Dear Finn. He had done everything he could to make her happy in his home—and she was. She was. Only it was the confinement that was hard. She had always loved to roam the woods, and nearly three years of being unable to escape them had, it seemed, failed to destroy that love. In weather like this—surely no spring day in Tir na nOg could be more lovely—she longed to open the gate of the great wall that surrounded Finn’s dun and simply walk, alone, unguarded and uncaring.
It could not be, and she knew it. Perhaps Finn would suggest a walk later—a short walk, too short for the Dark Man to take her bearing. But she would not pester him for it. She had overheard more than one muttered comment from his men, after an evening’s drinking when they were louder than they imagined. They could not fathom why, after two months’ marriage, he still played the homebody, more interested in listening to her songs with his head in her lap than getting on with the season’s hunts. The time would come when she would have to gently urge him to take up his duties as the leader of the Fianna—but not quite yet. She had waited a long time herself to find such a love.
Meantime she had the back garden behind the cookhouse. The cook’s daughter kept it, for food and potherbs rather than beauty, but all young growing things are beautiful, and Sive found pleasure in the quiet promise of life springing from the dark soil. The peas were high and flowering already, she noticed, twining and thrusting their pale green stems round the sticks set in for them to climb, tiny pea pods emerging from the spent blossoms.
Sive found her favorite corner: the herb garden, where the smells of bergamot and lavender and sage all mixed on the breeze. Finn had set out a bench for her there, and she settled into it now and tipped her face to the sun.
She sat forward again before her back muscles had time to relax against the bench. Something had caught her eye, a flash of white and black winging down from the sky to perch on the wattle fence.
Sive shaded her eyes, hoping against hope that this magpie would be the one. She had watched for her father these long weeks, wondering why he did not come to check on her. But there was something purposeful in this one’s flight that—yes—here he came, winging down to the herb garden and landing on her bench.
“Is it you, then?” she asked, and in the time it took to say it, he was there, sitting big as life in front of her and for once no need to hold back or hurry.
When they were done with their laughing and crying, and he had apologized for her long wait (saying only, and rather mysteriously, that he was delayed by “complications at home”), Derg cast his eyes around the grounds and said, “I would have expected something grander for a man of such repute.”
Sive shrugged. “It is grand enough for these parts.” She bristled a little inside, for it was her home he criticized, though he did not know it.
Derg glanced at her quickly, perhaps sensing the offence. “Well, he has taken you in, and that is the grandest thing of all,” he said quietly. “I hope I will be able to express my gratitude in person.”
“I’m sure he would love to meet you.” Sive made as if to rise, but Derg reached out a hand to stop her.
“In a while, daughter. It is long since we could talk at our leisure. I find I am loath to share your company, even with the man who has made it possible.”
Sive dimpled at him, the glint in her eye very like to her mother’s.
“You will like him, Father. I do.”
“Any man who…,” Derg began. Then he looked more closely at his daughter’s expression.
“Sive. Are you saying…are you telling me that you love him?”
She nodded, her smile open and luminous now. “I am. I do. And he feels the same. We were married nearly two moons ago.”
And only a few days after their first meeting. No wonder Derg looked so stunned! Well, if it was a rash act, then he and Grian had only themselves to blame, having started the family habit, so to speak.
“Oh, my dear.” To Sive’s surprise Derg’s voice held not the concern she expected, or even gladness, but a kind of quiet sorrow. “You have married a mortal?”
She nodded. “He is a good man, Da. He is well worthy of it.”
“But this.” Derg waved his hand to encompass Finn’s round house—little more than a huge whitewashed mud and wattle hut—the clutch of dark guest houses, stables and outbuildings scattered around it, the garden where they sat, a drear and graceless shadow of the lush, colorful gardens of home. “You will bind yourself to this? When the day comes that Far Doirche is defeated and you are set free, will you not long for your own lands and people?”
“When.” Sive’s voice was flat and hard. “You should be after saying if. It’s many seasons I have been longing for my own lands and people already, and no return in sight. Finn could be dead in the grave by the time the Dark Man is defeated. In the meantime, what prettier place would you have me choose?”
She should not have spoken like that, out of her anger. He did not understand how differently she saw things now. How could he? And now he thought she had wed Finn out of despair.
She laid her long fingers on Derg’s arm. “I am sorry, Da. That was just prickleburr talk.” An expression from her childhood, one Derg used from time to time to soften Grian’s sharp tongue. “It is no fault of yours that the Dark Man still hunts me, and it is because of you that I am safe here. But because of Finn, I am more than safe—I am happy.
“I know,” she said, holding up her hand to forestall his reply. “I know how this place looks to you. And your eyes see true. My clothes are plainly woven, the food is coarse, the house dim and clumsy. But Da”—and now she held his eye, needing him to feel the truth of her words—“none it matters. I am warm and sheltered and well-fed, and now I understand the value of these things. And I am loved.”
There was no need to say more. There were, after all, few men of the Sidhe who loved with a devotion as steady as Derg’s.
Sive Remembers
Did I not yearn for my homeland? On a clear day I could stand on Finn’s lookout and see the very hill that, in another world, was crowned with the beautiful buildings of Sidhe Ochta Cleitigh. On a summer’s night, I could almost imagine I saw the glow of a hundred candles and lamps, and heard sweet music drifting across the still air.
Yet most of the time that world was far away, like a dream that fades upon waking. This world—Finn’s world—was so solid, so immediate. Even when it was unpleasant, it demanded my full attention.
And then there was my Finn. How I loved the man! It was a marvel and a sorrow to me, that a man so full of life could be destined to die. He had a great booming laugh and a smile that spread beyond his face into the very air. His hands were big enough to circle right around my waist and gentle enough, despite their calluses, to make me sigh with pleasure. And somehow his mind was the same—capable of large impulses and subtle distinctions, of childlike wonder and wisdom beyond his short life’s experience.
I did not lower myself to marry Finn, whatever my father thought. I was proud to be his wife, and prouder still when I learned that I carried his child. I was happy. And so I cast thoughts of the Dark Man from my mind. I would not allow his shadow to cloud my happiness.
FOURTEEN
Daireann was white-faced with shock.
“What do you mean, leave off ? We are to be married!”
Far shook his head. His eyes were tender and sad.
“No longer, I fear. Your father and grandfather have set themselves against us.”
“Oh, and what of it?” She tossed her hair back with a sniff. “They were against my mother’s match as well, but she made her own decision and is the happier for it. Do we need their approval to live our lives?”
“Daireann, stop.” The voice, still gentle, held a hint of the cold iron will at its core. “I will not show our great ones such disrespect as to defy their wishes for their family. And I will not cut you off from your own people.”
Daireann flung herself at him, clinging to the blue silk of his tunic, strokin
g his chest, trying desperately to spark in him the love she thought they shared.
“I don’t care about that! I don’t care about them! Far, I love you and you love me. The rest doesn’t matter.”
But he was prying her away from him, holding her back with a stiff, locked arm. His expression cold, the iron unsheathed.
“Leave me.” The words were flung at her like a blade, and she flinched as if they could actually cut. The green eyes bored into her, held her like a vice. “I do not love you. I will not marry you. You will leave my sight and never approach me again, or I will take up my rod and compel you.”
She backed away slowly. Now she saw the sorcerer that others feared, and yes, she was afraid, so afraid her legs drained of their strength and could hardly hold her. But she was also, more than ever, attracted to his power. She had been his chosen one, his love, and now he cast her off as carelessly as a cloak.
Suddenly she was released from his gaze. The handsome face became dreamy and faraway. His hand clutched at the pendant at his neck.
“She stirs,” he murmured. “She reveals herself at last.” His lips curled into a small, private smile. “And where have you ended up, my pretty one?”
Finally Daireann understood. Her fear was subsumed in her rising anger. The blood rose hot in her face, her legs grew strong again with rage.
“It’s her!” She fairly spat the word out. “This has all been about her! You never gave her up at all.”
The green eyes locked on hers once more. His smile was cruel and careless. “And yet you proved to be of little use. A waste of time, in fact.”
Red with humiliation, Daireann could hardly wait to be rid of the sight of him. But she had never been one to give up the last word.
“Go to her then,” she snarled. “Spend your life chasing after your precious Sive, for all it is to me.” She turned, trying mightily to sweep grandly out of the room when everything in her wanted to run.
And as she went through the door, talking more to herself than to Far, she said, “I hope she has gone to Finn. Better him than you.”
THE HOUNDS' STEADY baying changed to a sharp, urgent barking. Good—they had found it at last. Finn and his men broke into a jog, hurrying after the dogs’ call. A lone wolf was no easy prey. This one, lacking a pack to hunt with, had come out of the wilds to rampage through the herds instead. Judging by the string of sheep and calves it had killed, it was no sickly, feeble outcast.
It would be well dark before they returned home. The dark came earlier now, and with it the cold. It would be Samhain soon, the night the spirits walked abroad and the barriers between Eire and Tir na nOg dissolved. Finn felt a hard knot tighten in his belly at the thought. On that night, he would not leave Sive’s side, nor the gates of his dun.
He was anxious to get back to her now. Thinking logically, she was even less likely to venture beyond the gates at night than on a fine sunlit day, but fears are not always logical. Finn did not like to be away after nightfall.
He did not, in fact, like to be away from her at all, and it was only her urging that had persuaded him to rejoin his men on their hunts. He would not roam the country with them, as before, but took his grudging place with those who remained behind to hunt the bogs and hills surrounding the Hill of Almhuin.
Finn’s thoughts were interrupted as they came upon the hounds, ringed around a bristling gray wolf. It was a scene of furious noise and vicious threat, the dogs all hackles and teeth, the quarry red-eyed and desperate. As they approached, it broke and rushed at the smallest of the dogs. Finn knew the other men felt the same jolt of nerves as he did—up close, the sheer power of a full-grown wolf was stunning. His heart swelled with pride as Bran and Sceolan flew in, throwing themselves like projectiles at the wolf ’s flank and dragging it back. Brave hearts both, they were, and as dear to him as any two-legged friend.
Finn took little pleasure in the rest, though he did not allow himself to lose focus. Caoilte got the kill, but a hunt is a group effort. Just as on a battlefield, a moment’s inattention can get a man, or his comrade, killed. It was not until the long hike home that Finn allowed his impatience to surface.
Finn had not needed Sive to point out that the men were restless and uneasy that he stayed at home. He saw it well enough, and it annoyed him. Were they not grown men, well able to manage a hunt on their own? Did they, the most skilled and hardened fighters in Eire, need him to be their nursemaid, when he had a more important task before him?
Of course, they did not have the knowledge he had. To their eyes, he was simply captivated by his little love nest.
They should know and trust him better. For it was given Finn to see beyond what normal eyes could see, to sense truths that were veiled from other men. And he knew the Dark Man watched his wife. Finn felt the man’s brooding presence, lurking beyond his gate. The Dark Man watched and waited.
Finn fell back to relieve the man carrying the front end of the pole that sagged under the wolf ’s weight. He hoisted it onto his back, taking the brunt of the burden, and quickened the pace. He needed to get home.
DID IT NEVER STOP raining in this infernal land? Far hunched his shoulders in irritation against the rivulets that wormed their way between his cloak and the back of his neck, and shrank farther under the yew that was supposed to be sheltering him.
He grew weary of this chase. At first the surprising stubbornness shown by that timid slip of a girl had amused, even pleased him. Nothing wrong with a challenge, and she was, after all, a prize worth some effort. Now, as the end drew near at last, he resented every additional hour he had to spend here. But if she thought he could be deterred, she would soon discover her error. Each day that she eluded him made it more imperative that he succeed. It was personal now, his need to prevail a greater spur than the interesting weapon she would become for him. He would not be thwarted by a mere girl.
His chance would come. He had only to keep a grip on his patience a while longer. He would not risk an encounter with Finn mac Cumhail, though it pained him to give way to a mere mortal. The blond giant was clearly more than he appeared, for he had once withstood the magic of another great sorcerer of the Sidhe, a man by the name of Aillen, and killed him.
But Finn could not stay locked in his white hovel forever. One day he would leave, and when he did, Far would be ready.
Meantime, there were preparations to take care of. Far pulled his cloak tighter and continued to follow the pathway Finn and Sive had taken just that morning, his sharp eyes examining every outthrust branch and muddy footprint. The dogs were easy. The dirty creatures left gobbets of gray fur behind wherever they went. But men shed too. A thick yellow hair, a drop of blood on a bramble thorn. Even a clump of fibers from Finn’s cloak would serve, if he had worn it often enough.
Far continued on his methodical path. No one, not even the magpie winging over the trees to Finn’s white dun, noticed his presence.
PART II
THE DARK MAN
FIFTEEN
Finn had been gone seven days. That wasn’t long for the journey to the coast and a battle, Sive told herself— a day longer than he had estimated, but nowhere near long enough to assume “anything untoward” had happened.
Anything untoward. That was how Fergal, the man charged with the dun’s safety in Finn’s absence, had put it. Very delicate phrasing for a man pitted and scarred by battles past, but Sive knew what the words stood for.
Finn dead on the strand, the lapping tide drawing out a red wash of his blood. Finn spitted by an enemy spear or hacked by a sword, his breath coughing out frothy and red, his belly black and festering, his leg green and reeking of poison. Finn and his men outnumbered and trapped, fighting a hopeless battle with ever-dwindling strength.
She must stop. Sive made to leap up from bed, was checked by the new weight of her belly and settled for sitting up slowly. A sweet burden. She would not be leaping anywhere for another couple of months. The child within her rolled and stretched, and she cupped her hand o
ver the tiny foot-shaped bump that appeared under her ribs, smiling as it pushed against her and then pulled back, disappearing into the secret world within her.
She would not rush to the lookout to stare down the road leading east—not yet. She would rise, and dress, and eat, and chat with the women, and attempt to make garments soft enough for a baby out of the rough wool and linen made by the daughters of the Gael. And when she could not stand it a moment longer, then she would go to the lookout and watch.
THEY HAD BEEN LUCKY to have a peaceful winter, Sive reflected. The wind up on the high lookout was raw, but she could smell the spring in it. Spring was in the brighter shade of green in the fields rolling down toward the sea and the busy, boasting calls of the birds. The trees were still bare, but it would not be long.
Life had grown quieter at Finn’s dun after Samhain, when the coming and going of the summer season died down and the men—all but Finn’s own company—dispersed to their own border forts and posts to keep watch over the land.
Sive had worried when Finn said he would not attend the high king’s feast at Samhain.
“Do you not serve King Cormac?” she asked.
“Aye, though he chooses to forget it on occasion.” Finn’s voice was mild, but Sive sensed an old anger.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Finn shrugged. “When the country is quiet, he resents our wages. He sees only the provisions and pay, but not the returns.”
“And when there is war?”
A quick, bright smile. “Then we are the King’s most loyal, most valued, most dearly loved Fianna.”
“And he will expect you on Samhain, to confirm that loyalty, will he not?”
Another shrug. “This year, I have a more pressing duty, which is to see you safe through the night. I will send my best men, Goll and Caoilte, and the King must be content with that.”
Whether he was or was not content, Sive did not hear, but she was glad to have Finn by her side through the long dark of Samhain. The protection over Finn’s dun held though, and the Dark Man did not enter.
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