Heart's Blood (40 page)

I was foolish, perhaps. Once before, up in the tower, I had imagined her pushing me over the edge and down to oblivion. I had suspected her of shutting me in. I had even wondered if she was responsible for the damage to my belongings, though it was hard to imagine such a self-possessed creature shredding a gown or ripping out a doll’s hair. As for her sudden disappearance earlier, just before I noticed the fire, she had a perfectly plausible explanation for that. I had seen how the frenzy affected the host, causing those men on the walkway to turn on one another, sending the steady Gearróg suddenly mad. I should be grateful to Muirne. If she had not removed herself from Irial’s garden, she might have been driven to attack me.

“Something amuses you, Caitrin?”

“Not really. This has been a difficult day. I thought the whole library would be lost.”

“That would indeed be bad, since you seem to believe the host can be dismissed if only you find the right page. If the records were gone, you would have no reason to stay.”

After a moment I said, “Fortunately, it seems nothing was burned. Some smoke damage, that was all. Not a real fire. Something else.”

“This is Whistling Tor. It is not like the outside world.” She stopped in front of a tall bronze mirror, hung flush with the stone wall.Verdigris crept across its surface like a spreading canker.

“In many ways that is true,” I said. “But Whistling Tor exists in the outside world; it cannot be forever isolated, keeping only to its own rules. Without Magnus’s trips down to the settlement and the readiness of those folk to send supplies back with him, this place could not keep going. Now the Normans are coming, and Anluan is going to put up a fight for his lands. He has gone into that outside world, Muirne, and he’s made a pledge that he’ll confront the threat bravely, he and the host together. Times are changing.”

Muirne had her hand flat on the wall beside the bronze panel. There was a small frown between her neat, pale brows. “You’ve never really understood, have you?” she said, and the mirror swung away from the wall to reveal a shadowy space within, and steps going down. “Anluan is down there. Come quietly.”

The hairs on my neck rose in unease.There was something deeply unsettling about this hidden entry, a menace, a wrongness. I hesitated, warning bells ringing loud in my head.

“Afraid?” Muirne said softly, her hand on my sleeve. “It’s quite safe. Come, I will show you.”

Something in her eyes led me down the steps after her. At the bottom a heavy iron-bound door stood ajar.We halted. Lamplight shone from within. The chamber was deep in the ground; there would be no windows here.

I took a breath to ask what the place was, but Muirne’s cold fingers were suddenly against my lips, rendering me silent and still. Her eyes moved from me to the gap in the doorway, and when I followed her gaze I saw that Anluan was within the chamber. He sat on a bench, quite still, his back to us. He was staring into a mirror. I wondered why he had not immediately seen our reflections and turned.Then I glimpsed a swirl of movement and color on the surface before him and realized that this was another of Nechtan’s artifacts, showing something quite different from what stood before it. I should not be here watching. I should retreat or make a sound to alert him to my presence. But I couldn’t. The images that held Anluan there were plainly visible, and they gripped me as it seemed they had him. Beside me, Muirne stood quiet as a shadow.

This was a mirror of glass with a reflective surface behind it, an object such as one would find only in the wealthiest of homes.The images within it were as clear as if seen through a window on a sunny day.There was Anluan astride a tall black horse, riding fast along a dappled forest pathway. He sat straight, his shoulders square, his head high and his flame of hair streaming out behind him. A sword hung at his belt, a bow was slung over his shoulder.Two sleek hounds ran at the horse’s feet. Behind him a company of men-at-arms rode two by two, one of them bearing a banner: a golden sun on a field the hue of a summer sky.

The image wavered and changed. I saw the same group of men, dismounted and at ease in a forest clearing, with the horses grazing nearby. While some of the warriors tended a camp fire and others rested under the trees, most stood in a circle watching a wrestling match—Anluan and another young man, half naked and locked in a tight bout, strength against strength. I saw at a glance that the Anluan of the vision had two strong arms, two strong legs, a stance that was straight and even, a perfect balance. He was in every respect a fine example of healthy manhood. For a moment he seemed to look straight out into the subterranean chamber, and I saw that his features were quite regular, with no trace of the odd lopsidedness that afflicted the real Anluan. It was so well balanced a face that it was completely lacking in character.

This was wrong. I should not be spying on the man I cared about most in all the world. I made to turn away, and Muirne put her hand on my shoulder. I started; I had forgotten she was there.There was a powerful, silent message in her touch:
Not yet, Caitrin.

And then, ah, then came the third vision. Pale flesh in graceful rise and fall, dark hair curling down over a body all curves and softness, bright locks spilling across strong male shoulders. Hands stroking, caressing, tender at first, then more urgent as desire mounted fast. A confusion of limbs, a cascade of discarded garments. Lips touching, parting, touching again, clinging, tasting; tongues exploring. A body lifting; another plunging deep. I felt my face flame with heat.That was me in the vision, me naked and exposed, opening myself to him, straining him to me, giving him everything I had with joyous abandonment. The finely made man who tangled and tumbled in intimate embrace with me was Anluan; not the Anluan I knew and loved, the man of sun and shadows, my friend, my companion, whose oddities and troubles had shaped both his form and his character, but the perfect Anluan, the first among warriors, the one who could do all the things a true chieftain should do: ride, fight, lead. Make love to a woman.

The real Anluan drew a deep, ragged breath, then punched forward violently with his good left fist.The mirror shattered into a thousand pieces. There was blood on his hand; he looked at it as if he scarcely knew what it was. In the moment before I turned and fled, I glanced about the chamber and saw that it was indeed familiar. Shelves lined the walls; on them stood dusty paraphernalia: books, scrolls, jars, crucibles, strange instruments whose uses one could only guess at.A clever chimney to vent smoke; a row of pegs for the hanging of garments; a table big enough to hold a person, lying down. A pallet in a corner. I had seen this before. It was Nechtan’s workroom.

I ran. I did not stop until I was almost back at the kitchen door, and even then I only halted because I knew I would faint if I didn’t take time to catch my breath.The hallway spun around me. I forced myself to breathe slowly, leaning on the wall for support.

“The mirror of might-have-been.” Muirne had followed close behind me and now stood opposite, her hands behind her back, her face quite calm. She spoke in an undertone. “One of Nechtan’s cruelest. Anluan sees himself as he would be had the palsy not struck him: a man straight and tall, a handsome man, the kind others follow.The kind who can make his mark in that outside world you think so important, Caitrin. Of course, Anluan can never be such a man. Before you came here, he had accepted that.”

I had to stop myself from grabbing her shoulders and giving her a good shaking. “Why did you show me this? He’d be mortified if he knew we were watching! I only want to help him, Muirne. I care about him. I thought you did, too.”

“Oh, Caitrin. No matter how much I care, I cannot change the way things are, and nor can you. Anluan will never be that fine man in the mirror. He will always have crooked shoulders and a hobbling leg. His right hand cannot hold a quill, let alone a sword. The palsy ruined him. He has nothing to offer a woman like you. Do you understand what I mean? A real woman wants children. She wants to be . . . satisfied. If you want a real man, Caitrin, don’t look here.”

Her careless cruelty was as brutal as a blow. I found words, perhaps not wise ones, but they came from my heart.“I thought you loved him,” I said quietly.“I see now that I was wrong. I pity you, Muirne.You don’t seem to understand what love is.” I turned my back on her and walked away.

I hadn’t wanted to trouble Magnus further, but when I went into the kitchen, my mind still reeling from what had happened, he took one look at me, scooped me up in his arms and carried me back to my bedchamber, muttering that he should never have let me out of his sight.

“You weren’t gone long,” he observed once I was lying down under the covers. “Did you speak to Anluan?”

“No, I couldn’t find him. Magnus, you don’t need to stay. I’ll be fine. I just want to sleep now.” A lie twice over. I was far from fine and I would not sleep. But I did need to be alone so I could try to come to terms with this. How could I so much as look at Anluan now? My newfound knowledge must be painted all over my face. How could I speak to him? The simplest
good morning
must surely tremble with pent-up emotion.The vision still burned bright in me, and the bitter aftermath had lodged itself deep in my heart.

Magnus gave me a penetrating look, but evidently decided further questioning was not in order. “You can’t be left on your own, lass. It may not be strictly proper, the men of the house tending to you up here, but Muirne’s the only female amongst the inner circle and I don’t think she’d excel at this job. I’ll call Rioghan. I do need to finish what I started in the kitchen.”

A piercing whistle from the doorway brought Rioghan, who seemed quite happy to sit with me now that he had finished briefing his unlikely army. He told me he’d sent the men of the host off to discuss matters amongst themselves. They were to return tomorrow with a preliminary plan for dealing with the frenzy next time around. It all sounded quite practical; oversimple, perhaps, but I did not say so. He was the strategist, after all, and right now I was a tired and sorry mess.

“Since I’m here,” Rioghan drew the stool closer to the bed and settled himself on it, his cloak making a carpet of crimson around him,“we might talk further about your home situation, Caitrin, with these distant relatives who apparently believe themselves entitled to take control of your affairs. I feel that matter needs clarification.”

Why was he raising this now, out of the blue? Ita and Cillian seemed far away, hardly worth considering any longer. My heart was full of Anluan. “I may not have much to contribute,” I said, managing a weak smile.

“All you need do is listen,” Rioghan said.“And perhaps answer a small question or two.”

“All right.”

The ghost girl was at the door, looking out. I wondered if she was expecting Gearróg, who had been kind to her.Where was he?

“Now, Caitrin,” Rioghan said, “I understand you and your sister were your father’s only children, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“The house where you were living was not tied in any way to your father’s employment? It belonged to him outright?”

“It did. He never attached himself to a particular patron, though there were many who would have liked his exclusive services.We worked independently. That was what Father preferred. It gave us more control.”

“And the unpleasant Cillian and his mother are not close kin? What is the connection, exactly?”

This was more than a small question or two. “Ita is a distant cousin of Father’s. But she said that because Cillian was the only male kinsman, he had control of Father’s property.There wasn’t much. Really just the house. And the tools and materials in the workroom. She sold most of those.”

Rioghan turned his dark eyes on me. He clasped his long hands together, elbows on knees. “This Ita lied to you, Caitrin,” he said.

“About Father’s assets? How can you know that?”

“Where the assets are concerned, I cannot be certain, but I think it likely a skilled craftsman such as your father would possess far greater resources than you suggest, unless he was a heavy drinker, a lover of games of chance, or had some other vice on which to squander his earnings.”

If I’d had the energy I would have laughed at this. “None of those. Father was a clean-living, hard-working man. Even if he’d wanted to do those things, he never had time.”

Rioghan nodded. “I thought as much. You would not speak of him with such love and pride if he were anything else. Now let me tell you a fact or two. There is an established law on inheritance, and it still holds in all parts of Erin not under Norman rule. If a man has no sons, his daughters inherit, at the very least, a lifetime share in his estate.Your father’s house, his land and all the chattels within should be yours and your sister’s, in equal share. A distant cousin has no claim on your family home, Caitrin, nor on the tools of your father’s craft, nor on stock or furniture or anything else your father owned.The fact that Cillian is a man makes no difference.”

So Ita had told me barefaced lies. This would once have been a stunning revelation, for the news held out the wonderful gift of independence, an entitlement to go on living in the house where we had once been the happiest of families. Perhaps, in time, I might have established myself as a scribe in my own right, earning a good living. Some part of my mind knew it was welcome news, but that life seemed so distant now. I tried to imagine myself returning to Market Cross to present the facts to Ita. I tried to picture her and Cillian being removed from the house they had taken under false pretenses. But all I could see was Anluan’s fist striking forward, and shards of glass flying through the air in that underground chamber. All I could hear was Muirne’s precise little voice saying:
If you want a real man, Caitrin, don’t look here.

“Caitrin?”

I glanced over at Rioghan. He deserved a better response from me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s hard for me to concentrate, I feel so weak still. It’s a pity I didn’t know this before. But it doesn’t matter now, since I don’t intend to go back to Market Cross.”