“Macha’s sons,” she murmured. “Should I die, all my property will pass to Macha’s family for dozens of years. Longer if they have children.”
“You see the danger,” Taran said softly.
The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. It had been about control of the clan and its wealth all along. Had her father not married Lady Ailís and had an heir, the succession would have passed to Macha and then directly to her sons, if only she managed to outlive her younger brothers. No wonder Macha had despised Aine and her mother. She must have had this planned since Alsandair’s first wife died childless.
Had Aine known any of this before, she might have had a chance to plan a strategy. She had no experience in the level of politics and scheming into which she was about to be thrown.
They reached the outskirts of Forrais’s village by noon the next day. After Seare’s decidedly rural bent, the activity of this small town took Aine aback. Smoke from the foundries and blacksmith shops stung her eyes, melding in her nostrils with the mellower scent of hay and livestock.
Further in, where the freestanding structures became more closely packed around the central lane, the scent of fresh-baked bread and roasting meat joined in. She wrinkled her nose against the faint undercurrent of sewage and rotting vegetables. More people meant more smell, and here in the crowded quarter beneath the great hill that housed the fortress, nearly half of the folk under Macha’s responsibility lived and worked together.
The main road took them to the base of that hill, where the group reined in abruptly.
“This is where we leave you, my lady,” Taran said.
Aine nodded, resisting the urge to ask them to stay. They had done enough for her already, far more than she had dared hope. “I thank you for your help, all of you. You did not need to bring me all this way, at no benefit to yourselves.”
To her surprise, Taran looked moved. “May Comdiu bless you, my lady.”
Her heart squeezed at his serious tone. She bowed her head in respect and then turned to Pepin.
The Merovian reined his horse near and bent over her hand. “Bless you, Lady Aine.”
“Thank you, Pepin.”
To her surprise, Sigurd dismounted and moved to her side. He engulfed her hand in his two large ones. “If things were different, my lady, it would be an honor to serve you.”
“The honor would be mine, I think.”
She couldn’t help feeling that something more should be said, but there was nothing else to express. She gave a nod and cued her horse up the winding road that led to the fortress.
She didn’t expect the sense of loss nor the surge of panic she felt at once again being alone. So much for her independence. She’d needed rescuing so badly that Comdiu had sent her mercenaries—men she’d normally think to be protected from, not by.
Guilt crashed over her. She had been so focused on herself and her situation that she’d never acknowledged the miracle Comdiu had wrought on her behalf. She was worth twenty silver pennies to them, and instead they had delivered her safely to her aunt’s household.
Tears pricked her eyes. Thank you, Comdiu. Once more, You are gracious where I am undeserving.
And yet, even her gratitude couldn’t push back the surge of pain at the thought of those who should be with her now: Ruarc, Lorcan, Conor.
Automatically she wrapped her fingers around the ivory charm, blinking back tears. She and Conor were supposed to be making this trip together, and now she didn’t know if he was even alive. Once, he had heard her through the magic of the charm. If she concentrated hard enough, would he again?
I’m alive, love. Are you out there somewhere? I can’t believe Comdiu would save me and not you.
As she approached the gates, she dropped the charm beneath her bodice again and forced her trembling hands to be still. She had to be strong. Macha possessed the feral brutality of a she-wolf: any sign of weakness and she would lunge for the throat. Aine’s only hope was to present herself as strong, hard, demanding—someone of whom Macha couldn’t take advantage.
A pair of heavily armed guards looked her over suspiciously at the fortress gates. One stepped forward and took hold of her horse’s bridle. “State your business.”
Aine tried for an imperious tone. “Inform Lady Macha that her niece, Lady Aine Nic Tamhais, has returned to Forrais.”
The guard threw his head back and laughed. “And I’m the chieftain herself. Be gone with you, girl. We’ve no need for your cruel jests.”
So he needed convincing. Aine swept back the hood of her cloak and stared the guard straight in the eye, her chin lifted. It took every bit of her courage to make her voice strong and haughty. “I am who I say. I would like an audience with my aunt—now. Send a boy to fetch her and see me to the hall.”
“I don’t know who you are, miss, but Lady Aine was killed in Seare. Your swindle is ill-timed. Go peacefully before we’re forced to remove you.”
So Taran had been right. Macha had wasted no time declaring her dead, and it would take more than the word of a disheveled little girl to change the guard’s mind. She sighed and slid from her horse.
The guard laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. It would have been laughable had the threat not been so real.
“I am Lady Aine. Call the Mac Tamhais herself and find out.”
The man’s stony expression faded slightly. He glanced at his fellow guard.
“Lady Macha will confirm my identity. Please. Would you rather be the man that returned a lost daughter to the clan or the man who turned her away at the gate?”
Perhaps it was her accent or her manner of speech, too refined for a commoner, or perhaps he could just see the weariness that threatened to engulf her with each passing second. Either way, the resistance slid from his expression. “My apologies, my lady. Welcome back.”
“Thank you, sir. Your name?”
“Cé, my lady. Bain will take you to the keep.”
“Very well, Cé. Thank you.”
Aine took the gelding’s reins and fell in beside her escort. Bain’s pinched frown said he wouldn’t be as easily persuaded by her explanation as Cé. She needed to convince a few of the fortress’s guards of her identity if word were to spread quickly among the clansmen.
“I’ve been gone for nearly four years,” she said. “Is Diocail still in charge of the guard here?”
“Aye, he is.”
“And Guaire is still the steward?”
A bit of the defensiveness melted from Bain’s posture. “Aye. But Síle is no longer the head cook. She retired last year.”
“There was never a cook named Síle here. Our head cook was Sim. And he certainly wasn’t old enough to retire. I did have a nursemaid named Síle for a few years, however.”
The guard stopped abruptly. “You are she.”
“Aye, I am she.” Aine smiled up at him. “I don’t blame you for your doubt, Bain. You only wish to protect your chief. I respect your loyalty.”
Bain looked embarrassed. He took the reins from her and handed them to a boy who appeared at their side. Then he led her up the stairs to the front doors of the keep. The two men on guard immediately opened the doors for her.
Just before she stepped through, Bain gripped her arm. “We served your father faithfully, my lady. Be wary.”
He gave her a sharp nod, spoke a quiet word to a servant, and left her to face the hall alone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Aine shivered, pressing her hands together as she entered the hall. It was always cold at Forrais, and not just because the vast expanse of stone reflected the Highland chill. With its high, peaked roof and tapestry-lined walls, the keep rivaled the continental cathedrals in its grandeur, but it still fell far short of the warmth and welcome of her half brother’s hall in Faolán.
A pang of longing struck her. How strange to realize that in a few short years, Seare had become her home.
“They said you were dead.”
Aine turned at the hard voice behind
her and found herself looking into an even harder set of dark eyes.
Aine might have changed in her absence, but Lady Macha had not, no more than the standing stones of their pagan ancestors weathered in a few short years. At first glance, she looked like any other noblewoman in Aron. A braid bound salt-and-pepper hair away from her face, and her silver-embroidered dress draped a body as hard as an oak, erect and unyielding. Her hands, however, gave her away—muscular, calloused, scarred from sword work. A woman, aye, but there could be no mistaking her for anything but a warrior.
Dislike washed over Aine. “As you can see, I am very much alive.”
“And I suppose now that you’re back, you’ll be wishing for lodging.”
Aine’s nervousness dissolved in a sudden flush of anger. Macha may be chief, the leader of this clan, and a warrior in her own right, but Aine was no mere girl. She had healed on the battlefield, led men, counseled kings, and escaped a druid’s grasp. She would not let this battle-ax of a woman intimidate her.
She straightened her spine and looked Macha directly in the eye. “I’ll be looking for my rightful place as a daughter of this clan.”
Macha held the gaze, something dark and unsettling behind her eyes. Then a tiny shift in the set of her shoulders conceded the argument. “Very well. A servant will show you to your old chamber. Do your best to make yourself presentable for supper. I expect you to give a full explanation before the court this evening.”
Aine dipped her head. “Thank you, Aunt.”
Another sharp nod and Macha turned on her heel, striding out of the room as though she had a broomstick down the back of her bodice. The fight seeped from Aine with the fading of her aunt’s footsteps. Macha had tolerated Aine as a child because her father was chief, and then after his death because Ailís demanded it. Now only the rights and responsibilities of blood kept her from refusing Aine a place at court.
“My lady?” A girl, no more than thirteen or fourteen, appeared at Aine’s elbow, trembling. “I’m to show you to your chamber.”
Aine dismissed Macha’s rudeness in the face of the maid’s cringing posture. “What’s your name, dear?”
“Lia, my lady.”
“Very well, Lia. I’ve been gone long enough that I might lose my way in the corridors.”
“Aye, my lady. It’s this way.”
Aine followed Lia down one of the tapestry-lined corridors, even though she could never forget this place. She swallowed a lump of grief when they passed her mother’s old quarters, the ones Ailís had been assigned when Father died and Macha took over as chief: deep in the east wing, as far away from the chief’s apartments as possible. Aine had been too young to understand the slight, but she did now.
It was a reminder that however familiar Forrais might be, it was no longer home.
“Here we are, my lady.” The maid pushed open the door to a cavernous, high-ceilinged room.
Aine’s chamber seemed to have been untouched since she left. Heavy curtains covered tall, leaded-glass windows, and cloths draped the sparse furnishings, protecting them from the film that lay thick over every other surface. Stale rushes in the mattress gave off a musty, abandoned smell instead of the usual sweet scent of hay and sunshine. Her fantasy of collapsing into a plump, freshly made bed dissipated like the cloud of dust around her feet.
“I’m sorry, my lady. We had no notice you were coming.”
“Then speak with Master Guaire right away.” Aine quickly smiled at the girl to soften the sharp edge of her words. Lia wasn’t responsible for her aunt’s cold welcome.
“Aye, my lady.” Lia curtsied and scurried out the door.
Aine rubbed her pounding temples with her fingertips. She was tired, achy, and hungry, three things about which she could do nothing at present. But perhaps she could fill her time while she waited.
Lady Ailís’s chamber was unlocked. Aine took a thick candle from the corridor and stepped into the pitch-black room. It was smaller and darker than she remembered, without the tall windows that lit her own space. It was not what she would have expected of a chamber belonging to a former clan chief’s wife.
My mother gave me the chamber meant for her. How did I never realize that?
Aine wandered around the space, opening chests and wardrobes, but they were all empty. Where were her mother’s things? Surely they hadn’t been discarded. The idea that Macha might possess Ailís’s jewels, furs, and weapons made her stomach twist. They were Aine’s by right. She would demand them—
Aine stopped the thoughts in their tracks. To demand Ailís’s possessions would only make her look like a petulant little girl. She turned and strode into the corridor, her boot heels echoing in the empty hallway. When she burst into her chamber, two male servants were already sweeping, dusting, and scrubbing.
“Do you know where Master Guaire . . .”
A gray-haired man turned to her. A smile split his face, the first genuine expression of pleasure she’d seen since arriving at Forrais. “Lady Aine. It truly is you.”
Despite the utter impropriety of it, the steward enfolded her in his arms. Aine allowed herself the briefest moment to revel in the welcome before she stepped back. “Master Guaire, where are my mother’s possessions?”
The steward hesitated, the pleasure in his lined face dimming.
She placed a hand on his sleeve in silent appeal. “Please. I’ve arrived home with nothing. And now I find I haven’t even the comfort of those familiar objects.”
“They are yours,” he said finally. “I know clan law as well as our chief. I’ll have Ailís’s chests retrieved from storage and brought here when your chamber is once more fit for use.”
Aine caught the implied dismissal and gave a small bow of acknowledgment. She turned and made as dignified an exit as she could manage with her victory surging through her veins. She was not the same naive girl she had been when she left. She would not allow them to treat her as such.
“My lady?”
Aine stopped with her hand on the latch. “Aye, Master Guaire?”
A smile touched his lips, but there was a spark in his eyes that made her think he knew her thoughts.
“Welcome back.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A knock roused Aine from a sound sleep. She pushed herself up onto one elbow on the freshly stuffed mattress, blinking grit from her bleary eyes. In the dark room, lit by only a single candle, she couldn’t tell if it were day or night.
“Lady Aine?” a muffled voice called from behind the door, followed by a more insistent knock.
Aine cleared her throat. “Enter.”
The door swung inward, revealing Lia’s nervous face. She may have been timid, but she was efficient. Not only had Aine’s room been thoroughly cleaned under Master Guaire’s direction, but Lia had also had a tray of food waiting when Aine returned.
“Lady Ailís’s trunks have arrived.”
Aine swung her legs off the bed and fixed her dress. “Send them in.”
Two men, the same ones who had cleaned her room, half-carried and half-dragged the first chest inside and then darted back out for another.
“There are more, but Master Guaire thought you would want to start with these.”
Aine smiled her thanks to Lia and positioned herself in front of the door. “What are your names?”
Surprise flashed over the face of the younger servant, pink creeping up his neck. “I’m Tamlane, my lady. This is Fingal.”
“You were the ones who cleaned my chamber?” At Tamlane’s nod, she flashed another smile. “Then thank you both for being so quick and thorough.”
“Aye, my lady,” Fingal said. They gave her quick bows and hurried out the door.
“You’ve made two new admirers, my lady.” Lia flushed. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.”
What kind of place had Lisdara become when mere common courtesy elicited this kind of response? “If you would call for a bath, I’d like to look through these and then prepare for supper.”
“Of course, my lady.” A hasty curtsy and Lia was out the door as quickly as the two men.
As soon as the door closed, Aine lifted the lid of the first chest. A wool blanket lay tucked around the top. She removed it and drew in a breath.
Her mother’s gowns. Lady Ailís had never dressed as opulently as some of the other ladies at court—she was Seareann, after all—but her elegance and beauty had inspired songs. Even those lords who had scoffed at Lord Alsandair’s choice to wed the foreign queen had been won over by her grace.
Aine would do well to remind Macha’s court of that resemblance.
She sorted through day gowns and riding habits until she touched a swath of midnight-blue watered silk. She withdrew a beautifully simple gown, followed by its underdress of light-blue linen and smiled. If she were to face Macha’s court, she should do it in her husband’s colors.
After a moment’s hesitation, Aine removed her stained dress and slid the silk over her head. The laces tied up the back, but she could tell the bodice would fit. The hem, however, puddled on the floor around her.
A knock preceded Lia into the room. “Oh, my lady, that’s . . . it’s lovely.”
Aine smiled. “Do you know how to baste a hem, Lia?”
“Of course, my lady. Let me find a needle and thread.”
Boys came and went with steaming water while Lia retrieved sewing supplies. The girl knelt before Aine and began pinning up the bottom of the dress with steel pins. Aine let her work in silence before she asked, “How many people know I’ve returned?”
“Why, everyone, my lady. It’s difficult to keep such news a secret.”
“How long ago did Lady Macha have me declared dead?”
Lia yelped as she jabbed herself with a pin. She thrust her bleeding finger into her mouth. “I really shouldn’t speak of such things.”
Aine gentled her tone. Macha had thought she was doing Aine a disservice by assigning a lower servant as a lady’s maid, but she’d only given her an avenue to the girl’s loyalty. “Lia, what were you doing before I arrived?”
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