Muse

by Kylie Quillinan

  I had found no opportunity to speak privately to Caedmon since the night we sat up late, drinking ale in front of the fire. I sought him out over and over but he was never where people said he had intended to go. For everyone else, the longest night of the year was cause for celebration, for the Solstice heralded the turn of winter and an end to the long darkness. For me, spring's pleasures seemed far away.

  As the sun sent streaks of fire through the sky, I returned to my bedchamber and changed into my best shirt, my fingers fumbling over the buttons. The mere thought of talking to a woman caused my hands to shake and my knees to tremble, even when alone in my bedchamber. If I had cause to actually speak to one, my voice would croak, words would come out in the wrong order and sooner or later I would skulk away, thoroughly embarrassed.

  I threw myself onto the bed, intending to linger for a few minutes. I needed just a little longer alone. I had never before had cause to disagree with Caedmon, never voiced a thought in opposition to him. He, of all my brothers, was the one I looked up to. Ida whispered something that I ignored. There was no room in my mind for her at present.

  Tonight's celebrations were at the neighbouring estate of Three Trees. Was it was one of the daughters of that family with whom Caedmon had made his arrangements? They were pretty, bubbly girls — four of them — and I routinely avoided them. Their constant giggles and banter confused me and I was never sure whether they were flirting or making fun of me.

  What would the girl, whoever she was, think of the fact that my brother had asked her to bed me? Would she laugh or politely restrain her mirth? She might assume I had some deformity or perhaps that I was feeble. Would I even be able to speak to her or would the words flee, leaving me standing open-mouthed and her certain I was a simpleton? Oh dear gods, perhaps she wasn't the first girl Caedmon had approached.

  Lost in thought, I was startled when Caedmon entered my bedchamber. He looked very fine in a red shirt with gold braid on the cuffs. As usual, he didn't wait for an invitation but flung himself onto the bed, jostling me aside as if I weighed no more than a child.

  "So, little brother," he said.

  "Caedmon, where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you." I sat up and scooted down to the end, as my narrow bed wasn't wide enough for the two of us to lie side by side.

  "I'm sure you have. But no cowardice tonight, eh? It's all arranged. All you have to do is show up and be a man."

  "Who is it?" Not that I had any intention of going through with his plan.

  "Her name is Rhiwallon."

  "Do I know her?"

  "Do you want her family history? It doesn't matter who she is or where she's from. What matters is she is willing and has promised to be gentle with you."

  "She knows?" My face burned.

  "Of course she knows." Caedmon frowned. "I would hardly set you up with a girl who was unwilling."

  "But—"

  "Fine. I know you, little brother. You won't let it rest until I tell you. Rhiwallon is about three summers younger than you — I didn't exactly ask her age — and her father runs a tavern in Maker's Well. She's quite a pretty thing: red hair, green eyes, perhaps a little skinny for my tastes but she should suit you well enough."

  "She's from Maker's Well? Why is she going to Three Trees for the Solstice?"

  "Why not?" he countered with a shrug. "Does it matter? You think too much, little brother."

  "Caedmon, I can't—"

  He hauled himself up from the bed and left, pausing in the doorway to look back at me. "I've gone to a lot of effort to set this up for you, little brother."

  "I know but—"

  "It's time to leave. That's what you're wearing?"

  I smoothed my green shirt. Perhaps the fabric was not quite as bright as it used to be and a few threads had worked loose from the cuffs, but it was still perfectly decent, even if it wasn't as fine as Caedmon's. When I met his eyes again, he was frowning.

  "Wait here," he said and left.

  He returned a few moments later and tossed me a blue shirt, which had round shell buttons and silver thread around the collar and hem.

  "Hurry up," Caedmon said with a groan as I hesitated. "You don't need to inspect it. It's clean. It doesn't even have any blood stains."

  "Blood stains?"

  "Just put it on, will you?"

  Caedmon tapped his foot as I pulled off my shirt and shrugged into his, which was certainly far nicer than anything I owned. It was somewhat too big for me for I was ever slender and Caedmon was broad-shouldered and well-muscled. For a moment, I was wistful. Had I been the soldier son, that could be me right now, lending my younger brother a shirt and teaching him about women and life. But I had no younger brothers and Eithne was hardly likely to need advice from me. Besides, it wasn't like I actually intended to go along with Caedmon's plan. I would seek an opportunity to slip away from him after we arrived at Three Trees. I would find somewhere to hide and wait until it was time to leave. Caedmon would be angry but at least I wouldn't be humiliated. It wasn't much of a plan but it was all I had.

  He hustled me down the stairs and we pulled on our winter coats, which hung by the front door. With a thick scarf, gloves, a hat and my sturdy boots, I could hardly move but I would be warm.

  The rest of the family already waited by the cart. The oxen snorted and stomped impatiently. Papa wore a splendid dark blue cape and Mother had a hint of yellow showing between scarf and collar. My oldest brother Eremon stood with an arm around his wife, Niamh, who looked unusually relaxed, probably because their twins had been left with a servant. And there was Eithne, my little sister, her hair tied back with a red ribbon, eyes sparkling with excitement.

  Of course, this was not all of our family. Sitric was in Maker's Well and would attend the festivities there. Twins Marrec and Conn had also gone to the town to celebrate with the families of the women to whom they were betrothed. And, as always, Fiachra was absent, he who was training to be a druid.

  We piled into the cart and set off. The fields we passed were shadowy and empty, the sheep locked away in warm barns for the night. As the oxen hauled us ever closer to Three Trees, nausea swirled in my stomach. I fidgeted and shifted in my seat. What if I couldn't get away from Caedmon? The girl would surely laugh at me as I stammered and blushed and made my excuses. Perhaps she would tell her friends and they would giggle together. Of course, she would tell Caedmon and then all of my brothers would know too. I wanted to jump down from the cart and run straight back to Silver Downs. To distract myself, I turned to my sister who sat beside me. She was bundled up in a thick coat with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her usually pale cheeks were flushed with excitement.

  "You look pretty this evening, Eithne," I said.

  She caught my eye briefly, startled, then ducked her head and blushed. "Thank you," she whispered. "You look very handsome."

  "I'm wearing one of Caedmon's shirts," I confessed.

  Eithne smiled but didn't reply.

  "Are you meeting with friends tonight?" I asked, and then wished I hadn't for I had no wish to embarrass her.

  "Oh yes," she said with unaccustomed vivacity and then blushed again, looking away swiftly.

  I was too surprised to ask further and sat silently after that, watching the trees and homes and sheep as we trundled pass. A raven perched on the naked branches of an oak tree, watching us intently. The fire faded from the sky, replaced with encroaching blackness, and we arrived at Three Trees.

  Some distance from the lodge, a massive fire cast a golden sheen over the field. At least two dozen people were already gathered nearby, their heavy winter coats abandoned in a pile on a bench. The air echoed with laughter and the crackling of the fire.

  Caedmon had anticipated my intent to escape, for he was by my side even as I climbed down from the cart. He flung an arm across my shoulders. To anyone watching, it would look like a friendly moment of brotherly solidarity. They wouldn't see his iron grip.

  We had barely disembarked
before a servant appeared in front of us, bearing a tray of mugs. Three Trees always provided the very finest ales and Caedmon released me briefly to claim two mugs. He thrust one at me and took a swig from the other.

  "Drink up, little brother. Not too much, mind, but enough to get that tight look off your face."

  I took the mug, glancing around for hiding places. Lights shone from the direction of the house. A looming shape in the other direction would be one of the outbuildings, perhaps the barn. I could see little else in the shadows.

  Caedmon wrapped his arm around me again, keeping me clenched by his side as he greeted friends and paid his respects to our hosts. Despite his carefree and cheery air, I sensed disappointment, perhaps because Grainne, his intended bride, was nowhere to be found. He consoled himself with a special greeting for each of the daughters of the Three Trees household. Born only a year apart, they were plump and dark-haired and exceedingly giggly. I wondered how Caedmon could find anything to say to them. They apparently found him amusing, for they burst into laughter at everything he said.

  Eventually we ended up to the side of the huge fire. The air was crisp with winter's chill and heavy with the smell of smoke and roast pig and the sounds of celebration. It seemed only I dreaded this night, for everywhere I looked folk smiled and laughed and drank. A boy who looked to be around my own age slung his arm around a girl who smiled up at him. Another couple clasped hands and slipped away together into the darkness. Heat rose to my cheeks and I looked away.

  I was far too warm so close to the fire. Perhaps I should plead ill and beg of my hosts somewhere to sleep. Before I could voice my thought, servants began offering around trays of roast meat and bread. Caedmon somehow managed to eat his fill without once releasing me. I picked at a thick slice of wild boar wedged inside a loaf but had no appetite. I tried, now and then, as Caedmon conversed with various neighbours, to wiggle out from under his arm. But even when he seemed to pay me no attention, my slightest movement caused his arm to tighten.

  Under Caedmon's stern eye, I drank two mugs of ale. By the end of the second, my head swam and I was suddenly less concerned about my upcoming embarrassment. At least once this was over, Caedmon would be satisfied he had tried to make a man of me, regardless of the success or otherwise of the endeavour.

  Two men standing at the edge of the crowd caught my eye. They were druids, all brown robes and braided hair with golden torcs around their necks. They neither ate nor drank, just watched, blending into the background of the festivities. I only noticed them because the younger one caught my eye and stared for a long moment before he nodded and turned away.

  My heart thudded. Was this my brother, Fiachra? I was but five summers old when he left and I barely remembered what he looked like back then. The druid was dark-haired like all the men in our family and broad of shoulder like my brothers. His age was difficult to estimate in the shifting shadows of the fire, but druids tended to have an ageless quality anyway. I would have liked to approach him, but I didn't know what to say and I would feel like a fool if it weren't Fiachra.

  Eventually the other druid came forward to conduct the solstice ceremony. It was blessedly brief for this particular druid was one who always kept the formalities short, perhaps understanding that folk preferred to eat and drink, talk and dance than listen to a lengthy invocation of the beings of air, earth, fire and water.

  As the druids retreated back into the shadows, Caedmon secured another mug of ale for each of us. His arm was still firmly clamped over my shoulders, leaving no possibility of escape. I clutched my mug with sweaty fingers.

  "Drink that down, little brother," Caedmon ordered.

  My head already spun and my stomach rolled as I caught the lingering scent of roasted meat. Casually, as if we were merely meandering around to speak to some friends, Caedmon steered me away from the fire and towards the barn. Light shone dimly from beneath the covered windows. My heart started pounding wildly and I tried to wriggle out from under his arm. He cracked open the barn door and swiftly shoved me inside.

  "Her name is Rhiwallon," he reminded me. "And don't come back out until you're a man." He grinned at me then and raised his mug. "Have fun, little brother."

  By the time I turned to face him, he had closed the door. Ida whispered to me, dark thoughts about betrayal and desertion. Before I could think about slipping away, a voice came from behind me.

  "You must be Diarmuid."

  Her voice was soft and low, and under other circumstances I might almost have considered it pleasant. But now it merely filled me with horror. Dread trickled all the way down to my toes as I turned to face her.

  She was exactly the type of girl who always struck me dumb. Moss-green eyes sparkled as if we shared a joke. Long, reddish hair floated around her shoulders. She held herself confidently, casually, and I knew instantly she had never experienced a moment of doubt about herself. She leaned against the rough wooden wall, waiting for me to finish my inspection of her.

  "Are- are you Rhi- Rhiwallon?" Already I had made a fool of myself.

  The girl didn't answer. Instead she peeled herself off the wall and walked towards me. I thrust my mug onto a shelf, very nearly sloshing it everywhere, and shoved my hands behind my back before she could see how they trembled.

  She came right up close to me. Her head barely reached my shoulders and as she leaned in, all I could smell was summer and sunshine and herbs. I wanted to close my eyes and breathe in the scent of her.

  Rhiwallon rested a hand lightly on my chest. Could she feel how fast my heart beat?

  "Caedmon said you were handsomer than he."

  "Oh. Am I?" What a daft thing to say. Ida's mocking laugh echoed through my mind.

  "Hmm, perhaps," she said with a slow smile that filled my stomach with unexpected warmth. She reached behind me for my hand. "Come with me."

  The barn was tidy with everything put away in its place. Farm tools and horse tack hung from hooks on the walls. Smaller items sat neatly on the shelves. Rhiwallon led me to the back of the barn, past the lamp that sat on a workbench, to where the stalls were shrouded in darkness. My nose recognised both horse and cow. We entered one of the stalls where there was a large pile of fresh hay and no beast.

  Rhiwallon turned to me and her eyes were wide and dark as she wrapped her arms around my neck. She pressed her body against mine and kissed me full on the lips. I had never been kissed by a girl before, except for a brief touch on the cheek by Mother or Eithne and once by Grainne.

  Certainly those familial kisses did not make my knees knock together so loud I wondered whether anyone else heard and nor did they make my heart beat fit to burst right through my chest. Those kisses also didn't make other parts of my body respond the way Rhiwallon's kiss did and I wondered for the first time whether perhaps I could actually do this. If she was kind and gentle and didn't laugh at me, I might actually…

  Rhiwallon broke the kiss and pulled away. Keeping her gaze fixed on me, she unlaced her blouse. It fell open and I saw her bare breasts. Her skin shone in the lamplight. Rhiwallon took my hand and placed it on her breast. Her nipples hardened under my hand and I froze, wondering what I was supposed to do.

  She kissed me again and now my hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it gently explored her bare skin, stroking her soft breasts and lingering over her rounded stomach. She pulled me down into the hay. We lay side by side and she wrapped her leg around me. My hand slid down to explore the silky expanse of thigh beneath her skirts and she moaned and wriggled closer to me. As her hand edged into my trousers, panic returned. My budding desire fled and I was limp beneath her hand.

  Rhiwallon pulled her lips off mine to stare at me quizzically. "Diarmuid—"

  Mortified, I pulled away and stood, swiftly buttoning the pants I didn't even remember her undoing.

  "Diarmuid." She tried again and although her voice was gentle, I couldn't bear to stay there another moment.

  "Sorry," I muttered, straightening my borrowed shirt as I fl
ed. I tripped over something and slammed into the wall. There was a soft giggle behind me and my face flamed as I scurried out, humiliation complete.

  Caedmon loitered nearby as I exited the barn. He started to speak but my glare cut him off. I said nothing but stalked away into the darkness, seeking somewhere to hide until it was time to go home.

  8

  Diarmuid

  CAEDMON AND GRAINNE'S handfasting was a sevennight after Midwinter. I had been sleeping poorly since my encounter with Rhiwallon and woke that morning feeling morose and peevish. My dreams had been filled with the raven that stared with empty eyes while blood dripped from its beak.

  As I lay in bed, the house already echoed with the chaos and commotion of preparation for the festivities, even though dawn was barely breaking. I pulled the covers over my head. Perhaps nobody would notice if I didn't get up today. Eventually, footsteps thundering past my bedchamber and a rooster's crowing drove me from my bed.

  I dressed in yesterday's discarded clothes. What did it matter if my pants had grass stains on the seat and my shirt was splattered with soup? Nobody would notice what I wore. The only time anyone saw me — really saw me — was when I told a tale, and then it was only to criticise.

  I slunk through the house like a storm cloud, ignoring Eithne's excited cry of "Diarmuid, come here", and slipped out the back door. Swathed in coat, scarf and hat, with my boots crunching over yesterday's snow and the fields around me silent, my mood lifted somewhat. The air smelled of smoke and fir, and was empty of sound other than what I myself made. There was no chatter of voice, no clashing of pots, no crashing of brooms. The fresh, empty air cleared my head a little.