The Dowry Blade

by Cherry Potts

  ‘Is that you, Ahern’s daughter? Come talk to me.’

  Brede pulled a stool through from the outer room and perched beside Grainne with the sword across her knees.

  Grainne forced herself into a half-sitting position so that she could see Brede’s face. Her eyes grazed the sword, and a half smile twisted her lip.

  ‘You don’t trust me, do you?’

  ‘Madam?’

  ‘It is hard to be close to Sorcha and not be with her.’

  Brede sighed, and dropped her eyes to the blade across her knees. The silence dragged and she realised that Grainne expected her to speak.

  ‘Sometimes I wish she wasn’t here at all.’

  Grainne nodded.

  ‘Sorcha has a tendency to flirtation; I’ve seen her making eyes at you across the back of my visitors.’ Brede kept her eyes down, hot to the roots of her hair. ‘It is not kind,’ Grainne observed, ‘to you, to Sorcha or to me.’

  ‘What do you want of me?’ Brede asked, goaded into risking a glance at Grainne’s face.

  ‘You’re deaf and blind to everything but Sorcha. You watch her every move; you contrive to touch her at any opportunity.’ Brede sat stiffly silent. ‘I trust you with my life, Brede.’ Brede turned the sword over, restless under Grainne’s scrutiny.

  ‘You are still alive,’ she said at last.

  ‘But the Plains woman is not. I told you that I want anyone who raises their hand against me alive.’

  ‘Is this because I am a Plains woman? Do you think I am implicated?’

  ‘No. I think perhaps Doran – she was his servant, and he was amongst those who brought her down.’

  Brede hesitated, wondering whether to tell Grainne the little she knew of Jodis.

  ‘I could not protect you and her.’

  Grainne laughed.

  ‘You were not protecting me, Brede, your first thought was for Sorcha, I saw you. It was only chance you brought me down. Where would you have been if you’d been forced to choose between us?’

  ‘That isn’t so,’ Brede protested softly, ignoring the accusation, her mind full of the broken body on the walkway. ‘If I could have reached her, I’d have protected Jodis.’

  ‘You knew her?’

  ‘We’d met.’

  ‘And did she know what your duties here were?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And did she ever come within these walls?’

  ‘Not for me, but she sold Eachan the horse you rode this morning, she may have come in then.’

  Grainne stared thoughtfully at Brede’s down-turned face.

  A footstep in the outer room. Brede was at the door in a moment.

  Sorcha stepped back from the sword, a song half sung. Brede lowered the sword, and stepped back. Sorcha watched the blade-tip touch the floor. She gathered up the herbs she had dropped, without speaking. Brede’s hand tangled with hers, silent reassurance. Sorcha returned the quiet embrace of fingers, almost furtive. She was suddenly aware of Grainne’s eyes upon her. She turned to face her; one hand still caught in Brede’s.

  ‘This is not for you,’ Sorcha said sharply.

  Grainne’s eyes widened in surprise and she jerked her head at Brede, dismissing her.

  Grainne waited for Sorcha to come close enough and caught at her shaking hand.

  ‘That was careless.’

  Sorcha shook her head.

  ‘Brede was closer to death than I; doubly careless. I didn’t expect her to be in here with you. How did she come through the wards?’

  ‘I invited her.’

  ‘What were you talking about?’

  ‘The Plains woman. Trust. You.’

  Sorcha shook her head again, the tremor in her hands gone. She mixed the new herbs in the proper proportions. She handed Grainne the drugged wine.

  ‘Drink,’ she said gently. Grainne took a steady swallow, watching Sorcha over the rim of the cup. Sorcha kissed Grainne on the brow, so close that no more than breath was required, certain that Brede would not overhear.

  ‘Stop interfering, Grainne, it is hard enough already.’

  Grainne grabbed at Sorcha’s hand, preventing her from moving away with an unexpected strength.

  ‘For my sake, Sorcha, bed her and have done. You are putting my life at risk with this. You can’t concentrate.’

  Sorcha forced her wrist out of Grainne’s grip.

  ‘You have no right,’ she said sharply. ‘You have no claim on me that gives you the right to speak to me like this.’ Rage took her across the room without even thinking where she was going.

  Sorcha shut the door from Grainne’s chamber firmly, and leant against the solidity of the wood. Brede glanced up to see her setting wards.

  ‘What are you doing that for?’ she asked.

  Sorcha shook her head.

  ‘Giving in to my temper,’ she said, pulling the binding from her hair and shaking it loose.

  ‘Grainne has made you angry?’

  Sorcha nodded. Brede breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the scent of herbs. ‘How is it possible?’ Brede asked softly. ‘Is this friendship of thirty years at risk?’

  Sorcha laughed.

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far. It is only that I am –’

  ‘Tired, hungry, lonely, burdened, frightened..?’

  Sorcha raised an eyebrow; half tempted to argue with Brede too.

  ‘Yes; but more than all of those. I am failing Grainne, and failing you.’

  ‘Grainne said that, but it was me she was blaming. I don’t know how to be the person she thinks I should be. She set me to guard, but she expects more; she thinks I’ll discover her enemy, but I’ve no idea how.’

  ‘She can’t expect –’

  ‘If I were to solve this riddle for Grainne – I think – perhaps – I hope – you will stop looking haunted, perhaps you’ll stop look at the world askance – maybe you will look straight at me; maybe Grainne will release us.’

  ‘Do I not look straight at you?’

  ‘No. Everything you do is warped by worrying about Grainne – but Grainne sees you look askance because you are thinking about me. And she is right, Sorcha – I think the same – I do the same. I can hardly think of anything but the glorious smell of your hair.’

  ‘Brede –’

  ‘My preferred suspect is Madoc, but he wasn’t here and I can see no cause although Jodis was bonded to Doran, who is Madoc’s man – I think Jodis’ stones were meant for me, but Grainne’s paranoia is catching. I’m suspicious of everyone, even you. Bewitched, so I am. Tegan tried to tell me, and I didn’t believe her, but how can I ignore Grainne, who has known you thirty years, and knows why you do not look that age, who knows you can disappear into thin air?’ Brede let go of Sorcha’s hand and stepped away. ‘You scare me,’ she said abruptly.’What do you want of me? You can’t need me; I’m useless to Grainne, and to you. You have isolated me,’ Brede took a shaky breath, incapable of finishing that thought, burdened as it was with so much. ‘But for what purpose?’

  Faint voices on the stairs prevented Sorcha from any answer. She turned swiftly and went in to Grainne. Brede bit down on her uneasiness and went out to the stairs, and found Tegan.

  ‘How is Grainne?’ Tegan asked.

  ‘Looking for someone to blame.’

  Tegan frowned. ‘I’ll need to see her later, there’s something I must check first – but I’ve a message for you, from Eachan. He says you might find something of interest at West Gate Inn. Does that make sense to you?’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ Brede frowned, trying to fathom Eachan.

  ‘Why did Grainne choose you?’ Tegan asked. ‘Why didn’t she ask me?’

  ‘She did ask you, Tegan. She said that she wanted the use of your eyes, remember? She wanted you out there looking.’

  ‘That’s true, but she’s not listening to what I see.’ Tegan held Brede’s gaze for a while. ‘You’ve been avoiding us these last months. We are of the same household; we have the same employer. We need to talk more.’ Sh
e hesitated. ‘We are still friends?’

  Brede clasped Tegan to her, in an easy, light grip. ‘Don’t be such an idiot,’ she said softly. ‘I’m long past doubting you.’

  Tegan gazed into her eyes, and rested a hand against Brede’s face.

  ‘And Eachan says you have issue to take with Madoc.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Have a care. That one was always trouble.’

  ‘I’ll remember that.’ Brede said dryly. The door opened softly behind her and Tegan glanced across catching sight of Sorcha.

  ‘I must go,’ Tegan said, and kissed Brede lightly on the mouth, then pulled away, and took the stairs two at a time.

  ‘What was that?’ Sorcha asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Brede admitted. She reached for Sorcha, pulling her into her arms, seeking reassurance, holding her far closer and with greater urgency than she had held Tegan.

  ‘Well,’ said Sorcha, ‘you lose no time, one lover kissed and another embraced, in the time it takes to spit.’

  ‘But are you my lover?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Sorcha answered. ‘Is Tegan?’

  ‘No,’ Brede said, dismissing that almost closeness from her mind. ‘Whereas,’ she said, holding Sorcha even tighter, ‘I have reason to make plans, where you’re concerned.’

  ‘As do I. Grainne has – suggested – we take some leave.’

  ‘Now?’ Brede asked, perturbed.

  ‘Immediately. She wants to be undisturbed by us.’

  ‘Are you happy with that?’

  ‘How can I be? It is insanity. But she is the Queen.’

  ‘And what shall we do with this unwanted freedom?’ Brede asked.

  Sorcha blinked. ‘There is a festival on. We could dance? We could – we could sing, get drunk – spend some of our wages –’

  ‘Can you think of nothing better than that?’

  ‘I’d be glad to take Macsen out.’

  Brede frowned, not sure that she was being teased.

  ‘I’ll go see about his gear, then, shall I?’ she asked, starting for the stairs.

  Sorcha allowed her a few steps before calling after her, ‘I’ll meet you in the stables.’

  Brede stopped, and looked back at her.

  ‘I must make sure Grainne is as well as she can be. I shouldn’t leave her, whatever she says, but if she insists, I can’t enjoy myself if I’m worrying about her.’ Ask Eachan if he knows any inns with comfortable beds.’

  ‘Why should I do that?’ Brede asked, irritably.

  ‘I thought you’d want a comfortable bed, if we’re to be in it for as long as I plan,’ Sorcha whispered.

  Brede watched her go, her words settling into her mind, blanketing, smoothing, and disguising the uncertain ground beneath.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Brede had both horses saddled by the time Sorcha appeared at her shoulder. She smiled, unnerved by the promise of uninterrupted time together. Sorcha’s answering smile smouldered, and Brede found a sudden urgent interest in a buckle on Guida’s bridle.

  Sorcha grabbed a handful of Macsen’s mane, and hauled herself onto his back.

  ‘Are you coming with me, or are you going to admire the grease on the tack all day?’ she asked. Brede pulled Guida about and led her into the yard where she could mount without hitting her head.

  ‘Where to?’ she asked.

  ‘Away,’ Sorcha said abruptly.

  Brede persuaded Guida close to Macsen and touched Sorcha’s forearm, intending comfort. Sorcha glanced down and frowned.

  ‘What?’ Brede asked indignantly.

  ‘Gloves,’ Sorcha said accusingly, and then her eyes travelling along Brede’s arm and upward, ‘sword, knives, mail.’

  Brede removed her hand from Sorcha’s arm, pulling the leather glove from her hand with her teeth. She tapped Sorcha’s arm with her fingernail, producing a faint ringing.

  ‘Not exactly silk-clad yourself,’ she observed, throwing the glove across the courtyard, ‘Come on, I thought you wanted to exercise your horse.’

  It was strange for the streets to be so full of people, laughing and spending such money as they had. This kind of celebration was all too rare. And now it was as though the very thought of war and of the attempt on Grainne’s life had been excised from the minds of the revellers. Out beyond the stone walls of the tower, the rest of the city had forgotten fear, and was full of light-heartedness. It felt dangerous.

  There were children in the streets, a beggar playing pipes by the fountain. So normal, so carefree – no one paid attention to the mail-clad riders. Brede wondered if they remembered the army out beyond the walls; whether they knew they weren’t safe and cherished this unexpected happiness, as she cherished it. She wanted to lose herself in the colourful noisy throng, to be with Sorcha in an easy companionship, but the thought of Jodis kept her unwelcome company.

  Forcing her hand away from the hilt of her knife, Brede tried to glance about her in a casual fashion. If everyone else could be at ease, wrapped in their own concerns, so could she.

  They reached the market place, where the crowds made it harder to be together, impossible to force a way through, even on horseback, for this was a place for brisk sallies between one stall and another, not a head-down dash across the square.

  On her way out to the walls, with half a mind to go beyond, Tegan walked into Eachan and had to put out a hand to steady him. It wasn’t until he thanked her that she realised how out of character it was for him to be unsteady, and more so for him to be grateful for assistance.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘Have you seen Brede?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Tegan said, ‘she’s up with Grainne as usual.’

  ‘No, no she isn’t.’ Eachan swore, tucking a glove into his belt in an absent-minded fashion.

  ‘What is it?’ Tegan asked.

  ‘Trouble,’ Eachan responded. ‘Madoc is back. I want her to stay away from him. And if you gave her my message she’s off in search of the daughter.’

  ‘West Gate?’ Tegan asked. Eachan nodded.

  ‘But she’s taken her horse,’ he observed. ‘She wouldn’t do that, would she, if she was only going there?’

  Tegan was motionless, doubt assailing her.

  ‘Well if Madoc is here, and she’s gone, there’s no danger of Brede crossing swords with him,’ Tegan said carefully, wondering why Madoc was back, and beginning to make connections.

  ‘That is something to be grateful for,’ Eachan agreed, with more of his usual assertiveness, ‘Madoc would cut her to ribbons.’ Tegan walked on, but stopped again, not catching what he said next.

  ‘What?’ she asked, sensing its importance.

  ‘If it is the girl –’

  Tegan nodded, finishing his sentence for him.

  ‘She’ll go looking for him.’

  Out of the crowds at last, Brede put Grainne from her mind, and got her foot into the stirrup. Hauling herself into the saddle, she glanced at Sorcha.

  ‘You’re frowning,’ she said.

  Sorcha raised her chin, and continued to frown. Brede turned Guida awkwardly, and bringing her round close to Macsen’s side, she reached over, pulling Sorcha’s plait. Sorcha turned her head, so that her cheek lay against Brede’s ungloved hand.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  ‘We can’t go outside the walls, but I’ve found the river a good place to exercise the horses.’ Sorcha nodded. She wasn’t likely to forget that. Brede lifted her chin slightly, part defiance, part mischief. ‘Then we’re going to an inn, remember?’

  ‘Which inn?’

  ‘West Gate.’

  Sorcha gave Brede a considering look.

  ‘Comfortable beds?’

  ‘I didn’t ask,’ Brede said archly, and gave Guida a sharp kick, which set her off at a reasonable pace towards the river.

  Brede was grateful for the wind in her face, and the certain strength of Guida’s muscles, putting more and more space between herself
and the claustrophobia of Grainne’s chambers. She allowed Guida to choose the pace, and thought of nothing.

  Sorcha watched Brede riding ahead of her with wistful jealousy. No matter how much she sang to Macsen, he would never be half the horse Guida was, nor would she ever have a tenth of Brede’s skill. However, she was prepared to try. She kicked Macsen lightly, encouraging him to greater speed. He surged after Guida, and, briefly, Sorcha understood Brede’s insistence that horses shaped her life, and that she could never be complete without them.

  With that thought in her mind, Sorcha came level with Brede, and called out to her. As the horses slowed to a walk, Brede reached out, snatching at Macsen’s rein, pulling him close, so that he walked shoulder to shoulder with Guida for a few steps, then idled to a halt, content to nuzzle thoughtfully at Guida’s head strap. Brede twisted about, gathering Sorcha into her arms, awkward, passionate.

  Guida stepped away from Macsen; unhappy at being close to a beast she knew to be vicious, and forced them apart.

  ‘What is it you are so afraid of?’ Sorcha asked, nudging Macsen close again.

  ‘Being wrong.’

  ‘Wrong?’

  ‘You don’t say much. You keep secrets, perhaps one of those secrets is that you don’t really want to be here.’

  ‘Dear Goddess, what gave you that idea?’

  ‘Silence, mostly.’

  ‘Were you not listening up on the roof, Brede? I was listening to you. I want to be here. No, that isn’t quite true – I want to be with you, I want to be out of this mail, in a bed, with you.’ Sorcha glanced at Brede’s face and laughed. ‘Right now,’ she said firmly, and walked Macsen close again so that she could reach out and touch Brede’s arm. ‘Right now.’

  Brede ducked her head as she passed under the lintel of the stable. Guida protested softly at being brought back inside so soon, objecting to being brought through the crowds to no better purpose than this, a strange stable.

  A child scrambled to her feet, reaching out an impatient hand for the reins, and Guida chose to complain at this too. Brede scolded her impatiently. The horse flicked an irritable ear, but restrained her awkward movements. The child’s hand dropped and she stared at Brede, taking in the sword and mail, the lack of saddlebags, the apparent lack of bond-collar. She could see the horse hadn’t come far, and was suspicious. She also recognised the words the warrior had used to her steed. Brede’s eyes met hers, as she dismounted and handed over the reins, almost questioning, but as swiftly dismissing.