With a speed born of the Island men’s rigorous training, the kings and chieftains were escorted away, each at his appointed time and with his appointed guards. By dusk on the day of the hearing, only Grim and I and a small complement of warriors were left. Oran and Donagan, with two guards, had been the last to depart. Oran had suggested we ride with them, but the Island men had thought that unwise.
‘The fewer who travel together, the less the likelihood of attracting notice,’ Cionnaola said.
There was no need to ask whether travelling in twos and threes meant one was more likely to be overcome by thieves or other miscreants along the way. The presence of an Island man meant any such attack would be both brief and unsuccessful.
So now we were rattling around the big house like forgotten peas left to dry up in the pod. I wanted to go home. But it was late, it was getting dark and there was no Conmael to make it happen with uncanny speed. I had not seen him again after the sentence was delivered. He had taken custody of Mathuin, and before I’d had a chance to say farewell and thank you, the two of them had gone.
‘Longish ride home,’ Grim observed, as we sat in the warmth of the kitchen while Cúan did some rudimentary cooking. ‘Sleep first would be good. Don’t you think?’
‘It would be sensible. I think we may have been awake for two days and a night. Or even more. That doesn’t stop me wanting to get on a horse and ride for home right now.’
‘The plan is to leave in the morning, before the residents of this house return,’ Cúan said. ‘Ride tired and you risk making foolish mistakes.’
‘I was joking,’ I said. ‘I think.’
‘Best not think too much,’ Grim said. ‘Eat, sleep. New day tomorrow.’
We ate. My appetite had returned, and Cúan’s dish of eggs and cheese went down well. Then Art, another of the Island men I knew from Winterfalls, showed us to a rather grand bedchamber, lit by a number of shielded candles. There was a bed so generously proportioned that a whole family could have slept there. One bed.
I was too tired to protest, and Grim had nothing to say. Our spare clothing lay neatly folded atop a storage chest; someone had unpacked our bags for us. My head was swimming with weariness. This wasn’t the first time someone had assumed we were the kind of couple that shared a bed. And, the fact was, we’d been undressing and washing and sleeping at close quarters for the last year or two. Though, through the haze of exhaustion, I did sense this was a little different.
‘If you want, I’ll sleep on the floor,’ Grim said, bending to take off his boots. Ripple had settled herself on a mat of woven rushes.
‘Don’t be silly. That bed’s big enough for five or six people. Even people your size. Just turn your back while I take off my gown, will you? Gods, I feel as if I haven’t slept for days.’
The bed was soft, the blankets warm. There were pillows stuffed with what felt like goose feathers. ‘Imagine sleeping in something like this every night,’ I said as I climbed in. ‘Feels wrong, somehow.’ Though it felt good, too. Especially when his weight settled on the other side of the mattress. It felt oddly right. ‘Good night, Grim,’ I said. ‘Thank you for standing by me today.’
‘Sweet dreams.’
I was walking through that tree tunnel again, alone this time, with the strange leaves whispering around me. The tunnel branched to left and right. ‘Choose,’ said a voice, though I could not see who spoke. ‘Will it be the hermit’s way or the warrior’s way?’ Before I could take another step, I was awake in the night, with three candles burned down to guttering stubs and the other gone dark. And I was acutely aware that even though the bed was big enough for five or six, Grim and I had both ended up in the middle. My head was resting on his shoulder. His arm was around me. The rest of me was pressed up against his side and, somewhat to my astonishment, I found myself reaching out a hand to lay it over his heart. The warrior’s way meant being prepared to take risks.
‘Grim? Are you awake?’
‘Mm-hm.’ His hand came over mine. ‘Had a good sleep, though. Best in a while. Should do this more often.’
‘Shh,’ I said, moving my leg to hook it over his. ‘Don’t say anything, mm?’
There was no need to speak. Our hands, our mouths, our bodies spoke for us more eloquently than any words. I had not thought I would ever be ready for this. I had believed my body was too hurt, my heart shut too tight ever to enjoy the act of love again. But I had known tonight, as soon as I woke, that I’d been wrong. With this man, it would be all right. He knew me. He knew my past. He had seen me at my worst, filthy, abused, degraded. And still he had called me Lady.
For such a big man, Grim was the gentlest of lovers, the most considerate, waiting always for me to be ready, waiting for the little signs, accommodating my smaller frame, harnessing his own desire until he knew I was satisfied. When it was over we fell asleep in each other’s arms. The dying candles set shadows dancing across the walls.
When I woke next morning I was alone in the big bed. Half-awake, I thought, That was the best sleep I ever had. Then I became aware of certain aches in my body, good ones, and a general sense of wellbeing. And then I remembered, and thought, What have I done?
I packed up. Had breakfast. Helped Cúan wash the dishes while Cionnaola and Grim saddled the horses. Then we rode home. In the company of the Island men, Grim and I did not speak a word about what had happened between us. It seemed to me the longer we stayed silent, the harder it was going to be to find the right words when we did talk about it.
The journey was long enough to require an overnight stop, and for this we camped in a secluded spot near a small wood. Grim and I slept on opposite sides of the fire, wrapped in our own thoughts. The next day, in the late afternoon, we reached the cottage, said farewell and thank you to Cúan and Cionnaola, and watched them head off to the prince’s house with the horses. We were home.
‘Brew?’ asked Grim. ‘I’ll get some firewood in.’
‘Mm. Give me your things, I’ll put them away.’
A little later, the fire was glowing, Ripple was settled in her favourite spot and our cups were steaming on the table.
‘You all right?’ asked Grim. ‘Been a bit quiet.’
‘I didn’t mean that to happen.’ The words spilled out, ill considered. ‘What happened that night. I didn’t mean to change things between us.’
‘Mm-hm. Felt like a good change to me.’
‘It was good. Only . . . you and me, the way things are – were – I didn’t want to spoil that. To make it . . . complicated. Didn’t want to get too close, not that close anyway, because . . . well, you know.’
He waited a little, then said, ‘I don’t know. Tell me.’
‘Because if you love someone, you set them up to be used against you. You make them a target for your enemies. And if you lose them it breaks you. There, I’ve said it.’
‘So,’ said Grim carefully, ‘that was only once? Back to being just friends?’
‘No. Yes. I don’t know. And that makes me angry. And that isn’t fair. I think you may be too good for me, that’s the truth.’
‘Me?’ he said. ‘Nah. That’s rubbish. If you want it to be just friends, all right. Only . . . seems to me your argument’s got a great big hole in it.’
‘Oh? And what’s that?’
‘Remember what happened at Wolf Glen? You setting aside the mission you’d been living for since the lockup so you could rush up there and save me? You know I’d do the same for you any day. So maybe it’s too late for that argument. Don’t you think?’
And of course, he was right. Even before that night, what was between us had been far more than simple friendship. It had already grown into the kind of bond I had thought never to form again. Unless I decided to turn my back on him and walk away, or send him into his own exile and break both our hearts, we were a pair forever. And if that was so, there seemed no reason
not to enjoy everything that pairing had to offer.
‘Oh, gods,’ I said, putting my hands up to my face.
‘You laughing or crying?’ His voice was gentle.
‘Both,’ I said. ‘This is going to take a bit of getting used to.’ I brought my hands down and surveyed the interior of our house, cosy, modest, smallish, and rather full, what with the two narrow shelf beds, the hearth, the dog, the table and benches, the shelves holding the paraphernalia of my craft. ‘We could do with a bigger bed. Only where would we put it?’
‘Ah,’ said Grim, smiling. ‘Had a thought about that. You know that silver I earned up at Wolf Glen? I was thinking of making a change here, building on another room. For your work. If you wanted it. Thought I’d earn the funds first and then ask you. There’ll be no more from Tóla, that’s plain. But there’s enough for the materials, and I can do the work. What do you think?’
‘I think yes. Especially if you can make a bed too.’
‘Won’t be grand like that one we slept in. But big, yes, I can do that. And comfortable.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Meanwhile we’ll have to make do with one of these. Could be a squeeze. But I’m sure we’ll manage.’
His grin was like a flash of sunlight on a dark day. It made my breath catch.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘that it won’t all be easy going from here on. Trouble will keep finding us. Puzzles and traps and enemies, uncanny problems and worldly ones too. It’s the nature of things. We’ll always have battles to fight. We’ll always need to take risks and put ourselves in danger. Someone asked me if I wanted the hermit’s path or the warrior’s path. I think ours is the warrior’s path. Even though we seem to be . . . settling down.’
‘I’ll go on any path you want,’ Grim said. ‘Might give you a push sometimes, keep you walking straight. But whatever happens, I’ll be right there beside you. Rain or shine. Shadows or light. Step for step. Always.’
Acknowledgments
The seed idea for Den of Wolves was a traditional tale from western Scotland, Big MacVurich and the Monster. I first came across the story in the small book that accompanied a wonderful set of divination cards, the Celtic Tree Oracle, by Liz and Colin Murray (St Martin’s Press, 1988.) The tale captured my imagination from the first. The Murrays’ source was Alexander Carmichael’s collection, Carmina Gadelica: Hymns and Incantations, a scholarly and comprehensive collection of lore from the Highlands and islands of Scotland. A one volume English edition of Carmina Gadelica was published by Floris Books in 1992. The tale told by the druid Oisin in Den of Wolves is my own version, and the only one to use the term heartwood house. In the best storytelling tradition, it takes the bones of the existing versions and adds new flesh.
My thanks go to everyone who helped bring this book to fruition. The editorial staff at Pan Macmillan Australia and Penguin Random House US provided their usual blend of support, professionalism and flexibility. A big thank you to Claire Craig, Brianne Tunnicliffe and Rebecca Hamilton in Sydney, and to Anne Sowards and Rebecca Brewer in New York. A small crew of trusted family and friends helped me with brainstorming and beta reading. Heartfelt thanks to Elly, Godric, Tamara and Gaye for their bright ideas, their honest and perceptive feedback and for their precious time.
Thank you to my agent, Russell Galen, for his calm and reasoned advice and his astute decisions.
Lastly, thank you, readers, for loving Blackthorn and Grim as much as I do, and for allowing me to continue doing what I most enjoy: sharing stories with you, helping you over rough patches, keeping you entertained, taking you on a journey.
About Juliet Marillier
Juliet Marillier was born in Dunedin, New Zealand, a town with strong Scottish roots. She graduated from the University of Otago with degrees in arts and music, and has had a varied career which included teaching and performing music as well as working in government agencies.
Juliet now lives in a hundred-and-ten-year-old cottage near the river in Perth, Western Australia, where she writes fulltime. She is a member of the druid order OBOD. Juliet shares her home with a small pack of waifs and strays.
Juliet’s historical fantasy novels are published internationally and have won a number of awards.
www.julietmarillier.com
Also by Juliet Marillier
THE SEVENWATERS NOVELS
Daughter of the Forest
Son of the Shadows
Child of the Prophecy
Heir to Sevenwaters
Seer of Sevenwaters
Flame of Sevenwaters
Wolfskin
Foxmask
THE BRIDEI CHRONICLES
The Dark Mirror
Blade of Fortriu
The Well of Shades
Heart’s Blood
Prickle Moon
BLACKTHORN & GRIM
Dreamer’s Pool
Tower of Thorns
For young adults:
Wildwood Dancing
Cybele’s Secret
THE SHADOWFELL NOVELS
Shadowfell
Raven Flight
The Caller
MORE TITLES FROM THE AWARD-WINNING BLACKTHORN & GRIM SERIES
Juliet Marillier
Dreamer’s Pool
Embittered healer Blackthorn, wrongly condemned to death, is offered a lifeline by a mysterious stranger. In return, she must set aside her bid for vengeance against the man who destroyed all that she once loved. Not only that: for seven years she must agree to help anyone who asks for her aid. She and her companion Grim settle on the fringes of a mysterious forest in Dalriada, far from the place of their incarceration, and start a new life.
Oran, the crown prince of Dalriada, is waiting for his bride-to-be, Lady Flidais. Her letters and sweet portrait have convinced him that she is his destined true love.
But letters can lie.
To save Oran from disaster, Blackthorn and Grim will need courage, ingenuity, and more than a little magic.
‘Juliet Marillier’s new book is filled, as always, with beauty, wisdom and wonder – she’s one of my all-time favourite authors and I only wish that she would write faster. A new book by Juliet Marillier is always a cause for celebration.’
KATE FORSYTH
Juliet Marillier
Tower of Thorns
Disillusioned healer Blackthorn and her companion Grim have settled quietly in Dalriada to wait out the seven years of Blackthorn’s bond to her fey mentor. But trouble has a way of seeking out Blackthorn and Grim.
Lady Geiléis, a noblewoman from the northern border, has asked for the prince of Dalriada’s help in expelling a howling creature from an old tower on her land – one surrounded by an impenetrable hedge of thorns. Casting a blight over the entire district, and impossible to drive out by ordinary means, the mysterious presence threatens both the safety and the sanity of all who live nearby.
As Blackthorn and Grim begin to put the pieces of the puzzle together, it becomes clear that a powerful adversary is at work. Their quest is about to become a life and death struggle – where even the closest of friends can find themselves on opposite sides.
The enthralling sequel to the award-winning Dreamer’s Pool.
‘Juliet Marillier is a fine fantasy writer.’
ANNE MCCAFFREY
First published 2016 in Macmillan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, 2000
Copyright © Juliet Marillier 2016
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means
(photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available
from the National Library of Australia
http://catalogue.nla.gov.au
EPUB format: 9781925483802
Typeset by Post Pre-press Group
Cover design: Adam Auerbach
Cover illustration: Arantza Sestayo
The characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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