Heir to Sevenwaters (59 page)

“Me? No. It was all his own idea.”

“It surprised me,” Deirdre said. “He doesn’t seem the kind of man who would ever admit to an error. He really is an odd choice as a future husband, Clodagh.”

“All the same, I hope you’ll be able to stay on for our hand-fasting.”

“When is it to be?”

Since Father had not actually agreed to our marriage yet, I had no answer for her.

Muirrin, who was on my other side, said, “I’m traveling back to Inis Eala in about ten days. It would make sense for us to share an escort, Clodagh.”

Ten days. It wasn’t long to arrange a wedding. But then, I didn’t need the feast, the dancing and the fine guests. “That would be good,” I said. “I’ll speak to Father.”

“It’s rather soon,” commented Deirdre, narrowing her eyes at me. “Is there something you’re not telling us, Clodagh?”

At first I had no idea what she meant. Then I recalled that sufficient time had passed in the human world for me to have shared Cathal’s bed, conceived a child and had the first indications of pregnancy. Gods, I thought, if things had worked out differently, I might have been carrying that boy Mac Dara wanted. I might have walked away from the Otherworld with Cathal’s son, or his father’s, in my belly and a dark promise hanging over me. “No, Deirdre,” I said. “Nothing at all.”

A sudden hush in the hall; the signing done, Father had stepped onto the dais and was raising his hands for quiet.

“My lords, friends. Before we retire, I wish to speak briefly on another matter. It has seemed to me that in such times of unrest, a chieftain must make known his plans for the succession within his own holding. For many years I had no son, though I have been blessed with six daughters, each of whom is very dear to me.” Father allowed himself a glance in our direction. “You will know all too well, after my precipitate departure and prompt return yesterday, that my wife and I have recently been blessed with a son; a child whom, for a little, we thought we had lost. Thanks to the courage of my daughter Clodagh, Finbar has now been returned to us.” He looked around the hall, his gaze gathering his audience in. “A man with only one son, and that a very small one, might be considered by some folk vulnerable,” he said, and I heard the iron strength beneath the gravely courteous tone. “A person who made that assumption about me would be in serious error. My sister has four sons, two of whom are present in this hall tonight: Johnny, leader of the Inis Eala warriors, and his young brother Coll. Between these two are another two brothers, both grown men. One will inherit his father’s holdings in Britain. By my count, that still leaves four eligible heirs to my chieftaincy. Let no man stir unrest, thinking our family in any way weak or divided.

“Tonight, I declare that my eldest nephew, Johnny of Inis Eala, is my chosen heir; he will be chieftain after me. His father is lord of an extensive holding in Britain. His mother is a daughter of Sevenwaters. Johnny is a proven leader, seasoned and wise. I have complete faith in him. For now, we work together. When I am gone, he will lead the community of Sevenwaters as ably as he has done his establishment in the north. As for my son, so newly with us, it will be many years before he reaches manhood. Finbar will be Johnny’s heir; he will be chieftain of Sevenwaters in his turn. And now I thank you for your contributions to this council and congratulate every one of you on the agreement we have forged together. I bid you all good night.”

As the chieftains stepped forward to thank Father and say their good nights, I looked at my sisters and they looked at me. “Who decided that?” I whispered, realizing how neat and wise and just a solution it was. Neither Johnny nor Finbar was cut from the succession. It removed all cause for future rivalry between them and their supporters. And it eliminated the requirement for Johnny to marry and father sons.

“Mother, Father and Johnny worked it out together,” Muirrin said. Then, seeing me yawn, she turned her healer’s gaze on me, shrewdly assessing. “Clodagh, have you
still
not slept? What’s wrong with you and Cathal? You can’t go on forever, you know.”

“I should think Cathal probably is asleep,” I said, “since he isn’t here in the hall.”

“Ciarán arrived just before supper,” said Sibeal. “Cathal may be talking to him.”

If he was, I thought, it would likely be out of doors where privacy and quiet were easier to find. I made my way out, throwing a shawl around my shoulders, for the evening was cool. The moon had appeared above the fortress wall, a welcome presence after those empty Otherworld skies. It bathed the ancient stone in light. Sigurd and Mikka were on duty, standing one to either side of the main gate. They were easily identified at a distance, Sigurd by his bulk, Mikka by the gleam of his hair, wheat pale in the moonlight.

I walked over. “Have you seen Cathal?” I asked.

“He went that way,” said Mikka, pointing in the direction of the herb garden. “May I escort you, Clodagh?”

“Thank you, but I should be fine.” There were lighted torches in sockets all around the courtyard, and the moon illuminated the path in between. I was longing to see Cathal again, see him properly this time without my father’s eye on us, without even the well-disposed Johnny or Gareth as witness. I yearned to hold my dear one in my arms, kiss his weary face, remind him that I loved him and tell him how much I had admired his strength today. I wanted to whisper secrets in his ear and to hear his words of tenderness and passion. I hurried along the path, head down, shawl hugged around me. Of course, it was very possible that Ciarán would be there. I knew he would want to talk to Cathal. Ciarán would have questions, his own kind of questions. I would politely ask him to leave us alone for this evening at least.

In the archway leading to the herb garden, I paused. Cathal was sitting on the stone bench under the lilac, his head tipped back against the trunk of the tree, his eyes closed. A hooded cloak wrapped him; he might have been sleeping, or perhaps deep in thought. The moonlight played on the white plane of his cheek, the darkness of his hair.

“Cathal?” I said, suddenly hesitant. Perhaps I should let him rest. He was so still, as if enmeshed in a sleep beyond dreams. I took a step forward, then another. “Cathal, are you all right?”

Slowly he lifted his head. He opened his eyes and smiled at me, and my blood turned to ice. Again. So soon. Right inside the walls of my father’s house, right inside the little garden that had once been sanctuary to my grandmother, whom the Tuatha De had loved and honored. Terror paralyzed me. I could not even scream.

Mac Dara rose to his feet, an imposing figure in his swirling cloak. Shadows moved around him as if even they were obedient to his will. He fixed his eyes on me, the dark, compelling eyes that held so many years within them. He raised his hand, perhaps to beckon to me, perhaps to cast a spell.

The stillroom door opened. Light streamed forth. There stood a tall figure in a homespun robe, his auburn hair fiery in the lamp’s glow. Ciarán. In the time it took me to glance at him and to look back, the Lord of the Oak was gone. He had neither walked past me nor flown up in the air nor disappeared into a chink between the paving stones. He had simply vanished.

I breathed again. So close. Oh, gods, so close. And, after all, ten days was far too long.

Cathal appeared behind the druid. He took one look at me, brushed past Ciarán and strode across to me. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“He was here,” I managed, clutching onto him with shaking hands. “He was right here in the garden. I thought it was you, and then he looked at me and . . .”

“It’s all right now,” he murmured, drawing me close. “I’m here; I have you safe.”

Ciarán spoke from behind him. “I felt his presence,” said the druid. “Your father is strong; each day I am more astonished by your capacity to withstand his influence. And he is audacious. That he would come here, to the heart of Lord Sean’s own household . . .” He lowered his voice, glancing around the little garden before speaking again. “You were right,” he said. “The longer you remain here the greater the peril you risk bringing down on yourself and all the family at Sevenwaters.” He was looking at Cathal.

“I care little for my own peril, my lord,” Cathal said. “It is through Clodagh that my father will attempt to manipulate me. She and I must both leave Sevenwaters. We must retreat to Inis Eala without delay.”

“And yet,” said Ciarán, “if anyone is to stand up to the Lord of the Oak, it must be you. Would you leave both human folk and Otherworld dwellers defenseless against a prince who rules by cruelty and mischief? You have the capacity to end his influence forever, Cathal, if you would but use it.”

“No!” I said sharply. “It’s wrong to ask that of Cathal. You sound as if you think he should feel guilty about going away. And yet at the same time you point out how dangerous it would be for us to stay, dangerous for all the family at Sevenwaters, yourself included. He’s not doing this. We’re not doing it. What you suggest would mean putting our children at risk. It would mean sacrificing our whole future.”

There was a silence. Then Cathal said, “You heard Clodagh. To overthrow a tyrant is to create chaos, unless there is another ready to step into his place.”

Ciarán looked at him, mulberry eyes steady in the moonlight. He said nothing.

“I have chosen this world,” Cathal said. “I have chosen Clodagh. I will not do it.”

After a little, Ciarán nodded. “That is what I expected. I will help you by explaining to Lord Sean why it is so important for you to leave. I wish you joy and contentment, and I ask you to be mindful of one thing only. At the present moment, what I suggest seems impossible to you. For many years you have feared and despised the abilities that came with your father’s bloodline. You are beginning to accept, I think, that his heritage is a two-edged sword: it can be employed for good or ill, though it is always perilous. I know that you developed those skills while you were in captivity and that you used them, in the end, to escape Mac Dara’s control. It seems you have a particular facility in water magic. Your father most certainly had no idea of that, or he might have anticipated that you would in time learn how to break the charm that held you in the Otherworld. I do not know if you fully understand what this suggests: that you possess, or could possess, a power as great as his own. With the right allies, perhaps greater. We will speak of this again. I believe your return is inevitable.”

“You’re wrong,” Cathal said. “But we thank you for your help, past, present and future. I have something that is yours.” He untied the cord with its white stone and held it out on his palm. “This served me well,” he said.

“Thank you.” Ciarán’s eyes held a shadow now. He took the little token and tucked it into the pouch at his belt. “She would be happy that it helped reunite lovers parted. She would wish you joy in each other.”

“We were hoping,” I said, “that you might perform the hand-fasting ritual for us.”

A smile of pleasure and surprise appeared on the druid’s somber features, making him look suddenly much younger. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“We’re sure,” Cathal said.

“Then we must ask Lord Sean if he will speak with us tonight. For I concur with your judgment that time is short.”

Poor Father. Only yesterday he had got his little son back. Only today he had persuaded his influential guests to sign the treaty and made a fragile peace with his estranged son-in-law. And tonight, after first Cathal, then Ciarán explained the true situation to him, he was being asked to let his daughter marry and leave home within a few days of her arrival back from a long and perilous journey to the Otherworld. In that series of extraordinary events, the fact that my bridegroom was the son of a dark prince of the Tuatha De loomed less large than it might otherwise have done.

It helped that Cathal had conducted himself so well since our return. It helped that he had treated Father with courteous respect while at the same time contributing to the debate as if they were equals. Both Johnny and Gareth spoke up in support of him as a future husband for me. Ciarán presented the case strongly, making it quite clear that I was at immediate risk if I stayed at Sevenwaters, whether or not Cathal and I married, for Mac Dara knew his son loved me; he knew Cathal would do anything to keep me safe. That gave the Lord of the Oak a strong advantage. Conor was impressed by Ciarán’s arguments, but unsure that heading north was the wisest choice for me. Perhaps he did not understand that love could be the sharpest weapon of all.

We sat up long into the night as the matter was debated. I refrained from saying what was foremost in my mind, and no doubt also in Cathal’s: that, even if Father withheld his consent to our marriage, we would be leaving Sevenwaters together. Our love bound us to each other more strongly than any formal hand-fasting could; it would endure until death, whether or not we were officially husband and wife. To be married would be good, because it would please my family better than an unorthodox arrangement. The latter could make things awkward between Father and Johnny if we were living on the island. But a hand-fasting was not essential. Leaving Sevenwaters was. Mac Dara was only a breath away.

Finally, as the candles in the small council chamber were dying down to stubs and Gareth, by the door, had given up any attempt to conceal his yawns, Father said he would allow the hand-fasting provided Mother agreed to it; he would ask her in the morning. If she was happy with the idea, the ritual would be conducted as soon as his guests had left the keep, probably within two days. That would allow time to organize a suitable escort for us—it must be substantial. I was almost too tired to take in the good news. Cathal kissed me in front of everyone, and I retired to bed. I was asleep the moment I laid my head on the pillow.

I would have been happy with the simplest of weddings: just Ciarán to say the words, Cathal by my side and my family looking on. My sisters, however, saw the two-day preparation period as a challenge. Deirdre and Muirrin worked from dawn until dusk to make me a wedding dress in soft blue wool, its sleeves and hem decorated with bands of embroidery taken from a favorite old gown of Mother’s. Sibeal planned the ritual with Ciarán and Conor, adding her own personal touches. Eilis wove a garland of fresh flowers for me to wear on my hair. Even Coll made himself useful, running errands and generally keeping folk in a good temper. Knowing that Cathal and I would neither expect nor want a celebration of the same grandeur as Deirdre’s, Mother organized a special supper for the family, Johnny’s men and our household retainers. Everyone in turn would have time off guard duty or kitchen duty to share the meal, tell tales and sing songs. It was to be a joyous occasion; we would not let the impending parting shadow our happiness. I was sad that Maeve could not be with us. Father had used his link with Aunt Liadan to tell the family at Harrowfield our rather startling news, and my absent sister had sent her love. Still, it was not the same.