“And one other person, surely,” she said, using her most queenly tone. “I’ve seen that short, bald man, the one who wears a long robe, going into Lord Alpin’s chamber with a supper tray, even though Alpin is away. That seems rather an odd thing to be taking to an outhouse. What is that man’s name?”
“Deord, my lady,” someone offered.
“Deord,” echoed Ana. “Perhaps I’ll have a word with him. Alpin did suggest I make myself known to everyone in the household. Orna, perhaps you would request that this Deord come to see me.”
There was a charged silence, during which nobody looked at anyone else. All eyes were on distaff and spindle, needle and thread, weaving tablet or carding comb, but not much work was being done.
“Orna?” Ana asked quietly. “Is there someone living in that part of the house?”
“You’d be best to ask Alpin, my lady,” Orna said heavily. “He’d be planning to tell you in his own time.”
“Tell me what?”
“It’s best coming from him. He’ll be back in a few days; he’d have been going to tell you.”
“Then I will speak to Deord in the meantime.”
“Yes, my lady.” Then, after a little, “Deord doesn’t have much to say for himself at the best of times. I doubt he’ll be able to help you.”
“What is he? A warrior? He walks like a fighting man.”
“A guard, my lady. A special guard.”
“What does he guard?”
“He guards what’s best kept where it is, out of sight and away from questions.” Orna’s tone was almost angry. “I’m sorry, my lady, but sometimes it’s better not to ask. Now, I was meaning to say to you, there’s a roll of good fine wool we found set away, in a very pleasing shade of celandine blue. It would look well on you. I thought we might ask Sorala here to make up a tunic and a skirt or two, and Ludha can do the finishing touches. What do you say?”
If they thought she would be so easily distracted, they thought wrong. “It sounds ideal,” Ana said. “Thank you; you’ve all been most generous. I’d like to see Deord before supper today, Orna. Could you arrange for him to come to Alpin’s chamber? Ludha, I’ll need you there, as well.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Orna said. “Deord keeps his own timetable and makes his own rules. Sometimes he can’t come.”
“All the same.”
AT THE APPOINTED time she waited, but Deord did not appear. Questioned later, Orna said that yes, indeed, she had asked him, but that he was unavailable today.
“Tomorrow, then,” Ana said, finding herself quite put out by the consistent lack of answers.
“If he can, my lady.”
“This seems odd,” Ana said, looking the housekeeper straight in the eye. “Don’t the guards here answer to their master? Isn’t it reasonable that, as Alpin’s intended wife, I expect the folk of Briar Wood to attend me on request? I’m giving him a full day’s notice.”
“My lady,” said Orna, “believe me, we’re all glad you’ve come here. We’ve been hoping Lord Alpin would wed again and start to put his life back to rights; it was a dreadful blow to him, what happened to the lady Erisa. You mustn’t feel ill at ease or unwelcome among us. But we’ve our own ways here, and they may not always be what you’ve been used to at King Bridei’s court. Believe me, this is just a wee door and a few dusty old sheds, and anything you need to know about it, or about Deord, is for my lord to answer. And he will, I’m sure.”
“Very well, Orna. Thank you. I know you’re trying to help.”
“Yes, my lady.”
IT WAS NOT yet dark. The days were lengthening, and the high crowns of the elms, studded with rooks’ nests, stood out against the cool pallor of the evening sky. Ana stood at her window combing her hair and watching the forest birds fly in to roost. Perhaps it didn’t really matter: the little door, the jealously guarded keys, Deord and his supper tray set for two. It was like something in a tale, the small mystery, the detail out of place that worries at the mind, making it hard to let go. She would appear foolish indeed if she insisted on going through that door and found beyond it exactly what Orna had said was there, dusty storage rooms, neglected outhouses. And Alpin would be back in a few days. In the tales, young women who allowed curiosity to get the better of them generally came to quick and unpleasant ends. She was being silly. She should concentrate on the sorts of information Faolan might want to take back to Bridei, observations about men and armaments and positions, and not concern herself with what this household plainly wanted kept secret.
There was a whirr of wings and there on the sill before her, not two handspans away, was a hoodie, surely the same that had aided them at Breaking Ford and shadowed their journey through the forest. It seemed to be on the hunt for nesting materials, for a wisp of something soft and bright dangled from its sharp beak.
“So you’re back,” Ana said softly. “You’re late building a nest; those rooks have had theirs ready a long while, by the looks of it. Now what do you want, I wonder? What is it you’re trying to tell me, you and your friends?”
The bird took a hop and a jump and came into her chamber, alighting on the storage chest near the window. Its neat dark cape gave it a demure appearance; its eyes were piercingly bright, and seemed to Ana to have a question in them. “I’ve got no answers for you, even if I knew what you wanted,” she said. “All I have are questions of my own.”
The bird dipped its head and laid its burden on the chest by its feet, then looked at her again.
“What is it you have there?” Ana bent to look more closely; the bright-eyed scrutiny did not waver. She picked up the small item and held it in the fading light from the window. Strands of hair; such hair as she had not seen on any head here at Briar Wood, for it was of an unusual tawny shade, wavy and strong, and took on a fiery glint in the light. The threads were long and curled around her fingers. “Whose is this?” Ana asked, knowing there would be no answer, not until she went out to find one.
The hoodie was looking at her, head tilted; it was waiting. It came to Ana that there was only one response to this strange challenge. She plucked three hairs from her own head, pale gold and twice the length of those others, and held them out on the palm of her hand. Lightning-quick, the hoodie snatched the strands from her hand and took wing, flying off out the window. Ana’s palm stung; the bird had a businesslike beak.
That night her dreams were full of dark corridors and lurking presences around corners, of steps that went down to nowhere and bolts that could not be unfastened. She woke at dawn with her mouth parched and her heart racing. She resolved to spend the day in domestic tasks and not to meddle further.
Much to her surprise, when she returned to her chamber after a morning spent talking to the many craftsmen who plied their various trades in the household—Orna introduced her to each—and an afternoon being fitted for her new clothes, the man Deord was waiting for her in the hallway outside Alpin’s apartments. Ana had already dismissed Ludha, and was unattended.
“You wished to see me.” Deord’s tone was level; he was the calmest-looking man Ana had ever seen. At the same time he seemed dangerous. His build was as powerful as a fighting boar’s, his body muscular and hard under the loose robe.
“Yes, I did.” Now that he was here, she was not at all sure where to start. Without Ludha present, she could hardly interview a man alone in Alpin’s chamber. She would have to question him here in the hallway. “I wished to meet everyone who lives here at Briar Wood. You know, I suppose, that there is a possibility I may wed Lord Alpin. Your name is Deord?”
He inclined his bald head a little, not speaking.
“I hear you are a special guard.”
“A custodian, yes, my lady.” His eyes were pale and serene; his air of self-possession had something in common with Faolan’s usual manner. It made Ana feel awkward and uncouth.
“I notice your place of work seems to be through the little door in Lord Alpin’s private chamber. Is that correct?”
&
nbsp; “Yes, my lady.”
Ana cleared her throat. “Orna tells me that’s a storage area. Old outhouses. I’m wondering if there may be some birds in those outhouses?”
A flicker of expression passed across the well-governed features. “That’s possible, my lady.”
“Yours?”
Deord smiled. “No, my lady.”
“Deord,” Ana said, “I’m finding it very difficult to get straight answers to my questions about that door and where it leads to. Are you able to give me those answers?”
He regarded her levelly. “When I cannot tell the truth,” he said, “I remain silent. There are outhouses. Also living quarters, my own included. And my place of work. Alpin hired me to maintain the security between that part of his house and this, and I’ve done that work well throughout the seven years I’ve been at Briar Wood. That’s all I can tell you. If you want more, you must ask your husband.”
Ana flinched at his tone. “That’s what Orna said. And he’s not my husband.”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet, and perhaps not at all. The arrangement is conditional.” Why was she telling him this, justifying herself to a serving man? “Very well, Deord, since you make it clear that is the extent of what you’re prepared to tell me, you may go. I expect you have a supper tray to deal with.”
“Yes, my lady.” He turned and was gone.
“COME INSIDE,” DEORD said. “You must eat something. There’s barley broth here and good cheese. Come on, Drustan. What’s keeping you out there?” He had laid the simple meal out on their small table. The living quarters were made up of two chambers, this with its hearth, its bench, its storage chest, and another behind it with two shelf beds. It was basic in nature; there were no hangings and only a single lamp. Rushes blanketed the earthen floor. A small alcove in the inner wall housed a privy dug deep into the ground, with a bucket of ash and a scoop set on a stone. Deord maintained everything in a state of scrupulous cleanliness. This was part of his personal discipline, hard-learned and never forgotten.
“Drustan!” he called again. “The soup’s going cold.”
His charge appeared in the doorway, moving soundlessly, the hoodie on one shoulder and the crossbill on the other. The wren perched on his head, almost hidden in the exuberant bright hair. Drustan’s eyes alerted his keeper; they were full of suppressed excitement.
“What?” Deord said, scrutinizing him.
“Nothing,” said Drustan, thrusting a hand into his pocket and moving to sit at the table. “Deord?”
“Yes?”
“I need to go out. Tonight, tomorrow. It’s like a flood in me welling up, a fire catching and spreading. It’s like a shout trying to break free. When can we go out again?”
Deord regarded him calmly. “You’ve been building up to it, that’s been plain to see,” he said. “Not tonight. I’m wary of excursions in the dark and the moon is waning. It’s too easy to lose sight of each other in the woods; you know what can happen if we don’t abide by our agreed rules. Tomorrow, maybe, if the weather holds fair.”
“Have you seen her?” Drustan asked. He held a piece of cheese between his fingers, but did not eat. The hoodie edged down his arm.
“I don’t fetch good food only to see those creatures gobble it up,” Deord said mildly. “Eat, Drustan. You must maintain your strength.”
“For what?” The mobile mouth was suddenly solemn; the brightness in the strange eyes faded.
“For the future. Someday, something will change. This is not forever.”
“Alpin will not change. I will not change. How can I ever be other than a prisoner?”
Deord chewed on a crust of oaten bread. “Life is change,” he said. “Yes, I’ve seen her and the fellow who came with her. They’re trouble, the pair of them, her with her golden hair and her questions, and him—”
“And him what?” The hoodie had snatched the cheese and retreated to Drustan’s shoulder to eat it.
“He is of a kind I had not expected to see here at Briar Wood,” Deord said.
“What kind? A sorcerer? A priest?”
“No,” Deord said. “He is the same kind as I am.”
Drustan regarded him in silence. After a little, he began to eat his soup.
“What it can mean, I don’t know,” said Deord. “Alpin’s taken him away on a raiding party.”
“You saw her,” Drustan said. “Is she better now? Happy? You said questions. What questions?”
Deord’s expression was quizzical. “Come now, Drustan,” he said. “Aren’t you in a better position than I to answer that, with your spies there? They’ve been especially busy on their errands these last couple of days.”
“Tell me,” said Drustan. “What questions?”
“She called me in for a brief interrogation. It was reasonable enough, since she’s to be your brother’s wife and mistress of Briar Wood. Asked me about doors and keys and who lived in this part of the fortress. He hasn’t told her yet, obviously, and nor did I. Oh, and she threw in a casual inquiry about birds.”
Drustan smiled. It lit up his features and set a dazzling brightness in his eyes.
“Drustan,” Deord said quietly, “I must warn you. Don’t get involved in this; don’t get tangled up in the situation, Alpin and this woman, the marriage, the treaty they’re after, that fellow who quite clearly isn’t the bard they call him. For you, this is perilous ground. Your brother did do as you bade him. He did go out and rescue the girl. Be glad of that, and stay out of it from now on. Think of her, if that will help. She’s young and full of hopes, and she knows nothing of what happened here in the past. She’s your brother’s best chance of a decent future. Don’t endanger that with your meddling.”
“What is her name?” Drustan asked softly.
“Ana. She’s from the Light Isles, by way of Bridei’s court. Impeccable pedigree, royal blood, and, I’m forced to admit, not only beautiful and apparently virtuous but perceptive, as well. Her only fault seems to be excess curiosity. Once Alpin tells her the truth, that should cease to be a problem. Let’s hope he does so swiftly.”
“Ana …” Drustan’s fingers, inside his pocket, toyed with the little thing the hoodie had brought him the night before.
“So,” Deord said, “let us hope for good weather tomorrow. Now eat the rest of that supper or you won’t have the strength to walk over to your bed, let alone out into the woods.”
ALPIN’S PARTY RODE to the northeast, and when they crossed the river it was not through a ford but by way of a precarious plank bridge set high above a place where the water narrowed between rocky banks. The horses were blindfolded and led across each in turn. It seemed an ideal spot for an enemy to spring a surprise, but Faolan did not comment on that. He kept his ears open and his mouth shut.
The pace was swift. By the third sunrise the anticipated engagement with the Blues was imminent. Alpin’s men were not saying much, but there was a look in their eyes that Faolan recognized: these hunters had scented blood. Nobody offered him a weapon with which to defend himself, and he did not ask for one. Instead, he devised strategies against the very real possibility that Alpin had brought him along so he could dispose of him out of Ana’s view. Your bard fell in battle, my dear. His fighting skills were, as one might expect, somewhat less than adequate.
They came upon the Blues in a clearing by a stream. The approach was on foot, in silence. In this terrain a mounted attack would be chaotic, the advantages of height and speed outweighed by the enemy’s ability to flee into thickets and copses, to dodge and weave where the horses could not readily follow. They had left their mounts at some distance. Faolan had rather hoped to be given the job of keeping an eye on them but Alpin, with a savage smile, had bid him come on with the mean. “We’ll give you something to make songs about, bard!” Still no offer of dagger or knife.
Once it began, there was no time to think of songs. The attack was swift and bloody. The party of Blues, caught off guard in a makeshift encampment, put up a
spirited defense, but they were no match for the swords and clubs, the thrusting spears and knives of Alpin’s troop. The forest clearing was full of alien sounds: the grating of metal on metal, the gurgle of a man choking to death in his own blood, the scream of another who had lost a hand. Faolan did his best to follow the action while pretending to cower behind a tree, grateful that his drab servant’s clothing made him unobtrusive.
The sounds changed after a while, with less of the screaming and grunting of injured men, and more of the systematic sound of sword or spear driving downward as Alpin’s warriors finished off the stricken remnants of the foe. Faolan saw the chieftain of Briar Wood lift a fist high in the air and call out a victory shout of some kind; and then came a sound that made the hairs rise on his neck. From all around them came the thud of running footsteps. The clink and jingle of metal closed in under the trees. Reinforcements had arrived.
There was only one way to go: upward and out of reach. Faolan jumped, gripped a branch with both hands, and swung himself less than gracefully into the beech tree that had furnished his cover. He was only just in time. A shrieking battle cry broke out on every side as a new party of Blues, he estimated twenty or more in number, charged from the woods with spears at the ready.
Alpin’s men had already formed a tight circle, weapons held outward. They were no barbarian rabble, but a disciplined fighting force; it was no wonder the Gaels sought him as an ally. Faolan shifted on his perch, peering out between the delicate new leaves of the beech. He freed a hand; one must be prepared for whatever might come. If necessary he would climb higher. There was no reason why a bard should not possess a modicum of athletic skill.
For some time Alpin’s small band held off the attackers, but the men of Briar Wood had nowhere to go; any of them who broke from his comrades and ran at the circle of Blues would be mown down instantly. The Blues were angry. The clearing was strewn with the bodies of their comrades, slaughtered in the first attack. They would not leave off until they had had their recompense in blood.