by Jules Watson
‘She’s not like that.’ Tears welled up dangerously in Rhiann’s throat, and she swallowed them. ‘She is very gentle. She will be proud to have you as … a daughter.’
‘I hope so!’ Caitlin slurped the tea, then put the cup on the hearth-bench. ‘Oh, I’m so nervous! Won’t you come?’
Rhiann shook her head. ‘This is between you and she.’
‘But did she not tell you anything else?’
Rhiann hesitated. She had not told Caitlin that she and Linnet argued. She had not told Caitlin who fathered her. Linnet could reap that particular sowing herself. Why spoil what was, to Caitlin, such an unexpected and joyous occasion? ‘Again, only that she thought you dead all these years. It’s better for you to gain the details from her yourself.’ And because I did not stay to find out any more.
Now Rhiann brushed Caitlin’s nervous fingers aside, unwound the single lumpy plait, and started braiding again. ‘I will leave it to Linnet to tell the council.’ Rhiann’s usually nimble fingers were also dulled this day, but she managed to get the hair into a serviceable braid before winding it around Caitlin’s head and securing it with bone pins.
‘Oh, should I wear the jewelled pin you gave me?’ Caitlin fretted, hopping from foot to foot.
Rhiann grasped her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. ‘No! She will love you as you are.’ Her breath caught on the last words.
‘Oh, Rhiann! We are cousins!’ Caitlin threw her arms around Rhiann’s waist and hugged her. Rhiann instantly stiffened, for no one beside Linnet had touched her like that; not since she left the Sisters on the Sacred Isle. But Caitlin had already let her go, and was hastily thrusting bits of clothing into her leather pack.
In a flurry of nervous chatter she disappeared into the pale dawn, her belt buckle jingling. Rhiann was left alone at her door to watch the sun come up. A curlew called its plaintive cry, far out on the marsh, as the golden light washed over the reeds.
She will be proud to have you as a daughter.
Rhiann put her face in her hands. And the tightness that she had carried inside since she saw Linnet melted, and so began to hurt.
Linnet returned to the dun two days later, with Caitlin by her side. Rhiann saw them enter the gate when she herself was returning from the river, but she could not face Linnet, not yet, and so she turned aside.
She was far downstream, collecting comfrey from the damp soil beneath the willows, when she heard hooves on the Trade Path. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Dòrn’s distinctive black coat. She froze, one hand wrapped around the fleshy leaves, the other holding her herb-knife. Eremon had announced that he was riding to Crianan that morning. Perhaps if she bent low enough, he would not see her.
But the hooves slowed and stopped, and there was the thud of boots to the ground. ‘We should just hand you over to the river sprites and be done with it,’ Eremon said. ‘You spend all your time up to your ankles in mud.’
She straightened, watching him warily, and pulled her feet one by one out of the mire until she could reach her net bag. ‘I gather you’ve heard, then?’
‘Yes, we all have.’ Eremon looped the reins over a dead alder and perched on a broken stump, cradling his bandaged arm. ‘Linnet called what council members there were in the dun together, and told them. You must be happy.’ The last statement seemed like a question.
Rhiann squatted, wiping mud from the leaves as she laid them out. ‘I found out while you were away … it was a great shock.’
‘A shock, yes, but surely a pleasant one?’
‘Of course, a pleasant one!’ She willed him to go away and leave her be.
‘So.’ He sounded satisfied. ‘This is what was bothering you the other night.’
She frowned up at him. ‘What are you talking about? Caitlin is my kin … I am proud she is my kin.’ That, at least, was true, and she was able to say it emphatically.
But Eremon was chewing on his lip, his eyes boring into her. ‘Forgive me if I misunderstand, but if she is Linnet’s daughter, then does she not have the same status as you, when it comes to carrying the king’s blood? Apart from you being Ban Cré, I mean.’
‘Yes,’ she said through gritted teeth, packing the leaves in the bag. What did he care for their kin laws? And why was he here?
‘But you are not jealous, of course. That someone else now has that rank?’
‘Jealous!’ She shook her head, laughing with soft bitterness. ‘Ah, if only you knew how many nights I have lain awake, wishing there was a woman to share that burden with me. How little I wanted it at all! How glad I would have been to be born someone else’s niece!’ She shook her head again, and got to her feet. ‘You are not as perceptive as you pretend to be, prince.’
‘Yet something has hurt you.’
‘And what business is it of yours, exactly?’
He did not answer her, but simply held her eyes: she could almost hear his mind working.
Annoyed, she picked her bag up and took to a boggy path that ran away into the reeds. She knew he would not follow, for he had his new boots on, which she herself had sewn. Unfortunately, her exit was less dignified than she wished, as mud squelched loudly between her toes.
‘Rhiann.’ She glanced over her shoulder. He was leaning against the tree trunk now. ‘Jealous of her position; perhaps not. But you fear something.’
‘Fear!’ She turned, heedless of the picture she would present. ‘You presume too much, trying to see into my heart!’
He shrugged. ‘And yet, you don’t hesitate to do the same to me. Why is it right for you, and not for me?’
Her mind raced for an answer, but he used the stump to mount Dòrn, and crossed his hands on the reins. ‘You know, whatever you fear, it is better to face it than to hide here in a bog. I credit you with more courage than that.’ With a polite nod he urged the horse back to the Trade Path.
She watched him go, breathing hard. For despite not wanting to hear it from him, what he said struck her to the core. She was hiding; it was true. She glanced towards Dunadd.
I am angry with Linnet, but … fear? What do I fear?
Rhiann waited until dark had fallen before she returned. She put her head in at the stables and saw, with relief, that Linnet’s horse Whin was gone. But even before she gained the sanctuary of her own house, the whispers reached her from the women gossiping at their doors, babes slung on their hips.
Linnet had acknowledged Caitlin as her own, but did not name the father. The people assumed that the girl was gotten by a man at the Beltaine fires, or in some other mysterious priestess ritual. And it would also be expected that a priestess in retreat would send the child away for fostering, so Linnet’s lie was covered there as well. Only Rhiann knew that she’d wanted to hide the baby because of its parentage.
Rhiann was glad to find her house deserted. Eithne would be up at the hall cooking for Eremon’s men, and she’d probably taken Didius with her. But as Rhiann hung up her cloak, she heard racing footsteps outside.
‘Rhiann!’ Caitlin threw herself into Rhiann’s arms. ‘Oh, Rhiann, I have so wanted to talk with you these last days! It has been like a dream!’
‘Hush, now. Take some breaths!’
Caitlin flung herself down on the hearth-bench, clasping her fingers between her knees. ‘Linnet – I can’t think of her as my mother – was so glad to see me, Rhiann. She cried!’
Rhiann’s heart clenched. ‘Did she?’ She sat down. ‘And you, too, I imagine.’
‘No – I was too excited!’
‘And do you like her?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Then Caitlin frowned. ‘But she is a very great lady. I don’t know what to say to her yet.’
‘She is gentle, as I said.’
‘Gentle, yes, but strong, too. She is so like you, Rhiann.’
Rhiann’s throat closed over. ‘It has been said before.’
‘And she told me how losing me was all an accident. She was sending me to the Votadini for training as a noble lady, because she
had kin there, but her servant must have been killed in that raid, and I was taken. She searched for me for such a long time, until eventually she had to accept that I was dead.’ Caitlin shook her head. ‘And all along I was growing up there, not far from the path. Fethach’s wife obviously would not give me up.’ She looked over at Rhiann with pain on her brow. ‘Why, Rhiann? Fethach’s wife never seemed to want me, not after I grew from a babe to a girl. Why did she not return me? How could she do that?’
‘Some people do not do what is right, Caitlin. They think only of themselves.’
Caitlin sighed and yawned, obviously exhausted from the high emotion. ‘And so we came here, and she told all the men who I was. They stared at me in the full light of day, Rhiann, and that nice druid, Declan, declared the story true. The elders were shocked. But then they started looking at me differently!’
‘So they might. Did Linnet explain your position here?’
Caitlin nodded, reaching for a bannock on the hearth-stone. ‘But I didn’t really listen; I don’t care, much. Belonging to someone – to anyone – is all that ever mattered to me.’ As she bit into the bread, she glanced at Rhiann with alarm. ‘That’s not ungrateful, is it, Rhiann?’
‘No,’ Rhiann assured her. ‘We think alike, you and I.’
‘That is because we are cousins,’ Caitlin mumbled through her mouthful, then swallowed and leaned across to take Rhiann’s hand. ‘This must be a shock for you, too, Rhiann. You know I won’t take your place anywhere, though. I couldn’t.’
The blood beat on Rhiann’s ears. ‘We don’t need such words between us, cousin.’
Sister.
The word trembled in the air between them. But Rhiann knew the truth would strike Caitlin’s heart with guilt and confusion, and Rhiann could not dampen Caitlin’s joy at finding her family. Perhaps in time …
There was, of course, one other thing. ‘Caitlin.’ She paused to choose her words carefully. ‘Did Linnet explain everything about your position? You and I carry the king’s bloodline, but only I can be Ban Cré because of my priestess training.’
Caitlin nodded. ‘Of course! And thank the Goddess for that, for I have no desire to deal with the Otherworld, Rhiann!’
Rhiann smiled tightly. ‘But the blood brings something else, Caitlin. Another obligation.’ She steeled herself. ‘One of us must bear the next king.’
Caitlin’s face did not darken, but lit up with pride. ‘I understand, Rhiann, though I have pinched myself over it for two whole days! I cannot believe it!’
Rhiann was stunned. ‘You are happy about this?’
‘Who would not be! I could bear a king! A strong son to come after me … a babe to train in bow and sword … to see off to war in pride …’ At the incredulous expression on Rhiann’s face, she stopped short. ‘Don’t worry, Rhiann. You can be sure that I’ll pick a man worthy to sire a king. I may have been brought up as a commoner, but I understand this. He’ll have to fight for me, and well.’ She grinned.
Rhiann rested her chin in her hand, and watched Caitlin devour the bannock, hiding a smile. She wondered if she would ever understand this child-woman, who saw life so differently from her. She hoped not. Understanding would tame her, and Rhiann wanted her to remain just the way she was.
Sister.
Chapter 41
It is better to face your fear than to hide.
You are so like her, Rhiann.
Some people think only of themselves.
All these words – Caitlin’s, Eremon’s and her own – pounded on Rhiann’s mind from dawn to dusk, as she made her way around the dun to prepare for the Beltaine rites.
Beltaine marked the start of the season of fertility, the growth season, when all was renewed and that which was old was left behind. And Rhiann knew that, as Beltaine came, she must resolve this with Linnet. The breach between them ached like an infected sore, an echo of the agony she felt when such harsh words, such rage, had sundered her from the Sisters on the Sacred Isle. It could not happen again … no! She could not bear it.
The quickening of the earth, the warm smell of the sprouting grain, the house, which for once was filled with the laughter of Caitlin and Eithne … all of it passed her by because of the darkness that lay over her.
She decided to wait until her anger cooled, for she remembered some of the things she had said to Linnet with shame. But as time went on, the betrayal did not fade – it only grew greater.
She took to riding further afield on her own, willing the peace and beauty of the dawning sunseason to soothe her, nudging Liath into long races along the field strips, which left both of them sweaty and breathless. But nothing helped.
The other thing I share with Linnet is stubbornness. Rhiann pulled Liath up at the shoulder of the hills that encircled Dunadd, and sat watching the haze of cookfires rising lazily on the high breeze. She sighed. In truth, that fault was hers alone. Linnet was not stubborn.
Then why has she not come?
After all I said to her? Why would she?
And underneath, a deeper child-voice still cried with a wordless anguish Rhiann could not understand: I need her. Go to her.
‘I cannot!’ She nudged Liath into a steep run, hooves and mud flying.
The next day Rhiann and Eithne went to Crìanan to see Eithne’s family, for the baby brother had been suffering from a troublesome, lingering cough. After treating him with a coltsfoot brew, Rhiann took up her gathering bag and left Eithne with her mother.
Eithne’s family lived near the place of the otters, a hidden bay silent with dark rocks, the water thick and smooth with kelp. The tide was out, and Rhiann wandered over the exposed rocks, picking the strands of purple and brown weed, for they made a fine dye.
When she reached a sliver of pale beach she stood, eyes half-closed, letting the sun’s reflection on the waves shatter into sparks.
‘Rhiann.’
At that familiar voice, she whirled.
Linnet stood behind her, eyes shadowed with the water’s darkness. ‘I came to Dunadd for you. Caitlin told me you were here.’
At the sight of those beloved eyes, something twisted within Rhiann. Seeing that regal form standing so straight, the calm purity of Linnet’s face … Goddess, Rhiann wanted to run to her, to bury herself in those arms, so much. But the depth of the wanting brought forth another, stronger impulse: to push her away, to keep such a love at bay for the hurt it could inflict. With a catch in her breath, Rhiann stumbled away.
‘Rhiann!’ Linnet’s cry was roughened with grief. ‘Speak to me! I have suffered enough!’
Rhiann halted, her throat closing. ‘You’ve suffered! High on your mountain, doing as you will, taking whom you will, and then disposing of the evidence because it would shame you? You’ve suffered?’
Why did these words spill from her mouth? Why was the font as white-hot, as overflowing as that day at Linnet’s spring? Time had healed nothing … time would heal nothing. ‘Just leave me alone!’ she gasped out, and went as if to go.
‘No!’ Linnet’s cry this time was arresting. The pain of it trembled in the air. ‘I will not lose a daughter again!’
Rhiann reeled, as with that cry, all the suppressed betrayal of the last two years came rushing through the breach in her defences. ‘But we have lost each other!’ She turned, brushing scalding tears from her eyes. ‘You say you love me, and yet you have kept so much from me! You hide things from me!’
Linnet watched her with tight eyes, her hands helpless by her sides.
The pain was growing now, an immense upwelling that threatened to break free of Rhiann’s body. She felt the burning consume her … and all reason at last slip away. ‘I’ve seen it in your eyes, the deep things you will not share with me! Like Caitlin, like my father! And why did you not stop my marriage? What held you back? Why did you let them sell me? Why did you not protect me?’
‘Rhiann—’
‘No!’ Rhiann’s mouth twisted, holding back tears. ‘You were not there when I needed you mos
t! When Gelert stabbed me with his hate … when the council sold me off like a brood mare … when that prince came to my bed … when those men took me—’ She gasped, slapping her hand to her mouth; her treacherous mouth.
Linnet’s eyes grew huge. ‘What?’ She strode forward, grasping Rhiann’s arms. ‘What did you say?’
Rhiann had lost the power of speech, her muscles rigid under Linnet’s hands, trying to hold the pain in. They stared into each other’s eyes, both naked, at last, soul to soul. And in that moment, all barriers between their senses melted, and the knowledge passed from Rhiann to Linnet as easily as a sigh …
Rhiann saw the storm descend as a dark veil over Linnet’s eyes. ‘No.’ The denial was a moan. ‘No! No!’
The moan turned to a shriek, but Rhiann, caught in the crystal web of pain they both shared, knew the denial had no power. Saying it did not take the truth away. Rhiann had tried, had tried it a thousand times.
And the twist of that futility wrenched her own tongue loose. ‘Yes!’ The relief of it coursed through her. Let it consume me then … burn me to ashes … then I will be free … ‘Those raiders did not just kill, they took my body. They lanced me, tore me, bled me. They marked me with their nails and teeth. They took me … and left nothing …’
Linnet jerked in horror, and her face looked human no longer. ‘My little girl …’ The words came out in a whisper.
‘No,’ Rhiann said bleakly. ‘No more. There is no little girl.’
Then she felt Linnet’s body sag, and they sank to the sands, Linnet clasping Rhiann to her breast. But her aunt’s arms held no tenderness now, only the bloody fierceness born of anger, of guilt, of grief as wild as a long dark storm.
She pressed Rhiann into her as if she would take her inside her own body, holding her in the womb as she had never held her in life.
And so the storm broke over both of them, bearing them down on the wet sand, and their tears became one river, and it carried them away.