Flame of Sevenwaters (9 page)

“I slept well, thank you. I have spoken to Father this morning; I met him in the little garden where…where the annex used to be. Perhaps there’s some handiwork Rhian can help with. She’s an expert seamstress.”

“But we don’t want to take up too much of Rhian’s time. You’ll be needing her…”

“Not all the time,” I said firmly. “And she’s a very capable needlewoman. She mends my things, though I am no longer the child who used to come home from adventures in the forest with her gowns ripped and muddy.” I caught Rhian’s eye and suppressed a smile. My time in the stable yard tended to have something of the same effect; she was kept busy darning my stockings and trying to get the smell of horse out of my gowns.

“Orlagh will find you some mending to do, Rhian,” Mother said. “We always welcome an extra pair of hands.” A moment later she flushed red, realizing what she had said.

I sat down beside her. “It’s all right, Mother,” I said quietly, under cover of Orlagh’s instructions to Rhian about hemming, which I could have told her were superfluous. “It’s the way things are. I’m used to it now.”

“Of course. But I wish…” She was clearly mortified; lost for words. Had she changed so much since the time of my childhood? We had always viewed her as the strong center of our lives. Perhaps my memory was playing tricks.

“Maeve is a grown woman, Mother.” Deirdre kept her voice quiet, so the words would reach only Mother and me. “From the little I’ve seen so far, she seems to be coping rather well.”

I was surprised. I did not remember this particular sister standing up for me very much in those early days. Indeed, I recalled her being somewhat absorbed in her own interests. I gave her a smile of acknowledgment. “I gave up wishing long ago,” I said. “There’s no point in it. Now tell me, Deirdre, what’s that you’re making? May I see?”

The conversation turned to family, and I was rapidly brought up-to-date on the progress of my various nieces and nephews and the news of what all my sisters were doing. Sibeal was expecting her first child; the little gown with embroidered owls was for her baby, who would be born far away in Kerry, in the spiritual community where my younger sister now lived and worked. In the north, Muirrin had a little boy and Clodagh twins. Then there were Deirdre’s children, this morning out on a walk with their nursemaids. The Sevenwaters family was becoming a far-flung tribe.

In my turn I told them about Aunt Liadan and Uncle Bran and the cousins in Britain. But all the time I was aware of industrious hands around me, plying shuttle or spindle or needle, and beyond the windows the sun moving across the sky. I reminded myself that Mother had waited ten years for this conversation. I sat beside her, calm and still, making sure I gave every appearance of enjoying myself. I would not let her know that I was already restless and longing to be out of doors.

Time passed. Rhian finished her hem and Orlagh offered her a shirt to mend. With the torn garment in her hands, Rhian looked over at me suddenly. “Oh, but perhaps I should do this tomorrow,” she said. “Lady Maeve, didn’t you promise you’d take your brother to see Swift this morning?”

I suppressed a relieved smile. Later, I would thank her for saving me. “How could I have forgotten? I should go now or he’ll be disappointed. Rhian, stay here if you wish—I won’t need you for a while.” I rose to my feet. “Mother, where will I find Finbar at this time of day?” I hoped she would not say Finbar was closeted with his tutor and unable to do anything so frivolous as visiting the stables.

My mother’s look was somewhat quizzical, and I realized I had underestimated her powers of observation. “I can’t tell you,” she said with a little smile, “but I know Nuala’s making honey cakes this morning, and both my son and his tutor are extremely fond of cakes. You may find them in the vicinity of the kitchen. Their lessons are conducted in the little room next to your father’s council chamber—you remember, where the scribe used to work.”

“Used to? What happened to him?”

“Luachan is very skilled. He took over those duties when he came to teach Finbar. Of course, such a little boy does not need formal lessons all day.”

“A man of many parts,” I said mildly. “Luachan, I mean.”

“All children ask questions,” Deirdre put in with a smile. “That’s what one expects. But Finbar asks questions all day. Luachan is a good teacher for him. I’ve noticed druids generally answer questions with more questions.”

“Finbar missed Eilis terribly when she first went away,” Mother said. “Sibeal, too, though he was younger then. A child does not like to see his world change. Sibeal had a particular understanding of him. Luachan has similar insights. And he keeps Finbar occupied. My son is best not left too much alone.”

This intrigued me, but I would not ask her to explain further in this company. “Luachan seems a courteous man,” I said. “I’d best go now, Mother. Rhian, you could come and find me at the stables when you’re finished here. There’s no rush.”

“Maeve.” Mother spoke as I turned to leave.

“Yes, Mother?”

“I hope that in time you’ll sit with us in the dining hall for your meals. Rhian can sit at the family table and help you, if that is required.” After a moment she added, more quietly, “But I understand you may feel a little awkward about it, and of course it can wait until you’re ready.”

A strange anger stirred in me. Never mind that this was exactly what I wanted, time to feel my way in my parents’ house, time for their people to get used to me. Mother did not know me. She could not know what I wanted. She had sent me away, and I had come
home a different person. It wasn’t kindness and understanding that made her say these things, but embarrassment. She didn’t want her claw-handed daughter at the family table, making an exhibition of herself before the fine guests who had stayed on after Conor’s ritual.

“No need to wait,” I heard myself saying in a voice that carried beyond my mother and sister to the circle of women, all of whom were busily pretending not to be listening. “I’ll be happy to join you this evening. I will need Rhian. Please ask them to make a place for her beside me. Without her help, I don’t eat tidily.”

“You sat at the family table in your aunt’s house, then?” Mother’s voice was full of words unspoken, hurts that had been nurtured over those ten years.

“I was there a long time, Mother. Of course I sat at the family table. It would not have occurred to Aunt Liadan to do things any other way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and find Finbar.”

I walked out of the chamber without looking back.

CHAPTER 4

M y brother and his tutor were not in their study chamber, or in the kitchens consuming cake, or anywhere to be found, so I went to visit Swift on my own. That was just as well. I was wound tight as a harp string and not fit company for anyone. As I walked over to the stable yard I made myself breathe slowly. I should be able to do this. I should be able to sit in a room with a group of women and have a polite conversation with my own mother and sister. It wasn’t as if the place was unfamiliar. My sisters and I had plied our needles there day after day under our mother’s eagle eye, learning the skills that would make us fit wives for chieftains or princes. But it was hard, harder than Mother could imagine, to sit idle amid such industry. Rhian had seen it and had presented me with a perfect excuse to leave. Why hadn’t Mother left well alone? Maybe she thought she was doing me a favor. Maybe she thought I wanted her to act as if nothing had changed. That was half-true: I hated fuss. Yes, at Harrowfield I had sat at the family table, and nobody had taken a bit of notice when Rhian fed me, because it was simply the way things were. Here, it would be different.

I paused to stroke the forehead of an old mare that was housed at the far end of the stables. She nuzzled close, expecting a treat. “What a disappointment I must be to her,” I murmured. “But Deirdre married a chieftain and Clodagh a prince—what mother wouldn’t be satisfied with that? Though I imagine a prince of the Otherworld is somewhat less desirable as a son-in-law than the ordinary kind. But then, Muirrin married a healer and Sibeal a scholar. And I won’t marry at all. Perhaps Eilis will find a king’s son in Galicia, one who likes horses. Maybe she’ll never come home again. But it’s just as likely she’ll fall for a lowly groom or decide she can’t be bothered with men at all.”

What the mare thought of my ponderings I could not guess, but her quiet presence calmed me. I gave her another caress, using the back of my hand. Sounds of activity from the exercise area, a circular space of packed earth surrounded by a chest-high fence of woven wattles, drew me along the stable building to stand by the barrier. I watched in some surprise as one of the Sevenwaters grooms, a man I did not know, led Swift out into the yard. The yearling’s eye was uneasy, his gait nervous. My father’s stable master, stocky, gray-haired Duald, was by the doorway. He’d always been a hard-looking man, and time had only rendered his features grimmer. What were they doing, bringing Swift out so soon, when he was not recovered from the journey?

“Go slow, lad!” Duald called out now. “Walk forward steadily. Let the creature know you’re in charge.”

I held my tongue with some difficulty. Where were Emrys and Donal? Swift did not know either of these men, and he was edgy, sweating, uncomfortable. From where I stood by the barrier, I doubted if the horse could see me well enough to recognize the one familiar face.

“Pick up the pace!” Duald called, louder than was quite appropriate. “Give him a touch!”

Swift ran; the groom ran with him, careless of what damage rope and halter might be doing. If the yearling deviated from what was deemed to be a correct path within the circle, the groom corrected him with a light tap on the flank, using a short leather-bound
stick. It was not a cruel blow; indeed, such a practice was common in most training yards. We had never used it on Swift. I felt cold sweat break out on my skin.

A small group of onlookers had gathered on one side of the exercise yard. I craned my neck and spotted Emrys at the back, his features tight with anxiety.

Under Duald’s commands, the Sevenwaters groom continued to put Swift through his paces. Perhaps they thought they had his measure, for the horse seemed obedient as he was led at a trot and at a canter, then made to halt while Duald came in close to run expert hands over neck, back, rump, flank. But I could see trouble coming. When Duald took the leading rope in his own hand and moved Swift on again, taking him through a series of sharp turns, warning signs were plain in the horse’s movement and in his eye. Surely Duald could read those clues? He’d been in charge here since I was a child. Was he the kind of man who must stamp his authority on a creature rather than train it with love?

Emrys would not speak up. Not only was his Irish limited, but a visiting groom, however expert, did not challenge the chieftain’s stable master. But he and I both knew that look in Swift’s eye; it was a red flag. In a moment the horse would make a bid for freedom, and he was strong. The small group of grooms and serving people stood to one side of the circle. On the other side there was now an audience of two, for Luachan had come up to lean on the fence, a striking figure in his gray robe, and beside him stood my brother Finbar, who was just tall enough to see over the barrier.

Swift halted suddenly, jerking his head one way, then the other. He shied, hooves flailing, and Duald lost his hold on the leading rope. The grooms gasped in unison. A vision flashed through my head, the horse trying to leap the fence, Finbar standing in the way, those hooves…

“Swift,” I called, using the special tone of voice he recognized. “Swift, calm. Calm.” Using my forearms for balance, I put my foot between the withies of the fence and rolled myself over the top, dropping to stand inside the circle. “Calm, my lovely boy. Green field. Still water. Calm now.”

“No!” shouted Duald, gesturing me away and sending Swift into an erratic canter about the circle. “Lady Maeve, move back!”

I took a step forward, praying the horse would not knock me down. “No, you move back,” I said, not altering my tone. “Emrys, I need you in here.”

Swift wheeled this way, that way, the leading rope swinging as he looked for an escape. This barrier would not hold him; he had jumped far higher obstacles in his time.

“What do you think you—”

“Move back, Duald.” I did not take my eyes off Swift to look at him, but Duald must have realized I meant business, for he stood still as Emrys slipped through the gate on the far side and approached step by step, saying not a word. “We don’t want him to bolt. Let us do this; Swift knows us.”

Then I forgot Duald. “Calm, Swift. Beautiful boy. Calm now,” I murmured, keeping my voice steady as the yearling ran, as he kicked out at the barrier, tearing ragged holes in the neatly woven withies, as he tossed his head and breathed in angry snorts. “Easy, boy.” Emrys stood quiet, waiting for his opportunity.

The two of us had done this many times before, though not under such conditions. We had worked with Swift as he grew from a leggy foal to a fine young horse. It took patience. He would seem to steady; then at the slightest distraction—a man coughing, a clanking of buckets, other horses stirring behind him in the stables—he’d be off again, dancing out of range before anyone could get a firm hold on the rope.