“I care little for my own peril, my lord,” Cathal said. “It is through Clodagh that my father will attempt to manipulate me. She and I must both leave Sevenwaters. We must retreat to Inis Eala without delay.”
“And yet,” said Ciarán, “if anyone is to stand up to the Lord of the Oak, it must be you. Would you leave both human folk and Otherworld dwellers defenseless against a prince who rules by cruelty and mischief? You have the capacity to end his influence forever, Cathal, if you would but use it.”
“No!” I said sharply. “It’s wrong to ask that of Cathal. You sound as if you think he should feel guilty about going away. And yet at the same time you point out how dangerous it would be for us to stay, dangerous for all the family at Sevenwaters, yourself included. He’s not doing this. We’re not doing it. What you suggest would mean putting our children at risk. It would mean sacrificing our whole future.”
There was a silence. Then Cathal said, “You heard Clodagh. To overthrow a tyrant is to create chaos, unless there is another ready to step into his place.”
Ciarán looked at him, mulberry eyes steady in the moonlight. He said nothing.
“I have chosen this world,” Cathal said. “I have chosen Clodagh. I will not do it.”
After a little, Ciarán nodded. “That is what I expected. I will help you by explaining to Lord Sean why it is so important for you to leave. I wish you joy and contentment, and I ask you to be mindful of one thing only. At the present moment, what I suggest seems impossible to you. For many years you have feared and despised the abilities that came with your father’s bloodline. You are beginning to accept, I think, that his heritage is a two-edged sword: it can be employed for good or ill, though it is always perilous. I know that you developed those skills while you were in captivity and that you used them, in the end, to escape Mac Dara’s control. It seems you have a particular facility in water magic. Your father most certainly had no idea of that, or he might have anticipated that you would in time learn how to break the charm that held you in the Otherworld. I do not know if you fully understand what this suggests: that you possess, or could possess, a power as great as his own. With the right allies, perhaps greater. We will speak of this again. I believe your return is inevitable.”
“You’re wrong,” Cathal said. “But we thank you for your help, past, present and future. I have something that is yours.” He untied the cord with its white stone and held it out on his palm. “This served me well,” he said.
“Thank you.” Ciarán’s eyes held a shadow now. He took the little token and tucked it into the pouch at his belt. “She would be happy that it helped reunite lovers parted. She would wish you joy in each other.”
“We were hoping,” I said, “that you might perform the hand-fasting ritual for us.”
A smile of pleasure and surprise appeared on the druid’s somber features, making him look suddenly much younger. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“We’re sure,” Cathal said.
“Then we must ask Lord Sean if he will speak with us tonight. For I concur with your judgment that time is short.”
Poor Father. Only yesterday he had got his little son back. Only today he had persuaded his influential guests to sign the treaty and made a fragile peace with his estranged son-in-law. And tonight, after first Cathal, then Ciarán explained the true situation to him, he was being asked to let his daughter marry and leave home within a few days of her arrival back from a long and perilous journey to the Otherworld. In that series of extraordinary events, the fact that my bridegroom was the son of a dark prince of the Tuatha De loomed less large than it might otherwise have done.
It helped that Cathal had conducted himself so well since our return. It helped that he had treated Father with courteous respect while at the same time contributing to the debate as if they were equals. Both Johnny and Gareth spoke up in support of him as a future husband for me. Ciarán presented the case strongly, making it quite clear that I was at immediate risk if I stayed at Sevenwaters, whether or not Cathal and I married, for Mac Dara knew his son loved me; he knew Cathal would do anything to keep me safe. That gave the Lord of the Oak a strong advantage. Conor was impressed by Ciarán’s arguments, but unsure that heading north was the wisest choice for me. Perhaps he did not understand that love could be the sharpest weapon of all.
We sat up long into the night as the matter was debated. I refrained from saying what was foremost in my mind, and no doubt also in Cathal’s: that, even if Father withheld his consent to our marriage, we would be leaving Sevenwaters together. Our love bound us to each other more strongly than any formal hand-fasting could; it would endure until death, whether or not we were officially husband and wife. To be married would be good, because it would please my family better than an unorthodox arrangement. The latter could make things awkward between Father and Johnny if we were living on the island. But a hand-fasting was not essential. Leaving Sevenwaters was. Mac Dara was only a breath away.
Finally, as the candles in the small council chamber were dying down to stubs and Gareth, by the door, had given up any attempt to conceal his yawns, Father said he would allow the hand-fasting provided Mother agreed to it; he would ask her in the morning. If she was happy with the idea, the ritual would be conducted as soon as his guests had left the keep, probably within two days. That would allow time to organize a suitable escort for us—it must be substantial. I was almost too tired to take in the good news. Cathal kissed me in front of everyone, and I retired to bed. I was asleep the moment I laid my head on the pillow.
I would have been happy with the simplest of weddings: just Ciarán to say the words, Cathal by my side and my family looking on. My sisters, however, saw the two-day preparation period as a challenge. Deirdre and Muirrin worked from dawn until dusk to make me a wedding dress in soft blue wool, its sleeves and hem decorated with bands of embroidery taken from a favorite old gown of Mother’s. Sibeal planned the ritual with Ciarán and Conor, adding her own personal touches. Eilis wove a garland of fresh flowers for me to wear on my hair. Even Coll made himself useful, running errands and generally keeping folk in a good temper. Knowing that Cathal and I would neither expect nor want a celebration of the same grandeur as Deirdre’s, Mother organized a special supper for the family, Johnny’s men and our household retainers. Everyone in turn would have time off guard duty or kitchen duty to share the meal, tell tales and sing songs. It was to be a joyous occasion; we would not let the impending parting shadow our happiness. I was sad that Maeve could not be with us. Father had used his link with Aunt Liadan to tell the family at Harrowfield our rather startling news, and my absent sister had sent her love. Still, it was not the same.
Before the ritual I sat with my father in the small council chamber while, upstairs, Mother fed the baby. It was hard to believe that tomorrow I would be gone; that it might be years before I saw my parents again. I would miss Finbar’s growing up. If Deirdre had children, I would be a stranger to them.
“Thank you for agreeing to this, Father,” I said. “It was a lot to ask, I know. I’m sorry I won’t be here to talk to you and to help Mother with everything.”
He nodded, saying nothing. There was a pensive look on his strong features.
“You’re a remarkable father and a remarkable chieftain,” I told him. “The treaty was a great achievement. Considering how worried you were about Finbar, the way you managed everything so calmly showed great strength. What about Eoin of Lough Gall? Anyone who can make that man smile and crack a joke must possess exceptional skills at the council table.”
“You still have faith in me, Clodagh. Yet I treated you so unfairly. I was cruel to you. I cannot forgive myself that.”
I put my arm around his shoulders. “We are family, Father. We love each other. Besides, it was Mac Dara’s fault that you saw Becan as nothing but a bundle of sticks. Father, if anything goes wrong here, if Cathal’s father causes strife again, you must send us a message straightaway. And tell Ciarán. I don’t think the Lor
d of the Oak will continue to plague you once we are beyond his reach, but he’s a trickster by nature. It could happen. I said nothing to Mother of this, but I am afraid for you.”
He nodded soberly. “If I am the fine chieftain you think me to be, Daughter, I suppose I can deal with both worldly and otherworldly threats. I will be watchful. Now let us venture out, shall we? I hope this young man is as deserving as you believe. His pedigree is . . . unusual. I have been impressed by his demeanor over these last days, but I did not think to have to make such a decision so quickly.”
“It’s the right choice, Father; the only choice. I’m as sure of it as I am that the sun rises in the morning. And although I’m sad to be leaving Sevenwaters, I’m happy too—happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
“Then it is the right choice, Clodagh. May the gods walk with you, my dear, wherever your new path takes you.”
On the lake shore beside a graceful birch tree Cathal and I were hand-fasted, and I saw in my dear one’s eyes that he thought me the most precious thing in all his world, and that his love was steadfast and true. What was between us would endure forever, or as close to forever as a human life could stretch. Cathal would outlive me, perhaps by many years; such was his blood. Today, with my heart full of joy, I would not think of that. I would not consider the uninvited guest, the invisible presence looking on as his son wed a human woman who had proved to be just a little more resourceful than the prince of the Otherworld had anticipated. A father should be pleased to see that look of contentment on his son’s face. But Mac Dara would not be pleased. He would be plotting and scheming still, determined to have his way.
When the ritual was concluded Cathal and I did not go straight indoors, but walked together to the place where Aidan had been laid to rest. Not alone; we would seldom be without a presence of guards now until we reached Inis Eala. Mac Dara’s appearance in the private garden of my family home had furnished a powerful warning. So we were accompanied by both Gareth and Johnny, the two of them well armed, and also by Ciarán, whose weapons were less visible but almost certainly more powerful. Where the Lord of the Oak was concerned we needed protection beyond the capacity of a pair of elite warriors, be they Inis Eala men or no.
When we reached Aidan’s grave, which lay in a clearing among birches, our three guardians stationed themselves well back while Cathal and I went to stand by the slight mound under which our friend lay. The earth was still bare, but grass was beginning to creep over it. By summer’s end Aidan’s resting place would be blanketed in green. Birds sang a fine song in the trees around us; it was more lively dance than lament. For Aidan it seemed appropriate.
I held Cathal’s hand. After the elation of the ceremony, his mood had changed entirely. The lost look was back on his face. We had intended to offer prayers; to speak words of recognition and farewell, since tomorrow morning we would be gone from Sevenwaters. But we stood silent, the two of us. In the loveliness of the spring day, with the birch trunks gleaming straight and pale in the sunlight and a gentle breeze stirring the silver-green leaves, with the birdsong and the rustle of the forest and the great silence behind it, the death of a man so young and vital set a heaviness in our hearts.
“I do not know what to say,” murmured Cathal. “I know no prayers; nor would any be enough. Yet I owe him something. He was my friend.”
“Talk to him as if he were right there beside you,” I said. “Wherever he is journeying now, Aidan will hear you, I’m sure of it.”
Cathal cleared his throat; brushed a hand across his cheek. “You used to tell me I had a loose tongue,” he said quietly. “My readiness to jest and mock often drove you to distraction. ‘If you cannot choose your words more wisely,’ you would say, ‘then for pity’s sake keep silent.’ ” His mouth twisted. “And now here I am, and although my heart is full, I have no words at all.”
There was a pause; he wiped away more tears, but they were in his voice when he spoke again. “Any wrong you did me in life, I forgive you now. I do not know if you can forgive me, for I repaid your kindness poorly. You were slain in your prime for one reason only: that you were brave enough to be my friend.” He bowed his head.
“You’re doing well,” I murmured.
He looked up, eyes streaming now. “We had good times together,” he said simply. “In the bad times, we stood by each other. Farewell, my brother.” He knelt and laid his palm against the bare soil a moment, then stood in silence.
“Farewell, Aidan,” I said as the birdsong swelled into a jubilant chorus of recognition. “You were a fine man. You lived your life well. Go safely on your new journey.”
Spending my wedding night under my parents’ roof might once have seemed an awkward prospect to me, but Cathal and I cared nothing for that, only for the precious gift of time alone together and the astonishing maelstrom of feelings that had built and built between us. It was a night of sweet tenderness and explosive passion, of brief pain and long pleasure, of tears and of laughter. Laughter was good; it had been scarce enough of recent times. We did not sleep much, but that did not matter; there would be little opportunity for intimacy on the journey north, with our escort close at hand and the need to reach our destination safely driving us fast. With that in mind, we made energetic use of the time we had. Before dawn we rested, entwined in each other’s arms, a sheen of sweat on our skin and a blissful weariness in our bodies, and felt the beating of our two hearts, as closely attuned as verse and melody, drum and dancing feet. With the rising of the sun we stirred, and woke, and readied ourselves to face the new day.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Juliet Marillier was born in Dunedin, New Zealand, a town with strong Scottish roots. She graduated from the University of Otago with degrees in languages and music, and has had a varied career that includes teaching and performing music as well as working in government agencies.
Juliet now lives in a hundred-year-old cottage near the river in Perth, Western Australia, where she writes full-time. She is a member of the druid order OBOD. Juliet shares her home with two dogs and a cat.
Juliet’s historical fantasy novels are published internationally and have won a number of awards. Visit her Web site at www.julietmarillier.com.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Heir to Sevenwaters Page 46