“Drustan”—Deord’s voice held a warning note—“we must make haste. Faolan here has left your brother’s hunting party by stealth and must return to it before he draws undue notice. You and I must be within the walls before anyone comes looking.”
Drustan glanced at him, then turned his head toward the two birds perched nearby. “Go,” he said, and in an instant both had arisen to fly off into the shadowy reaches of Briar Wood. He looked at Faolan. “They will bring warnings, if warnings are required,” he said. “My smallest one here”—motioning to the wren which still nestled in his hair—“will go with you. You took a risk.”
“As do you and your keeper,” Faolan said, wondering how it was that anyone could believe this gently spoken, courteous man crazy. “The word goes that Alpin decreed you were never to be let out. That you are chained night and day.”
“When he sees me, I am chained. When he sees me, I am within those walls he set around me. What do you want from me, Faolan?”
“You already know my name. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by that. You seem to have seen a great deal more than should be possible. What are you, some kind of mage?”
Drustan smiled; his face became a thing of rare beauty, transformed by a light that was almost otherworldly. Faolan was not in the habit of weighing people or objects by standards of loveliness, with perhaps one single exception. He generally judged his experiences solely by their position on the scale of risks and opportunities for whatever mission was his current responsibility. He had once valued beauty; at a certain point in his life, it had ceased to have any meaning. For all that, this man’s features were compelling; they caused one, for a little, to forget to draw breath.
“I am no mage. I possess certain abilities; I see through more sets of eyes than my own. I journey, in a fashion, even when confined within prison walls. When Deord allows it I snatch my times of flight; I enter the other place only on those occasions. To change my form within the tight barriers of the enclosure my brother made for me could be disastrous. We agreed, Deord and myself, that we would avoid such a risk. These transformations are fraught with danger. If Deord were less compassionate he would not allow them. Then I would indeed run mad, for they are as much part of me as mind or heart. I would ask you a favor, Faolan.”
“A favor?” Faolan could not imagine what that might be; he was still struggling to reconcile the fact that his own existence and that of this bright-eyed, soft-spoken being, part man, part creature, could stand side by side in the same world. “Please do so. I, in my turn, have some questions for you.”
“If I can, I will help.” Drustan rose to his feet, swaying a little. He was head and shoulders taller than Faolan; indeed, he had a look of his brother, who was a very big man. But everything that was coarse and rough and thick in Alpin’s appearance seemed subtly different in his brother’s: Drustan’s eyes were larger, clearer, his nose narrower, his mouth more finely drawn. His exuberant mane of hair, tawny red where Alpin’s was a dull brown, seemed to capture the sunlight, shining with life as it fell across his broad shoulders. Although tall, he was not a bulky man like Alpin, but well proportioned and athletic in build. Those muscles were impressive; Faolan wondered how a man who had been imprisoned seven years had managed to develop them.
“What do you wish to ask?” Drustan went on. “We should be quick; Deord’s warnings were well considered.”
Deord had gone quiet now, ceasing his protests. The balance of power had changed here with Drustan’s first words; there was no doubt in Faolan’s mind that it was the red-haired man, now, who controlled the situation. That gave him pause.
“You wish to ask me about my brother?”
The fellow was a little too astute for comfort. In fact, there was another question that was crowding out the others. “I saw what just happened; the way you changed. If you can do that at will, man to bird, bird to man, what on earth possesses you to stay here? Why don’t you just fly away beyond your brother’s reach? Nobody could possibly track you.”
Drustan’s expression changed; his features seemed to close in on themselves. “I cannot,” he said. “The thing I did was done when I was in that other form. Sometimes I do not recall those times clearly when I return; sometimes, when I am in the other place, I have only hazy memories of my human state. To risk a repetition of such an ill deed would be irresponsible. I cannot go free. Not beyond the brief times Deord allows me.”
“You possess sufficient awareness to return to Deord, and to do so promptly, if I understand right. Perhaps you underestimate yourself.”
“I have developed better control, that is true,” said Drustan. “But I will not risk the safety of the innocent for the sake of my own freedom. I killed once and returned with no memory of it. What man can say with authority that it could not happen again? Besides, I am not a wild creature, I am a man who possesses a certain—difference. I cannot live my whole life in that other form.”
“I see,” said Faolan, torn between admiration for Drustan’s strength of will and astonishment that he could have made such a choice.
“That was not the question you wished to ask,” said Drustan.
“About Alpin,” Faolan said. “He agreed to a treaty. You know of the situation between Fortriu and Dalriada? You would have been captive at the time Bridei won the kingship—”
Drustan nodded gravely. “I know how matters stand. My own territory of Dreaming Glen, in the west, is strategically located in relation to the Gaelic holdings. That makes my brother a popular man. Both Dalriada and Fortriu have cause to woo him; to offer him incentives.”
“Indeed,” Faolan agreed, relieved that his instincts had been sound; this man did indeed possess an awareness of what he had lost when his brother declared him mad and shut him away. “A rare incentive this time: a young woman who carries the royal blood of the Priteni, meaning Alpin’s son could one day become king of Fortriu. Your brother has agreed to a treaty in return for this bride. An undertaking not to attack Bridei from either of the two territories, Briar Wood or Dreaming Glen, and in addition not to ally himself with Gabhran of Dalriada.”
“That’s what anyone would have expected,” put in Deord. “It’s clear where the threat to Bridei lies: from the western anchorage.”
“The Gaels have been here?” asked Faolan straight-out, for time was passing; it only took so long to corner and kill a boar and carry the carcass back to camp. “They’ve made an offer in their turn?”
Deord and Drustan exchanged a glance.
“I’m unable to give you that information,” Drustan said. “Alpin is my brother. Blood commands a certain loyalty. You would not ask that I expose him to attack, I hope.”
“If any emissary has come here from Gabhran,” Deord said, “it’s been done covertly. Alpin’s not stupid.” The look in his eyes invited Faolan to interpret this carefully phrased speech however he wished.
“I see. You understand, I need to be sure Alpin will hold to his word. I will not leave Lady Ana here until I’m certain he’ll keep to the terms of the treaty.”
“You will not?” Deord queried mildly.
“I am Bridei’s emissary,” Faolan said. This was a Breakstone man; his word was sealed by suffering, and could be relied on utterly. He’d have to take a chance on Drustan. “Circumstances led Ana to provide me with another identity on arrival here; Alpin gave us no cause for confidence. She believed my life to be at risk.”
“As it is right now if you don’t get back to the hunt,” Deord said.
“Alpin sets harsh rules for those who are merely visitors to his house.”
“If I told you …” Drustan’s voice was very quiet now, and he no longer looked Faolan in the eye but stared out into the forest. “If I told you I thought my brother likely to make his choices in complete disregard for any sworn promises, what would you do then? Would you take Ana away from Briar Wood?”
“Drustan—” Deord attempted to interrupt, but Faolan’s attention was on Drustan’s face: the
look there had become, quite suddenly, that of a desperate man. He felt a chill down his spine.
“If I were certain that was true, I would make sure the handfasting never took place,” he said carefully. “Yes, I would take her back to White Hill. I would not see her sacrificed for an alliance that was nothing but a sham.”
“Sacrificed …” Drustan’s tone had shrunk to a whisper.
Faolan said nothing. He would not confess, even to a Breakstone man, that a small part of him wanted Alpin to be a turncoat, wanted the treaty to be worthless, just so there would be a reason to stop this marriage. He would not admit how much he longed to take Ana safely home, home to a place where she could smile and laugh and sing, home to a bed she need not share with that big, crude oaf who would only hurt and degrade her. Those thoughts were never to be spoken aloud, for they made a mockery of the mission Bridei had set him. And, in the end, his loyalty to Bridei was the only thing that mattered.
“You love her,” Drustan said, his bright eyes now fixed unnervingly on Faolan’s.
Faolan felt the words like a cold hand around his heart. For the first time, he saw a look on Drustan’s face that was quite plainly dangerous.
“Tell the truth,” Drustan said. “We will not aid you if you lie to us. We have no patience for such games.”
Faolan drew a deep breath. “I’m a hired bodyguard,” he said, glancing at Deord. “I work for my keep; Bridei pays me. I undertook this journey as the lady’s protector and as the king’s personal emissary since, oddly, he seemed to think me best suited for the job. For a man such as myself to harbor feelings of the kind you mention, especially when the lady in question bears the royal blood of the Priteni, is …” He was not sure what word suited best: laughable? Pathetic?
“Is the truth,” said Drustan. “You have your own reasons for wanting this marriage stopped. Your instincts are sound. But I will not tell you my brother is a liar. I wronged him terribly; I will not compensate him by sticking a knife in his back.”
“Has it ever occurred to you,” Faolan ventured, anger rising in him that the other had, in effect, exposed a raw wound in a part of him he had believed untouchable, “that it’s very convenient for your brother that you’re considered incapable of managing your own affairs? That it suits him extremely well to have you removed from the world of strategy and trade and alliances? How useful for him to be in control of that well-situated landholding on the west coast as well as his own wide territory and substantial fighting force! No wonder powerful men court him with gifts. Does that trouble you when you wake at night, Drustan?”
Drustan gazed at him, eyes clear as forest pools under an open sky. The anger was gone. “I long to return,” he said. “For all to be as it was before. But the past cannot be unmade. Once we love, our hearts do not shrink in on themselves again. Once we kill, our spirits bear the stain of it forever. I’ll never go back to my home in the west. I have banished it from my dreams.”
The hoodie flew in, passing close; Faolan managed not to flinch. It landed with a neat folding of the wings on Drustan’s left shoulder.
“Go now,” Drustan said, “and you have time to rejoin them unseen. Wait longer and Alpin will surely notice your absence and your return. Do not risk that. He is a violent man.”
Faolan did not ask what silent communication had passed between man and bird. This went far beyond his powers of comprehension. He mounted his horse, then remembered something. “You said you had a favor to ask of me,” he said to Drustan.
“I ask that you do not tell Ana what you saw here today,” Drustan said, his eyes suddenly bleak. “I don’t wish her to know of this … malady.”
This was unexpected and more than a little odd. “I’m unlikely to have the opportunity to say anything of consequence to the lady,” Faolan told him, “since Alpin takes exception if any man so much as looks at her the wrong way. I haven’t seen her alone in all the time we’ve been at Briar Wood.”
“Do not tell her. Give me your promise.” Drustan’s tone was suddenly iron-hard; the change was alarming.
“Very well, I promise. If she’s to live here as your brother’s wife she must find out sometime, and I don’t see why this is important … But yes, you have my word.” He could hardly offer less, since Drustan had provided better answers than he might have hoped for. All the same, the whole encounter had made him uneasy, and it was not solely the utter strangeness of what he had witnessed that caused him concern. “You said murder sets a stain on a man,” he said, drawing a deep breath. “You implied that being shut up for life was a fair punishment for what you did. I spent a few moons incarcerated. Before Breakstone, I had only ever killed one man. Only one. But what I did destroyed a whole family; it put an end to all that had given my life its meaning. It was a crime of the most unspeakable nature. Your own misdeed is a small thing beside it, Drustan. And indeed, my sojourn in the Uí Néill prison was not for the act of murder, but simply for a failure to cooperate. Your keeper here,” he nodded to Deord, a sign of respect and recognition, “understands all too well from the experience we share how easily a man can fall foul of the powerful chieftains of Ulaid. I bear the mark of what I did. It changed me forever. It did not stop me from living some kind of a life. Perhaps you judge yourself too harshly. Perhaps your brother is less just than you believe.”
“Go,” was all Drustan said. “Go while you still can.”
As he rode away into the wood, Faolan’s heart was pounding like a war drum. He fought to slow it, to calm his breathing and ready himself for an unobtrusive reappearance among the men of Alpin’s hunting party. He struggled to push his ghosts back into the locked part of his mind, the part that had been so long unopened he thought perhaps he had begun to forget. Today was the first time in all these years that he had spoken of that day, the very first time, and now they were all here beside him, his mother ashen-faced, his father silent, Aine wide-eyed and terrified in her nightrobe. And Dubhán. Dubhán smiling and saying, Do it, and then the blood.
THEY WERE ON the way home at last, the carcasses of two wild boar carried triumphantly with them, all gaping, long-tusked mouths and rank, blood-crusted pelts. Ludha had come up alongside her mistress, riding a sturdy pony. Her young features wore a look of concern.
“You’re very pale, my lady. Are you unwell?”
What with the hideous, yelping spectacle of the killing, the daubing of hot blood, afterward, on the cheeks and brows of every man who had taken part, and the undeniable onset of cramps in her belly, Ana thought it unsurprising that she looked less than her best. It was fortunate her bleeding had not yet started; she would at least be able to get back to the fortress before the pain became debilitating. “I’m fine,” she said and, as Alpin turned back toward them, she summoned a guileless smile for her future husband.
“There should be a fine feast tonight, my lord,” she observed.
“Partial to roast boar, are you?” The smears of blood on Alpin’s broad features were drying to a brown that almost matched his beard. “Yes, it’ll be a grand night of festivity. Pity it can’t end in a little personal celebration, just the two of us, a warm fire in the bedchamber, a cosy blanket or two, a jug of spiced mead … For that, I’d gladly forgo the roast pig and the trimmings. What do you say?” He reached across from his horse and placed a big hand on Ana’s thigh, squeezing. She managed not to yelp in pain.
“It sounds … pleasant, my lord. Unfortunately I fear I will be indisposed; I feel the onset of cramps. Women’s business.”
“Uh-huh,” grunted Alpin, clearly embarrassed. “Shame. If you have to miss supper, you’ll miss the music. Your bard—where is he now, ah, there, with the other servants—has promised me a fine account of today’s chase and killings, all sung to the accompaniment of the harp. It’s been years since we had such entertainment here. Not that I wouldn’t prefer the other. You’re a lovely woman, Ana. I wish that confounded druid would get here; I’m getting tired of waiting.”
“I will make an effor
t to be in the hall for supper,” Ana said, not liking the look in his eyes. “Your courage in the hunt deserves no less. It’s clear you excel in this.”
Alpin grinned widely and slapped his thigh. “Indeed I do, my dear. And you’ll find out soon enough it’s not the only pastime I have a particular talent for. Eh, lads?”
Ana scarcely heard the men’s laughter. There was little room in her thoughts for Alpin or the wedding or the treaty that was so important. For all Deord’s calm assessment of Drustan’s situation, and Drustan’s own acknowledgment of guilt, she still could not make herself believe he had done such a thing. Ana had ever believed herself a balanced person, one who made her choices in a calm and considered manner. She knew she was thinking like a foolish young girl who tosses away her whole life for love, or for what she imagines to be love. Yet she could not stop thinking about it: Drustan, the murder, that strange day … There had been a witness. That old woman, Bela, had been there. If only she could be found … If Bela confirmed Alpin’s account of that day, Ana would accept it. She would settle down and marry Alpin and bear him the sons he wanted; she would have exactly the sort of future she had always known awaited her. If Bela told a different story … Ana shivered. The future she had just set out was immovable. Drustan’s guilt or innocence had no bearing at all on marriage or treaty or the undeniable fact that sometime soon the druid must arrive, and there would be no excuse to delay the handfasting any longer. If somehow Drustan was proven innocent, he would be freed from imprisonment; that would gladden her heart. But it would not change her own future; could not do so. She must stop thinking of the other future, the sweet, tantalizing, wonderful future she saw in her dreams, and had done since Alpin’s brother first captivated her with his gentle voice and bright eyes. With his fine body. Such thoughts were perilous indeed; she must banish them.