Flame of Sevenwaters (27 page)

I knew I had been exceptionally lucky in being allowed to return to the cottage, and that my good fortune owed more than a little to Luachan. He had persuaded both my parents that Finbar and I would be best out of the way of Cruinn’s activities, and the day after the force from Tirconnell had descended on Sevenwaters, we’d returned to the nemetons. Finbar was housed in the druids’ living quarters along with Luachan, but my brother spent a great deal of time with Rhian and me, helping with various household chores and taking some pleasure in feeding Pearl and the chickens and collecting the eggs. Now that he was not under my mother’s eye, Luachan seemed to be applying a less rigorous approach to his tutorial duties, and I was glad of it.

Illann had come from Dun na Ri to support my father, bringing
his own modest force of mounted men. This added to the overcrowding, though I knew Father would welcome his presence. Illann told us Ciarán had stayed in that household a few days, then moved on, saying he might be gone some time. At Ciarán’s request, Deirdre had contacted Clodagh mind to mind. She had passed on Father’s message for Cathal: that the situation at Sevenwaters had become sufficiently dire to warrant his return, despite the risk. She’d added that the family thought it best Clodagh and her children stayed where they were. According to Deirdre, Clodagh had become angry and had broken the link, shutting her twin out. It seemed Cathal would not be returning to Sevenwaters anytime soon.

The search went on, grim, relentless. Cruinn’s men rode out in all weathers, working in shifts as my father’s searchers had, combing the forest from dawn to dusk, sometimes staying out overnight and recommencing at first light. There was a little hill crowned with oaks not far from the clearing where our animals were housed, and from the top of it we could see the lakeshore and the broad tracks that skirted it on either side before branching off into the forest. The view was more open than it had been; autumn was advancing, and the trees were losing their fine cloaks of russet and brown and gold. Drifts of fallen leaves swished around our feet as we walked. They flew beneath the horses’ hooves as one or another party of men-at-arms headed out from the keep.

There was a stone seat atop the hill, carved with symbols I could not interpret and half grown over with mosses. The dogs liked it there; the knotted roots of the old trees housed myriad scuttling creatures and the area was full of fascinating smells to be investigated. It was there that I saw Badger wag his tail for the first time. It was there that Bear got a thorn in his paw and rolled over on his back to let me take it out. I was glad Luachan was not present that day, only Finbar, since my method in such emergencies was to find the prickle with my tongue and extract it with my teeth. Finbar, too young to be given the job of taking out the thorn, held Bear’s leg still for me while Badger, crouched nearby, whined with anxiety. Afterward, I thought how woefully unrealistic it was for my mother to think I would ever marry. Finbar accepted my
ways of doing things because he was a child, and an unusual one at that. Rhian accepted them because she had been with me from the beginning and because she was my sister of the heart. But a man would look at what I had just done and feel only disgust. And whatever Mother might have in mind for me, I would never give up my little freedoms for the sake of respectability.

After a very awkward supper on the night Cruinn arrived at Sevenwaters, I had watched the Tirconnell chieftain as he rode out on the search with his men, head high, shoulders square, and as he came back again at the end of the long day, his sorrow and frustration plain in every corner of his body. Luachan said the search was a waste of time. He was sure the last three men must be dead already, and if not, Mac Dara would eventually do with them what he had done with the others. I hoped he was wrong. Cruinn’s sorrow disturbed me. It was like seeing a strong oak gradually destroyed by some canker, or a fine horse going lame day by day. Such was the insidious poison of Mac Dara’s touch.

I did not know how much of Mac Dara’s story had been revealed to Cruinn, who was a Christian and might find it hard to accept the truth about those who shared our forest with us. Father must have told him some of it. Nobody in his right mind could imagine, now, that the Disappearance had been an abduction or attack carried out by one chieftain’s fighting men against another’s. Everything about it smelled of fey involvement.

That created a tricky situation. Finbar and I were at the nemetons because it was safer than the keep. It was known that Danu laid her hand over the sacred places of the druids. In addition, Ciarán and his brethren had set protective charms here. Ciarán had hinted at this, and Luachan had confirmed it for me. He believed that the circle of enchantment was strong enough to keep out even Mac Dara.

It was therefore impossible that the three missing men would be found here, unless, of course, they were being hidden by the druids, and there would be no reason for that. But Luachan told me Cruinn was not satisfied by that explanation, nor by Father’s refusal to allow his searchers entry to the druid community.

I was not completely surprised, therefore, when on a day when Luachan and Finbar were closeted together studying and Rhian had made a rare trip to the keep for supplies, I heard hoofbeats approaching as I stood in the field with Swift. I looked up to see three men riding along the track toward me: my father, Cruinn and Cruinn’s bodyguard, a hard-faced man of about five-and-twenty.

I had Swift circling the field, altering his pace at my spoken instructions. Bear and Badger were hunkered down at the foot of the stone wall, keeping an eye on the proceedings. In a corner, Pearl was making her way through a heap of vegetable scraps. The dogs scrambled up at the sound of the horses approaching, but we had been working hard on obedience, and when I bade them be silent, they both obeyed. Bear stayed on his feet, ready to protect me.

I did not imagine the men had come to the nemetons to visit me, and the exercise Swift and I were engaged in was best not interrupted, so I kept working, bidding the yearling in turn to walk, trot, canter and then to halt and stand. I was aware that the three men had ridden up to the other side of the wall and dismounted from their horses; I saw the unease in Swift’s eye, the nervous tremor in his movements, the old urge to sail over the wall and away strong in him. But he held still. I’d worked with him every day since Cruinn’s arrival, save for those rare times when Emrys could escape his other duties and come to take him out onto the tracks. The yearling’s ability to stand in the presence of strangers and strange horses was pleasing evidence that my work had done some good.

“Easy, Swift.” I gave him the soft touch he had earned, stroking his neck, resting my cheek against his, murmuring words of praise. He was tired. He needed a rubdown, but that would have to wait until the young druid came later. “Good boy. All done.”

I turned and walked over to the wall. “Father, how good to see you. Welcome to the nemetons, Lord Cruinn.” I was dusty and sweaty, the hem of my gown was very much the worse for wear, and my hair was pulled back into a single plait. I wore no kerchief;
it was easier to dispense with it when Rhian was not there to tie and untie it for me. That meant my facial scarring was on full display.

The bodyguard avoided looking at me. Father greeted me, then opened the gate so I need not leave the field the way I had entered it, by setting a foot between the stones and rolling up over the wall on my stomach. Badger followed me through. Bear took the wall in an enthusiastic leap and ran a few circles around the three men and their horses before coming to sit beside me in a manner that pleased me greatly. I had not forgotten Cruinn’s remark about ill-trained dogs.

I glanced at the Tirconnell chieftain now, wondering if he’d come here to perform a search. He looked five years older than he had the day he rode into our courtyard and was greeted by my baying duo. His loss weighed him down. Yet at this moment there was a brightness in his eye. This had nothing to do with me. His attention was all on Swift.

“That is a very, very fine young animal, Lady Maeve,” he observed after a while.

“He is, yes.” Had Father told him why Swift had been brought to Sevenwaters? I’d best not speak of that until I knew one way or the other. “Bred in my uncle’s stables at Harrowfield, in Britain. Swift is very like his dam, who has the same silvery color, the same conformation and the same rather difficult temperament.” That was perhaps a little too honest. “His sire was a fine riding horse, also a gray, belonging to the chieftain of Northwoods, my uncle’s neighbor. Father will have told you, I expect, that we have Swift here in the nemetons so he can recover fully from the sea voyage, and to allow more training before—before he moves on. I regret that I was too involved in that training to offer a greeting when you arrived, my lord.”

“Not at all,” said Cruinn absently, his eyes still on the yearling. “I saw that you were working. You have a remarkable gift, Lady Maeve. Difficult temperament? There was no sign of it just now. Where did you learn to train a horse that way, using only your voice?”

“I have no other way to do it. I taught myself, I suppose.” I laid my hand on Bear’s head. “I can’t take all the credit for Swift’s training. The two grooms who came over with us from Harrowfield have done a great deal of the work. Emrys, in particular, has an excellent touch with the horse.”

“I see you have taken my advice to heart,” Cruinn said, tearing his gaze away from Swift to look directly at me for the first time. “Your dogs did not try to kill me today.”

“No, my lord.” He was smiling. That seemed a minor miracle. “They are good dogs. They needed time and love, that was all.”

“I see your Swift is somewhat weary and could do with a rub-down, which I imagine would be difficult for you to manage without some help. I’d be happy to perform the task, since I’d like to inspect the animal at closer quarters, but only if that is acceptable to you, of course.”

With an effort, I managed not to gape at him. “Of course. Thank you. But I’ll need to be in the field with you. Swift is unpredictable with folk he doesn’t know.” I glanced at Father, who was looking as surprised as I felt. The bodyguard was staring off into the distance, disapproval written all over his face. “There are some cloths up there by the door of my cottage,” I added. “Perhaps your man would fetch them for us.”

Father cleared his throat. “I want to visit my son,” he said. “I might walk over to the druids’ quarters now and come back after I’ve spoken to Finbar, if that suits you, Cruinn.”

“Take your time,” Cruinn said.

The bodyguard brought the cloths. Clearly, he was staying in case I attempted some act of violence against his employer. I had wondered if his instructions were to shadow Cruinn closely at all times, but when the chieftain and I went back into the field, the guard stayed outside the gate. The three horses had dropped their heads and were cropping the grass by the track. Badger stayed by them, as watchful as the man. Bear came with me.

When Cruinn had first appeared at Sevenwaters, I had thought him formidable. He had seemed a figure of power, the kind of man who would not bend. Now I was obliged to reassess my
judgment. Perhaps it was that he knew and loved horses. Perhaps it was that, for some odd reason, he had decided he liked talking to me. Perhaps it was being away from other folk, doing a simple job with his hands, surrounded by the green quiet of the nemetons. He went about the rubdown with the strong, gentle touch of the most expert horseman. He listened to all my warnings about Swift and heeded them. I stood at the yearling’s head and murmured to him, and Cruinn worked on until Swift’s coat was dry and glossy and his eyes were dreamily quiet.

“We haven’t found a trace of them.” Cruinn spoke into a long silence, making my skin prickle.

“Your sons?” I asked quietly.

“I’ve only the two boys, Lady Maeve. We’ve had our disputes and disagreements over the years. Those petty squabbles, a fight over the use of a piece of land, a falling-out over an unsuitable friendship—they faded to nothing when I lost them. I would give my life to get them back.”

“What are their names, my lord?”

“My heir, Tiernan. My younger son, Artagan.” His voice cracked. “There,” he murmured, laying his hand against Swift’s back and turning his head away from me. “I’m an old fool. I can hardly bear to speak their names.”

I gave him some time to compose himself. Then I said, “Nobody would think less of you for that, Lord Cruinn.”

“There’s a third lad still missing. I remind myself that he, too, has grieving parents. Tiernan’s friend Daigh, the son of my chief councilor. I refused to bring his father with me on this journey. That man has a wife, and she needs him by her side. My wife died before this sorrow overtook us. I never thought I would see that as a good thing, Maeve, but this would have been too heavy a burden for her. She was a woman like a meadow flower; she was never strong.” He straightened his shoulders, stiffened his spine, lifted his head. “There, my lovely boy,” he said, addressing Swift. “All done.”

“Your sons are strong and resourceful, I’m sure.” I searched for words that might comfort him. “You must hold on to hope, Lord
Cruinn. That you have not yet found them may not mean the worst. It may be that they are…on a journey. They may be in a place where ordinary searchers cannot find them.” I hesitated, not sure how much it was safe to say. “In time, perhaps they will make their own way home.”

“Hope, hope,” muttered Cruinn. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe in. I think it’s anger that keeps me going. Your father says his woods are full of uncanny beings, portals to the Otherworld, traps and tricks that make the very paths turn and twist, forming a new pattern each day. My searchers have found neither fey creatures nor eldritch doorways, but they tell me the story about the paths is true, so I suppose I must give some credence to what Sean says…If my boys have been abducted, if they have been taken into a realm beyond the human, how can I cling to hope? If I do not find them alive, I have failed my boys, and I have failed their mother.” He drew a ragged breath. “What is this adversary your father alludes to, Mac Dara? A prince, Sean said. What manner of prince steals fine young men from their fathers for no good reason? What manner of man kills them as a kind of joke? One seemed to think he could fly; one tried to commune with bees; one was imitating a fish or frog when he drowned. Young Niall, the man you were unfortunate enough to find, was strung up like a grub in a cocoon. Why? What fiendish imagination devises such hideous games?”