Heir to Sevenwaters (10 page)

Before I could think what to say, a huge smile lit up Eilis’s face. “Oh, please can we go, Clodagh? Please, please? We could take a picnic up to the Pudding Bowl and go fishing.” The Pudding Bowl was our family name for a little round lake up in the hills, half a morning’s ride from the keep.

Coll was beaming too. Even Sibeal looked enthusiastic in her quiet way. I glanced across to the table where Johnny’s guards were seated. Aidan was avoiding my eye. It was Cathal’s sardonic gaze I met, and he lifted his brows at me quizzically before I looked away.

“I don’t know,” I said. I’d planned to oversee a clean-out of the root cellar. I realized even as I thought of this how much I would love to get out for a day. I imagined it would mean I’d finally have to listen to Aidan’s explanation, whatever it was, but that would surely be less awkward in the setting of a picnic with the children present. If the conversation strayed into areas I did not want to visit, I could always busy myself with fishing. “We’d need an escort.”

“I can spare both Aidan and Cathal to go with you,” Johnny put in.

This was beginning to look like a conspiracy. I eyed my cousin closely, but he was eating his porridge and appeared not to notice my suspicion.

“I think we’d be better with three guards.” I would not be happy with an escort comprising only Aidan and Cathal. As far as I’d been able to observe they were friends again now, but they’d surprised me before and I didn’t want an argument developing when we were miles from anywhere.

“I’ll instruct Doran to go with you,” Father said. “Make sure you tell us what time to expect you back.”

Doran was one of my father’s most capable guards. He had lived at Sevenwaters since I was a small girl and had children of his own. His wife, Nuala, worked in our kitchen. “Thank you, Father,” I said, finding myself warming to the whole idea.

I went to the kitchen after breakfast to organize some supplies, since Eilis wanted to make this an all-day outing. When I got there it was to find Nuala and two helpers busy with the day’s baking, and a strange old woman sitting in the chair from which our last cook, Janis, had surveyed her domain with an eagle eye over year after year of plucking, basting, peeling and chopping. We had lost Janis two winters ago, but such had been her influence in our household that her special chair had remained empty since the day of her death. The stranger occupied it as if she had every right to be there. She was a pale little thing, like a skeleton bird, all bright eyes and beaky nose. The shadow-gray garment that swathed her might have been gown, cloak or robe. The moment I walked in her gaze darted to me, piercing and shrewd.

“She wandered in first thing this morning,” Nuala whispered in my ear. “Says she wants a few nights’ shelter, but she’ll only speak to the lady of the house.”

I approached the chair. “Good morning,” I said. “I am Clodagh, one of Lord Sean’s daughters. I’m told you are seeking shelter.”

She nodded. “I’m kin to Dan Walker,” she said. Dan was leader of the traveling folk. Janis had been his aunt.

“May I ask what the connection is?” I could see the old woman was not lacking in wits: a keen intelligence shone in those assessing eyes.

“I’m his mother’s sister.” Her voice was too deep and powerful for such a frail creature. It was as resonant and strong as oak wood.

“Are you traveling alone?” It was the wrong time of year for Dan’s folk to pass by Sevenwaters, their pattern being to come north in autumn for the horse fairs, not in springtime.

She smiled. It was not the smile of a sweet old lady, but instead knowing and subtle. I felt she could see right through me. “I always travel alone, Clodagh, daughter of Sean,” she said. “If you’ll shelter me, I’ll pay.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that.” I was shocked that she did not realize a great house such as ours provided food and lodgings for wayfarers as a matter of course.

“I’ll pay, Clodagh. I’ll give you three tales, and they’ll be worth every scrap of food I eat while I enjoy the hospitality of your father’s hall.”

“Thank you,” I said after a moment. The old woman’s stories would probably be well worth hearing. She’d obviously led a long life and, if she was a traveler, it would have been full of adventures of one kind or another. “What is your name?”

“Which one do you want?”

I might have told her it made no difference to me what her name was. Instead I said, “I’d like your storytelling name.”

The crone chuckled. “Agood answer, young woman. My name’s Willow. I’ve had a few over the years, but that will serve.”

“Just Willow?”

“A tree is never
just
a tree,” she said. “It’s bigger and deeper and wiser than a girl like you will ever be. Now I’d like to rest; this forest of yours makes journeys longer than they should be. Any corner will do for me, providing it’s quiet. Tonight I’ll give you a story after supper. You like tales?”

Perhaps she had seen something in my eye. “I love them,” I said. “Especially the more magical ones. But of course, you must tell whatever story you choose.”

“That’s one good thing about getting old, young woman. Folk expect you to break rules, lose your temper, do exactly what you want. Don’t worry, I’ll behave myself while I’m under your father’s roof. He’s a strong man, Sean of Sevenwaters; strong in wisdom and goodness. He’ll need all his strength for the season to come. But you know that already.”

Her words chilled me. She had only just arrived at Sevenwaters; how could she know about my mother and the specter of the impending birth? But then, Dan Walker’s folk were no ordinary breed; the gift of Sight was common among them. I did not ask her what she meant. I feared the possible answer.

Willow didn’t want to be in the main part of the keep, where the family quarters were located, and she didn’t want to share the communal sleeping area of our maidservants. In the end I housed her in the little room adjoining the stables. There was a comfortable smell of clean leather and horses. A quick brushing of the floor and the provision of a blanket or two were all the accommodations our guest seemed to think necessary.

“I’ve slept in places far rougher than this, Clodagh,” the old woman said, setting down her tiny bag at the foot of the makeshift pallet and waiting for me to leave. “A muddy hollow here, the fork of a tree there—give me a soft feather bed and I’ll be tossing and turning all night long. Go on now. You seem a busy sort of person, so off and do whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing. No need to hover so anxiously. I won’t lie down and fail to rise again; there’s sap in my old branches yet.”

Walking past the stable door on my way back to the kitchen, I heard the voices of two men from within. It took only a moment for me to realize that their conversation was private, but I could not move away now without drawing the speakers’ attention. They must be preparing their horses for this morning’s ride.

“. . . won’t even look at me,” Aidan was saying. His voice was choked up, not with anger but with distress.

“Why is this so important to you?” That was Cathal, and his voice, too, was different. There was no trace of mockery in it. He sounded genuinely concerned.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“True love, you mean?” Cathal said in something more like his usual tone. “Aidan, if I’ve made your whole life a misery, I’m sorry. I mean that. I thought only to extricate you before you plunged deeper into a morass of your own making. Perhaps I misinterpreted the depth of your feelings for her. It did all seem rather sudden.”

“You weren’t here last year,” Aidan said. “She likes me. Liked me. If I’d spoken up then it would have been too soon. During that first visit we were friends, we had fun together, that was all it amounted to. It’s different this time. I knew it the moment she came running out of the forest and straight into my arms. I should have told her right at the start; she would have listened to me then. But now . . .”

There was a pause, during which I wondered whether to risk bolting for the house, and decided I could not do so without being heard. I could never, ever reveal to Aidan that I’d been listening to this.

“You did lie to her,” Cathal pointed out. “Clodagh doesn’t seem the kind of person who tolerates lies. Well, you wanted an opportunity to talk to her, and today’s ride is that opportunity. Be sure you make good use of it. And calm down or the lady will see you’ve been having a fit of the vapors. Here.”

The sound of someone blowing his nose. “Thanks,” Aidan said. “And thanks for speaking to Johnny for me. Getting the whole day off to do this was more than I expected.”

“Any time,” Cathal said lightly. “Be honest, that’s my advice. This isn’t a woman you can sweet-talk into forgiveness. If you want her to change her mind, do what you should have done right at the beginning. Tell her the truth.”

The sound of horses moving, then, and from around the corner of the stables new voices, Doran’s, Eilis’s. I seized the opportunity to head off for the house, deeply embarrassed and much surprised. Aidan really was serious about me. And Cathal, it seemed, was not entirely the unpleasant character he appeared to be, at least not where his friend was concerned. Today’s picnic had indeed come about through a conspiracy, but it was of Cathal’s making. It had been set up solely to give Aidan the opportunity to explain himself to me. I would not have believed Cathal capable of such a generous act of friendship—I did not imagine he himself relished the prospect of such an outing. As I packed up food for our midday meal, I was forced to acknowledge that I might possibly have misjudged him.

It was a crisp, bright morning. The sky was cloudless, the forest alive with creatures chirping and buzzing their responses to the spring sunshine. As we rode along the light-dappled tracks, further and further from the keep of Sevenwaters, the magic of the day settled over me. For a little, I thought, I would set aside worries about my mother’s health or my father’s political problems or indeed about Aidan and the awkward conversation that was looming. I would simply enjoy the day and deal with things as they arose.

“We can go all the way to the Pudding Bowl, can’t we, Clodagh?” asked Eilis. I was riding alongside her. Doran was in front with Coll, and the others were spread out behind—Aidan, Sibeal, Cathal. The path rose slowly through the reaches of Sevenwaters forest, winding around the hillside and crossing several streamlets on its way up toward the lake. In some places it was wide enough to accommodate three riders abreast, but there were narrow, steep sections where it must be traversed in single file.

“I told Johnny that’s where we’d go,” I said. “It means you children can stretch your ponies.”

“I wish you wouldn’t keep calling us children, Clodagh,” said Coll over his shoulder. “I’m nearly eleven, you know. Cormack wasn’t much older than that when he fought in his first battle.” Cormack was the next brother, and a warrior of some note.

“He was at least fourteen,” I said. “And there’s a lot of difference in those four years. But if you hate it so much, I won’t call you a child. Eilis, now, she’s a different matter.” I glanced at my little sister. “When she learns to do her share of household duties without a fuss, I might start referring to her as a young lady.”

“Race you, Coll!” As Eilis spoke, her pony edged past Doran’s mare and cantered ahead down the track. My youngest sister was an expert horsewoman, far more capable than I was. Coll kicked his animal’s flanks and was off after Eilis. In the blink of an eye they were out of sight.

“She does know the way,” I said grimly. “But one of you had better follow them.”

“I will, my lady,” Doran offered.

“I’ll go.” Cathal was already guiding his mount past us, eyes on the path ahead. “It won’t take long to overtake them provided they stay on the track.” He didn’t wait for approval. In response to some invisible signal, his horse picked up its pace and in a flash both animal and rider were gone under the trees.

We rode on with what speed we could. I wasn’t particularly worried, though I would have preferred that Doran be the one to go after the children. Eilis and Coll were both good riders and the way to the Pudding Bowl was perfectly straightforward. All the same, I’d be happier when we were all together at our destination.

The path widened slightly. Aidan maneuvered his mount forward so he was beside me; Doran fell back to ride with Sibeal.

“Clodagh?”

I glanced across at Aidan. Was he going to launch into his explanation already? For a moment I wondered if the disappearance of the children, followed by Cathal, had all been part of a grand plan leading to this moment.

“Yes?” I asked coolly, though all of a sudden my heart was racing.

“I know you don’t want to listen to this,” Aidan said awkwardly. “You’ve put me off time after time. It saddens me that you won’t even play music with me anymore. I don’t believe I deserve that. I’m not a liar, Clodagh. Please let me explain to you.”

“Very well,” I said, hoping Sibeal and Doran were not close enough to overhear. I would not turn my head to look; that would be too obvious.

Aidan cleared his throat. “I’ve practiced this in my head every day since Cathal told you about Rathnait, the girl at Whiteshore,” he said. “But it’s not going to come out right, I know it. Clodagh, Rathnait is only twelve years old. My father and her father made an arrangement years ago that she and I would eventually wed and so strengthen the tie between their adjoining holdings. Rathnait is a shy child, years away from being ready to marry. I’ve never been able to view her as a prospective bride. She’s the little girl next door, playing with her dolls, running about the garden with her terrier, hiding behind her mother whenever the family visited Whiteshore. I’m a grown man, Clodagh. In autumn I’ll be one-and-twenty. I’m a warrior. I’ve killed men, I’ve weathered battles, I’ve traveled far from home and witnessed strange and terrible events. When I sing love songs, I put a grown man’s passion into them, not the dreams of a child.”

“But you’re still betrothed to her,” I said as we rounded a bend in the track and came in sight of a gushing waterfall between young oaks. In truth I felt considerable sympathy for him, especially in the light of how upset he had been earlier, in the stables. “Your father and her father expect you to marry. Maybe she’s only twelve, but little girls do grow up. In four years or so she’ll be ready for a husband and children and her own household.” Even as I said this, I recognized that most men would prefer to be married well before the age of five-and-twenty. Such were the risks to a young warrior in battle that men like Aidan generally preferred to sire children early. The single status of Johnny, who was two-and-twenty, a leader of men and a chieftain’s heir, was considered unusual.