Once again she was acutely aware of her uncovered face, of the bright lights upon her, of her braided hair and dark-stained lips, and the colorful clothes and gleaming gold that so boldly invited everyone to look at her.
She tried to ignore the curious stares, but knew they must all be wondering who she was and why she was there. Then Donaill turned to look at the staring men and women, smiled and nodded pleasantly at them all, and turned back to Rioghan.
“Rioghan, look at me.” He reached out and touched the side of her cheek, his fingers gently asking her to turn her head. As she faced him, raising her chin, he drew his fingertips down the side of her neck and brushed back a strand of dark hair that had somehow escaped her braids.
“They are only curious. I don’t believe they recognize you…and I must tell you, I am not sure I would have recognized you, either. Your hair is so beautiful, for now it reveals your face, and the color of the gown and mantle sets off your eyes and your fair skin. Rioghan, you must never again wear dull black gowns or hooded cloaks.”
She bit her lip. “It is not just that I look different. They do not expect to see me here. They are wondering why someone like me—a midwife, a servant, one of the Little People—should be present at a gathering of kings and warriors and noble ladies.”
Donaill shrugged. “It does not matter whether they expect you or not. All that matters is that you have honored me by being my guest tonight, and that you eat and drink and listen to the music and enjoy yourself as you never have before, here in King Bran’s hall.”
Rioghan could not help smiling at him. “Thank you. Perhaps I will.”
Donaill lifted his gold cup of wine, like a small bowl, in both hands, and offered her a drink. After a brief hesitation she accepted, taking a small sip and looking at his glinting blue eyes over the rim. As the wine spread its warmth through her chest, Donaill too drank from the cup, and his eyes never left hers.
The other people soon turned back to their own conversations and laughter, for now the meat was being served—great slabs and joints of the roasted boars that Donaill’s two brothers had hunted.
With his jet-handled dagger, Donaill took two large slices from the wooden tray that the servants brought around and placed them on the gold plate between him and Rioghan. Using the dagger, he cut the pieces into neat strips and offered the first to her.
She accepted, reaching across the polished boards for a little gold dish of salt. As she did so she glanced down the curving row at the other people—and there she saw Airt and Coiteann sitting together. Like herself and Donaill, they shared a plate between them.
Rioghan’s hand stopped halfway to the salt. The strip of meat she held fell to the boards as she slowly withdrew her hand, staring at the other couple all the while.
Coiteann had eyes for nothing and no one but Airt. She kept his cup filled with blackberry wine and his plate heaped with oatbread and butter and honey and roasted boar, stopping the servants as they passed by and watching to see when the next course was brought out so that he might have the choicest serving.
Airt, however, sat quietly, mostly watching the others or gazing down into the burning candle as though he did not see it. He seemed to have eaten only a little bread and a few bites of meat, and touched the wine not at all.
Rioghan sat back. She continued to watch them. Donaill followed her gaze, and his mouth twisted in a wry grin when he realized who she was staring at.
“Ah, Coiteann and her newest conquest,” he said.
Rioghan began to feel cold. “You know her?”
He nodded. “Everyone knows her. She is certainly working her way up through the ranks. She began with farmers’ sons, and then moved to craftsmen and armorers, and now has caught her first warrior—at least, the first who will be seen openly with her. She must be quite pleased with herself this night.”
“I did not think that a woman like her would be of interest to a man like you.”
Donaill gave her a sideways look; then he laughed. “Half the men of this fortress have had Coiteann, but I am not one of them.” When Rioghan frowned ever so slightly and looked away, he cocked his head and touched the side of her face.
“Truly, I am not,” he said, moving his hand away as she looked up at him once more. “Why eat from the same plate as every other? I prefer my own plate, thank you very much…and I do not share it except on the most special of occasions.”
With that, he lifted their golden plate, turned it so that the newly cut pieces of roasted boar were nearest to Rioghan, and offered it to her again. She hesitated only a moment before smiling up at him and accepting another slice.
“Airt is both young and a fool,” continued Donaill. “He thinks to find importance for himself by having more than one wife, even when that one wife has made it clear to him that she will never accept another woman in her house.”
Rioghan nodded. “I know Sabha well. I know that she and Airt spoke of this before they contracted their marriage, but Airt is certain he can persuade her.”
“He is almost too certain.” He looked down the row at the other couple again, and seemed to be deep in thought. “Rioghan… I want to ask you this, for you are one who might know. Do you think that Coiteann has used more than just her own freely offered gifts to capture Airt so completely?”
Rioghan paused. “It is possible,” she answered. “I myself believed I saw the touch of dark magic on him. She may well have tried some sort of unnatural charm to hold him at her side.”
Donaill finished the piece of meat he had selected and tossed the bone back behind him into the straw. “Is she so powerful? It seems that if she had such magic she would have done more with it up to now—more than just persuade a foolish young man to take her to his bed.”
“She may well have had a little magic, but you are right—it is not enough to force his will. He could easily break free of her if he truly wished to.”
Donaill grinned. “Ah, that is what I thought! No woman’s love charm is that strong.” He offered Rioghan the wine cup again, and this time she readily accepted.
The warmth of the hall, and of the food, and of the wine, crept over Rioghan like the softest and warmest of furs, and left her feeling more relaxed than she had in a very long time. “Rioghan, I am so glad to see that you are enjoying yourself,” Donaill said. “I know that you are not accustomed to being at a large and noisy gathering such as this. If there is anything else that you might like, you have only to ask.”
She smiled at him. “I thank you for your hospitality. There is far more here tonight than I myself would need in five years at Sion…more wood thrown on the fire, more food on the tables, more wine…”
“And more conversation?”
Rioghan looked down at their shining gold plate. “The Sidhe are good companions.”
“Yet they do not share your home. Save for the dogs, you are alone much of the time, are you not?”
“Alone is not always the same as lonely. I have the Sidhe for company, as I said, and the dogs are loyal guardians. Even the wild creatures of the forest are ever present. I am never truly alone.”
“But you must be lonely sometimes.”
“It is a good and satisfying life. I have been of help to the people of Cahir Cullen, especially the women here, have I not?”
“You have indeed. And we are grateful to you. But…could you not do as well living here, living among us?”
She hesitated, looking around the hall once more at the beautifully dressed people and the shining gold before them, at the huge fire and the endless quantities of good food and wine. She thought of what it would be like to live here in this lively, busy place, with the sisterlike companionship of Sabha and Bevin and Aideen…and the presence of one such as Donaill.
“King’s champion Donaill! I want to thank your brothers for this feast. Something to remember during the months to come when we’re all chewing dried beef!”
Rioghan looked up and felt a sudden chill, as if the huge fire in th
e center of the hall had gone out. Standing over them was the rough bearded form of Beolagh.
“You are welcome,” said Donaill, after a brief glance up at the other man. “But surely you’re not finished eating already. Shouldn’t you go back to your place so that you don’t miss the final course? I hear they’ve got apples boiled in milk and honey and covered with hazelnuts. You will not want to miss that.”
“Actually, it’s watercress with fat-hen leaves first, and then the apples. And you’re right, I don’t want to miss it. But even more than that, I don’t want to miss finding out who this new woman is, sitting beside you tonight. Might I know her name?”
“You might, if she wishes to tell you. What say you, my lady?”
Rioghan drew a breath and started to answer; but as she looked up into Beolagh’s face and saw not the first sign of recognition in his eyes, she looked away again and took another sip of wine.
Instantly a gleam came into Donaill’s eye. “Do you not recognize this lady, Beolagh? I assure you, you have seen her before.”
A deep frown came over the other man’s face. “You are not very funny, Donaill. I am quite certain I have never seen this young woman before. I would not forget so pretty a face—serious though it is—or such radiant black hair, or such a fair form.
“Oh…wait!” He started to laugh. “You’re going to tell me I saw her when she was a child, or some such! Well, that would explain why I may have seen her before but do not recognize her now.”
“It has not been that long since you have seen her,” said Donaill. “But if you do not remember, then I suppose she will have to remain a mystery to you.”
Rioghan set down the wine cup and nibbled daintily at a bit of buttered oatbread.
“Well, she must be from Dun Orga, then, or perhaps she is the pretty daughter of one of the farmers or herdsmen.” Beolagh shook his head. “I will admit, when I first saw her I thought you had brought in one of the Sidhe! She is so small, and has hair as black as jet, as most of them do. Though I should have known, Donaill, that the king’s champion would not be sitting with one of the Little People at the king’s own feast.”
With that, Beolagh nodded to Donaill and wandered off to speak to someone farther down the row.
Chapter Eleven
Rioghan set down the last of her bread. Donaill leaned down to look at her, trying to catch her eye, but she only glared down at the candles and tapped her finger impatiently on the boards.
“I am sorry,” Donaill said. “He will never be more than a rough, crude man, no matter that he was born into the high ranks. Though I certainly enjoyed the little joke you played on him…keeping him ignorant of who you are.”
“Beolagh thinks to insult me by calling me one of the Little People. I know the opinion which all Men have of the Sidhe—that they are nothing but primitive and inferior versions of Men, small and dark instead of tall and fair, little more than animals living wild in the woods—”
“Not all Men think so, Lady Rioghan. I hope you understand that I do not.”
She gave him a quick glance, then went on tapping her finger. “I am proud to have the Sidhe accept me as one of their own. Indeed, at this moment I would rather be the poorest of the Fair Folk than the wealthiest of Men.”
“I hope you will never have to make that choice, my lady.”
Her mouth tightened. “And I would like to show him more than a joke. I would like to show him—and the others of his kind—what one of the Little People can do.”
“Rioghan, it does not matter. Men like Beolagh are impressed by nothing but a forceful blow. Except for Beolagh and the ones foolish enough to follow him, the people here have always treated the Sidhe well—or at least left them in peace—have they not?”
“They have.”
“Then, please—do not give him another thought. Just stay here and enjoy the rest of the evening with me. Look, I will give you this, to help you remember this night.”
He reached out and took the bright sprig of holly from the white candle, and brushed away the bits of wax that clung to it. Carefully, frowning a bit in concentration, Donaill tucked the holly into the gold-and-jet brooch Rioghan wore at her shoulder, weaving the woody stem in and out of the gold circle and arranging it this way and that until it was to his liking.
“There,” he said, sitting back. “The holly leaves are as green as your eyes. It’s a perfect match.” He reached out to stroke the hair at the base of her neck again, and she could not help but look up at him. His eyes reflected the soft glow of the candles as he smiled down at her, and then his eyes began to close as he leaned down—
There was a short cry behind them. Rioghan sat up and turned toward it. One of the serving women stood close beside the firepit, clutching her wrist and wincing in pain. Rioghan scrambled to her feet and hurried over to her.
“What has happened?” she asked, trying to get a look at the woman’s arm.
“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing at all. Please don’t trouble yourself, lady.”
“It is no trouble. Let me see.” The woman moved her hand to show a bright red mark on the underside of her wrist, already shiny and blistering. “I tried to move the rocks from the firepit to the cauldron to bring the water to a boil. The rock fell.”
The firepit was so crowded with spits and cauldrons and rocks that an extra pair of water-filled cauldrons had been set down on the bare earth beside the pit wall. The servants had been trying to place fire-heated rocks into them to bring the water to boil. “Where is your shovel? Here, I will help you move the rocks. You must take care of your arm.”
“I had no shovel. Only crossed sticks.”
Rioghan frowned. “It is dangerous to try to lift heated rocks with only sticks. Such injuries are too common. Why do you not have an iron shovel?”
The servant shut her eyes in pain. “I don’t know. Some say that one of the warrior men demanded a new sword, and that the armorers came and took some of our tools.”
Rioghan’s mouth tightened. “I can well imagine which man would demand a new weapon without a care for the needs of servants.” She patted the woman’s shoulder. “Wait here. I brought a few things with me. I can give you a clean wrapping for the burn and something to ease the pain.”
Just then another of the serving women hurried up, holding a dripping wet cloth. “Here, Ita, wrap this around it. We must get back to work; the water is not boiling fast enough to steam the honey and the milk! They are all waiting for their apples and honey—look, even the king is beginning to frown! Hurry, hurry!”
The two women brushed past Rioghan as if nothing had happened and went back to the precarious work of trying to lift the hot stones from the coals with flimsy crossed sticks, and get them into the water-filled cauldrons.
“Wait,” Rioghan ordered, moving close beside them.
From beneath her sleeve she took her crystal wand from its leather case and held it flat against the inside of her arm, holding the end in the tips of her fingers. She turned a steady gaze on the rocks among the smoldering coals, pointed the concealed wand at them, and whispered a word under her breath.
One of the rocks lifted itself slowly from the coals. Rioghan kept her hand pointed at it, and as she moved her hand toward the waiting cauldron, the stone moved with it. When it hovered over the clear water, Rioghan whispered another word, and the stone dropped with a hissing splash into the water. A little cloud of steam rose in its wake.
The two servants jumped in surprise. Rioghan moved her arm again and moved a second, third, and fourth stone into the cauldron. “Now it is done,” she said, “and there will be no more burns. I will ask that the armorers replace the tools you need without delay.”
“Thank you, lady,” said Ita. “Oh, thank you.”
“I don’t know how it was done, but we’re grateful to you,” said the other serving woman.
“You are most welcome. I will leave you something to treat the burn. Good night to you both.”
“Good night to you
, Lady Rioghan,” they said, before disappearing again into the crowd of bustling servants. “Bring the honey and milk!” she heard one of them say, and two more servants set down flat bronze pans sloshing with honey and fresh milk over the now-steaming cauldrons on the dirt floor. “The water boils now, thanks to the Lady Rioghan. Hurry, now, hurry!”
Smiling to herself, Rioghan carefully slid her wand back into its case and returned to her place beside Donaill. “That was well done,” he said with a grin. “Though I would not have thought you to be quite so bold about letting everyone here see what powers you have.”
She glanced down. “Ordinarily that is true. That sort of magic is not to be used to boast about one’s powers, or to entertain men with an evening’s worth of wine in them.”
“Then…why were you so bold with it this night?”
His voice was gentle. He was not mocking her. He seemed to genuinely want to know. “The serving woman badly burned her arm,” Rioghan answered. “They are lacking the proper tools to do their work. I could not make an iron shovel, but I knew I could move the rocks. I did not want to see another of them injured.”
Donaill nodded. “That was kind of you.” He glanced down at her wrist, hidden now by the long sleeves of the silver-gray undergown. “I ask about your magic only because I am concerned about you. Think of this: if Beolagh wants your gold, what interest might he take in a wand of the sort you have, if indeed he knows you have it?”
She looked toward Beolagh. He sat beside Airt and Coiteann, and all three of them stared at her in silence. Clearly they had witnessed her small trick of levitating the rocks.
Rioghan turned back to Donaill. “If anyone else took this wand, they would find it only a sparkling toy. Nothing more. It was my mother’s, and her mother’s before her, and has been passed down through my family for too long a time for anyone to remember. We are the only ones who have ever been able to wield it. Perhaps the Sidhe could use it, but they have never tried, as far as is known. The women of my family are the only ones to have the power—and the knowledge of the proper words—to use this wand.”
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