Across the Sea (Islands in the Mist Series Book 2)

by J. M. Hofer

  She approached him that evening after supper. “Colwyn, I must ask a favor of you.”

  “Anything, you know that.” Colwyn smiled.

  She had considered a million ways to say what she needed to say, but in the end, opted for simple and direct.

  “I’m with child, and I need someone to take a message to the father.”

  Colwyn’s reaction was so joyful, one would have thought that he was to be the father himself. He jumped up and ran to kiss her hands, happier than she had seen him since they had come to live at the villa. It filled her heart with hope. No matter what happened, she realized her child could grow up there, safe and loved in that house, with Colwyn and Aveta for godparents.

  “I’ll see if any of the farmers wish to come along and take some goods to trade,” Colwyn said, “but of course your message to Bran will be delivered in private.”

  “Yes, it must be private, and only from you. Don’t take anyone’s offer to deliver it on your behalf, not even from his sister.”

  “Only to him, and only by me,” Colwyn promised with a wink. “Aye, lad or lass, this house’ll be a joy again!” His eyes sparkled. “When’s the wee treasure coming, then?”

  “In six moons or so. The poor thing will be born in the cold of winter.” Somehow, saying it out loud made her realize how little time she had to prepare. Her heart began to race with a mix of fear and excitement.

  “I’ll see to it Aveta has plenty of good wool to spin upon that loom of hers,” Colwyn promised. “Now, I’m off to bed. I’ve much to do tomorrow.” He left and went to the cottage, which he had now moved into, insisting he liked it much better than the villa.

  After the kitchen work was done, Aveta and Lucia sat down in front of the fire and enjoyed the sense of peace left in the wake of Colwyn’s joy.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A New Course

  “Ho! Irwyn!” Elffin called.

  Irwyn was in the middle of a huddle of Oaks, giving them direction on a number of things.

  “When do you begin building?”

  “Today. I plan to take all the gold Bran has offered.”

  “It’s only been a month!” Elffin marveled.

  “Yes.” Irwyn noticed something over Elffin’s shoulder and called out in alarm. “No, no! Not like that!” He looked back at Elffin apologetically. “I must go.”

  “Yes, go—sorry to have bothered you.” He smiled. “I’ll speak with you later tonight.”

  Elffin left him to his work. He had checked in with him daily since their return, refusing to take any chances with Ula’s freedom. Irwyn had never disappointed him. Though his motivations were clearly to line his own pockets, it did not matter to Elffin—so long as the job got done, and got done well.

  Irwyn had recruited a goodly number of men from Bran’s clan, all of them young, bright and strong. They had built themselves a camp, not far from the shipyards. Irwyn lived there among them rather than in the castle. “Your men must see you as one of their own, yet stronger than them,” he had explained to Elffin. “And I can watch them much better from here.”

  Irwyn had made the right decision, for the young Oaks were keen to please him. They worked long days, rarely stopping to rest. When daylight failed, they would grill a modest meal of fish and spend a few hours drinking and singing around the fire.

  Irwyn spent all of his time with them, rarely taking meals under Garanhir’s roof, but coming regularly every morning with a few of the Oaks to pick up their daily allotment of bread and ale. He also gave a report of their progress to Einon, along with any issues that required coin.

  Elffin was certain Einon would have chosen to live in the camp as well, were it not for his age. “Sleeping on the ground and drinking every night are for the young,” he had scoffed. A decent bed seemed to be the extent of his taste for fine things, however. Though he lived in the castle as a guest, he did not indulge in any of the luxuries that Gwythno was famous for. He preferred taking simple meals in his room and went to bed as soon as the sun went down. In the morning, he would walk to his forge near the shipyards. There, he spent his day pounding out the metalwork the ships required. There was much of it, and he, too, had a team of men at his command.

  Elffin grew envious of the intense sense of purpose in the shipyards. One morning, he went along with Einon and demanded that Irwyn put him to work. To his surprise, Irwyn was more than happy to do it, and he found he had an affinity for it.

  “You have…builder’s mind,” Irwyn said to him some days later, with an approving nod. The compliment had filled him with pride. He felt more satisfied than he had in years. He spent his days working at the shipyard with the Oaks, returning sore, tired and satisfied in the evenings.

  “You like working on the ships,” Ula said to him one night as they sat by the fire. She was now speaking as well as any of them.

  “I do,” Elffin replied with a smile, rocking Taliesin in his cradle. “Irwyn has agreed to teach me everything he knows. I’m learning. I think it’s the work I’m meant to do. I love working with my hands.” He glanced down at them. They were no longer a young lord’s hands. Now, they were rough and thickly calloused by work—and he liked it. “I built a castle of my own, once. Do you know what happened to it, darling?”

  Ula shook her head.

  “The sea came and claimed it.” He gave a sad laugh. “We must have much in common, the sea and I, for it seems all the things I love, she loves as well.” He reached over to stroke Ula’s cheek. “So you see, now I’ll build beautiful ships, and they’ll kiss the sea, so she won’t be jealous anymore. All will be well.”

  Ula smiled. Her hair was pulled back tightly, which was unusual. The other ladies must have talked her into it. Normally, it hid her face and danced around her shoulders. Her eyes seemed larger than ever—huge, round, brown eyes—and those lashes!

  “Marry me,” he whispered, overwhelmed with love for her.

  She wrinkled her nose. “What does that mean?”

  He blushed and explained, “It means we make a home together, live together, and sleep together, and if you wish, we can have more babies.”

  Ula glanced over at Taliesin and shifted uncomfortably in her seat, so he tried again. “Not like Tegid Voel—you’re free. We can live wherever you like. On a ship, even, so you can smell the sea, day and night.”

  “You, me, and Seachild—we’ll live together?”

  “Yes.” Ula always called the boy Seachild. She never called him Taliesin.

  “Then, yes.”

  Overjoyed, he moved closer, put his arm around her, and held her close long after the fire had died down.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Heart or Honor

  “What?” Bran exclaimed, his head swimming.

  “Lady Lucia is expectin’ your child, my lord, come winter,” Colwyn repeated. “She had me swear to deliver the news to you myself, so I beg your pardon for insistin’ I see you in person.”

  “No, no, of course. You did the right thing.” Bran’s mind raced. “Are you being treated well? You’ve received fair trade for your wares?”

  “Yes, my lord. I’ve traded very well, thank you. I may have need of a new horse next season, and will certainly come to your clan.”

  Bran nodded, doing his best to hide his anxiety. “Have you room for any more goods? I have some things I’d like to send with you, for Lucia.”

  “Yes, I’m certain I could manage.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow, first light.”

  “Good. I’ll send someone down to you.” Bran motioned to a few men.

  “Thank you, my lord.” Colwyn turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Bran called.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Tell her I’m very pleased. I’ll come to see her before the moon is full.”

  “I will, my lord.” Colwyn gave Bran a nod and a smile and left.

  Colwyn’s words echoed relentlessly in his mind: “Lucia has returned to live at her
villa, and she is with child—your child, my lord.”

  Why is she no longer among the sisters? What happened? And why in Arawn’s name didn’t she tell me? It was mid-September and nearing harvest time, which meant she had been with child for nearly four moons already.

  “Damn the gods!” Bran yelled, pounding the arm of his chair. He stormed out of the motherhouse, his head teeming with the repercussions of Colwyn’s news. There’s got to be something I can do. I need Islwyn.

  He made for the Grove immediately, thundering through the trees like a stag to get the druid’s counsel on the matter. He came upon him gathering hazelnuts.

  “Islwyn! I must speak with you!”

  “Come here and help me finish this. Then we can talk.”

  Bran impatiently helped him finish his work, and then the two of them sat down in his little hut.

  “So,” prompted Islywn. “Talk.”

  “Lucia has left the Isle, and she’s with child,” Bran blurted. “My child.”

  Islwyn did not look at all surprised to hear it. He put a few nuts on a flat rock and then smashed them with another rock. He tossed the broken bits of shell aside, picked out the nuts, and popped them in his mouth. “And, you want to know what you should do about it?”

  “Yes.”

  Islwyn nodded slowly, munching happily and repeating the process. He offered some to Bran.

  Bran shook his head.

  “Well,” Islwyn finally answered. “What do you want to do about it?”

  “What I want is to bring her here, and make her my queen—to raise my son with his people.”

  “Certain it will be a boy, are you?” Islwyn queried, raising an eyebrow.

  Bran realized he had not even considered the possibility it might be a girl.

  “Yet you have given your word to marry the young Mererid. It’s she you’ve promised to make your queen.”

  “I have,” Bran admitted in defeat. “I’ve given my word to Garanhir.”

  “A bit challenging.” Islwyn put the rock down.

  Bran did not bother to restrain his frustration. “Yes! Why didn’t she send word? She’s known for four moons that she’s with child, yet sent no word until now? Why?” He threw a handful of nutshells as far as he could.

  Islwyn pulled on his long beard.

  “And that’s not all,” Bran continued. “She’s left the Sisterhood. After her long speech to me about how she wanted to dedicate her life to the Great Mother, she left the Isle—she‘s returned to her land and villa.” Bran felt his chest constrict. “I need your help, Islwyn—I must think of a way to appease Garanhir and get him to release me from my betrothal to his daughter.”

  “Are you certain Lucia will consent to be your queen?”

  “She will.” It was not arrogance that led him to say it, but rather the knowledge that he loved her, and she loved him. “Why else would she send word about the child?”

  Islwyn stopped asking questions. “It seems you must decide what’s more important to you—your honor or your heart.”

  “But that’s my dilemma—they’re of equal value to me.”

  Islwyn nodded, looking him in the eyes for so long that Bran started to fidget. “I fear you cannot come out of this without damage to one or the other—you must choose.”

  “I was too hasty,” Bran conceded with a sigh.

  It seemed to be what Islwyn had been waiting to hear, for he softened and put a hand on Bran’s shoulder. “You are a good man—an honorable man. I’m certain you’ll find a way to do what’s right. Now, I must get back to work.”

  Feeling just as conflicted as he had the moment he’d arrived, Bran bid Islwyn farewell and made his way back toward the village.

  The late afternoon sun was settling upon the trees. The leaves were starting to turn, their edges beginning to fade from green to yellow. Change was indeed in the air, both within and without.

  The idea of sending Mererid back to her father sickened him, for truthfully, she was a joy. In the three moons that she had spent among his people, all who met her found her charming. She was always the first to jump up and dance when the music started after a feast, pulling people up on their feet to join her. She could also play the harp and sing like a nightingale. He did not yet look upon her as a man looked upon a woman, for she was still a young maiden, but he could see the woman she was destined to become. She would captivate many hearts.

  The terrible truth was there was no reason in the world to send her home to her father. He also knew her shame and humiliation would be so deep, that it would likely take her a long time to recover from the blow—if she ever did. He also risked the trade agreement and good will that he had worked so hard to establish with Garanhir and Elffin.

  He was faced with a terrible choice—he either did this reprehensible thing to Mererid, or forfeited being with the woman he truly loved, who carried his child.

  Gods, Lucia, why didn’t you consent to be my queen when I asked? he lamented, worrying about what Islwyn had said. Or will you make a fool of me once more?

  There was nothing he could do, except go to her and find out.

  ***

  It was nearly dusk when Bran neared Lucia’s villa. Gethen perked up as they rounded the last grove of trees and her house came into view. Smoke was rising from the chimney, and Bran’s heart beat quickened in his chest. What will she look like? How changed will she be?

  Colwyn spotted him approaching and waved. He was waiting for him at the stable door when he arrived. “Tis a good thing you’ve come.”

  Worry curdled Bran’s stomach. “Why? How is she?”

  “Well-enough, but she’s been lackin’ somethin’ of her bright spirit lately.” He paused a moment, looking as if he might say something further, but then seemed to think the better of it and settled on repeating himself. “Tis a good thing you’ve come.”

  The thought of Lucia in distress drove all thoughts of Garanhir and Mererid from his mind.

  “Go to her, my lord,” Colwyn said, taking Gethen’s reins. “Don’t worry, I’ll see to your horse—treat him like a prince, I will.”

  “Thank you.”

  Bran spied a barrel of rainwater. He bent down, washed the road off his hands and face, and then walked up to the villa. After a bit of poking around, he found Lucia by the well in the courtyard, pulling up a bucket, with her back to him. She heard his steps on the stones and turned around.

  “Let me do that.” He went over, pulled up the bucket, set it down, and then pulled her to his chest. He held her tightly until he felt her relax. After a moment, he could feel her body convulsing in silent sobs. “I didn’t think you’d come,” she whispered.

  “Gods, Lucia, do you think I’m a monster?” He lifted her chin and looked her in the eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  Before Lucia could answer, Aveta appeared in the courtyard. “Supper’s ready,” she announced with a smile. ”Hello, Lord Bran.”

  Bran smiled back at her. “Hello, Aveta.”

  Lucia pulled away. “You must be hungry. Let’s go in.”

  They followed Aveta to the kitchen where Colwyn was waiting with ale. Thank the gods. I need a drink.

  They all shared a pleasant, yet somewhat awkward, meal together, and retired early.

  Lucia led him to her bedchamber. She unpinned her hair, freeing a mass of red curls which had grown much since he had last seen her. As she undressed, he noticed the swell of her belly and breasts under her shift. A wave of protectiveness came over him. One way or another, he would take her home with him.

  He undressed and used the basin in her chamber to wash himself more thoroughly. He lay down and beckoned to her. “Come here.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “I grow wider each day. Like a cow. And I’m beginning to move like one. Soon I’ll need to sleep in the stable.” She let out a tired and defeated sigh.

  He laughed and pulled her down next to him. “Why did you not tell me sooner?” he whispered, caressing her
belly.

  She sighed. “I don’t want to speak of it tonight. Tonight, just hold me.”

  He indulged her. “Tomorrow, then.”

  “Tomorrow.” She nestled into his shoulder and slept well for the first time in moons.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Penance

  Though he could hear the birds singing and the day was a clear one, Garanhir’s hall felt like a sepulcher. It had been nearly five moons since he had seen his daughter, Mererid. When Lord Bran suggested he bring her home to visit—and that he would personally escort her—he had been thrilled. He had not expected at all what was being put before him now.

  “I don’t care how many bastards you father, or how many mistresses you take!” he bellowed, as close to Bran’s face as he dared. “You gave me your word that you would take my daughter for your bride. If you refuse to honor your word, you shall pay for it!”

  “I’m prepared to pay for my mistakes,” Bran replied in a low, humble tone. “There’s more you must know. It would adversely affect your daughter’s future, were I to take her as my wife.”

  “What?” Garanhir barked.

  “If the Lady Lucia bears me a son, he will be my first-born. My wealth and title would go to him when I pass on. Your daughter’s sons would only inherit if he should die. I know you think me callous, but I’m very fond of Mererid, as is my clan, and I want only the best for her.”

  “Damn you, Bran of the Oaks!” he burst out in frustration, turning his back on him and staring out the window.

  His advisor, Seithenin, was now pacing along the far wall of the hall, no doubt growing anxious that he might agree to something that he should not. Garanhir decided to put the man out of his misery. “I’ve not yet decided what terms I shall ask from you to salve this egregious wound, Bran of the Oaks.” He glanced at Seithenin. “I must discuss it with my advisor. Say nothing to my daughter in the meantime.”

  “Of course,” Bran sighed. “When you decide how I can make amends for this unfortunate situation, send Einon for me. I’ll be staying with my clansmen, in their camp by the shipyards. I wouldn’t dream of enjoying your hospitality under the circumstances.”