riser, would be sitting down to his porridge and perhaps devising a strategy to deal with whoever had attacked Glencarnagh. Men would still be out on the search for Finbar. By tomorrow night or the day after, perhaps we would be walking back into the courtyard with the baby safe and sound. Be strong, Mother, I willed her. I’m bringing him home.
We ate in silence, keeping a distance between us. There was a look on Cathal’s face that mirrored the feeling inside me. My stomach was twisting with nervousness. There was a lot to lose if this confrontation with the Fair Folk did not go well. I must get home safely, not only to deliver my brother into the arms of my family, but also to tell my father that Cathal was a good man, that he had never been a traitor, that it was for his own reasons that he had concealed the source of his unusual knowledge. I must get home safely so I could . . . what? Convince Cathal that what he felt for me was more than physical desire, when I was not entirely sure that was true? Persuade him that he should consider spending the rest of his life with me, when it was quite clear that such an outsider would not fit into my world? Explain to Father that Cathal was a better prospect as a future husband than the personable and well-connected Aidan? Perhaps being in the Otherworld had addled my wits.
“You look worried,” observed Cathal.
“I am worried. So much depends on this, and I can’t be sure of anything. Those folk last night disturbed me. In the old tales, when people undertake quests they find themselves fighting dragons or serpents or giant dogs. Or maybe dark warriors of some kind, folk who are enemies from the start. But it’s far more frightening when someone seems friendly and good, as that woman did, and turns out to be different altogether. The odd and uncanny are not terrifying in themselves. The most disturbing thing is the ordinary turned strange. Things familiar and safe becoming suddenly . . . not right.” I thought of home, and how my place as loved and trusted daughter of the house had vanished in an instant. I thought of Mother’s hollow cheeks and vacant stare.
“That’s one reason it’s easier to have no attachments,” Cathal said. “That way there’s nothing to lose.”
I stared at him. “That’s terrible,” I said. “You’d be living your whole life without love. Letting fear rule you.”
He shrugged, as if such considerations meant nothing to him.
Anyway, I thought, it’s not true. You may dismiss whatever it is you feel for me, but you can’t disregard your bond with Aidan. Or your love for your mother. You can’t set aside your loyalty to Johnny. But I did not say it. He looked troubled enough without having to listen to my opinions. But for me, he wouldn’t be in this situation at all.
“In fact,” Cathal said, attempting a smile, “I find myself rather glad that we haven’t encountered any dragons. Clodagh, I know you’re anxious about your family. I’ll try to see Sevenwaters for you later. I hope I will be able to tell you what’s happening there.”
“You can do that? See whatever you seek in the water?” Sibeal did sometimes scry for answers to particular problems, but her visions were just as likely to show her something entirely unrelated.
“I’ll either see that or just a jumble, like last time.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind doing this?”
“I’m going to be precious lit
tle help to you from this point on, I suspect. This is relatively easy. If it will reassure you, I’ll do it gladly.”
“Thank you, Cathal. I’ll stay over here, out of your way, and keep a lookout.”
“Come and sit with me if you want.” The offer was made with diffidence.
“Are you sure that won’t distract you?”
“Quite sure, Clodagh. It might even help summon the vision we want. I should salve those cuts again first. They’re looking better. Starting to heal.”
“If we’re going to be sitting by the pond, I can do it myself. I haven’t dared look at my reflection yet. I have to face it some time.”
Later in the morning, the two of us sat side by side at the water’s edge with Becan tucked into blankets and shawls close by. While Cathal settled immediately into a seer’s pose and fixed his eyes on the unknown, I confronted my own image in the still surface of the pond.
If my cuts were looking better now, I hated to think how they’d looked yesterday. One was a slash right across my forehead, straight and deep. A second marked me from the outer end of my right eye halfway to my chin. A third complemented it, tracing an untidy shape resembling a bird or a bat on my left cheek. I imagined people looking at me as they had at my sister Maeve after she was burned, seeing only the disfigurement, not the girl underneath. I wondered if Muirrin might have any treatment that would make these marks fade, or whether I would bear the wounds of my self-appointed mission for the rest of my life. I pressed my lips together and began to anoint my face with salve.
I was almost finished when Cathal made a slight sound, then stretched out toward me without taking his eyes from the water. I took his hand; it was trembling. His face had gone ghostly white. My gaze stilled, following the line of his sight, and a jolt of shock went through me. The water that had shown me my own damaged face a moment ago was now full of movement and color, images of a man riding, of trees, of cloaked figures moving in and out of dappled light . . . It seemed that as soon as I had taken Cathal’s hand I had been drawn into his vision. His gift must be powerful indeed.
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