A servant escorted him to a private chamber and gave him leave to enter. Aidan at first thought it odd that he would be so summarily sent in to face his aunt and the lord of Erinn—Liam, Aidan's grandfather, had died four years before—but the servant merely smiled and opened the door. Aidan stepped in.
A man stood just inside of the door. His broad back was to Aidan; he leaned on a longsword, nodding from time to time. As he heard the door shut he glanced back briefly, showing a strong-featured face, then returned his attention to the other occupants.
It was a practice chamber, Aidan saw in surprise. Not the private chambers of a lord and his lady, but a chamber reserved for learning the use of weapons. Racks filled the walls, full of swords, spears, pikes, halberds and other deadly things. The room itself was plain, with no illumination save for torch brackets set high in the walls, spilling light into the chamber. On steel, it ran like water.
Two people sparred in the chamber, scuffing across smooth stone. Aidan paid them little notice as he quietly shut the door, then stepped up next to the man just before him and made the mental adjustment to change languages. He had learned his Erinnish from Aileen and Deirdre and spoke it passingly well, but with a Homanan accent.
"My lord?" he began diffidently.
The other barely glanced at him. "A moment," he said briefly. "They'll be done soon enough."
Aidan looked. A man and a woman. To himself, he smiled: he knew without even asking who the woman was. Only Keely knew the sword, and was so steadfast in its art.
But nothing in their sparring led him to believe she and her teacher would be done any time soon. They seemed well matched, and neither in any hurry to end the bout. They led one another into traps, parried expertly, patiently began again. Faces were flushed and breathing was loud, but both were obviously supremely fit and not in the least winded.
This might last all day… Except the man at his side—Sean, he assumed—had said it was nearly done. Aidan glanced sideways at the big man by his side. "How can you tell?"
The other smiled. "I'm the sword-master. I'm supposed to be knowing these things."
Surprise stole diffidence. "You are the sword-master?"
The man grinned, showing a gap in one side of his upper teeth; an eyetooth was missing. "Aye. Did you think I was the lord?"
Aidan slanted him a glance. No, now that he knew better. He was too rough, too worn for lordship. And certainly too old; Sean was, he knew, closer to fifty than to forty. This man was older yet.
Intently, he glanced back at the couple. "Then that, I take it, is Sean."
"Aye. And yon woman the lady." The sword-master grinned. "If he's not careful, she'll have him. And then we'll be hearing all about it for at least a seven-day."
"He's too big," Aidan protested instantly, with no prick of reproval for discounting Keely so quickly. "Much too big—how could a woman beat him?"
The older man cast Aidan a considering glance. "You're not from Erinn, lad, in spite of your Erinnish—or you'd be knowing the answer."
It stung. "I am of Erinn. That woman is my aunt—your lord is my uncle."
The sword-master grunted. "The House is a large one… I'm not knowing which one you are."
Aidan blinked. "Homana," he answered. "Grandson to the Mujhar."
It earned him another glance, but this one was equally unimpressed. "There's another of those here."
Aye, so there was: Keely's son, Riordan, if Aidan recalled correctly. "Aye, but—" He broke off, staring. "She will beat him!"
"Aye. She has before." The sword-master grinned. " 'Twill be a noisy meal."
Aidan was astonished. He had heard of Sean's legendary size and prowess from his mother and others. He had expected to find Sean smaller in fact, since stories were often wrong, but this time it was the truth. Sean of Erinn was a very large man of very obvious strength… and yet Keely was beating him.
Until Sean hooked her foot and dropped her like a stone.
"You ku'reshtin!" She glared up at him from the floor. "It was to be a true bout, not a wrestling match!"
Sean grinned down at her. "I wanted to win, lass. To do it, I'll be doing whatever I must. So will any man with a bit of a brain in his head."
"Ku'reshtin," she muttered, more quietly. She hitched herself up on elbows, wincing elaborately. "I would have had you, and you know it."
"I know it," Sean agreed cheerfully, leaning on his sword. "Why d'ye think I cheated?"
"A Cheysuli would never have done—"
"A Cheysuli most likely wouldn't have a sword in his hand in the first place." Sean reached down. "Here, lass, catch hold—I'll not leave you on the floor."
"But you'll throw me there." Keely caught his hand and let him pull her up. She wore snug Cheysuli leathers and soft, supple boots mostly suited for household use. Blond hair was braided back from a face no longer young, but striking for its spirit. She was tall, slender, fit. She was also past forty, but age sat lightly on her. She moved like a young woman as she bent to pick up the fallen sword. "So," she said, "you win. Next time will be different."
" 'Twill always be different—next time." Sean cast a glance at Aidan, thick eyebrows sliding up beneath a tangle of curly hair. He was blond, bearded, brown-eyed, with shoulders fit for a plow. "So, lad, you're here. Are we to know who you are, coming so freely into our home?"
Aidan smiled faintly, displaying his heavy signet. "I was brought here properly. And I did pass the test."
Keely studied him. A frown knitted brows. "You have the look and the eyes… but that is not Cheysuli hair."
"Erinnish," he agreed with resignation, wondering how often he would have to explain himself. "Aileen's hair, . though darker; Brennan gave me something."
Keely's eyes widened. Aidan found it briefly amusing that she should remark on color; she was fair-haired, fair-skinned and blue-eyed, and no gold on her arms. He more than she had the right to invoke their race.
"Not Aidan," she said. "You were a sickly child… Aileen said you had outgrown it, but I did not expect this!"
Aidan nodded gravely. "I am better now. Instead of dying today, I will wait until tomorrow."
Sean laughed aloud, sliding his sword back into a rack. Keely did not smile, though a spark in her eyes kindled. She studied Aidan closely, much as she would, he thought, a horse. "Brennan's son," she mused. "Are you as stuffy and pompous as he is?"
Aidan sighed aloud, though inwardly he laughed. She was everything they said; probably more. He was looking forward to it. "He was hoping marriage had forced you to grow up… I'll be telling him the truth: you're obviously as bad as you ever were."
Keely scowled. "Don't be giving me that Erinnish cant, my lad… you've never been here, boyo, and I've lived here very nearly longer than you've been alive."
She had gained her own share of the cant. Aidan, grinning, offered her the courteous bow she would, he knew, scorn. It was why he did it. "They tell stories of you," he said. "Would you like to hear them now?"
Sean's big hand closed on Keely's shoulder. "Not now, lad—we'll be due some wine and ale. Come into the hall with us; Keely will mind her tongue."
"Then I will be disappointed."
"Ku'reshtin," she said calmly, handing her sword to the man still waiting by the door. "Well? He beat me."
"He cheated," the big sword-master said equably. " 'Tis the only way he can win. I've taught you that much, lass, in the years since you've come."
Keely laughed and slapped a corded arm. "Aye, so you have—but perhaps you should look to a new lesson that teaches me how to cheat."
Sean shoved open the door. " 'Tis n't in you, lass… you've too much Cheysuli honor." He waved her through impatiently, eyeing Aidan with great good cheer. "Have ye come for long, lad?"
Aidan followed Keely. "Long enough to find a wife."
His aunt stopped dead in her tracks, swinging to face him abruptly. "A wife," she said softly. "And would you be meaning my girl?"
Aidan smiled blandly. "I wouldn't be meaning
your boy."
It was not, perhaps, the best way to put himself in Keely's favor, but then he had not come to give her the kindnesses and false courtesies she had, from all reports, always despised. He knew enough of her history to be fully aware she would be less inclined to consider his suit than Sean, who was, his sister said, a reasonable, intelligent man. Aileen had also said Keely was much the same, but could be difficult. Aidan did not yet know if marriage to Shona would be suitable, but there was no sense in lying about the reason he had come. Especially to Keely.
Even now, as Sean led the way into the central hall and waved him into a chair and handed down a cup of Erinnish liquor, Keely's expression was stiff. "Does Brennan want this?"
Aidan sipped, blinked surprise at the bite of the liquor, then raised the cup in tribute to Sean. All as he looked at Keely. "Not this particularly," he said, "but he wants me married, aye."
A faint line etched itself between her brows. " 'Not this particularly,' " she quoted. "An odd thing to say. Does that mean my oldest rujholli argues against my daughter?"
Sean snorted. "I doubt he'd be such a fool. 'Twould be a good match." He ignored the black glance Keely cast him and contented himself with settling his large body into a rough, iron-bound chair. Blond beard parted slightly to exhibit white teeth. "You married into Erinn, and Erinn into Homana. He'd hardly be a man for saying the lass isn't worthy of it."
Keely, who remained standing very near Aidan's chair, tapped a booted right foot briefly. "No," she conceded. "All right, then, kinsman—what is your meaning?"
Aidan did not answer at once, distracted by his surroundings. Kilore was not a place of much refinement. Certainly nothing like Homana-Mujhar, or even Hart's castle in Lestra. It was, first and foremost, a fortress. The casements were tall but very narrow, more like arrow-loups than windows, and the cavernous ceiling was broken up only by greenish, studded beams as big around as a man. Illumination was negligible, save for the blazing fire in the massive fireplace.
"Well?" Keely prodded.
Recalling her question, Aidan smiled. "He merely said he wants me married." The smile stretched into an ironic downward hook. "It is suggested the Lion might be happier with one more male in line to plant a rump in the wooden lap."
Keely's mouth twisted. "How like him," she said lightly, then turned away from Aidan. She took up from a nearby table the cup Sean had poured her, then perched herself on the edge. "And does Aileen say the same?"
"She says I should have more time." Aidan shrugged. "I doubt it will make a difference. The Mujhar is in good health, and my jehan is young enough to rule for decades after. If I take a cheysula now and get a son on her, or wait ten more years, I doubt the Lion would notice."
Keely's gaze was steady. Pointedly, she said. "And yet you are here."
Sean stirred in his chair. "Lass, the lad's not a child. Could be he's ready for a wife." Brown eyes warmed. "Though perhaps he'll think better of it once he's met our lass."
Aidan smiled back. He liked Sean very much. "Is she much like her jehana?"
Sean's brows rose. "Like us both, lad… a full plate, you might say."
"She has a mind of her own," Keely declared. "No daughter of mine will ever sit behind a man when her place is beside him."
Sean nodded blandly. "No daughter of yours would dare such a thing, with you to set her straight."
Aidan laughed into his cup. "Aye, well… I did not set out for Shona. I went to Solinde first—"
"Blythe," Keely said at once. She nodded consideringly. "There has been a Solindish-born Queen of Homana before… but very long ago." She frowned faintly. "Though there was grief of it—Electra betrayed Carillon by becoming Tynstar's light woman."
"And bore him a child. Strahan." Aidan sighed, thinking of Strahan's son. "It does not matter so much any more… Blythe is not at the moment ready for marriage, to me or to anyone else." He frowned consideringly into his cup, then sorted out his words. Quietly he told them the story of what had happened.
Softly, yet with a great malignancy, Keely cursed Lochiel when Aidan was done. And the man who had sired him.
"So," she said viciously, "this time they strike at Solinde. If they cannot take Homana directly, they will try another way." She slammed down the cup. Wine sloshed over the rim. "To murder a helpless infant…" Three long, stiff strides carried her toward the fireplace. All Aidan saw was her back, and its eloquent rigidity. After a moment she turned. "It will be worse for Blythe."
Neither man spoke, transfixed by her intensity.
"Worse," Keely repeated. "For me, it was force. But Blythe bedded him willingly—" Keely's face spasmed. "She will hate herself for that."
Sean stirred, stretching out a hand. "Lass—"
Keely shook her head. "You were right to leave her, Aidan. She will want nothing to do with marriage for now. Perhaps for some time to come. And if there is a child—" The lines of her face altered. She looked older, and tired. "She will have to make her choice, just as I did. Although, in the end, the gods saw to it themselves…" Keely sighed and thrust splayed fingers into her hair, stripping loosened loops back from her cheeks. "If Hart has any sense, he will show her the proper way of performing i'toshaa-ni."
Aidan smiled faintly. "Hart has sense." He shifted forward in his chair. "Aye, I came to speak of Shona and marriage; even so, I am not convinced she is the only alternative… if we do not suit, I will not insist on it." He thought of his parents. "I know better."
Keely's expression was odd. "I thought that long finished. In her letters, Aileen says they do well enough—"
Aidan, who had no desire to bog himself down in a convoluted discussion of the feelings between his parents, interrupted smoothly. "Let us say I would prefer a match well-suited from the beginning. As yours was."
Keely and Sean exchanged glances. Sean grinned crookedly, but swallowed more liquor rather than say anything. Keely's manner was brusque. "Aye, well… it speaks well of you that you are willing to consider Shona's feelings instead of politics. Aileen's doing, I'd wager; Brennan thinks too much of the Lion."
"A common curse, among our kin." Aidan relaxed back 'into the big copper-bound chair, hooking the foot of his goblet over his belt buckle. He was weary from the journey, but it was a good weariness. What he felt most was a deep, abiding contentment. It came, he sensed, from Kilore herself… and the couple who lived with her.
Keely smiled for the first time since he had met her. "You look more suited to Kilore than Homana-Mujhar, or even Clankeep. There may be more of Erinn in your blood than Homana."
He smiled back, unoffended. "My jehana has said that once or twice… until I come back from Clankeep, and then she says I am naught but Cheysuli, prickly pride and all."
Sean grunted. "I am in a better place to judge, I'm thinking, not being biased." He ignored Keely's skeptical grunt. "And 'tis too soon to know… how long d'ye plan to stay?"
Aidan opened his mouth to answer—he thought to stay until he and Shona knew if there was a chance, or no—but was interrupted by a treble voice piercing the hall as the big door, opened by a servant, disgorged an angry boy.
" 'Tis n't fair!" he cried, marching across to hall to stop in front of his father. " 'Tis n't fair at all. She hasn't the right to be ordering me around, this way and that—and no right at all to take the bow away!"
He was blond, like both his parents, and his eyes were Keely's blue. His skin was very fair, as Sean's must have been before wind and time had weathered it. If there was any Cheysuli in him, Aidan could not see it.
"The bow," Sean said blankly.
"My bow," the boy declared, and then had the grace to look abashed. "At least, 'twould be my bow if you saw fit to let me have one." He slanted a blue-eyed glance at his mother. "Shona has a bow."
Keely nodded gravely. "Shona is somewhat older."
"But she's a girl," Riordan declared.
Sean grinned. "A lad with eyes in his head, is it?" He sat forward in his chair, shifting a body much la
rger than that of his son's. Aidan wondered fleetingly which branch of the Houses Riordan would emulate: the broad bulk of his father's, or the slender fitness of his mother's. "When you're a mite older, lad, you'll be having your own bow. If Shona's told you no, 'tis because she tends your welfare."
" 'Tis n't," Riordan retorted. " 'Tis because she thinks she's better."
Keely sighed. It was, somewhat obviously, an old argument. "A Cheysuli warbow is not something a boy should play with, Riordan—"
"I wasn't playing with it," he declared. "I was trying to shoot at a target, just as Shona does—just as you do—but she caught me at it and took the bow away." He sighed aggrievedly. " 'Tis bad enough already… now they'll be saying I'm a coward afraid of his sister."
"Who will?" Sean asked.
The small face was downcast. "All the other boys."
Sean and Keely exchanged a glance. The interplay was subtle: Sean's arched brow, Keely's lifted shoulder.
" 'Tis something we should be tending to, then, I'm thinking," Sean said quietly. "Tomorrow we'll see to finding you a bow—a boy's bow, Riordan, not a Cheysuli warbow—and we'll set out to learn the proper way. I'll not be having them say you're a coward, but neither will I be having a boy too small for a warbow chance hurting someone else."
Riordan, who had been all set to argue, saw he would lose even that much if he protested. So he did not. He merely grinned at both his parents, slanted a briefly curious glance at Aidan, then headed out of the room. His posture was one of irrepressible exuberance.
"Nine," Keely said, before Aidan could ask. "And spoiled near to rotting by a much too permissive jehan."
Sean sat back in his chair, smiling blandly. "Aye, well… I am the Lord of Erinn. Who is there to stop me?"
Aidan watched the door thump closed. "Nine," he mused. "Too young yet for lir-sickness, or any signs of it."
Keely's mouth twisted. "He may never require a lir. The Erinnish blood, I have discovered, is thicker than our own… Shona has none of my gifts, and Riordan may miss as well." She flicked an unreadable glance at Sean. "But as it is Erinn he will inherit, there may be no need."
Cheysuli 7 - Flight of the Raven Page 24