“Eating sounds like a good plan,” Gwen said, her stomach reasserting itself with a growl. Declan laughed again. Cheerful seemed like his natural state.
“There’s always more than enough at our table. Come.”
Declan waved Aidan and Gwen toward the door to the cottage. Aidan walked stiffly and clutched his flute with a tight grip. Gwen slipped a surreptitious hand into his free one and gave it a gentle squeeze. It was clear that Aidan wasn’t taking this reunion very well, and she wished they had a few moments alone to talk.
That was an impossibility—Declan’s children streamed through the door and surrounded them. They chattered excitedly and stared with curiosity in their direction. She and Aidan were on display, and Gwen would have happily crawled into the shadows if Aidan hadn’t been there, needing her. She squared her shoulders and looked around the room they had entered.
The cottage was entirely one room on the first floor, with great wooden pillars holding up the ceiling at intervals. Wood prevailed. Gwen was reminded of a rustic hunting lodge. Windows on every wall allowed light in from the setting sun and warmed the browns to a deep, gleaming golden. The huge room housed a kitchen of sorts at one end, with counters and a large pottery basin in lieu of a sink. Ensconced in another wall was a fireplace tall enough for Gwen to stand in, mercifully unlit in the warm summer evening. It was surrounded by heaps of cushions of various shapes and fabrics. The majority of the room was filled by a massive wooden slab of a table, glowing in sunbeams from the western windows. Gwen’s eyebrows rose in amazement. It was large enough to seat all of Declan’s family, with room for guests. Gwen hadn’t counted, but there couldn’t be any less than twenty-four in the house now. The table stood, unconcerned. Everyone would have a place. Gwen compared it to the kitchen table next to the window at her father’s apartment, and considered the little house Aidan grew up in with his mother. She and Aidan were both entirely out of place here.
Declan evidently disagreed.
“Sit, please! You’ve traveled far.” Declan pulled out two chairs for Aidan and Gwen at the head of the table and sat himself in a third next to Aidan. His wife and children began a well-choreographed routine to prepare dinner. The eldest arranged themselves at the table comfortably, sliding gloves off and leaning back in their chairs. Morna and the older children, girls and boys both, moved in and out of the kitchen area through a small door at the back. Even the smaller children moved with industry to place knives and plates on the wooden table. Gwen’s attention was half on the ordered bustle of preparations and half on Declan while he spoke.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to learn that I have another son.” He gazed at Aidan in delight. Aidan shifted uncomfortably. “I’m only sorry it wasn’t sooner. Tell me, how is your mother? How is Deirdre?”
“She’s fine,” Aidan said shortly. “It’s not easy being a single mother, though. She’s worked hard to provide for us.”
Declan’s face grew sorrowful.
“I wish I’d—well, there’s no use regretting what we can’t change, is there? I remember when I met her. It was twilight. Deirdre was with friends, walking down the road to a party. I remember she called it a fancy-dress ball, but it looked no different from a regular ball to me. Finn and I joined her group, and what laughs we had that night! Deirdre’s smile in the moonlight, the way she danced with such abandon, as if she could dance all night—I was smitten. Finn and I visited that place many times during those weeks we were posted at the southern borders. Finn grew bored but I pleaded with him, just one more time, just once more…” Declan sighed. “I had to eventually leave, and I never saw Deirdre again. The human world didn’t call so sweetly without visiting Deirdre, and I ventured into it no more, despite Finn’s invitations.”
Aidan stared at Declan’s face the entire time he spoke, soaking up every word. Gwen recognized his hungry expression—she had felt the same when Isolde had spoken about meeting her father. When it was clear Declan had finished his tale, Aidan spoke.
“She never told me about you, you know. I never even knew your name until I got my mark.” He looked down to his lap. Gwen ached to see Aidan’s hurt and confusion, but didn’t know how to comfort him. Declan looked saddened, but he nodded.
“She was angry, I expect. I understand.”
A red-headed girl of about thirteen approached Declan with a tray containing a pottery pitcher and numerous blown-glass cups.
“Thank you, Aina. A drink, after a long day and new surprises.” He poured glass after glass of a dark red liquid and passed them to those seated, starting with Gwen and Aidan. He lifted his own in a toast. “To family, and to new beginnings.”
They raised their cups and drank, Aidan more slowly than the rest. Gwen slid her hand to his leg and rubbed it in small circles, trying to comfort. Aidan reached down and clutched her hand fiercely, as if it were the only thing that kept him grounded.
Morna came to the table from the kitchen to speak to Declan about dinner. She casually sipped from his wine as she did so. Gwen thought that she and Aidan might have a few seconds out of the spotlight, but one of the eldest sons leaned forward to speak to them. He was a tall man with chestnut-brown hair, a few years older than Aidan. Gwen admitted to herself that he was very good-looking, but from his confident bearing and self-assured expression, it was clear that he knew it.
“Well-met, brother. I’m Tristan, eldest son of Declan and Morna. This,” he pointed to a young woman across the table, her ash blond hair bright above sharp eyes. “Is Rhiannon, daughter of Declan and Bedelia. We’ll be coming with you tomorrow to take Bran to the castle.” He shook his head. “It would be Bran, wouldn’t it?” He aimed this remark at his sister. She raised one eyebrow in a high arch.
“This is no time to be cavalier, Tristan. Bran doesn’t have long for this world. Show some respect.” She sipped from her glass and turned to Aidan. “Ignore him. Thankfully, bad manners aren’t infectious. I’m afraid he’s always like that. I should know—we’re hunting partners. Someone has to keep him in check.”
“We’re a good team,” Tristan said easily, taking no offense at his sister’s words. “I shoot the deer, Rhiannon guts them.”
In a strange, jerky movement, Rhiannon flicked her finger toward Tristan. Half a second later, Tristan winced and slapped at a tiny spark on his cheek. The extinguished spark left a trail of soot on his skin.
“That’s not quite how it goes,” Rhiannon said calmly, as if nothing had happened. “I’m the best shot in the family. Tristan’s not bad.”
“Well, who would dare to argue?” Tristan said smartly, although his eyes were smiling. “You know you’ll pay for that later.”
“Perhaps. If you can catch me off guard.”
Gwen and Aidan glanced at each other. Gwen wasn’t sure what to make of the two siblings. They seemed so at ease with each other and themselves, and she felt out of her element. They were their new guides through the Breenan world, but they weren’t Bran.
The older children brought out huge platters of roasted venison and root vegetables, slightly charred from a fire that Gwen guessed was outside. The rest of Declan’s brood arranged themselves noisily around the table on various stools and chairs, and speared food with long prongs from the platters. Conversation faded with the arrival of the food.
Gwen cautiously filled her plate. Everything was simple, with a mild smoky flavor from the fire, but her ravenous stomach screamed for more. After two days of increasingly stale buns, sweaty cheese, and greasy chips, Gwen reveled in the full meal. Once their initial hunger had been satisfied, Declan turned to Aidan once again.
“So, Aidan, tell me more about yourself. What is your life like in the human world? I remember it to be a very strange and different place from this one.”
Tristan, Rhiannon, and others sitting nearby paused and leaned forward to hear Aidan’s answer. Aidan didn’t appear to notice. His focus was entirely on his plate, until he raised his eyes to a candle in the center of the table and shrug
ged.
“I grew up in a small village, went to school. I visit the city occasionally, play music, work in a pub.” Gwen poked Aidan and he looked around in surprise. Confused faces greeted him. “A pub? You know, where you drink beer and have a good time?” Heads nodded and Aidan continued. “I met Gwen in the spring and we fell into this world for a few days. Now I’m moving to Canada to study music.” More confusion reigned, and Aidan clarified. “Canada is a land very far away. It’s where Gwen lives. I have to fly there.”
“You can fly?” A red-headed girl said incredulously, while the others looked both shocked and impressed. Gwen laughed and even Aidan’s mouth briefly twitched out of its solemn expression.
“Yeah, the human world has a few tricks, too.”
Declan looked at Aidan wistfully as Aidan ate the last few bites of his roasted squash.
“A school just for music? What a wondrous place that must be.”
Aidan smiled for the first time all afternoon. Gwen’s heart squeezed to see it.
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it.” He glanced around at Declan’s family, most of whom had finished eating. They idly licked forks and leaned back in their chairs. “Would you like me to play for you again?”
“Oh, there’s no obligation. You’re my long-lost son come home, not simply a wandering bard.”
Aidan shrugged stiffly, retreating back into himself at the mention of his being Declan’s son.
“That was our agreement. Music for food and a place to sleep. But if you don’t want to listen…”
“Please, play if you wish. I would never turn down a chance for music in this house.”
Aidan stood to pick up his flute that lay on top of the battered backpack by the door. Declan smiled at Gwen.
“Do you play as well?” he asked. His kind eyes brightened. Gwen laughed.
“No, not anymore. Aidan’s the musical genius, not me.”
“Ah, well. We all have our talents. I attempt to play the harp, but my feeble pickings are hardly worth the name of music. And I know only a few ballads, not nearly enough to satisfy.”
Aidan walked purposefully to the empty fireplace, centering himself for maximum effect. Already he looked more relaxed, away from the curious questions of his new siblings and father, with an instrument in his hands. The room fell quiet, the older children hushing the younger ones. Gwen settled back in her chair to listen.
From the first notes that fell upon the waiting ears of Declan’s family, Aidan had them enchanted. The music enveloped the room, its plaintive melody haunting and sad. Aidan closed his eyes, lost in his own spell and entirely at ease, as if the crowd of onlookers had disappeared. Gwen glanced at Declan, whose face had fallen into confusion and longing as he watched his strange new son. Gwen sympathized. Meeting her mother for the first time had been bewildering, although Isolde’s callous treatment of Gwen and her friends was vastly different to Declan’s cheery welcome. She understood Aidan’s reluctance to let Declan play a fatherly role, when he had never been there for Aidan. She wondered if Declan understood how Aidan felt. He seemed like a man of simple feelings, used to a cheerful home filled with loving children.
Aidan played four songs, each punctuated only briefly by sighs from his captive audience. A couple of the youngest fell asleep in the laps of their sisters. At the closing of the fourth, Aidan brought his flute to his side, gave a small bow, and walked back to join Gwen.
“Thank you for dinner,” he said formally to Declan.
“No, you have given us a gift beyond compare. Dinner was the least I could offer.” Declan looked carefully at Aidan when he said this. Aidan looked down at Gwen.
“We should go check on Bran.” He looked back to Declan. “Where is he?”
Declan pointed at a staircase to the second floor.
“He’s in the first door on the right.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but refrained when Aidan nodded stiffly and led the way to the staircase. The eyes of Declan’s family burned a hole in Gwen’s back as she followed Aidan.
Aidan had softened up to Declan just enough to be cordial, but Gwen could see his discomfort in the tenseness of his shoulders and his careful words. The Aidan she knew was easy and joking, not tight-lipped and quiet. She sighed, and wondered how best to reach him.
She took his hand when they entered the room where Bran lay. Morna had applied a poultice of strange-smelling herbs to Bran’s wrists. It seemed to be working, if Bran’s color was anything to go by—it had faded from a vibrant green light to a barely visible glow on his skin. He breathed more easily now, although his forehead still gleamed with sweat.
“He looks better.” Gwen reached down to tuck Bran’s blanket more securely around his chest with her free hand.
“Yeah,” Aidan said in a distracted tone. Gwen turned and touched Aidan’s cheek. He brought his eyes to her own and focused slowly from his inner thoughts to her face.
“How are you doing?” Gwen asked. Aidan looked about to burst with unexpressed emotions. “Talk to me.”
Aidan sighed explosively, his breath coming in short bursts.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. I’m just—I’m just…”
He broke away from Gwen and paced across the room only to encounter the far wall. He turned around, distracted, like a caged animal. He stopped in front of Gwen again, his eyes distressed. Without further words, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Gwen was startled, but responded in kind. Aidan’s kiss was intense, heated, as if he were trying to express himself physically since words failed him. He wrapped his arms around her and clutched her to him, as if desperate for her to understand what he was trying to say. Gwen thought she did, a little, and then she wasn’t really thinking at all.
Aidan pushed against her and they shuffled until Gwen’s back hit the wall. Aidan’s hands were everywhere, all over her, and she pressed herself up and into him, letting everything else go, allowing him to show his emotions in the only way he felt he could, until a voice interrupted them.
“Like father, like son, is it?”
Gwen and Aidan broke off from their embrace, breathing heavily. Gwen looked past Aidan’s shoulder—Morna had entered the room with an extra blanket for Bran. Aidan blinked out of the fog of desire that had clouded his eyes a moment before. His face darkened as the import of Morna’s words struck him.
“I am nothing like him,” Aidan spat out, his voice husky.
Morna shrugged.
“Perhaps.” She looked at Aidan curiously. “It’s not always a bad thing. He’s a good man, despite his faults. I know you feel some injustice was done to you, but if Declan had known you existed, you can be sure he would have been a part of your life, somehow.” She unfolded the blanket and spread it over Bran’s legs. “Will you be staying on? Most of Declan’s other children do, at some time or other.”
“No,” Aidan said vehemently. Morna pursed her lips.
“Don’t be too severe on Declan. He has a good heart, and he’ll be a good father if you let him.” She moved out of the room and left Aidan staring after her. Gwen slid her arms around him for a hug.
“Whatever you want, just know I’m here for you. Okay?”
Aidan looked down at her, his mouth almost hovering on the edge of a smile, the first she’d seen all day. He was calmer now, his outburst of the previous moment subsided. Gwen didn’t know whether she or Morna’s words had had more of an effect.
“Thanks, Gwen.” He kissed the top of her head, and sighed.
“I suppose we should go to bed,” Gwen said. “Long day tomorrow.”
“That’ll be a change. I was enjoying being lazy.”
Gwen laughed, relieved more than she could say to hear Aidan’s usual lighthearted tone. She squeezed Aidan’s middle and let go.
“Come on, slacker. Time for bed.”
***
Too soon, Gwen was shaken awake by a firm hand on her shoulder.
“Gwen? Gwen, it’s time to wake up. It’s almost dawn.�
��
Gwen struggled to open her eyes. She was so warm, so intensely comfortable, that it was a huge effort to turn her head and see the perpetrator of her awakening. Rhiannon stood in the dim of the early pre-dawn light that filtered through the shutters.
“Here are some clothes for you. They’re mine—they should fit. We’re close in size.” Rhiannon tossed a bundle on the bed. “You’ll be less conspicuous. And the king won’t be as suspicious. Come downstairs when you’re ready—we’ll leave at once.”
Feeling disjointed and out of place, Gwen rolled off her mattress onto the wooden floor and pushed herself up with a quiet grumble. She didn’t want to wake the other girls, slumbering silently in their various beds, but she was so achy all over. She groped for the bundle Rhiannon had left her and shook it out. A pair of fitted pants, a linen shirt, and a soft suede coat fell out, along with a pair of leather shoes that landed on the mattress with a thump. Her bra and underwear, clean and dry, were easy to spot in the pile. Less than a minute had passed before she crept downstairs, combing her hair with her fingers and braiding it as she went.
The main room was empty in the gray light of early morning, but a clinking and huffing sound from outside alerted Gwen to Rhiannon’s whereabouts. Gwen ducked through the open door to where four horses stood, snorting and swishing their tails. Tristan sat on one, natural and at ease, a large bundle balanced on his horse’s rump. Rhiannon swung smoothly into the saddle of a second horse when Gwen emerged from the cottage. Aidan stood next to a third horse, eyeing it with distrust. He was dressed similarly to Tristan, in a blousy white shirt and leather vest, with slim brown pants under calf-height boots. Gwen approved the look—he cut a rather dashing figure.
Declan strode over to Aidan from his place beside Morna, who tucked a few cloth-covered bundles into saddlebags on Tristan’s horse.
Breenan Series Box Set Page 33