The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One (53 page)

Her gaze sharpened. ‘What of Gelert?’

‘Nothing … really. It’s just that he didn’t even attempt to gain the support of Calgacus’s druid.’

‘I hope you were not expecting much of him. He’s afraid of you, you must know that.’

‘Afraid of what? He looks after his realm and I mine.’

‘No, he wishes to control all realms. I think he hoped to control you, too, and because he cannot, that makes him angry. You’re getting too popular.’

He squinted at her, for in the firelight she was already blurred around the edges. Here he was, all sweaty and greasy with meat, and she just looked fresh and pretty. ‘Thank you for telling me all this now. I could have left him behind.’

Her mouth pursed. ‘I don’t think he would have listened, and besides, I’d rather have him here under our noses than getting up to Goddess knows what at Dunadd.’

She was right, but that just made him more annoyed. And why was it that the only conversations they ever had were all so
rational
. Look at Conaire and Caitlin over there, giggling like a couple of fools …

‘And where is the handsome Drust, then?’ he snapped.

Rhiann’s cheeks flushed. ‘You’re drunk.’

‘Trying.’

‘Well, at least he doesn’t bark at me like I’m some sort of—’

‘Wife?’ He raised his eyebrows.

Rhiann’s flush deepened, and her eyes sparked. ‘
You
can talk!’ she whispered furiously. ‘Your conquests would fill the King’s Hall and more!’

‘I don’t remember taking a vow to be chaste all my life!’

She looked as if he’d slapped her, which is what he wanted to do but … gods … he’d never hurt her … It was too late, she was on her feet, and there were tears in her eyes … tears!

‘Rhiann, wait!’

But she was gone, and people were looking, and he couldn’t run after her. ‘Girl!’ When the servant came to him, he took the whole pitcher of ale from her.

And gave her the cup in return.

Outside, Rhiann’s feet pounded the pathway in time to the litany in her head. Of all the rude, belligerent, hypocritical … beasts!

Of course, she should be back in the hall using her charm and position to sway the nobles, persuade them … but doing anything for the prince of Erin right now galled her.

She realized that her feet had taken her to the door of Drust’s workshed, where faint lamplight edged out from under the cover.
There she stopped, taking some deep breaths. Perhaps she should try to smooth things over with Drust, instead. Perhaps he would just smile again and be easy …

Eremon’s last words still rang in her bruised heart.
I did not take a vow to be chaste
.

No, he did not; she was the damaged one. Yet perhaps if Drust could be patient, he and she might try again. If he loved her just a little …

She lifted the cover and slipped silently under it. Inside, workbenches were scattered with awls and chisels and half-finished carvings, and the tarred scent of wood shavings hung in the air. A seal-oil lamp was burning in the corner. She walked closer to the lamp, to a pile of fur-covered straw there.

They did not even hear her.

It was no surprise, really.

Drust was groaning, his broad, smooth back thrusting forwards, and the girl, face hidden, wrapped her white legs around his waist.

It was no surprise. None of it.

Rhiann watched them blankly, until hysteria bubbled up from deep within her, and whistled out through her teeth. At the sound, Drust started and turned, and the girl’s wide eyes shone up underneath him. He did not leap to his feet, flustered. He did not look ashamed or abashed. If there was anything in his face, it was only the briefest touch of regret. And in his eyes, a shrug.

Rhiann turned and left them. She could have bitten her tongue out – that, or lash herself with it until she bled. How foolish could any one woman be! And she, of all people! She, who had taken more care of her heart than all the careless Aiveens and Gardas put together, only to throw it at some feckless man, just because once, long ago, he made her feel like a woman. She buried her face in her hands.

This time, a cold bed really was the only option. As she lay there in the lodge, she thought back to the memories of firelight on skin that she had held in her heart for so long. He could not take those from her; no one could. But what about the other dream of the sword-wielder? If her hopes of Drust had been dashed, did that mean that, all along, the dream had been no more than fancy?

At some point in the night, Eremon finished the second jug of ale. He vaguely remembered challenging some braying young idiot to a duel, but when he stumbled outside, and the air hit him, everything went dark.

The next thing he knew, a pair of thick, strong arms were around him. ‘I’ve got him,’ Conaire’s voice muttered from somewhere above.

‘What can I do?’ That was Caitlin, worried.

‘Nothing, I will look after him. Just you go back and make light of it to that young buck.’

‘I could carry his sword—’

‘No! Leave us alone!’

There was a pause. ‘I was just trying to help.’ Now Caitlin sounded angry. ‘You don’t need to shout at me!’

Conaire’s breath whooshed in Eremon’s ear.

Like a horse
, Eremon thought dreamily.
It’s Dòrn, he wants his feed
…

‘Sweeting,’ Conaire said more gently, ‘I look after Eremon. You know that.’

‘Hmph!’ Caitlin’s feet thudded away.

Eremon hiccupped. ‘You’ve done it now, brother …’ He tried to stand, but his legs buckled under him, refusing to obey.

‘Easy there.’ There was a jerk, and then the world turned upside down, as Conaire tossed him over his shoulder. They jigged along, and just when Eremon was feeling very sick, Conaire laid him down on some hay.

‘Where … are we?’

‘A stable. You don’t need women fussing over you. And you’ll probably be sick on someone. Rhiann wouldn’t appreciate that.’

Rhiann
…

Eremon remembered her pretty hair, the tears sparkling in the firelight. ‘Brother, I’m in trouble.’

‘What trouble?’

Eremon wrenched his eyes open, tried to focus on Conaire, but all he could see was a blurred halo.

He closed his eyes, gave in. ‘I’m in love,’ he slurred. ‘With my wife.’

The entire Epidii party came to the King’s Hall to hear what Calgacus and his nobles had decided.

Only Rhiann was absent. Eremon had not seen her that morning. He awoke in the stable with a pounding head, but a dunk in cold water and an oatcake fried in bacon fat had gone some way to restoring his normal alertness.

She probably sees Drust again
, he thought, studying the nobles’ faces on the benches around him. And why wouldn’t she, when he made such a fool of himself? Thank the gods he had not spoken that last admission to
her
. He shuddered. It was just the drink. It had to be.

Trying hard to put the image of Drust and Rhiann out of his mind, his eyes roved over the walls behind the benches. Gelert was there, his enigmatic smile broader than usual. Conaire, Rori and the others kept to the shadows by the door, Caitlin with them.

Like the warrior-king he was, Calgacus did not waste time. ‘Eremon mac Ferdiad, will you rise so you can hear our judgement?’

Eremon obliged, standing in the pool of daylight that fell through the open doorway. He’d belted on Fragarach, and donned his best tunic and gold circlet. He would look every inch a king. When they refused him.

Calgacus rose too, which surprised Eremon. The act denoted a certain equality between them, which judging by the dark looks and mutters, did not sit well with the King’s men. His heart lightened.

‘My chieftains have considered the plan put before them, prince of Erin.’

Calgacus locked glances with him, and for a moment it was as if he and Eremon were the only two in the room. But the gold-flecked eyes held regret once more. Eremon’s heart sank back in his breast.

‘They do not feel that the danger is sufficient to warrant the alliance you advise,’ Calgacus added.

Even though Eremon had expected it, the disappointment was still crushing.

‘We will ward our borders well, as we have always done, and monitor the Romans’ movements.’ The formal tone softened. ‘I know this is not what you wanted to hear.’

Eremon took a deep breath so that his voice would carry to every man there. ‘You make a serious mistake; possibly a fatal one. But know this,’ he turned slowly, fixing every chieftain there with a piercing gaze, ‘I will still make every effort to secure the co-operation of the other tribes. They may see things differently.’

Calgacus bowed his head, accepting. He didn’t seem angered by the bold words.
What an ally you would make!
Eremon thought fiercely, and his disappointment swelled.

‘And on whose authority will you do this?’ The challenge rang throughout the hall, and every head turned towards the speaker.

Gelert stepped forward, his oak staff of office held high, so the daylight glittered on the jet eyes of the owl. Such was Eremon’s surprise, that he could think of no immediate reply.

‘You speak as if you are a man of substance, to make this claim,’ the druid said. ‘A man with many swords sworn to you, a man who could gain the backing of all the tribes of Alba.’

Eremon narrowed his eyes. ‘What do you speak of, Lord Druid? I am this man.’

Gelert’s lip curled. ‘Are you?’ he said softly, and clicked his fingers. The light from the doorway was shadowed as a tall warrior ducked his head to enter.

The man straightened to face Eremon boldly.

It was Lorn.

Chapter 51

T
here was a mutter from the direction of Eremon’s men, and he was conscious that Conaire had taken a place behind his shoulder.

‘Who is this man?’ Calgacus demanded.

‘I am Lorn of the Epidii, my lord. My father is Urben of the Dun of the Sun.’

‘And why do you disturb my council?’

Without taking his eyes from Eremon, Lorn gestured at Gelert. ‘I come at the bidding of the Chief Druid. I have news of the prince of Erin, which concerns you.’

A dreadful suspicion was thickening in Eremon’s belly. Lorn had not been there the day they left Dunadd. Where had he been?

‘A week ago I returned from Erin,’ Lorn announced.

The blow took Eremon’s breath away. Yet he realized, dimly, that he had not moved one muscle, and there had been no sound from his men, not even an indrawn breath from Conaire. In that moment, he was proud of them.

Calgacus frowned. ‘What you have to say is between you and your war leader. We will finish our council, and then you can deal with your tribal business.’

‘No!’ Gelert cried. He took a step forward, his eyes blazing, and then swung his staff so it pointed at Eremon. ‘This man has lied to us all! He is not who he says he is!’

Eremon’s heart thudded erratically. Hawen’s balls! He clenched his fists, as all eyes turned to him.

‘Of what does he speak?’ Calgacus demanded. ‘Are you not the son of Ferdiad, king of Dalriada?’

Eremon raised his chin. ‘Yes, I am.’ The breath hissed through his teeth.

‘No longer,’ Gelert retorted. He faced Lorn. ‘Tell them what you found.’

Lorn smiled. ‘The prince’s father is dead, and his uncle ran him out of Erin with only the clothes he was in, and his twenty renegades. He is no longer the heir. He has no kin, no swords sworn to him, no home. He is an exile.’

That word again! It rang to the rafters. Eremon felt the hard gaze of the Caledonii nobles pierce him, he smelled the stink of Gelert’s poison, he heard the triumph in Lorn’s voice.

They were all against him. He had gambled, and lost.

Perversely, it was at that very point that a wave of calm rolled over him. All the fear of being found out could now be released. Secrets were heavy things: now that his were laid bare, he could put the weight down. Sweet relief coursed through him, and he stood straighter, his hand on his scabbard. He would make his father proud.

‘Is this true?’ he heard Calgacus ask, from far away.

Eremon turned to look at the King. He was the only man here who deserved an explanation. ‘It is true.’

This time the gasp from the audience was audible, and Eremon saw that Lorn was thrown, the smile in his eyes fading, his brows drawing together.
Did he expect me to lie?

‘I
am
the heir,’ he declared. ‘My uncle acknowledged it, and laid his sword across his hands to me. But on my father’s death, he broke his oath. Those men he could not buy, he cowed into submission. My followers and I held out against a warband of one hundred, but were eventually driven to the shore. There, we escaped. To Alba.’

Calgacus waved to quiet his men, for the muttering was growing louder.

But it was Lorn who spoke first. ‘You admit this?’

Eremon locked eyes with him. ‘Yes.’

One of the Caledonii chieftains interrupted. ‘My lord! This exile lied to us. We did well not to listen to him.’

Eremon rounded on the man. ‘I did not lie. Nor did I lie to this druid.’ Glancing at Gelert, he allowed the contempt to drip from his words.