“If Bridei is king now, why are the trees still shielding the house? I can see smoke rising, but no buildings.”
“Broichan has his own enemies. Those men said he’s gone missing. That’s another thing I need to investigate.”
“Makes me wonder how this king ever managed without you.”
He eyed her narrowly. “That’s a joke, yes?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met him.”
“Bridei’s highly capable, virtuous and clever. But a king can’t perform his own self-protection. He can’t be invisible when it counts most. He can never be anonymous. There are other good men to watch over him. I expect, if I were not here, someone would step into my place.”
“You sound doubtful.” Eile was getting better at reading his expressions, guarded as they were. “You don’t really believe anyone else can do it.”
There was silence for a little, punctuated only by Saraid’s, “Here, kitty,” and an occasional rustle in the bushes, indicating that her quarry was at least half tame.
“Come,” Faolan said. “We’d best get up to the house. The two of you need a rest. They’ll be expecting us.”
As he spoke, a figure appeared ahead of them, striding forward under the trees: a tall man with flaming red hair and unusually bright eyes. He was dressed in a russet tunic and trousers of fine quality, with good leather boots. By his side padded an enormous gray dog. Saraid retreated behind her mother’s skirts; Eile herself felt her stomach clench with a familiar fear. Strange men were threat enough. Strange men who dressed like lords and spoke a language she could not understand were still more alarming. This smiling nobleman made her feel dirty and pathetic. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.
“Faolan!” The red-haired man came up to them and put his arms around Faolan’s shoulders as if they were best friends or brothers. Faolan greeted him more soberly, though he returned the embrace. He said something in the Priteni tongue; Eile heard Drustan, and later Ana. He was asking questions; perhaps where was Ana, and was she well.
The other man gave an answer, brief, somber. Eile saw Faolan’s features change; a look of deep concern came over them. Then he seemed to remember she was there, and reached to take her hand. She let him; she felt very alone, and his grip was reassuring. He said something else; something with Eile and Deord and Saraid in it.
Drustan’s eyes went still brighter as he gazed at her. He was a strange-looking man. Eile saw a wild kind of knowledge in those starlike eyes, a thing that was entirely at odds with his nobleman’s clothes and soft voice. Then he said in almost unaccented Gaelic, “Welcome, Eile,” and reached out a hand toward her. She could not stop herself from shrinking back. Faolan’s fingers tightened around hers.
“This is Drustan,” he told her.
“He speaks Gaelic,” Eile whispered, then collected herself. She had to be polite, to speak appropriately. This was Faolan’s friend, and a person of consequence. “I’m Eile,” she said. “Deord’s daughter. Faolan told me you knew my father.”
“He and I were companions for a long period behind bars,” Drustan said, his eyes still fixed on her in what seemed wonderment. “Please, come up to the house. Ana hasn’t been well. I just explained that to Faolan. But she will be eager to meet you. The three of us owe our lives to Deord.”
Eile nodded, a sudden lump in her throat. “The language,” she said, “did he teach you? My father?”
Drustan smiled. “He liked to keep me busy. He found all sorts of ways.”
“Come on, Saraid. Not much farther.” Eile knelt to hug her daughter, who had gone very quiet. Another new place; more tall strangers.
“I expect there are cats at the house,” Faolan said, squatting down beside Saraid. “I bet Sorry would like to see them. And there used to be a man who cooked very good pastries. Shall I carry you?”
As they went up the path and the oaks seemed to edge aside to let them through, Eile caught an expression of wonderment on Drustan’s face as he watched Faolan. There was something like delight in his eyes. She was not sure why Faolan’s actions should inspire this. When a child was scared you reassured her. When she was tired you carried her. That was all Faolan was doing: the right things. He’d been doing them all the way from Fiddler’s Crossing, and even before. What was so surprising about that?
The house manifested bit by bit: a thatched roof with little straw birds woven here and there on the surface, stone walls, small windows with their shutters open to admit the spring sunshine, a big door with iron reinforcing. The door stood open; folk were moving about within. Somewhere farther away sheep bleated, a dog barked, voices called. There were woods up the hill behind the house, a thick blanket of oak and ash, elder and rowan. As they came up to the doorway, Eile saw a pair of birds, real ones, fly down from the roof to settle on Drustan’s shoulders: on the right a hooded crow, on the left a strange little thing with red feathers and an odd-shaped beak. Neither Drustan nor Faolan expressed any surprise at these arrivals. Saraid smiled, reaching out toward the creatures, then flinched back as Drustan looked at her.
“Eile and her daughter have made a long journey and seen many changes since winter,” Faolan told Drustan, speaking in Gaelic so she could understand. “They’re not used to being among folk, nor to staying in a druid’s household. May I explain to Eile about Ana?”
“Of course,” Drustan said soberly. “It’s best if she knows from the start.”
“What?” asked Eile, not sure if she wanted to know what had turned both men pale and tight-lipped.
“She lost a baby,” Faolan said. “It was early times; it would not have been born until the autumn. She’s recovering, Drustan says, but very downhearted, as is he.”
“I’m sorry,” Eile said, looking at Drustan. “Does she want people to talk about it, or is that too upsetting?” So sad. So terribly sad. Even from the first she had wanted Saraid; even in the face of Dalach and the unthinkable future, she had loved her unborn child from the moment she felt the stirring in her womb. She had thought she might not like Ana much, perfect Ana, Faolan’s princess. This changed things. Suddenly, Ana became real.
“The child was taken before we could really know him, or her,” Drustan said. “All the same, our infant was well loved. To talk of these things helps us heal. Best to be open with it; shutting sorrow inside only allows it to eat at us. Come in, please. We’ve prepared sleeping quarters for you. Our cook, Ferat, will have food and drink ready. We knew you were on your way, of course; Broichan’s men brought the news. The big surprise was to discover Faolan’s companion was Deord’s daughter. I never knew—” He stopped his words a moment too late.
“He never told you he had a daughter?” Eile halted on the steps by the door, hearing the wounded, tight note in her own voice. “He never mentioned me? Not even once?”
“Eile,” Faolan said, “it’s a long and complicated story, best not told in the young one’s hearing. Don’t be hurt. We’ll talk about this later.”
“I’m not hurt. I’ve learned not to expect anything. That way I don’t get disappointed. He went away. He forgot us. Simple story.”
“Impossible,” Drustan said. “He could not have forgotten you, Eile. He chose not to speak of you, nor of your mother, for his own reasons. Sometimes a man needs to hold his dearest things to himself or he will lose his way completely. This is for later. We should eat, you should rest, then I will take you to meet Ana. We’ll have time to talk.”
Pitnochie was not like the brithem’s house at Fiddler’s Crossing. It was darker, quieter, altogether more somber. Folk did welcome them. The housekeeper, a grim large person, showed Eile a little chamber she and Saraid could have to themselves. The cook brought out soup and bread and promised to make pastry cats for Saraid. Drustan translated everything in his soft, courteous voice. The dog watched them all, quietly alert. But Eile felt frozen. She felt as if there were a wall between her and the rest of them. Here, there was no Líobhan, quick with smiles and warm words, instantly ac
cepting her as an equal with no need for questions. There was no Phadraig to charm Saraid with his easy kindliness. Saraid was tired and scared. She sat between Faolan and Eile on a bench and sucked her thumb. She would not touch the food, though they had not eaten since early morning. Eile could see the lost look in her eyes.
Drustan was doing his best, that much was plain. He made sure she understood what folk were saying. But he was preoccupied, and he was not the only one. Eile had never seen such a tight mask of control on Faolan’s features. He was counting the moments until he could see Ana, she deduced. And Drustan was worrying about his wife.
At a certain point during the meal Faolan asked Drustan a question in the Priteni tongue, and they began a rapid dialogue in which all Eile could catch was an occasional word from the list Faolan had taught her: king, danger, ride. And names: Bridei, Broichan, Carnach, Colm. She stared into her empty bowl, wondering if she could ever learn the language well enough to get by here. Without it she felt entirely excluded.
“Eile,” Faolan said, halting in midflow, “I’m sorry about this. Drustan and I need to exchange a lot of information quickly: political talk. Fluent as he is in Gaelic, he’d struggle with this kind of conversation. I’ve been finding out what he knows about the state of affairs at court and beyond, and letting him know that we took passage with the Christian missionaries on their way to Dunadd. If I speak of you I will do so in Gaelic, I promise. Drustan says he’s going to see if Ana is awake, and ask if she’s ready to receive us.”
“Thank you. Can Saraid come, too? She’s upset, I think. Too many changes.” His words had reassured her to a degree; she thought, not for the first time, what a kind man he was, and how well he seemed to read her moods. Better than she wanted him to, sometimes.
“Saraid is Deord’s grandchild,” Faolan said. “Ana will want to meet both of you.”
They were called in straightaway. Ana was in bed; her loss must have been quite recent. When she was well, Eile thought, she must be strikingly lovely, like a lady from a heroic old tale: rippling wheaten hair, big gray eyes, perfect pale skin. Right now there were shadows under the grave eyes and it was plain she’d shed bitter tears. Eile stole a glance at Faolan. He’d let the mask slip. There was another new expression on his face, one composed of love, longing, and pain. Seeing it, Eile felt a curious aching in her chest. She was not sure which was stronger, the wish somehow to make things better for him, or the recognition that, oddly, she shared his unhappiness.
“Faolan!” Ana’s voice was low and warm. She continued in the Priteni language, her gestures summoning him to sit by her bed on a stool. She put both her hands around Faolan’s; the bond between them was quite evident. It had been too much to hope that Ana, too, would speak Gaelic.
For a little, these two might have been alone in the chamber. Their voices, pitched at intimate level, spoke vividly to Eile without the need to understand their words. Drustan did not seem at all disturbed by this. He seated himself a little farther away, eyes tranquil, pose relaxed.
“They are old friends,” he murmured to Eile. “They’ve been through some hard times together. Faolan is dear to both of us.” He turned to the child. “Saraid? See what I have in this bag.”
Saraid hung back, eyes dark with distrust.
“You see,” Drustan went on, “how this game has little men and women, creatures and trees and other things? They go on this board with the squares.”
Saraid stared, owl-eyed, as he unfolded the inlaid game board. She made no move.
“I’ll put them on the little table,” Drustan said. “You can move them about if you like. They used to belong to an old man who lived here. They’re old, too; old and precious. Only very special visitors, such as yourself, are allowed to play with them.”
“Drustan!” called Ana from the bed. Then she said something with Eile in it.
“Ana speaks only a few words of Gaelic,” said Drustan. “I’ll translate, or Faolan will. Ana bids you a warm welcome to Pitnochie, you and your little daughter. I told her Saraid likes cats; she says you will find several in the barn. The farmer’s children can show you where.”
“Thank you. Saraid’s very shy. She’s had too many changes. And we don’t speak the language. I am trying to learn. Faolan’s teaching me.”
Ana smiled as her husband translated this.
“Please tell Ana I’m so sorry she lost her baby. That’s such a sad thing. There will be others, I’m sure. But that cannot make up for the one who was taken too soon.”
Drustan translated; Faolan was regarding Eile curiously, as if her words surprised him. Ana’s eyes were warm as she nodded her thanks.
“Bridei has requested that Ana and I travel to White Hill,” Drustan said. “He did not know of Ana’s illness when he asked us, and we don’t intend to make it public. We’ll tell our friends, and, of course, the folk here at Pitnochie know. There’s no need for others to share it.”
Faolan translated for Ana and rendered her reply. “Ana says she is much better now and will be ready to set off for court in seven days or so. It’s best if she doesn’t ride. The journey is quite short by boat. She suggests that you and Saraid travel with her and Drustan. It will be far more comfortable for you than either walking or riding.”
More changes, Eile thought. Maybe the rest of her life would be like this. Maybe there never would be a time when she reached home. Home: what did that mean, anyway? The sunny cottage of her earliest memories was gone forever; the house on the hill with the garden and the striped cat was a dream, a nonsense conjured up from loneliness and desperate hope. Home was a place like Líobhan’s house, a place full of warmth and love, a place of family. This house at Pitnochie probably felt like that, too, for those who actually belonged here. She wondered if she and Saraid would ever truly belong anywhere.
“There’s a grand celebration planned at White Hill soon, in formal recognition of the contributions of Bridei’s chieftains to last autumn’s victory against the Gaels,” Drustan said. “It’s something he needs to do, although these rumors about Carnach and a rebellion, not to speak of Broichan’s strange absence, must be causing Bridei to regret the need to spend time on speeches and gift giving and the entertainment of a large number of guests. What you tell us of the arrival of Colm’s band of Christians in the west adds yet another complication. The situation is quite volatile.”
“Disturbing, yes,” said Faolan absently. It seemed to Eile that he was thinking fast.
“Ana and I intended to have Broichan perform our handfasting in early spring. We’d planned to depart for the north straight afterwards,” Drustan went on. “But Broichan is nowhere to be found, and spring is almost over. Bridei suggests our wedding be held as part of the festivities. We received word that Ana’s sister is at court, along with Keother, king of the Light Isles. Ana has not seen Breda since they were children. We’ll go as soon as she can travel safely. As for the trip north, that may need to be delayed. Ana should not go until she’s fully recovered.”
“I’ll be fine,” Ana protested when this was translated. “We need to go, Drustan. The longer we delay, the more difficult things will be at Briar Wood. Besides, I’m longing to see Breda. She was only seven when I left home. She’ll be a fine young woman now.”
“You understand,” Drustan said to Eile, “we left my brother’s lands in awkward circumstances. There are those in that place who believe me out of my wits and dangerous. Now that my brother is dead, I must reclaim that territory and prove my ability to govern it.”
He seemed to Eile the kind of person who must instantly be recognized as more than capable. This was not something she could say aloud. Such a man as this would hardly care about her opinion.
“Faolan?” she ventured. “You’ll need to go on straightaway, won’t you? You’ll need to ride, since that boat will have already left. You can’t wait seven days.”
Faolan smiled. He looked sad and terribly tired. “Yes, I should leave as soon as possible. Drustan and Ana a
re my friends, Eile. You’ll be safe with them. Staying at Pitnochie for those seven days will give you and Saraid a chance to get some proper rest.” He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself; as if he did not quite believe his own words or, at least, as if he did not expect her to believe them.
“Of course,” Eile said. Chin up, back straight; she would not let him know that her stomach was churning with alarm at the thought of being left here, where only the imposing Drustan spoke the tongue she understood. She would not reveal to Faolan how badly she wanted him to stay. Expect nothing, she reminded herself. It makes life far easier. “We’ll be fine, won’t we, Saraid?”
Saraid, her doll clamped under one arm, was studying the game pieces Drustan had left on the small table. Thus far she had not ventured to touch. She glanced at Eile and said “Yes,” in her tiniest voice: an automatic response to a question whose implications she had not fully understood.
“We can look for the cats, and eat nice food, and cheer Ana up.”
“Mm,” said Saraid, eyes full of doubt.
One day, Eile thought, one day I’ll be able to tell her, We’re really home now, and it’ll be the truth. One day I’ll be able to say: This is our house, and this is our cat, and this is where we’re going to make our garden with rosemary and lavender and good things to eat. It can’t go on being like this forever. I won’t let it.
“You’re not fine at all.” Faolan was scrutinizing her face. “You’re upset. We’ll speak about this later.”
“Don’t be stupid. You have to go. I understand. There’s no need to speak about anything.” She tried to sound calmly accepting.
“I’m not going on until the morning, anyway. If you and Saraid could ride quickly enough, I’d take you.”
Oh, yes? “Forget it, Faolan,” Eile said. “Do what you have to. If you’ve learned anything about me, you’ll know I can look after myself. And her.”