The Well of Shades (12 page)

She reached up a hand to scrub the tears angrily from her face. With the other hand she held out the knife and he took it. “What happened, Eile?” he asked.
“What—” He fell abruptly silent. She had untied her cloak and dropped it to the floor. Underneath, from neck to knees, the front
of her gown was stained dark with what he very much hoped was not blood.

“We need to get away,” she whispered, casting a glance at the child. “We need to get as far as we can before they find us.”

“You’re hurt! What is this? What’s happened?”

“I’m fine.” The chin
went up; the eyes dared him to be sorry for her. Behind her the dog, which had been standing just inside the doorway with its tail down, now slunk over to the fire and, when no reprimand came its way, settled itself on the earthen floor beside the child. “Later,” Eile added, conveying with her eyes that she would not give any further explanations in Saraid’s hearing. “She’s hungry. Haven’t you got
any food at all?” She had the tears under control now, by sheer force of will.

Faolan couldn’t take his eyes off that threadbare gown. It was blood; he knew it. Not hers, he should have realized; whoever had colored that homespun first crimson, then brown, must surely be dead. “Nothing at all,” he said absently, wondering if he would wake up soon from this improbable dream. “I gave most of it
away and had the rest for supper. I wasn’t expecting guests.”

Eile squatted beside Saraid, reaching into a little bag slung from her belt. Out came a tiny scrap of crumbling bread and the merest morsel of cheese, the last hoarded remnant of the meal he had provided. What had been intended to give one young woman a single breakfast had been eked out over more than two full days, and he suspected
Eile had eaten little of it herself. Saraid’s shadowy eyes lit up; she clutched the doll in one hand, the food in the other.

“Eat it slowly, Squirrel,” Eile told her. “Don’t gobble.”

“What about you?” Faolan asked, busy rummaging through his own pack.

“I’m not hungry.”

“How long can you keep that up, giving her your own share and expecting to live on nothing? You’re skin and bone.”

“What
are you, my father? I’m fine. I said so. Why did you stop us? We need to keep moving.”

“You know,” Faolan said, finding what he sought, “Deord was a man of considerable intelligence. A risk-taker, certainly, but practical. It surprises me to find his daughter acting with reckless folly. It astonishes me that you brought the child with you. Maybe you don’t realize how close the two of you were
to a watery grave.”

“We’d have got over all right.”

“Nonsense. You were frozen with terror, and don’t try to tell me otherwise. A grown man wouldn’t consider going across that thing by night. Here.” He tossed her the garments he had found, his own change of clothing. It seemed to be becoming a habit, giving his shirts and trousers away to women in distress. An image of Ana came to him, Ana in
the outfit he had intended to wear as the king’s emissary to Alpin of the Caitt. The male attire had somehow rendered his princess more of a woman than ever.

“What’s this?” asked Eile in tones of deep suspicion.

“Wherever you’re going, and I hope you’ll do me the courtesy of telling me that in due course, you can’t wear that gown any longer. Take these, put them on, roll up the trousers or do
whatever you need to do to make them fit. And I’d suggest we consign what you’re wearing to the fire.”

Eile held up the fine linen shirt, the trousers of best quality wool. “These are too good,” she said flatly. “I can’t wear these.” The garments shook in her hands. “And if we burn mine, I can’t give yours back.”

“Eile,” said Faolan, holding on to his patience, “just put them on, will you? I’ll
turn my back if you want. Or I’ll go outside while you do it. But hurry up. It’s cold.”

Saraid had finished her pitiful meal and settled herself down against the dog, eyelids drooping. Eile picked up her discarded cloak and laid it over the child. The tenderness of the gesture took Faolan by surprise; this girl was a bundle of contradictions.

“Go on, then,” she snapped at him.

He went out,
closing the door behind him, and stood listening to the river and looking up at a night sky where stars were appearing here and there in windows between the restless clouds. The moon lay low and indistinct. What in the name of all the powers was going on here? He felt a profound hope that Eile had been killing chickens and had forgotten her apron. He knew it could not be so. Something far darker shadowed
those green eyes and held the frail body taut as a bowstring. He’d stumbled into something he didn’t want, something he had no room for. But she was Deord’s daughter. That made Eile his business, his responsibility, no matter what had happened. Curse it. He should have gone to Derry first, on Bridei’s mission. A girl, a child, a dog… This was getting ridiculous.

Behind him, the door creaked open.
“Come in if you want,” Eile said.

His clothing swamped her. She looked like a little boy trying on a big brother’s garb, save for the long hair roughly tied at the nape of her neck and draggling down her back. He recalled how fastidious Ana had been about cleanliness; how often she had combed her golden locks on that long journey across Caitt territory. This girl looked as if she hadn’t washed
in months. And she had started to cry again, silently, although her stance, arms wrapped around herself, jaw clenched tightly and eyes down, told him how much she hated to reveal such weakness before him.

Saraid was asleep, head pillowed on the dog. Her cheeks were flushed pink; the fire warmed the two of them.

With what he considered was great forbearance, Faolan said nothing at all, but set
his pot of water to heat on the fire. And, after all, he did have something to offer her: his packets of medicinal herbs, one or two of which could be brewed into a tea that was a step up from drinking hot water, and whose soporific effect would do her
no harm. He got them out and sprinkled a handful in the pot. The smell was good; that in itself had some capacity to ease the heart, he believed.

Eile struggled awhile with her tears, shaking and sniffing. There came a point when her control crumbled and she began to sob outright. Faolan watched her without letting anything show on his face, waiting until she was ready to talk. She looked as if she needed her father and mother to put their arms around her and tell her all would be well. He did not think he could touch her. That would as
likely trigger a knife in the face as any expression of gratitude.

She wept, crouched by the fire, head in hands. Her shoulders heaved. Faolan took his time brewing the draft, then poured some into his traveler’s cup for her. He set it on the hearth beside her.

“Drink this, Eile. It will warm you up. It might make you sleepy, but it’s harmless.”

“Sleepy?” she hiccupped. “I can’t be sleepy,
we have to go on…”

“Shh,” Faolan said. “If you’re so keen to rush off at first light, I’ll wake you. But you’re not going anywhere tonight. The child needs her rest.”

“How do I know it’s not a trick? It could be poisoned.”

“You know because I’m Deord’s friend. If it helps, I’ll share it.”

“Then
you
won’t wake up in time.”

“Believe me, I will. Suddenly acquiring the three of you to look after
is guaranteed to keep my sleep light.” He picked up the cup and drank, then put it in her hand. Questions hovered on his lips; he held them back.

“Look after,” she said tremulously, taking a cautious sip. “What does that mean? For how long?”

“At least until you are somewhere safe, perhaps at the priory I mentioned. I would see the child delivered home, as well.”

“No!” The cup shook; drops hissed
on the hearth.
“Saraid’s with me! She’s not going back!” She started to rise to her feet.

“Sit down, Eile. Be reasonable. Whatever’s happened, your aunt and uncle will be out of their minds with worry. They need their daughter home.”

She stared at him, reddened eyes suddenly inimical. The firelight caught the gleam of tears on her cheeks. “Are you stupid or something?” she asked.

Faolan waited,
reminding himself that she was very young; that she was shocked and distressed. He listened to the crackle of the fire and the child’s soft breathing.

“She’s not my cousin,” Eile said flatly. “She’s my daughter. She’s mine, and I can take her anywhere I want. And I can’t go to the priory. Not now.”

Faolan stared at her, caught off guard. He wondered if he had been half-asleep at Cloud Hill,
to miss what now seemed distressingly obvious. “How old did you say you were?” he asked, and instantly regretted it.

“An infant could add it up.” Her tone was hard. “I was a few months short of my thirteenth birthday when I had her. She’s mine, Faolan, and nobody’s taking her off me. I need to get her away before they find us. I told you.”

“They? Your uncle and aunt?”

She smiled. It was the
most alarming expression he’d ever seen on anyone; in that moment he could not believe she was only sixteen. “Not him,” she said. “Not anymore. But Aunt Anda, yes. She’ll have run screaming to the settlement, accusing me, getting them all fired up. I can’t fight a whole mob. All I can do is run. Run far enough so they never catch up.” Her teeth were chattering. Her voice had become a monotone and
her eyes stared through him.

Faolan sat on the floor and put his hands around his knees. “I’m not going to make you tell me,” he said quietly. “But I think you should. I’m going to be more use to you if I know what’s happened, Eile.”

“She’s not going back there. And I’m not going to the
nuns, they won’t want her, and anyway it’s too close, the story’ll get out and they’ll take Saraid off me.”

“Eile,” Faolan said, “look at me. Come on, look me in the eye. Now listen for a moment. You’re a mother, you’re grown up, you make your own decisions. That doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help if you need it. I’m good at keeping people safe. It’s one of the things I do for a living. A lot of the time I work outside the rules: men’s rules, gods’ rules. I said I’d protect you. I said I’d look after
you and Saraid. My bond with your father obliges me to do so.”

“Big talk,” said Eile, wiping her nose on the linen shirt.

“I give you my word. Whatever it is that’s happened, I’ll stand by that promise. I swear it.”
Let me not regret this too much in the morning.

She stared at him a moment, then drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I killed him,” she said. “Dalach. I stuck the knife in his heart.
I’d told Saraid to get ready and wait outside for me. I did it and we ran.”

“You killed your uncle.” With an effort, he kept his tone level.

“That scum didn’t deserve to be anyone’s uncle. Well, he won’t be trying his tricks on me anymore, or any other girl. He’s had his last bit of fun, the filthy swine. And he won’t be spreading any more lies. Not that it helps; Anda’s just as bad as him.
Every person in Cloud Hill believed what they said about me. Everyone.”

“What? What did they say?” His mind was racing: a man left to bleed to death, a flight that must draw attention to her guilt, the aunt raising the alarm… Eile had been right after all. They probably had needed to get over the river tonight. She’d have been slow on the track, carrying the child. Likely there’d be a mob of
villagers on the doorstep at dawn, demanding that the killer be brought to quick justice.

“That I’m a filthy slut who’ll open her legs for anyone who’ll give me a crust of bread or a mouthful of ale,” she
said bitterly. “That I’ve been rotten from the start. That she’s the child of some wandering drunkard I invited to have me by the wayside when I was barely twelve years old. Everyone believes
it. Why wouldn’t they? Dalach’s fist and Dalach’s boot are a great encouragement to agreeing with him.”

“Were,” said Faolan. “Eile?”

“What?” It was a defensive snarl. His heart bled for her.

“Saraid. You said Dalach spread lies about who fathered her; that he persuaded the folk of your community that you were…”

“A whore?”

“Eile, are you telling me she’s Dalach’s child? That he…?” He could
not quite make himself put it into words.

“Quick, aren’t you? A surprise gift, you might say, for my twelfth birthday. Dalach’s big. I tried to fight him the first few times. It turned out he liked that.”

Faolan dropped his gaze.

“Don’t know what to say, do you? Or thinking what those men in the village think, ‘Oh, she must have been asking for it.’ All it takes is a man who’s strong and knows
how to make threats. My mother was gone. He could do what he liked. Before I had Saraid, I kept running away. I never got far. He wanted me back, and he came and found me. Not this time.”

“Your aunt,” Faolan said. “Why didn’t you tell her? She could have done something to protect you, surely—”

“She knew.” Eile’s voice was a whisper. “She knew all the time. She never did anything to stop him.
He knew how to twist her to his will; he beat her, too. After a while she learned to hate me, because he…” She took a breath. “Because he wanted me more than her. He said things. Comparisons. It had to stop. I had to stop it before someone hurt Saraid. She’s only little. Once I had her, there was no running away. He said he’d harm her if
I didn’t do what he wanted. He would have done things to
her, once she was old enough. So when you left the knife, I knew it was time to make an end to it.”

There was plenty Faolan could have said: that she should have told him everything when they first met; that she should have sought help, perhaps from the women of the village; that a knife is not the best answer, even to the assaults of an evil man.

“You had the luxury of vengeance,” was what
he said. “I’ve been denied that. I found out at Cloud Hill that the man who most wronged my family has been dead for four years. The man whose name is on that knife I so conveniently left in your possession. You, at least, had the satisfaction of meting out just punishment. Did it make you feel better?”

“No,” she whispered. “I’m glad he’s gone. I’m glad he can’t hurt Saraid, or anyone else now.
But I don’t feel good. I feel… dirty. Scared. Alone.” He saw her do it again, that lift of the chin, the summoning of a formidable will, and he saw her father in her. Beneath the unprepossessing exterior, he saw that she was immensely strong and entirely selfless. “That’s all right,” she went on. “I’m used to being alone. They all go away, and you will, too. We’ll manage.”