The Well of Shades (55 page)

E
ILE MADE HER
way to the part of White Hill where Breda and her cousin, the king of the Light Isles, were housed with their substantial entourage. These apartments
were at the far side of the kitchens and great hall. She walked along a broad passageway with an arched roof and through a big doorway into a chamber hung with bright woven pictures, where several of Breda’s attendants were clustered
by a little hearth, conversing in low voices. All of them fell silent as Eile entered. For a moment she wished she had not agreed to leave Saraid with Derelei; if her daughter had been present, these girls would have smiled and shown pretense of welcome, at least. On the other hand, she assumed they had but recently come from Cella’s funeral rite. Perhaps sorrow had frozen their smiles and robbed
them of polite words.

She hated this kind of thing. Part of her knew she was a Gael and a bond-slave and had no business here with these people; their eyes told her she was so far below them they could not even despise her. Another part of her said,
I am my father’s daughter; strong; a survivor. What’s a few snobbish girls?

“Lady Breda, ask to see me?” She used the words she had prepared, making
her voice steady. “I… sorry… Cella. Very sad.”

One of the girls spoke, so rapidly there was no way Eile could follow. Others joined in. She stood with hands clasped behind her back, trying to look calm. She waited until the interchange, complete with whispers and giggling, had finished, then repeated into the silence, “Lady Breda, ask to see me?”

“Eile!” a familiar voice called from an inner
chamber.

“Go on, then,” said someone ungraciously. When none of them moved to accompany her, Eile put her chin up and walked across the chamber on her own, stopping to tap on the open door leading to the room where, it seemed, Breda was lodged.

“You’re here at last! What took you so long? Come in and shut that wretched door, the girls are driving me crazy with their moaning.” The flood of Gaelic
was music to Eile’s ears; now that Drustan was gone, there were
few left at White Hill who could speak her tongue with complete fluency. She could hardly go to the king or queen when she needed someone to talk to, and Wid insisted she use the Priteni language in his company. She obeyed Breda’s command.

The fair-haired girl was in bed as Eile had expected. She was sitting up with a small mountain
of pillows behind her back and a jug and goblet on a little table beside her. The bedchamber was large, far grander than the one Ana and Drustan had shared, which had once been Ana’s own room at court. This place had a closed-in feeling; only a slit of a window let in the sun, and there were numerous candles lit on shelves along with an oil lamp that cast a mellow light on the embroidered hangings,
scenes of folk picking berries, hunting deer, sailing in a squat little boat. Eile smiled, remembering that choppy sea voyage in the company of monks. It had felt so good to find she could help; to know she was not just useful, but an essential part of a team. She had landed in Dalriada with honorable blisters and a backache that was almost welcome. She could still feel the ropes in her hands.
She could still see Faolan’s smile as he watched her, a rare, sunny smile, and Saraid’s gaze of wonderment as the sea surged all around them.

“Sit down!” Breda ordered, patting the quilt, and Eile sat.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked politely. In fact, Breda looked rosy and comfortable; if she was distressed about Cella’s death, she was hiding it well. Her eyes were sparkling, but her hands
were restless; she picked at the bedding and twisted the silver rings on her slender fingers. “I’m so sorry about your handmaid,” Eile added. “What a shocking thing to happen.”

“I was nearly killed myself,” Breda said. “That poxy horse they gave me almost threw me. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“I heard the story,” Eile said. “King Bridei saved you.
He must be a very good horseman,
and brave as well. I’m glad you weren’t hurt. That boy, Bedo, broke his arm quite badly.”

“It was Dovran who did most of the rescuing,” Breda said with a crooked smile. “He’s so strong; he picked me up as if I weighed nothing at all.” Her cheeks were pink. “Of course, the king’s bodyguards are handpicked warriors. They are all well-built men. But he’s… I could feel the raw power in him, Eile.
He’s something special. It set me thinking…”

Eile refrained from comment.

“Oh, well,” sighed Breda, “it was an adventure, I suppose. I could do without the bruises. Bridei made me get straight back on a horse. Quite inconsiderate, I thought.”

It was not up to her, Eile thought, to suggest to the princess of the Light Isles that it might be appropriate to express sorrow at the death of her handmaid
or concern at the serious injury to a young man of the household. Often Breda seemed like a child of nine or ten, who believes the whole world centers on herself and acts accordingly.

“I don’t suppose Bridei would have made you ride if it wasn’t safe,” Eile said. “He seems a very wise sort of person. I wonder why the horse did bolt. Did something startle it?”

Breda shrugged. “How would I know?
Everyone seems to think I’ve got the answers to everything; there’s been one person after another wanting to come in here and make me tell it over and over again. It was probably Cella’s stupid merlin flapping about. She never controlled the thing properly. It needs its neck wrung. Now, Eile. I have something to ask you. I think you can probably guess what it is.” The big blue eyes fixed themselves
on Eile’s; the well-shaped brows arched above them.

“I can’t imagine.”

“Really? You disappoint me; I thought you were a clever girl. Well, I see I must set it all out for you. I know you’ve had a difficult time, so young and with a daughter to look after, and so far from home…”

For one horrified moment, Eile wondered if Ana or Drustan had revealed some part of her history to this odd young
woman; she herself had told nobody at White Hill of her origins, or how she had met Faolan, or the dark reason the king’s chief bodyguard more or less owned her. Then common sense asserted itself. Even Ana and Drustan didn’t know those things; Faolan had told them she’d had a bad time, that was all.

“So I thought someone should give you an opportunity,” Breda went on. “A chance to make something
better of yourself.”

Eile waited. Breda seemed to be expecting her to guess. She was not sure she wanted to guess.
I don’t need to make myself better. I’m fine just as I am
. She held her tongue. Offend this willful young noblewoman and things were sure to go awry.

“You really can’t guess? Well, Eile, with Cella gone I’m going to need another handmaid, aren’t I? I always keep five. You seem ideal
for the position. It’s not a servant’s job, you understand; it’s somewhere between personal attendant, confidante, and friend. You’re young, you’re presentable without being too… You speak Gaelic, so I can talk to you without the others understanding. I see that as a strong point in your favor. And I like you already. You’re not scared to speak up. I hate those demure, quiet little girls, they’re
such a bore.” Breda babbled to a halt, then looked at Eile, all expectation. It did not seem possible to answer with a bald refusal.

“You’re forgetting,” Eile said, keeping her tone politely respectful. “I have Saraid to look after.”

“The child? Oh, that’s no problem. There are heaps of servants here, and they like the little girl, she’s such a poppet. Anyone could watch over her. And when we
get home there are plenty of folk to do it.”

“When we get home?” Eile’s stomach dropped.

“To the Light Isles, of course. I don’t think I’ll be staying here after all; I hate it. Just think, a whole new
start for you. The place is full of lusty fishermen.” Breda’s grin seemed almost predatory. “We’ll have you married off within a season, mark my words. I’ve a talent for matchmaking. A new father
for little… what’s her name again?”

“Saraid. Thank you, Lady Breda, I’m… honored. But I can’t accept your offer.”

A pause. The expression in the blue eyes changed. “What?” There was an edge in Breda’s tone now.

“I don’t wish to offend you. The fact is, I couldn’t leave Saraid’s care to other people. Not all the time. She’s my daughter. I have to make sure she’s raised the right way. Kindly.
Fairly. With love. So she learns how to live her life well.”

“You’re not the only person who can do that.” Breda’s tone was crisp. “Most highborn children grow up seeing little of their mothers. Mine died when I was two. Then Ana went away. I had nobody.”

Eile could have sworn she saw tears in Breda’s eyes. She bit back a remark along the lines of,
And look how you turned out
. “That’s very sad;
I lost my own mother early, too. That is why I must be there for Saraid.”

“But you’re still young!” exclaimed Breda. “Don’t you want to enjoy yourself before you get wrinkles and a pot belly and nobody will so much as look at you anymore? I bet the only man you ever lay with was this Faolan of yours. He’s the child’s father, yes? I have to point out that he seems in no hurry to come back here.
Couldn’t care less, I’d say. You can’t waste what good years you have left on lullabies and nose wiping. Come on, Eile. This will be fun!”

“The thing is,” Eile said, feeling suddenly as if she were swimming through something thick and ungiving, such as mutton-fat porridge, “I don’t look after Saraid myself just because I have to. I do it because I love her; because I want to. And I can’t go away.
Not so far, across the sea and everything.”

“Why not?”

There was no good answer to this; none she was prepared to put into words. She could not claim Fortriu was home. The only family she had here was Saraid. She could not claim she had a real position at White Hill, not with Drustan and Ana gone. The best she could hope for was to become one of the permanent team of nursemaids and attendants
who helped Queen Tuala and watched over the royal children. However kind and friendly the king and queen of Fortriu might be to White Hill’s workers, that was indeed a servant’s position. “I can’t explain,” she said. “I just know we need to stay here, Saraid and I. For now, at least.”

“I see.” Suddenly there was something frightening in Breda’s eyes, and Eile felt a shiver run through her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wishing profoundly that she were somewhere else. “Very sorry. I do understand how generous your offer is. Your sister was very kind to me, too. A lovely woman.”

“Oh, Ana.” The tone was dismissive. “Well, Eile, you must go, I suppose. You’ll have important things to attend to. Picking up after little children and wiping their bottoms.”

Eile managed a smile. “It’s not all
hard work,” she said, getting up and smoothing the quilt. “It’s fun and laughter, too. Hugs and kisses and good times. You’ll change your mind when you have children of your own.” She could not for the life of her imagine this girl as a mother. Breda was more like a willful child.

“Good-bye, Eile.” The words were coolly distant. “Thank you for coming to see me. I want to rest now.” Breda sank
back on the pillows and closed her eyes.

For a moment, Eile felt genuinely sorry for her. The girl had lost her mother early, then her sister. Perhaps there had been nobody to teach her; to ensure she grew up properly. Eile made a silent promise to herself that she would never, ever let that happen to Saraid. “Good-bye,
Breda,” she said. “You understand, I just can’t say yes. I hope we can still
be friends.”

Breda’s big blue eyes snapped open, making Eile jump. Her mouth curved in a knowing little smile. “But of course,” she said. “Of course we will be friends.”

T
HE CHILD
WAS calling him. There was a catch in the little voice, as if tears were not far away; there was a pleading in the strange, light eyes. The druid saw the dear familiar face in every forest
pool; he heard the words in the song of a thrush, the warble of a wren.
Come home
.

He moved to the northeast, keeping to woodland by day, crossing open ground as a thief would, by night. Indeed, he became a thief, stealing a garment from the washing line of a low cottage, a shapeless, much-mended shirt that covered him to the thighs. Close to a smithy he found a rusted knife lying on a bench.
The next day, in the shadow of pines, he sawed his tangled locks off to the length of his little finger. The result, viewed in a slow stream under the pale sky of early summer, was less than reassuring. If the thing had been sharper he would have shaved his head entirely. Now he looked less like a mad seer and more like an evil-doer on the run. He would not travel openly; if he was seen and recognized,
there would be offers of horses, and messages sent to White Hill that would bring out riders to meet him and escort him back. This was not merely a journey of the body, but a test of the mind and will; it must be undertaken at its true pace. Each step held its own learning; each sunset, each moon-rise was a gift from the ancients, a message to be held and cherished.

Resting that night on a bed
of bracken as birds hooted and screamed and cried above him, words crept back to him, words he had once held dear to his heart.
There is learning in everything
. How many times had he repeated
that to Bridei after a frustrating lesson? How many times had he reminded himself of that wisdom when… Images slipped into the space that had been freed for them: himself wracked with illness after an enemy
slipped poison in his food, and struggling to go on, to fulfill his duty; Bridei defying him, Bridei making him choose between public acceptance of Tuala and the loss of the perfect king he had dedicated fifteen years to preparing. That day, he had learned that Bridei was his own man.