[Sevenwaters 04] Heir to Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  By the stables something stirred. I squinted against the sun, trying to make it out. What was that by the door to the harness room, a shadow against the silver-gray of the weathered wood . . . a figure in a hooded cloak? A chill ran through me, deep in the marrow. Mac Dara couldn’t be here, not so soon, surely. The Lord of the Oak was subtle, a plotter. If he came back in a fresh attempt to harm me or to lure Cathal—when he came—he would plan his mission with care. I looked again. Now there were several men there, Inis Eala warriors leading horses out to the yard. One man wore a gray cloak, but the hood was down, revealing close-cropped hair and facial tattoos. The others were in tunics and trousers. A false alarm. Probably. Later, I would tell Cathal. And I would tell Father. Mac Dara must not be given an opportunity to use my family as leverage again. And I would die before I let him take Cathal.

  “Clodagh?”

  I whirled around.

  “I’m sorry if I startled you,” Gareth said. He was standing right behind me. “I’ve been sent to fetch you. Cathal’s ready to talk to Lord Sean now.”

  So he hadn’t slept either. “Of course,” I said. “Where are they?”

  “I’ll take you.”

  I fell into step beside him. After the fright I’d just given myself, an armed escort was very welcome even in my own house. We made our way back through the kitchen, along a hallway, up a narrow flight of steps and along a gallery toward a row of storage chambers. Father had evidently taken steps to ensure this meeting took place well out of the view of his visitors.

  “Gareth?” I ventured after looking around to make sure there was nobody in sight.

  “Yes, Clodagh?”

  “Has there been any more talk about the succession, now that Finbar’s safe? Has Father formally named his heir?”

  Gareth gave a little smile. “Not yet,” he said. “Johnny tells me that if the treaty is signed, Lord Sean plans to end the council by making a public declaration. They have the details worked out.”

  I decided to be bold, since I was going to be living on the island, where codes of behavior were somewhat less constrained than in the halls of chieftains. “Cathal told me about you and Johnny,” I said quietly. “I hope whatever Father says about the succession won’t make you unhappy, Gareth.”

  “One learns compromise,” Gareth said. “What is offered me I rejoice in. What is beyond my reach I don’t waste time regretting. Inis Eala is a good place. You’ll be welcome there, Clodagh.”

  “Thank you,” I said as we came up to the door of an unobtrusive chamber, where Gareth gave three sharp knocks, waited to a count of five, then rapped out the triple knock again.

  “Come in.” It was my father’s voice.

  Gareth opened the door for me. Within the small chamber was a formidable group of men—with my father were his druid uncle Conor, Johnny and Cathal. Conor was seated, a tranquil figure in his white robe. Father stood with arms folded. Johnny was by the narrow window, staring out across the courtyard below. Cathal was extremely still, arms by his sides, shoulders square, head held high. He was facing Father, his back to the door. The sight of him made my heart leap. Had we really been parted only one morning? It felt like an age.

  “I’m here,” I said, walking in with Gareth behind me. Cathal’s whole body tensed as he heard my voice, and for a moment I was back in that little cell, seeing him for the first time after Mac Dara took him. I moved to stand beside him and slipped my arm through his. He let out his breath in a rush. I rested my head briefly against his shoulder.

  Behind us, Gareth went out and shut the door.

  “Welcome, Daughter,” said Father coolly. “Cathal has given us an account of his vision concerning Glencarnagh, and has explained his reasons for sharing it with you. That episode caused us considerable difficulty; I can only be grateful that we seem to have the truth now. I thank the gods that this did not develop beyond a war of words. What we require now is some clarification from you. Can you tell us exactly what Mac Dara said to you on the issue?”

  I didn’t even want to think about Mac Dara. What I had seen—or thought I had seen—by the stables had unnerved me. I cleared my throat, and explained that Mac Dara had openly admitted causing the raid and the fire, and that he must have manipulated Cathal’s vision to implicate Illann in the attack. “The only thing he wanted was to get Cathal across into the Otherworld,” I said. “He anticipated that Cathal would warn me. He stole Finbar in circumstances that would place suspicion on Cathal; he knew I’d feel obliged to go after my brother. He made sure I was the only one who recognized Becan as a real baby. Mac Dara knew Cathal would insist on coming with me. He used love as a weapon; my love of my family and Cathal’s love for me. He wouldn’t have thought twice about what this might mean for anyone else, Illann, for instance, or you and Mother. The Fair Folk don’t understand love, not the way we do. They think of everything in terms of power.”

  Father made no comment. Instead, he looked at Conor.

  “This is entirely consistent with my knowledge of the Tuatha De,” the druid said.

  “And yet,” said Father, frowning, “the Fair Folk have long been friends of the Sevenwaters family. Why would they suddenly turn against us, wreaking such havoc without a thought?”

  “I hope you do not doubt Clodagh’s word.” Cathal’s voice was quiet, precise and dangerous. “My lord.”

  Father sighed. “I will not make that error again,” he said. “But this is troubling. Relieved as I am to have Illann’s innocence established, it seems to me there is a threat of far greater significance in all of this.”

  “For that, I take responsibility.” The edge was gone from Cathal’s voice. “The ills that have befallen your family recently have all been caused by my father’s quest to reclaim me. If I had not come to Sevenwaters, Mac Dara would have left you in peace.”

  “In that case it’s at least half my fault,” put in Johnny with a faint smile. “You argued hard enough not to come. I thought the trip would be good for you. Next time I’ll listen more carefully when you put a case to stay behind.”

  “Lord Sean is right about a bigger threat,” Cathal said. “If I remain here, my father’s attention will be on Sevenwaters and he will use whatever tricks he can to draw me back into his own realm. Clodagh’s decision to befriend me has put her at particular risk. We must both speak to you very soon, my lord, on the implications of that. The danger we face makes quick action essential.”

  In the short silence that followed, I saw on the faces of Johnny, of Conor, of my father that each of them understood exactly what he meant.

  “Let us deal with matters in a logical sequence,” said Conor. “Sean, it seems you owe Illann an apology. Should we call him in?”

  “On that issue, I have a suggestion,” Cathal said.

  “Tell us,” said Father. His tone had changed. While still less than warm, it had thawed considerably.

  “I will apologize to Illann for all of us,” said Cathal. “I will give him a full explanation. He is your daughter’s husband; he should know the truth. The fault here is not yours, Lord Sean. On the matter of Glencarnagh, you acted as any chieftain would under the circumstances.” I heard in his tone, and in his words, that he was a leader to the bone and would answer to no man. I heard also that somehow, without any need for discussion, he had already become family.

  “An apology,” said Father, regarding Cathal quizzically. “You believe you can summon the appropriate tone of humility?”

  “I can summon whatever tone is required, my lord.”

  “Very well,” said Father. “Let’s do it now. I’ll add a few words of my own; I cannot allow you to bear the full weight of this, Cathal. If Illann’s prepared to accept your apology, we may have this treaty signed tonight, and some real goodwill come out of this wretched course of events.”

  That night after supper eight chieftains of Ulaid set their signs to Father’s treaty, and Illann was one of them. He was looking rather withdrawn, but the rest of them seemed well pleas
ed. The two leaders who had stayed away from Deirdre’s wedding were both present, and Eoin of Lough Gall was smiling as he set his mark on the parchment. He made a little speech thanking Father for getting them all to the council table together and managing to prevent the gathering from descending into a brawl, and everyone laughed and applauded.

  My sisters and I had remained in the hall after the meal to watch the signing, for the treaty was a momentous achievement by any measure. We had left the table once supper was over and now stood by the hearth as the men completed their formal business. Inis Eala guards were stationed around the hall, a presence that could never be described as discreet, since their tattooed faces and generally fearsome air must always draw attention. However, tonight it seemed Johnny had told them to be unobtrusive; they did their best to blend into the background, but their eyes were knife sharp. Cathal was not present. I had not seen him since the meeting with Illann. I hoped he was sleeping.

  “Thank goodness,” murmured Deirdre in my ear as Conor sprinkled sand over the treaty document to hasten the drying of the ink, and the chieftains mingled affably around the dais. “It’s signed at last. Illann said Cathal apologized this afternoon. Did you make him do that, Clodagh?”

  “Me? No. It was all his own idea.”

  “It surprised me,” Deirdre said. “He doesn’t seem the kind of man who would ever admit to an error. He really is an odd choice as a future husband, Clodagh.”

  “All the same, I hope you’ll be able to stay on for our hand-fasting.”

  “When is it to be?”

  Since Father had not actually agreed to our marriage yet, I had no answer for her.

  Muirrin, who was on my other side, said, “I’m traveling back to Inis Eala in about ten days. It would make sense for us to share an escort, Clodagh.”

  Ten days. It wasn’t long to arrange a wedding. But then, I didn’t need the feast, the dancing and the fine guests. “That would be good,” I said. “I’ll speak to Father.”

  “It’s rather soon,” commented Deirdre, narrowing her eyes at me. “Is there something you’re not telling us, Clodagh?”

  At first I had no idea what she meant. Then I recalled that sufficient time had passed in the human world for me to have shared Cathal’s bed, conceived a child and had the first indications of pregnancy. Gods, I thought, if things had worked out differently, I might have been carrying that boy Mac Dara wanted. I might have walked away from the Otherworld with Cathal’s son, or his father’s, in my belly and a dark promise hanging over me. “No, Deirdre,” I said. “Nothing at all.”

  A sudden hush in the hall; the signing done, Father had stepped onto the dais and was raising his hands for quiet.

  “My lords, friends. Before we retire, I wish to speak briefly on another matter. It has seemed to me that in such times of unrest, a chieftain must make known his plans for the succession within his own holding. For many years I had no son, though I have been blessed with six daughters, each of whom is very dear to me.” Father allowed himself a glance in our direction. “You will know all too well, after my precipitate departure and prompt return yesterday, that my wife and I have recently been blessed with a son; a child whom, for a little, we thought we had lost. Thanks to the courage of my daughter Clodagh, Finbar has now been returned to us.” He looked around the hall, his gaze gathering his audience in. “A man with only one son, and that a very small one, might be considered by some folk vulnerable,” he said, and I heard the iron strength beneath the gravely courteous tone. “A person who made that assumption about me would be in serious error. My sister has four sons, two of whom are present in this hall tonight: Johnny, leader of the Inis Eala warriors, and his young brother Coll. Between these two are another two brothers, both grown men. One will inherit his father’s holdings in Britain. By my count, that still leaves four eligible heirs to my chieftaincy. Let no man stir unrest, thinking our family in any way weak or divided.

  “Tonight, I declare that my eldest nephew, Johnny of Inis Eala, is my chosen heir; he will be chieftain after me. His father is lord of an extensive holding in Britain. His mother is a daughter of Sevenwaters. Johnny is a proven leader, seasoned and wise. I have complete faith in him. For now, we work together. When I am gone, he will lead the community of Sevenwaters as ably as he has done his establishment in the north. As for my son, so newly with us, it will be many years before he reaches manhood. Finbar will be Johnny’s heir; he will be chieftain of Sevenwaters in his turn. And now I thank you for your contributions to this council and congratulate every one of you on the agreement we have forged together. I bid you all good night.”

  As the chieftains stepped forward to thank Father and say their good nights, I looked at my sisters and they looked at me. “Who decided that?” I whispered, realizing how neat and wise and just a solution it was. Neither Johnny nor Finbar was cut from the succession. It removed all cause for future rivalry between them and their supporters. And it eliminated the requirement for Johnny to marry and father sons.

  “Mother, Father and Johnny worked it out together,” Muirrin said. Then, seeing me yawn, she turned her healer’s gaze on me, shrewdly assessing. “Clodagh, have you still not slept? What’s wrong with you and Cathal? You can’t go on forever, you know.”

  “I should think Cathal probably is asleep,” I said, “since he isn’t here in the hall.”

  “Ciarán arrived just before supper,” said Sibeal. “Cathal may be talking to him.”

  If he was, I thought, it would likely be out of doors where privacy and quiet were easier to find. I made my way out, throwing a shawl around my shoulders, for the evening was cool. The moon had appeared above the fortress wall, a welcome presence after those empty Otherworld skies. It bathed the ancient stone in light. Sigurd and Mikka were on duty, standing one to either side of the main gate. They were easily identified at a distance, Sigurd by his bulk, Mikka by the gleam of his hair, wheat pale in the moonlight.

  I walked over. “Have you seen Cathal?” I asked.

  “He went that way,” said Mikka, pointing in the direction of the herb garden. “May I escort you, Clodagh?”

  “Thank you, but I should be fine.” There were lighted torches in sockets all around the courtyard, and the moon illuminated the path in between. I was longing to see Cathal again, see him properly this time without my father’s eye on us, without even the well-disposed Johnny or Gareth as witness. I yearned to hold my dear one in my arms, kiss his weary face, remind him that I loved him and tell him how much I had admired his strength today. I wanted to whisper secrets in his ear and to hear his words of tenderness and passion. I hurried along the path, head down, shawl hugged around me. Of course, it was very possible that Ciarán would be there. I knew he would want to talk to Cathal. Ciarán would have questions, his own kind of questions. I would politely ask him to leave us alone for this evening at least.

  In the archway leading to the herb garden, I paused. Cathal was sitting on the stone bench under the lilac, his head tipped back against the trunk of the tree, his eyes closed. A hooded cloak wrapped him; he might have been sleeping, or perhaps deep in thought. The moonlight played on the white plane of his cheek, the darkness of his hair.

  “Cathal?” I said, suddenly hesitant. Perhaps I should let him rest. He was so still, as if enmeshed in a sleep beyond dreams. I took a step forward, then another. “Cathal, are you all right?”

  Slowly he lifted his head. He opened his eyes and smiled at me, and my blood turned to ice. Again. So soon. Right inside the walls of my father’s house, right inside the little garden that had once been sanctuary to my grandmother, whom the Tuatha De had loved and honored. Terror paralyzed me. I could not even scream.

  Mac Dara rose to his feet, an imposing figure in his swirling cloak. Shadows moved around him as if even they were obedient to his will. He fixed his eyes on me, the dark, compelling eyes that held so many years within them. He raised his hand, perhaps to beckon to me, perhaps to cast a spell.

  The stillroo
m door opened. Light streamed forth. There stood a tall figure in a homespun robe, his auburn hair fiery in the lamp’s glow. Ciarán. In the time it took me to glance at him and to look back, the Lord of the Oak was gone. He had neither walked past me nor flown up in the air nor disappeared into a chink between the paving stones. He had simply vanished.

  I breathed again. So close. Oh, gods, so close. And, after all, ten days was far too long.

  Cathal appeared behind the druid. He took one look at me, brushed past Ciarán and strode across to me. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “He was here,” I managed, clutching onto him with shaking hands. “He was right here in the garden. I thought it was you, and then he looked at me and . . .”

  “It’s all right now,” he murmured, drawing me close. “I’m here; I have you safe.”

  Ciarán spoke from behind him. “I felt his presence,” said the druid. “Your father is strong; each day I am more astonished by your capacity to withstand his influence. And he is audacious. That he would come here, to the heart of Lord Sean’s own household . . .” He lowered his voice, glancing around the little garden before speaking again. “You were right,” he said. “The longer you remain here the greater the peril you risk bringing down on yourself and all the family at Sevenwaters.” He was looking at Cathal.