“With respect,” said Red, and his voice had gone so quiet people hushed each other to hear him, “my tale is as yet unfinished; you should hear me out. And it is her answer I have come to hear, not yours.”
“Let the man finish,” said my father. “For a Briton, he has a way with words. Hearing him commits us to no decision.”
“My father says, continue.” Conor’s tone was curt as he addressed Red.
“Thank you for your courtesy, my lord,” said Red in my father’s general direction. He turned back toward Conor. “You are right,” he went on. “This man did indeed have, as you relate, an error of judgment. One that still causes him to wake at night, in terror, at how close he came to losing her to the fire. At how his neglect almost cost the girl her life, and her chance of completing the terrible task that meant so much to her. He thought her secure, protected by his name and his wedding band, safe in the heart of his family. He took the risk of traveling to find his lost brother, who was also in grave danger; he returned only just in time to save her. Never had he experienced such fear as on that night; never had he heard a sound that struck him to the heart so, as her voice crying out his name, to warn him of danger at the very point when she herself was in greatest peril. For a moment, he thought—he allowed himself to think—for just an instant, he held her in his arms, and his heart was whole again. Then he let her go, for she was surrounded by strong men, by fierce protectors who were her own kin. She was safe again, and the reason for the long, cruel time of spinning and weaving was plain at last. She had sacrificed her childhood to save her brothers; she loved her family above all else, and her spirits yearned to return home once more, to the wild forest and the land of mystic tales and ancient spirits whence he had taken her. That was the place of her heart, and if he loved her, he must let her go.”
The mood in the room was subtly changing. They appreciated a good tale; and this was told with feeling, though somewhat haltingly. Janis had her eye on the teller. I heard her whisper to one of the kitchenmaids, “That’s a man and a half, that is. If she doesn’t want him, I’ll be the first to offer him a warm bed for the night.”
And then I felt the inner voice of Finbar, whom I had thought scarcely listening, so distant was his expression. This is a good man, Sorcha.
I know.
Strong enough to say, in front of us all, that he was wrong. Very strong.
I know.
“He could not find the words to say good-bye. He faltered. He had wounded her, speaking from the pain of his spirit. He had sworn that he would not hurt her, but he had. He would have told her—he would have said, it matters not if you are here, or there, for I see you before me every moment. I see you in the light on the water, in the swaying of the young trees in the spring wind. I see you in the shadows of the great oaks, I hear your voice in the cry of the owl at night. You are the blood in my veins, and the beating of my heart. You are my first waking thought, and my last sigh before sleeping. You are—you are bone of my bone, and breath of my breath.”
His voice had shrunk to a whisper. My face was wet with tears.
“Tell him,” said Liam, “tell him that if he thinks his fine words of love will win him our sister as his wife, he is sorely deluded. Sorcha will never return to that place; she is the daughter of Sevenwaters, and she belongs here.”
Conor translated this, adding, “You’d best have left it, back then. Not put yourself to the trouble of coming all this way. Sorcha is barely sixteen years old, and subject to her father’s authority. You cannot imagine that even if she were willing, he would allow her to cross the sea and ally herself to a Briton.”
Red took a deep breath. “Indeed, such a thought was far from my mind. I would not have come, save for—but for—had she not said farewell as she did, I would not have come. But—but she had a way of—that is, I believed, there was the smallest hope, the tiniest seed of a hope, that perhaps she did—that is…”
“Is your tale finished?” Conor was unbending. “Have you more to say? It grows late, and cold.”
“I should make it clear to you,” said Red, his tone firmer. “I understand your sister cannot return across the sea. I never expected that. It was for this reason that I delayed so long before coming to seek her. Long enough to set right the affairs of Harrowfield, long enough to see my uncle duly punished for his wrongdoing, and to pass over responsibility for my house and my estate to my brother. I will not go back there. Whether Jenny will have me or not, I have said farewell to that life.”
There was complete silence. The magnitude of such a decision was not lost on any of them. Even Conor, after translating these words, had nothing to say. As for me, my mind could hardly credit what Red had said. And yet, I knew it must be the truth. His fair acres, his shining river, his flocks, and his herds, and the good folk that loved him. The valley with its soft cloak of oak and beech, birch and willow. The careful record of generations. My picture had been on the last page of that journal. The last page of the last book. He would never see his young oaks grow to shelter the wild creatures of Harrowfield. All this, he had given up for me.
“You think to stay here,” said Liam incredulously, when at length the silence was broken. “A Briton, in our household, wed to our sister, whom we cherish more dearly than life itself. You are a misguided fool.”
I turned on my brother, furious.
Wait just a little longer, came Finbar’s silent caution, and I held back my angry words.
And then my father rose slowly to his feet.
“Untie his hands, Sorcha,” he said gravely. “Take off the cloth that binds his eyes. This is your decision, your choice. You are a woman now, and the sacrifice you made for your brothers has earned you the right to determine your own path, though it may not be to our liking.”
Liam made as if to speak, but thought better of it. Lord Colum was, after all, still master of this household. The room was filled with a silence of deep anticipation. Red had not understood any of my father’s words.
I walked over to where he sat, and I stood before him and reached around to untie the knot that held the blindfold in place. This I did with my right hand; but my left, which bore his ring, crept to the back of his neck, where the skin showed white between tunic and close cropped hair, and laid itself there as gently as it could. Red drew in his breath sharply.
“Untie my hands,” he said with an intensity that made me tremble. I bent down and took the small knife from him, from where I had known it would be, concealed in the strapping of the left boot, and I moved behind him and slashed once, twice, at the tight cords that bound his hands. He stood and turned, and his arms encircled me, enfolded me as if they would never let go. I felt his lips touch my brow, quite chastely, for even now he was governed by a terrible restraint. Even now, it seemed he was unsure of me. But his eyes were no longer ice-cool, no longer masked with reserve. Instead they blazed blue as a summer sky, and the message in them was plain to read, and simple to answer. I stood on tiptoe, and took his face between my palms, and drew his head down so I could kiss his tight, stubborn, unyielding mouth. I had had no practice at this art, but I managed pretty well; Padriac told me later that I had made Liam blush, which was no mean feat. It was a kiss such as I had not believed myself capable of giving; a kiss that told him straightaway what my answer was. For an instant he drew back, and he whispered, “I am not worthy of such a gift, Jenny.” But I put my fingers to his lips to silence him. “Dear heart,” I whispered back, “I would give it to you and no other.” Then his mouth came down on mine, and he showed me the depth of his passion as our lips clung and tasted, and parted as we drew ragged breath and clung and tasted again. And it was not just my own salt tears that fell as his hands stroked my hair, and drew my body closer and closer to his, so that I knew the strength of his need for me. This was the end of a long and difficult journey for us both, and the sweet excitement that coursed through every fiber of my body told me it was at the same time the beginning of a new path.
&n
bsp; “Ahem.” My father cleared his throat, forcing us back to awareness of where we were. We turned to look around us, dazed. The room was almost empty; we had not heard the departure of all the household save Father and the silent Finbar.
“Take your man, daughter,” said my father with a little smile, though his eyes were awake with painful memories. “Find him a warm place to sleep. Time enough in the morning, for further talk.” Then he gathered his cloak around him and went out, with Finbar behind. My brother paused in the doorway, the white swathe of his single wing turned rosy gold in the candlelight; and this time he spoke aloud.
“The tale is finished at last,” he said, in the tongue that we could all understand. “Be happy. You have earned one another. The gift of such love is given to but few. You must make each day count.”
Red pressed his lips against my hair. I watched Finbar slip out the door like a shadow. Then I took my husband’s hand, and led him to my own sleeping quarters, where somebody had lit a fire in the small grate, and placed candles and wine and goblets, and a bunch of dried lavender on the pillow. I could hear what an effort it was for Red to control his breathing, and indeed I was not much better myself.
“I—I’m afraid I will hurt you,” he said. “But—but I need you, Jenny, I ache for you, I don’t think I can—”
“Ssh,” I said. “It’s all right. It will be all right.”
Real life is not quite as it is in stories. In the old tales, bad things happen, and when the tale has unfolded and come to its triumphant conclusion, it is as if the bad things had never been. Life is not as simple as that, not quite. It would have been good to forget, entirely, the damage done to my body and mind that day in the forest, by men who used me without thought. But such things are never quite forgotten, though they fade with the years. And so, as we lay together that first time, there was one moment when I gasped in remembered fear, and my body froze and trembled. But Red held me, and stroked my hair, and spoke to me softly, little words under the breath, and he waited for me. And, at length, my body opened to his like a flower, and we moved slowly together, and then more quickly, and we sighed and cried out and found release in each other’s arms. He showed me that the union between man and woman is, indeed, something to wonder at, and revel in, and laugh over. Until that night, I realized I had never heard him laugh. And as to what the gossips of Harrowfield had delighted in saying about my husband, it was all true, but it scarcely did him justice.
The very first thing Red did, after we rose next morning in a sort of blissful daze, with foolish smiles on our faces and scarce able to keep our hands away from each other, was to come with me to the village, and while I tended to one and to another, he set about learning the names of every man, woman, and child there, and how to greet them courteously in their own tongue. At first they eyed him with some unease. But his stumbling efforts to be understood brought smiles and wisecracks, and they saw how it was with the two of us. Me they knew and loved, and if he was my man, then he must be all right, Briton or no. Soon enough he was being stopped to admire a prize sow, or offering grave advice, by means of complicated hand signals, on replacing rotting wood in a byre, or helping to hold a post upright while supports were driven in around it. In time, they were all won over.
At home it was somewhat more difficult. That first day, he was quizzed at some length by Donal and by Liam, for while it was accepted that I had made my choice, that didn’t mean they had to like it.
Conor, surprisingly, had little to say. I caught his grave eyes on me, watching with a sort of wry acceptance, and when later I drew him aside alone, he said, “You thought that unfair, did you? To make a man reveal himself thus before us?”
“You were hard on him,” I said. “I would have thought you, at least, could see him for what he is, without such a test.”
Conor smiled. “Without such a test, perhaps he would never have told you how he felt. Myself, I knew the man he was. Knew that it would be thus with the two of you. I cannot see what is to come, as Finbar does; but this meeting of spirits was as inevitable as the path of sun and moon across the sky. I have known it for some time; but it would have been a mistake to make it too easy for him. You had both to learn the power of loss, before you came to your senses. Tell me, did she visit you, that being of the other world who has guided your path? Have you seen her again, since you came home?”
“How do you know so much?” I was astonished, and would have been annoyed, were not the glow of joy so strong in me as to shut out all else.
“I have cause to put what skills I possess to the test, from time to time,” said Conor. “They are meager enough; they have been sufficient thus far, but not for much longer. I must soon leave this place, and go on another journey, and it may be long before I see you again. It eases my mind to see you so content after your ordeal. I believe it was ordained thus.”
“You’re not saying—you’re not saying what I think you’re saying? That the whole thing—all of it—that it was all for this end? So that he and I—no, I can’t believe that.” His words filled me with confusion. He must be wrong, surely. We were not mere puppets, but men and women making our own choices.
“One thing is certain,” he said. “You will never hear the answer from the Fair Folk. But it is a long, long game they play, and our stories are the slightest of pieces in its great pattern. You should think about it. Each of you was put through many trials; each of you proved strong, strong enough for their purpose. So strong, indeed, that you came close to thwarting them, for each of you chose to give up what was loved best, in the hope that the other would find happiness. The Fair Folk do not expect such selflessness.”
“But—but it was cruelly done. For us, the ending is a good one, but what about Father? What about Finbar? And there was a man of—of my husband’s people, a good man, who died protecting me. What of the child, whom Oonagh took away? Diarmid and Cormack are gone, and you say you are leaving too; soon there will be no family at Sevenwaters. I could almost believe what the lady Oonagh said that day, that she and the Lady of the Forest were one and the same, for the line between light and darkness seems thin indeed. What end could be worth such loss?”
“They care little whom they cast aside,” said Conor. “But in this game there is, as I said, a far greater goal than we can well comprehend. Perhaps I am wrong. Time will reveal it. Your part in it, I trust, is over, and your path now straight and true. There will be a family here, and good years. But there is one thing you must remember, if you forget all else. There is no good or evil, save in the way you see the world. There is no dark or light, save in your own vision. All changes in the blink of an eyelid; yet all remains the same. If you wish to know what is to come, you should ask Finbar. Now, enough of such gravity. You had better go and rescue Lord Hugh from Liam’s clutches, before he suffers more. Go on, off with you.”
Red had answered them well enough, for now. That he would stay, and watch over me, and make himself useful. That he had skills they might employ, with the husbandry of livestock and the management of crops. He could fight, if that were necessary, but there was one thing he would not do, and that was take up arms against his own kind. It must be understood that he would not do this, on any account. Father nodded, satisfied. Donal growled that it was all very well to talk; a good solid bout in the practice yard and they’d see what he was made of. Red, as I had known he would, took up this challenge immediately. He suggested that perhaps that afternoon might be a good time. Donal’s eyes lit up. Liam, tight jawed, was not saying much at all. Then I advanced into the hall where they stood, and a sweet smile curved Red’s mouth as he saw me, and a warm light awoke in his eyes, which must have been a reflection of my own. I went to stand by his side, and each of us slipped an arm around the other, for it was not possible to be so close, and not to touch.
“Very well,” said Liam. “If it suits you, you can show us your skills today. Sure you’re up to it?”
“I think so,” Red replied gravely.
&n
bsp; It was not, perhaps, in his best interest to retire upstairs with me beforehand, but there was no preventing it, for our bodies spoke to one another in a way that could not be denied. We were, I suppose, making up for lost time. Later, I lay on the bed wrapped only in a sheet and watched him as he dressed somewhat reluctantly.
“Won’t you be tired?” I asked, smiling. “My brothers are adept in the arts of war, and they’ll be keen to prove a point. Are you sure you can cope?”
He slipped his tunic over his head. “Today, I could take on three giants, each bigger and uglier than the last, and think nothing of it,” he said. He was already starting to talk like one of us. “Stay there, I’ll be back before you know it,” and he touched his lips to mine, and drew them away with some difficulty, and went out, buckling on a borrowed sword belt.
I did not stay abed, but went to an upper window from which I could watch them. It was an interesting bout. Liam and Red were, I thought, quite evenly matched; what advantage Liam had in experience was balanced by Red’s greater height and heavier build, and by his surprising lightness on his feet. In any event, what started out as a fierce contest developed into a demonstration and then a lesson, first by one and then the other, in the techniques of armed and unarmed combat. Donal became involved, and then a group of others. I saw Red teaching them how to execute the flying kick with left foot extended; then horses were brought out and I saw Liam showing him the trick of slipping low in the saddle to avoid a blow, and then up again in a single fluid movement. Both of them were sustaining a few bruises. I heard the sound of laughter. How Diarmid would have enjoyed showing off his skills with the spear, I thought. And Cormack, he would have been in the midst of it, whirling about with staff in hand. There had been no word from the two of them; their places at the table remained empty. Then I left well alone, and made my way up the stone steps, up and up, to the place where you could sit on the roof slates and look out far over the gray-blue haze of the winter forest. I had known I would find Finbar here. I settled beside him, shivering a little, for the breeze was sharp.