Daughter of the Forest

by Juliet Marillier

  The network kept tight around me. I was true to my promise, and did not venture out alone beyond the close environs of the house. Mornings were spent in the sewing room, and the whispered comments and sly looks of the women continued, but Margery was there, and her calm presence and sweet smile made the hurt easier to bear. In the afternoons, I would take a short time of respite from my task, since my hands were too sore to let me work all day. One day I might be sitting in the garden and Ben would appear out of the blue, spade in hand. It was simple enough to show him what needed doing. He had strong arms, and a wide repertoire of silly jokes. Another day, John might appear as I sat on the stone wall admiring the sheep, pale and pristine after the autumn shearing, and he would walk with me down to the river, talking of nothing much, and sit companionably on the rocks as I dabbled my hands and feet and Alys chased squirrels along the banks. But I did not forget my task, and was painfully aware of how slow my progress was, despite the benefits of good food and shelter, of properly fashioned distaff, spindle, and loom. I had finished the third shirt, which was Cormack’s, and was spinning the thread for Conor’s. There was no hope of finishing before midwinter.

  I did not see much of Red, and I wondered if he regretted talking to me as he had. It occurred to me that, because of my silence, because I could neither answer him nor repeat his words, he spoke to me almost as if talking to himself. He did not exactly avoid me; he was often nearby, going about the work of the estate, and he watched me, but he did not speak with me again alone. By night, they kept their watch outside my window.

  The lady Anne’s brother took his time in coming. It was close to Samhain, with a chill in the air and the last of the leaves falling from oak and beech. Lord Richard came with ceremony, riding down the avenue of bare poplars with his company on well-matched horses, and his entourage was dressed to impress in fine silks and velvets. We watched them from the windows of the long room, Margery and I, while Lady Anne and the other women put down their work and hastened away. Preparations must be made, and made quickly, for such visitors.

  “That’s his daughter,” said Margery, and I saw the tall, regal girl riding by the leader’s side, her smooth brown hair caught back in a net with jewels on it. “Her name’s Elaine. Elaine of Northwoods. Richard has no sons. When she marries Red, the two estates will be tied together. Whoever controls that, has the better part of the northwestern coastline within his grasp.”

  I watched the party ride up to the steps. The lady Elaine had a very straight back; she made an elegant figure in her wide riding skirts and her little black boots. It was the master of this house himself that came to help her from her horse. Unprepared for the visit, he still wore his working clothes and doubtless smelled of the stableyard. The morning sun touched his cropped hair to the color of new-kindled fire.

  “A strategic alliance,” observed Margery dryly. “Promised to one another since they were children. It will happen next summer, I think. It should have been sooner, but he went away instead. Richard did not like that.”

  I watched Richard of Northwoods as he dismounted in one fluid movement, and tossed his reins to the waiting groom. He wore black, and moved with the same effortless elegance as his daughter. I saw him greet Red, gripping him by the arm, and then they moved out of sight.

  I did not return to my own quarters that day. Instead, Margery took me to the part of the house where she and John lived, and showed me the wooden cradle carved with acorns and leaves on head and foot, now newly lined with soft linen and wool; and the tiny garments she had made. She kept me there awhile with one thing and another, and I watched her with some concern. She was overbusy, I thought, for one so great with child, and there was a puffiness about her face and her ankles that I had seen before on women close to their delivery; this was not a good sign. I wanted to talk to her about this, perhaps ask if I might touch her, to feel how the child lay; but I had not forgotten the woman’s words. Better not let her near your child, lest it be born dead or deformed. And she had lost one babe already.

  She made it easy for me, eventually. “Jenny,” she said, coming to sit by me, and she had in her hands a box of salve and an implement new to me, which I learned later was used by women for plucking unsightly hairs from their brows, or their chins, or wherever they were not wanted. “I hope you won’t think this amiss,” she said rather shyly. “But we—I thought, your hands need not suffer quite so badly, with a little help. I wish you would stop this work you do, but I have been told you will not, and that there is no point in asking you. At least let me take out some of the barbs for you, and rub a little of this salve into the skin. That way, I think you will have a little more movement in the fingers, and the pain may be less.” She began to work on my hands, and I surrendered them to her ministrations, closing my eyes. And I saw Finbar, so many years ago, his tongue between his teeth, using two pointed sticks to pull out the thorns while I wept the loud, unrestrained tears of childhood, and Conor told his tale. Her name was Deirdre, Lady of the Forest…

  “Am I hurting you too much?” asked Margery anxiously, and I started and blinked.

  There were tears in my eyes. I shook my head, and managed a smile of sorts.

  “It must be so hard for you,” she said, patiently pulling out the fine thorns one by one. “Not talking, I mean. You must be so lonely. And being so far from home. I suppose you have family of your own, brothers and sisters. You must miss them terribly.”

  I nodded. Don’t come too close.

  “I have a sister,” she said. “But I married John and came up here, and she stayed at home. It’s a long way. I haven’t seen her these two years, not since…” Not since you lost your babe, I thought. Now was the time to ask. But I could not talk without my hands, and she held them captive until the job was done, and the healing mixture of comfrey and dewcup, with beeswax and an aromatic oil, was well massaged into my damaged skin.

  “I’ll do this every afternoon for you,” she said. “No need to let them get any worse than they must.” She gave a sudden wide yawn. “Oh dear. Sorry. I do seem to be getting a little tired these days.”

  I gestured as clearly as I could. You should rest. Child—very big now. Rest, sleep. Margery chuckled.

  “Not much chance of that! I have too many things to do, what with running around for Lady Anne, and keeping John happy. He’s a good man; it was hard, when he was away. Now I don’t want to waste a single moment.”

  I tried again, indicating that I would like to touch her, to feel how it was with the child. She became serious, all in an instant.

  “If you like,” she said, and there was a touch of anxiety in her voice. “You know more of these matters than I do, I expect, even though you’re such a little thing. There is a midwife here; she’ll do well enough, I suppose, when the time comes.” The babe was still high in the womb, and its head was tight under her breasts. There was time yet for it to turn, but not much time. It kicked and strained, growing too large for its own comfort. I gave Margery my best attempt at a reassuring smile. The babe is well. This much was true, for now at least. But you—you must rest. Rest. Sleep. It was easy enough to show her this with hands and eyes. Whether she would do it was another matter.

  I had my work bag with me, and now I drew out the small bundle of starwort fibers which was all I had left. I tugged at her arm, pointed to what I held, then tried to show her a plant growing, knee high or a little taller. Strong stems spreading. Then I went to the window, gestured out into the valley, turned back with a question in my eyes. Where? Where does it grow?

  “Oh, Jenny,” she said reproachfully. “You cannot surely want to go on with this? It hurts you so badly.”

  I gripped her shoulders and nodded. Yes. Oh yes. Help me.

  “I would rather not be the one to tell you this,” she said, and for a moment my heart stopped, for I thought she was going to say it did not grow there at all. “I’m not happy with what you are doing to yourself, and nor is Red. But this plant, we call it spindlebush, does gr
ow here in abundance. Not near the house; further north up the valley, across the river and up a gully where a stream flows down. There is a bridge. It’s quite a long way. If you must have more, you’d be better to send John or Ben to fetch it for you. If you like, I’ll ask John.”

  But I shook my head, for it must be I alone who cut and harvested the plant. The Lady of the Forest had made that clear. I gave Margery a hug of reassurance and thanks.

  Lord Richard had to see me sooner or later. The summons was brought by Megan, who of all the maidservants seemed to be least in fear of me. I was to come to the hall, she said. Myself and Mistress Margery. The lady Anne said we should all be there, as a sign of respect for our visitors. Straightaway, the lady Anne said. Margery grimaced, and told Megan the lady Anne would just have to wait. She seemed in no particular hurry. She undid my hair and brushed it, and plaited it up again, muttering to herself. “I’ve never seen such an untamable head of hair! No sooner do I put it in order but these little curls come breaking out as if they’ve got a life of their own. Well, near enough will have to be good enough. Can’t keep the lady Anne waiting forever. She’s got a sharp tongue on her, when she wants to use it. Chin up, Jenny, you’ll do well enough.”

  I followed her along the hallway and down the wide stone steps to the lower floor. Maybe this won’t be too bad, I told myself. After all, everyone will be there; we can just slip in the back and make an appearance, to satisfy the lady of the house, and then slip out again. My hands were feeling better; maybe I would go back to my room and spin some more. Surely nobody would notice.

  My hopes vanished the moment we came into the hall. For this was a select gathering only. No hope of anonymity here. Lady Anne sat on one side of the hearth, and Elaine on the other. She carried her head like a queen, and her face was as delicate and fine as a gardener’s most prized bloom. Her large blue eyes surveyed me tranquilly, without judgment. Beside her I felt every bit the uncouth, feral child that they doubtless thought me.

  Red was standing by the window, with his back to the room. Near him was the lord Richard, and I could see on closer inspection a trace of the family resemblance; not much, but it was there in the fair, graying hair with its slight curl, and the shrewd, measuring gaze, the same I had seen in the lady Anne’s eyes. He was not a particularly tall man; Red stood a good head taller. But there was an authority, a presence about him, something you sensed instantly. Something that set me on guard. You will find it difficult, Red had said, speaking of his uncle and how it would be when I met him. That was all right. I was the daughter of Lord Colum of Sevenwaters. Why should I be scared of some Briton, even if his name was Northwoods?

  “So this is the girl,” observed Lord Richard. His voice was held deliberately soft. Soft, I thought, like a cat’s paw when it toys with a mouse. “Well, come forward. Let me see you, girl.” Margery gave me a gentle push in the back, and retreated to the far end of the room, where her husband stood looking as if he wanted to blend into the tapestry on the wall. Ben was there too, I saw; he gave me a reassuring wink, and Lady Anne frowned. As well, there were two or three men in Richard’s household colors, russet with a slash of black, and all of them were looking at me. Red had not turned around. I glanced at Lady Anne. She gave a sort of frozen nod, and I took one step, two steps forward. Held my head high. Looked him straight in the eye. I am the daughter of the forest. I am not afraid of you.

  “She’s younger than I expected,” said Lord Richard, scrutinizing me closely. “Not that it makes much difference. It’s bred in them, they imbibe it with their mother’s milk. A sort of rage; a blind dedication that breeds killers and fanatics and madmen. I doubt if they’ll ever accept that what we took from them was never theirs by rights. A few paltry rocks in the sea, a cave or two, a couple of stunted trees. But they’ll kill for it. They’ll die for it. Until the very last one falls to the sword. Bred in them. Look at the way she holds herself, and the hatred in those eyes. A lost cause. But she could be useful to us, sister. I hear she’s no ill-bred serving wench. She could earn you gold; enough to buy a nice little parcel of land on your southern boundary, or build a strong watchtower. Enough for a goodly purchase of weaponry, or a strong breeding stallion. Who is she? What family let loose their grip long enough to deliver such a choice morsel into your hands? What’s your name, girl?”

  I kept my gaze on him, unwavering.

  “She can’t speak,” said Lady Anne. “The girl has some kind of—of malady. She is a little touched in the wits, I believe, and insists on hurting herself. We don’t know who she is.” Her tone was apologetic; I thought she was both embarrassed and fearful. But this was her own brother. Maybe I had mistaken her tone.

  “Can’t speak?” asked Richard softly, inspecting me from all angles. “Or won’t?” My hands were clasped behind my back; I kept them relaxed, breathing slowly. I ventured a glance at Red. Hadn’t he said they would help me? He seemed intensely interested in the view from the window.

  “Where did you find her, Hugh? A trophy of some battle?”

  “Father.” It was Elaine who spoke, surprising us all, I think. “You should not speak of the girl thus, as if she cannot understand you. As if she were not here.”

  Richard laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

  “Your kindness does you credit, my dear. But you forget, these people are not as you and I. If you had seen the things I have seen, if you had witnessed the atrocities—the Lord willing, you should never be exposed to such horrors. You need not imagine one such as this thinks and feels as you do, the daughter of one of the highest families in Northumbria. She is less than the earth beneath the sole of your boot, my dear. Besides, I can’t believe a girl of her years could have much grasp of our language. Her education would be quite rudimentary, if she had any at all. Unless, of course, she has been trained as a spy. That raises more interesting questions. Did you think of that, when you took her into your household?”

  Elaine made to speak again, then thought better of it. Richard resumed his pacing.

  “She cannot tell us who she is,” he murmured. “Convenient. Very handy. So you can get no ransom for her. I could guess, maybe. Perhaps the girl has heard of Seamus Redbeard, him whose barbarians murdered good men in the passes above the long lake?” He stared into my eyes, and I was suddenly put in mind of the lady Oonagh, and summoned every effort of will not to show the tiniest flicker of knowledge, to keep my face as still as stone. “Maybe she knows of Eamonn of the Marshes, son-in-law of Redbeard; his trick is the use of fire, by night. A hot fire that leaves nothing but bone behind.” He circled again. “Perhaps she knows of Lord Colum of Sevenwaters, the most elusive of all, a thorn in my flesh if ever there was one. Through him the flower of my men perished. Perhaps she knows of these. For everyone is a daughter, or a sister; unless we believe in faery changelings now. Look at me, girl. Whose daughter are you?”

  Silence. Silence was the only defense. Breathe in; breathe out. Try to think of nothing. Try to hold down the rage that rose in my breast; try to keep the pain from my face. Your thoughts blaze like a beacon from your eyes; yours and Finbar’s. Keep it back. Calm. Calm like a stone.

  “You’re too soft, Hugh. This would be child’s play. But you never did like blood on your hands.”

  He turned to the lady Anne. “What of your younger son, sister? What would you give, to have him home safe? If she could lead you to him, would you not have her speak, by any means you could? She could be made to speak, oh, so easily. But Hugh here, for reasons best known to himself, doesn’t seem prepared to do it. That makes me wonder. That presents a whole new set of questions.”

  Don’t look at the lady Anne. Concentrate on breathing. In. Out.

  “She’s only a child,” said Red very quietly. I realized suddenly that this whole thing was not about me. It was meant for him. It was part of some game only these two men understood. It was some sort of test. But which of them was being tested?

  “She has nothing to tell. She came to my aid when
I was in difficulty; I offered her shelter. That’s all there is to it.”

  There was complete silence in the room. Richard raised his eyebrows quizzically.

  “Not such a child, I think,” he said silkily. His back was to his daughter, and to the lady Anne. His hand came up, and one finger touched my cheek delicately, and then ran a slow pathway down my face, and my neck, and my breast above the neckline of my plain gown. I felt the blood drain from my face, and my insides clenched tight with remembered terror, and I caught my breath. I did not see Red move, it was so fast. But there he was, his large hand closing around Richard’s arm, rather tightly, and lifting it away.

  “Enough,” he said softly. There was no need to raise his voice; the tone had said it all. “This is my household, uncle. The lady is my guest. Perhaps I did not make that clear.”

  “Oh, you make it clear enough, Hugh, my boy, clear as crystal.” He was rubbing his wrist, his expression now comically rueful. He had quite a repertoire. “I hope it’s as clear to your mother, that’s all I can say. She may be less enthusiastic about giving house room to the—lady.” The little pause before the last word was exquisitely timed. But he had not read his audience as well as he might. Elaine had a small frown on her brow, as if she were thinking hard. Lady Anne was distressed. Nonetheless, she beckoned to me as I stood frozen in the center of the room, and I summoned up what dignity I had left and went to sit on the embroidered stool at her side. In that one gesture she had said more than many words were worth. She might disapprove of what Red had done; but he was her son, and this was his household, and she would see that his guests were treated correctly, whatever it cost her.