Child of the Prophecy (43 page)

"That's a fine wee mare you have there," he observed. "Learned to ride, I see, since you left me."

For a moment I was speechless. Was that all he could think of to say? On second thoughts, it was typical.

"The way I remember it, you left me" I snapped, but my voice came out sounding shivery and pathetic. "But yes, I can ride. A bit. Just as well. I have to be back before dawn."

Darragh looked at me. "Is that so?" he said.

"You don't need to sound like that," I retorted.

"Like what, Fainne?"

"Like you know best. Like you think I'm stupid for coming here. I don't know why I bothered." A new bout of shivering seized me, and I clutched the cloak tighter around me.

Darragh watched me in silence for a while. The little gold ring in his ear glinted in the firelight.

"Why did you come?" he asked eventually.

"T—to tell you. To tell you something important."

Now he was stirring his pannikin over the fire. The savory smell arose again. Peg and Molly and the others always cooked an oaten porridge in the mornings. Kept out the chill, that was what Peg said. He took the pot off the heat, and brought it around to me.

"No golden platters here," he said. "No silver spoons. Not used to catering for fine ladies, you see. But the food's good. Come on, Fainne. You must eat."

"I'm too tired to eat."

"Here," he said gently, and settled himself by me. "Eat, and don't talk." He dipped the horn spoon into the pot, and I found myself opening my mouth and being fed like a bird in the nest. It would have been humiliating, but the cautious expression on his face, the great care with which he went about the task, somehow made it all right between us. Besides, the porridge was delicious, and I discovered I was very hungry indeed.

"Good," said Darragh from time to time. "Well done. Good girl." And soon enough it was all gone.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice somewhat stronger. "Was that going to be your breakfast?"

Darragh did not reply. He was sitting close by me, looking into the fire, arms folded. The silence drew out. At length he spoke with some diffidence.

"Better tell me. Better tell me what it is."

"You tell me first. Why you came to Glencarnagh. What you're doing so far from home, and in the middle of winter. Aren't you supposed to be working for O'Flaherty?"

"I am. On our way back there now, me and Aoife. He wasn't overkeen to let me take the time to come to Sevenwaters. Had to get Orla to sweet-talk him. In the end he said I could go, but I've given my word to be back there by dark of the moon. Not a lot of time."

I did my best to take this in. "Who's Orla?" I asked.

Darragh glanced at me sideways. "O'Flaherty's daughter. The younger one."

"I see."

"No you don't, Fainne."

"Yes I do. I suppose she's good with horses, is she?"

"Very good," he said, his teeth gleaming white in the darkness as he grinned. "A capable rider, for a girl. Understands all the tricks."

"Yes, well, she would, I suppose. And no doubt she's a beauty as well?"

"Oh, yes," said Darragh, stretching out his hands to warm them at the fire. "Long golden hair, cheeks like roses, eyes blue as a summer sky. Same as her sister. They've suitors lining up from here to the Cross, the two of them."

He was teasing me.

"Forget I asked," I said crossly. "Now answer the question. Why are you here?"

"I got anxious. Worried about you. Seemed to me you might be in trouble, and need help."

"What?"

"No need to sound so shocked. Rode to Sevenwaters, was told you were gone. Came on to Glencarnagh, discovered you'd no need of me whatever. Now I'm on my way home. Simple tale. I made a mistake. Not the first."

I could not think what to say, so I remained silent. I was starting to feel almost warm at last, what with the fire and the cloak and the porridge. My body felt better, for all the aching and the shivering. It was my mind that didn't seem to be working very well. All I could think of was how short one night was, and how many things there were to say, and how every time I opened my mouth it was the wrong words that came out.

"Fainne?" His voice was gentle in the darkness.

"Mmm?"

"Tell me. Tell me what's wrong. Why would you ride all that way in the dark to find me? What is it? What can be so important that you let yourself near freeze to death?"

His kindness came close to overwhelming me. It all flooded back, my father, Grandmother and the amulet, Maeve and the fire, Eamonn. I longed to tell him everything, every part of it; to unburden myself of my guilt and my fear. But I could not. He must stay outside it. I must keep him outside it.

"I came to tell you to go home, and never come back," I said flatly. "You mustn't come back, Darragh. You mustn't try to see me again. It's important."

There was a pause.

"You rode out here in the dark to tell me this?"

"Yes. It's what must be. Believe me."

"I see," he said tightly.

"No, you don't." I could not disguise the misery in my tone. "You don't see at all. But we are friends, despite everything. I must ask you to trust me, and do my bidding."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Tell me. What's this fellow to you, the lord of Glencarnagh? Unpleasant piece of work, that one. What's he to you?"

"None of your business. What did he say to you?"

"Sent me on my way, quick smart. Suggested an armed escort to the border. And me a traveling man. I declined his kind offer. He told me no, I couldn't see you, today or tomorrow or any day in the year. Said you were there as his very special guest, and you were not to be disturbed. Riffraff such as myself should know better than to pester a lady. Words to that effect. Made me wish for a moment or two that I was a fighter, not a musician. What does that mean, Fainne? Very special guest?"

"I'm sorry he treated you thus." My voice was shaking. "I was ill. Indisposed. I did not know you were there."

"And are you happy to let this fellow make your decisions for you? Content to have him choose your friends?"

I did not answer.

"Fainne. Look at me."

I turned my face toward his. He seemed very pale, and very serious.

"Would you wed this man? Is that what it is? Tell me the truth."

"None of your business," I whispered.

"Oh, yes, it is. Now tell me."

Reluctantly I nodded. "It's not impossible."

"A bit old for you, isn't he?" said Darragh bluntly.

"Such a match is not unheard of. It's the woman's age that is more important, surely, if a man wants to get an heir."

Darragh never got angry. That was one of the good things about him. I thought he came close to it then. His jaw tightened. But he kept his voice calm.

"So, you would wed for a name and a fortune. You would bear an old man's sons, for that."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"You couldn't understand."

Darragh was silent for a moment. Then he observed, "Told me that plain enough before, didn't you? Something about a stray dog, I think it was."

"I spoke without thinking, that time. I'm sorry if I hurt you. But this is something I can't explain to you. I'm simply asking you to stay away, that's all." Oh, but I ached to tell him the truth.

He waited a little. As the night wore on, the air about us was growing colder and colder. Now the small fire, the warm cloak were not enough to take away the frozen feeling which seemed to come from deep inside me. I thought, if I were able to weep, my tears would turn to drops of ice before ever they could fall from my eyes. "Do you love this fellow?" asked Darragh flatly, not looking at me anymore.

"Love!" I exclaimed, sitting up in my shock and suppressing a groan of pain. "Of course not! Love has nothing to do with this. Who'd wed for love, anyway? That's just foolishness. There's nothing in such a match but sorrow and waste." I thought of my mother and my father, and how both their lives had been destroyed by the bond between them.

"Then you'd advise my sister Roisin not to wed Aidan, would you? They've plans for a wedding in the autumn, when she's seventeen. Aidan has his own little bit of land now. You think they'd best not go ahead with it?"

I scowled at him. "That's different," I said.

"How different? You mean, because they're simple folk, unlike yourself and your great lord back there?"

"Of course not! I thought you knew me better than that!"

"So did I," said Darragh mildly. "But you keep surprising me."

"It's different because—because—I can't tell you. But it is."

"Uh-huh," said Darragh. We sat in silence for a while. The cold seemed to come in from all sides. The only parts of me that were even half warm were my hands, which I was holding out close to the fire. The rest of me ached with the chill, not to speak of the damage the ride had caused. I thought, vaguely, of how I must climb back on the horse before dawn and do it all again.

Darragh sat with his hands around his knees, looking into the flames. He was solemn; not his smiling self at all.

"You haven't convinced me," he said.

"Convinced you of what?"

"That you're all right. That you don't need keeping an eye on. I don't believe it for an instant. Your words are giving me one story and your eyes another. Come on, now. You can talk to me. There's no secrets between us, you and me. What is it that's troubling you so badly?"

"Nothing." My voice quavered, despite my best efforts. "Nothing. I'm just telling you, go away and never come back here."

"And what will you do, when I'm gone?"

Put on the amulet and finish my grandmother's work, so I can keep you safe.

"Ride back to Glencarnagh, and be in my chamber before they know I was gone," I told him. "Get on with my life. That's no concern of yours."

"I have another suggestion," Darragh offered.

I said nothing.

"We wait until dawn, and then I put you up on Aoife, and the two of us go home to Kerry. That's what we'll do."

The simple confidence of this took my breath away, and for a moment I was unable to reply. Longing swept over me. If only I could say yes. If only I could go home, back to the Honeycomb and to my father, back to the time when it all made sense, and the worst thing in my life was having to wait through the winter until Dan Walker's folk returned to the cove. But I could not go. If I were not wearing my grandmother's amulet at dawn she would appear at my side, angry and seeking answers. And once I wore the amulet she could see me, whenever she chose. To go back to Kerry was death for my father, and for Darragh. Not to work my grandmother's will was the end for all of us.

"I can't," I said. "Besides, what about O'Flaherty and his horses? Haven't you a job to go back to? What about Orla?"

Darragh threw a stick into the fire.