Ten
LIFE INLAND WAS was nothing like Elisud was used to. He’d expected it to be different, after a life lived along the coast it was bound to be, though in truth it was rarely in the ways he’d anticipated. At first the food had been a revelation – so many different tastes and textures – but after almost an entire season, he was starting to get fed up of the same old things every night. When he’d been a fisherman there had rarely been any knowing what might show up on his hook or in his nets on any given day. Then there had been the shellfish in the pots, or gathered from along the shoreline, which always added something different.
Not so on the farm. Although regular foraging trips were made into the forest, summer fare on the farm didn’t vary much as the moon grew fat, then faded overhead. Bread, porridge, eggs and cheese, with the occasional piece of smoked meat or even a fresh chicken, lightened by mushrooms and whatever early fruits might be found in the wood.
“Wait until autumn,” everyone said whenever anyone complained over what came out of the pot. But autumn wasn’t here yet, and it was impossible to wait when one needed to eat every day.
And yet, despite the repetitive fare, Elisud couldn’t deny it was doing some good. Ceri was filling out, her once slender face becoming as round as her smiles were broad, and Demairo was growing. All his life, Elisud’s nephew had been skinny and small for his age; unsurprising considering how he’d once been treated. Now, here on the farm, with regular sustaining meals and space to run with children his own age, Demairo was finally starting to look like a boy, rather than a shrunken adult.
Elisud too was changing. His shoulders had always been broad, but now his arms were thickening, along with his legs. His hands, once so shiny with a near-constant covering of fish oil, and faintly crusted with salt, were now browned by sun and soil. Where once he’d frequently picked up nicks and nips from fishing spears, sharp hooks and irritated crabs, now his fingers throbbed from misaimed hammers. The rest of his body was littered with bumps and bruises from wrestling with the children, to go with the occasional sting and snag from unfriendly woodland undergrowth.
So much to learn, so many new things to experience. He still missed the sea and the life he’d lived before, but he was learning to appreciate this one in all its strange and varied ways.
As the days gradually grew shorter and shorter, things finally did begin to change on the farm. Not just in the things he was expected to eat, but in the chores everyone had to do. Soon gone were the long, playful days of the children. Instead everyone was expected to work from sun up right on past sundown to when the last of twilight faded away.
Harvest time. Elisud had never really appreciated its importance before. For him the amount of fish he could catch in a day rarely changed – the weather itself was more of a problem. On land seasonal timing was everything, the weather an inconvenience or something to be raced against. On the island Elisud had helped Dewydd gather in the harvest at the end of the growing season each year, but it had never taken long and he’d still had time to fish. Here on the farm, however, he was lucky if he had time to sleep.
The prospect of slumber after a long, hard day was so enticing one night, that Elisud stumbled home without paying attention to much of anything. All that mattered was reaching his bed. Which was why he didn’t notice they had company until he’d taken off his shoes and stumbled along the narrow passage.
“When was the last time someone brushed your hair, Ceri? Just look at these tangles.”
Elisud paused in the doorway as Ceri grabbed her hair in both hands and scooted swiftly away from Briallen. “Da brushes my hair. He never pulls like everyone else.”
The woman rubbed a finger over her thoughtfully pursed lips. “If I promise not to pull, will you let me brush your hair?”
Ceri shook her head. “Da will do it.”
“Your Da is very busy.”
Ceri pouted. “I want Da to do it. He’s never too busy for me.”
“True enough, puffin,” Elisud said, finally stepping into the house to grab his daughter and plant a kiss on her head. Briallen was right – Ceri’s hair was full of tangles. He felt his face heat with shame. “I’m sorry, cariad. Why don’t I do it now?”
Shooting a triumphant look at Briallen, Ceri bounced away to find her comb.
Watching her go, the woman turned a rueful smile on Elisud. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I meant. I was trying to help.”
Though exhausted and feeling bad about his neglect of Ceri, Elisud returned her smile. “I can hardly blame you for pointing out the truth. I never expected the harvest to be so difficult.”
“I liked it better when you went fishing,” Ceri piped up, running back with her comb and wriggling onto her seat in front of him.
Elisud gave a heartfelt sigh. “Certain sure, so did I, puffin,” he murmured, carefully running his hands over her knotted hair, trying to find the best place to begin without snagging or tugging too hard. “This might take a while. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“You were tired,” Ceri replied, a faint whine in her tone, which he had no doubt she’d picked up from one cousin or other. “And Mairo said you needed sleep.”
Though thankful to his nephew for the thought, Elisud wished Ceri had been allowed to speak up. What must the women of the farm be thinking of him, letting his daughter run around in such a way? She looked half-wild. Frowning, he found a reasonably untangled patch and started combing. “Where is Mairo?”
“Kensa sent him foraging with the other boys today. They’re with Ia now, taking food to all the harvesters,” Briallen said, while Ceri winced at an unpleasant tug.
“Sorry, puffin,” he murmured, and nodded at Briallen. “Thank you for watching Ceri.”
Briallen smiled, and it made him realise his daughter wasn’t the only one who’d been filling out over recent moons. It had been almost two whole cycles since Briallen had lost her babe, and now most of the sadness had finally left her face, along with the hollows. She looked healthier with every passing day – prettier too, but Elisud tried not to think about that.
“I should be thanking Ceri for watching me.”
Ceri giggled, and Elisud gently tugged on a knot to tip her face up towards him. “What mischief have you been up to?” he asked, pressing lightly at her nose.
She grinned. “Aunt Bria’s been helping me with my spinning, but I saved her felt from the chickens this afternoon, when one of the hens tried to snatch it for nesting.”
“I turned my back for one moment,” Briallen grumbled, making Ceri giggle. “Don’t worry, I’ve marked that hen for the pot next time we need fresh meat. She’s always after something she shouldn’t be.”
Giggling, Ceri went on to tell Elisud about the rest of her day, appealing to Briallen for reminders and agreement. All the while he picked his way carefully through the tangles and knots in his daughter’s hair, smiling to hear the two of them talk.
Ceri was a friendly child, always had been, and there was no denying she got along with everyone on the farm. Even Rosen struggled not to be nice to her, while her daughters had been caught playing pleasantly with her more than once. Yet of them all Briallen was clearly her favourite.
Watching them together now, Elisud felt something inside him ease. Ever since the loss of Lowena, he’d worried about his little girl, made motherless for the second time in only five short years. Now it seemed she’d found another mother, even if neither of them seemed to realise it yet. Elisud truly hoped Briallen would stay on the farm, though without a husband and with her almost-babe gone there was no reason for her to remain.
Unless she got married again…
No. He forced that thought from his mind. Briallen was still too close to her grief, and what did a man with a half-wild nephew and a ramshackle daughter have to offer any woman, let alone this one? Especially when he had nothing to call his own, save that which he’d been given out of kindness and duty towards Demairo.
No, it was not
to be thought of.
But when Briallen smiled affectionately at his daughter and turned that same smile on him, oh, how he wanted to bask in her pretty loveliness. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on the pleasure of returning home after a long, hard day in the fields to find her here with Ceri, as if she belonged. As if she’d already made a home for herself within his family.
No. It was kindness, nothing more.
So when Demairo finally returned, bringing food for them all, and settled happily at Briallen’s side, Elisud didn’t let himself think about it. Not even when his nephew – who hadn’t really warmed to any other adult on the farm – leant briefly against Briallen, accepting her half-hug of thanks.
No. It was perfectly possible for Briallen to care for his children without feeling anything for him personally. Perhaps they were friends, or would be if they ever had a chance to spend time in each other’s company and get to know one another. Nothing more.
Later, after Briallen collected their empty bowls together, kissed Ceri on the cheek and ruffled a hand over Demairo’s curls, wishing them all goodnight, Elisud merely thanked her. He didn’t invite her to stay, didn’t walk her home, didn’t try to steal a kiss or an affectionate touch of his own. He simply cherished her smile, then tucked Ceri into bed, banked the fire, changed out of his work clothes and climbed under the covers. He was too tired for anything else, even to dream of what might be.
STEPPING OUT INTO the cool autumn night, Briallen took a deep, shaking breath and forced herself to keep walking. It was getting harder to ignore the tightness in her chest pulling her heart in so many different directions that she could hardly keep up. Leaving them was so difficult, but she’d forced herself to do it. She had her own pride to consider, after all.
Sitting with Ceri, spending time with her all day and watching her at night was no hardship. Every day she fell more in love with that little girl. Motherless Ceri might have been, but she was clearly well cared for and felt utterly safe in her father’s affections.
Yet there were times when she didn’t know what to do, seemed so surprised by ordinary, everyday feminine things that Briallen couldn’t help wanting to step in. At those moments she wanted quite desperately to help her, teach her, mother her. She’d never wanted that before, not even with Ors’ children, equally motherless, and who had just as much claim on her affections.
There was just something different about Ceri, something special. Like Demairo, that half-wild boy who was wary around every adult apart from Elisud – and her. Gods and ancestors, how could she not love her little wolf when he smiled only at her and brought her flowers almost every day to lift her spirits?
Then there was Elisud himself. It surprised her how much she wanted to look after him too, to take some of the weight from his capably-broad shoulders. How tired he’d looked that evening when he came home, and how ruefully ashamed when he’d overheard her pointing out the state of his daughter’s hair.
Elisud was clearly unused to life on the farm and raising his children alone. He rarely knew what he was doing, but he was quick to learn and tried so hard, not just to fit in, but to build a place for his small family in this strange land. And he was doing so well.
How could she not admire that? Admire him? Watching him carefully pick through the tangles of Ceri’s hair, his big hands so tender as they unravelled knots without hurting the girl, gods and ancestors, her heart could hardly bear it. His smile, the way he was clearly exhausted yet willing to take time to care, the soft affection in his voice when he spoke to Ceri or Demairo… He was a wonderful man. How Briallen wished he was hers.
It was selfish, she knew that, but she wished that care and affection was hers. She’d had a young husband, beautiful and passionate, but that youth had been reckless, his beauty shallow and his passion was for things other than her. She’d much rather have an older man, whose handsome face had been carved by weather and woes, life and laughter, and whose passions might be quiet but clearly ran deep inside his big heart.
“You’re a fool, Briallen,” she told herself, kicking at the dirt as the stars glittered overhead. “He has enough to be worrying about without saddling himself with a woman like you. He could have anyone. Dama and Kensa would likely find him someone, if only he asked. Why would he want you? What have you got?” A dead husband, not even a year in the grave, a womb that wouldn’t hold a child, and the lowest place in the farm pecking order.
Nothing. She had nothing to offer a man like him, rich in so many ways, so special, with a precious family to raise and protect. How she wished she could be part of it, but they were clearly getting along well enough without her, or anyone. She had nothing to offer.
“You’ll never get anything if you don’t try.”
Briallen’s heart jolted, pounding hard enough to break out of her chest. “Sira Wynn,” she gasped, spinning to find the old man standing behind her. “I didn’t think anyone else was out here.”
“Nor would I be,” he told her with a smile, “but you’re blocking the door. Why don’t you try walking through it?”
“Oh.” She blinked at the door to the big roundhouse she so reluctantly shared with the oldest couple on the farm. She hadn’t even realised she’d reached it, so far away had her thoughts been. “Sorry.” Stepping aside, she waved him ahead of her; she wasn’t done thinking just yet.
“Thank you,” he murmured, shuffling past. Toeing off his shoes on the stone step, he paused. “I meant what I said, keresik. If you don’t try, you’ll never know. What do any of us have to offer another person anyway, when you cut right through it? What is it that we really want from our marriages? Are you certain sure you’ve nothing to offer?” With a soft smile, he bid her good night and slipped down the shadowy passage.
Leaving Briallen with even more to think about beneath the shining stars and the sharp sickle of the growing moon.