The Dawn Stag: Book Two of the Dalriada Trilogy (20 page)

‘By traitor,’ Urben boomed, ‘think rather of a foreigner, a
gael
, who, in pursuit of his own glory, puts our men at risk for other tribes’ lands: Caledonii lands, Damnonii lands,
Novantae
lands!’

Rhiann’s mouth dropped open, her anger a bright flood in her veins that burned away all fear. ‘Eremon is putting his life at risk to save us all!’ she cried furiously, her hands clenched by her sides. ‘And you repay him with
this
? You take Dunadd by force?’

Urben’s smile remained in place. ‘No, Ban Cré, not by force. There were many in the council who welcomed us. Your prince is the outsider here, after all, not me. Since after a year you seem … unable … to bear our next king, we must look elsewhere – and my son is the next best candidate. How can I be a traitor when I am just doing what is best for the people?’

‘You have had that year to lay your claim,’ Rhiann spat. ‘And now you act when Eremon’s back is turned, like a sneaking, filthy coward!’ Her mind spun, the words on the tip of her tongue, that Caitlin also bore the old king’s blood; that this very moment she perhaps carried a boy child in her belly. Yet something stopped those words in her throat.

‘I will not allow you to insult me a third time, Ban Cré.’ Urben’s voice held a dangerous edge. ‘We have taken action
now
because the war leader has obviously come to some grief in the south.’

The ground lurched beneath Rhiann; her heart flung itself against her ribs. Yet her mind grasped wildly for control. Eremon was well. Somehow she knew he was well.

‘What has it been now?’ Urben mused, spreading his fingers as if counting. ‘A moon, nearly two? More than a moon and no word? He left us here, poorly defended and leaderless, and now someone must take up the reins.’ His hand curled towards Lorn. Yet the young Epidii lord still would not meet Rhiann’s eyes.

Rhiann’s shock was beginning to recede, as the first flare of rage burned out. And with it, her mind suddenly cleared.
Caitlin, oh Goddess, where is she? Linnet? Eithne?

She took one shaking step towards her house, but at a snap of Urben’s fingers two warriors came from the Horse Gate and stood on either side of her, hands placed carefully on their sword-hilts. Urben’s smile pulled down with feigned sorrow. ‘My lady, in troubled times, I cannot have such a valued prize wandering around unaccompanied. My men will keep you safe.’

Rhiann fought to draw dignity around her, unwilling to give them the further satisfaction of her rage. Without another word she turned, her contemptuous gaze sweeping first the silent Lorn, then Gelert.

The druid’s expression had remained unmoved, yet Rhiann saw the slight working of his thin mouth as he stared towards the banner lying limp on its post above the King’s Hall. Her eyes involuntarily following his, Rhiann saw now that the banner was no longer the scarlet of the White Mare, but the pale blue bear of Urben’s clan. She bit down on her fury. Gelert may stand there as if he had nothing to do with this. But she knew better.

Didius, meanwhile, was being stripped of his sword by Urben’s men, his face stricken with shame and fear, and only then were they free to continue, the two guards trailing them to Rhiann’s house.

All the way Rhiann sensed their presence like menacing hounds behind her, and when they attempted to follow her inside, she whirled, palm raised and trembling. ‘This is my home – you cannot come here!’

One of the warriors fixed his eyes on the sun-warmed wall outside, his bear tattoo curling fiercely over one cheek. ‘We have orders to watch you at all times, lady,’ he murmured. ‘For your own protection.’

Enraged words leaped to Rhiann’s lips, but before she could speak there came a soft, anguished cry from inside, and instantly she dropped her anger and rushed to the sickbed against the wall. ‘Caitlin!’ She sank to her knees by the bed and grasped Caitlin’s hand. Beside her, Eithne crouched on a stool, her small face pinched and fearful. ‘But I left you with Linnet!’ Rhiann burst out.

Caitlin’s face was streaked with tears, her other hand spread protectively over her swollen belly. In the weeks Rhiann had been away she had grown much bigger, her face a blotch of paleness in the dark recess of the bedplace. ‘Urben’s guards came for us a week ago,’ she whispered, her voice husky from weeping. ‘They tore us from Linnet and brought us back here.’

At the mention of Linnet, Rhiann’s fingers dug in to the fur cover. ‘And what of her?’

‘She is safe, alive and unhurt.’ Caitlin’s lips trembled, and she pressed them together to steady herself. ‘That is all I could beg from Lorn.’

Rhiann leaped up, unable to stay still. ‘Curse them all for lying dogs!’ She pressed both hands to the bridge of her nose, her breathing swift and fierce. ‘How
dare
they lay a hand on us, take our home! Wait until Eremon gets back—’

‘Rhiann,’ Caitlin’s agonized whisper broke through Rhiann’s anger, ‘they called all the people together and said that Eremon and Conaire must have been defeated, since we have heard nothing. Urben said he had no choice but to put the people first, and give them a new king and war leader.’

‘Did he now?’ Rhiann snapped, staring down at her cold hearth, her hands curling into fists. ‘Wily words from a cowardly traitor.’ She sank to the bed and took Caitlin’s hands, chafing her cold fingers, disturbed at the unhealthy translucence of her skin, and her haunted eyes. ‘Come, cariad, you know they are alive, as do I.’

Caitlin buried her face in Rhiann’s shoulder. ‘Since the baby, my heart is so weak!’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t think straight and when Urben said it, my heart just froze, Rhiann. I’ve been so frightened—’

Over her sister’s shoulder Rhiann held Eithne’s dark eyes, yet the maid’s composure was also threatening to dissolve under an onslaught of fright and relief. Rhiann reached out and pried Eithne’s fingers from the twisted knots of her skirt, willing strength into her. She had chosen Eithne as her maid for many reasons, not least her sharp mind and her spirit, and it was these she must draw forth now.

When Caitlin was quiet, Rhiann gathered Eithne and Didius by the hearth. There she drew a deep breath, dredging up a semblance of control with sheer will. ‘We are all in shock,’ she said to them. ‘Yet it is Caitlin we must look to now. She is not well.’ Rhiann took Eithne’s trembling fingers. ‘Can you be strong for her, and for me? I’ll need you to help care for her, give her the draughts she needs, keep her spirits raised. Can you do this?’

Eithne straightened her thin shoulders, forcing a smile that did not reach her eyes. ‘Yes, lady. I’ll make you proud, you’ll see. And do not forget that Eremon left us Aedan. He must still be in the King’s Hall. Perhaps he can play for her.’

‘Goddess help us!’ Poor Aedan would be out of his mind with worry; she must go and retrieve him if she could. Yet first she addressed Didius. ‘A bard I may have, son of Rome, but I need a strong male presence in this house, too.’

Didius nodded sombrely, his hand going to his sword-belt, before he realized with obvious dismay that it was empty. Swiftly he composed himself, hooking his fingers into the rope belt around his belly. ‘You do not need to ask, lady.’

Yet when his eyes strayed to Caitlin in the bed, Rhiann went completely still.

We may be safe for the moment
, came her sudden knowing,
but not the babe, for he is a king born
.

Her so-called guards did not stop Rhiann striding past them to the King’s Hall, and to her relief the paths were empty once more. Aedan was crouching on a stool at one end of the great hearth, plucking dolefully at his harp, Cù at his feet. Yet at the sight of Rhiann he set his instrument aside with a startled yelp of relief that pierced the hound’s excited barking. Aedan was never so undignified; this, more than the slump of his shoulders, told Rhiann of his state of mind.

‘Urben and Lorn and their men moved in here,’ he whispered to her, his grey eyes round and fearful, glancing over her shoulder. The cream and rose complexion that made him the target of so many warrior jests was now just pale, his dark curls for once uncombed. ‘They make me play for them every night, but Lady, I am so frightened for my lord. They say he is not coming back, that he is dead!’ Aedan’s head drooped, shame creeping up his neck. ‘They held a dagger at my throat, made me play a dirge to send his soul to the Otherworld,’ he confessed.

Rhiann swallowed her disgust at Urben, and patted Aedan’s knee. ‘You and I both know he is not dead. And, though you are unquestionably talented, I don’t think even your dirge could send a man to the Otherworld before his time.’

Aedan shook his head, his mouth lifting ruefully at one corner.

Rhiann rubbed Cù’s head to calm herself, pushing the dog’s flank into her leg. ‘I will ask Lorn to release you to my household, Aedan, for I need you to keep Caitlin’s spirits raised. Her pregnancy does not go as well as I’d hoped—’

Aedan straightened and groped for her hand, pressing his forehead to it. ‘Lady, I will gladly discharge my duty to you and my lord thus. I will not let you down!’

His fervency brought a tired smile to Rhiann’s lips. ‘What happened to the nobles? And where is Finan?’

Aedan’s face fell, and he sighed and drew his fingers over his harp. ‘I am sorry to report, lady, that when Urben’s warriors came, only one of the nobles put up a real resistance.’ His throat moved as he swallowed. ‘We were all here in the hall, eating. Talorc swept up his sword and ran at Urben … and was cut down by his men.’

Rhiann’s heart plunged. ‘Dead? Not Talorc?’ The old warrior had been Eremon’s staunchest supporter, his booming voice always one of the loudest raised in dissension, but also in laughter, in jests. ‘How … long ago did this happen?’

‘One week.’ Aedan’s eyes were deep with shadows. ‘I think the death rites have been completed, lady, but it was a hurried affair, and involved only his own kin.’

Rhiann nodded, grief rising thick in her throat. ‘And Finan?’

There Aedan was relieved. ‘They removed him to the village, to be lodged with Bran. They did not harm him, though he drew his sword, too. I think … I think they did not wish to invite my lord’s wrath.’

Rhiann glanced at Aedan keenly. ‘Then they know Eremon is alive, too.’ She nodded to herself, and smiled grimly into the fire. ‘And they are afraid of him.’

Rhiann had another visit to make that day, a sad one, to Talorc’s house. No priestess had been present to sing the death song for him, and though his body had already been consigned to the pyre, she knelt with his weeping wife by the hearth and made an offering of meadowsweet and scented oil, milk and barley meal to the statue of Ceridwen that rested in its wall niche.

Gently, she endeavoured to ask Talorc’s wife about Gelert, but the woman writhed herself into fresh hysterics, giving full vent to her grief. It was left to Belen to provide the information that the chief druid had carefully avoided all suspicion of involvement in the plot.

‘He said to the people that it was not up to the druids to choose the war leader and king, but the warriors.’ Belen spoke in a hollow voice, sitting by the hearth, slack-shouldered and empty-eyed, his hands limp by his sides. ‘He said he would give his support to a new candidate as loyally as to your prince, who had only been set in place as your consort and war leader until you birthed the next king. But … since you have not …’ Belen’s voice trailed off. ‘Urben has stepped in with Lorn. He says he speaks for the other clans.’

Rhiann swallowed down her angry response, for before her sat a broken man, and she did not wish to hurt him further. But Eremon would not have let the dun go without a fight! She breathed through her frustration and gave Belen a blessing as he took her leave. It would clearly be left to others to be strong. Perhaps it would be left to her.

Rhiann walked unseeing under the Horse Gate again, ignoring the guards behind, searching inside herself for the echo of the power she had called in the stag rite. It was still there, faintly thrumming along her veins. Perhaps she could use that power, and keep it close to her.

‘Lady,’ Didius hissed, bringing her to a halt. Rhiann followed his eyes, and saw a man standing on the cliffs beside the druid shrine, outlined against the dusk sky. It was Lorn, and he was gazing out to the southern road.

Rhiann paused, with a challenging glance at her guards. ‘Go on, Didius,’ she said evenly. ‘I will only be a moment.’

‘You cannot see him alone,’ Didius muttered, raising his chin, though his cheeks wobbled with effort.

Rhiann was warmed by this spark of defiance; she would need that in her household. ‘Come, then, but don’t invite his anger in any way.’ She held his black eyes warningly. ‘You are a foreigner, nothing to him. He could easily kill you.’

Back through the Horse Gate they went, past the deserted druid shrine, and then Rhiann approached Lorn with her face blank, veiling her emotions. For Caitlin, she would humble herself.

Lorn whirled before she spoke, and the light from the fading sky showed what her earlier fury had blinded her to. Lorn, always resplendent and perfectly groomed, looked almost haggard. His clothes and hair were as immaculate as ever, yet his eyes were red-rimmed and pouched from too much ale.

Abruptly, Rhiann dropped her gaze, not wanting to acknowledge the strange pity that flared in her, seeing only the blood being squeezed from Lorn’s hands as he balled them. ‘Caitlin is in a delicate condition,’ she murmured, summoning priestess calm. ‘Music and tales would ease her time. I have come to request that you allow Aedan to join my household.’

For a moment Lorn did not answer, and Rhiann raised her head and gazed out beyond him to the marsh, her face devoid of all emotion.

‘I will grant this,’ Lorn grated at last, ‘only if you give your oath to plan no escape, no trickery, with your little group of … of …’

‘Eremon’s friends?’ she countered. She couldn’t help it.

His breath exploded outwards. ‘The prince is dead!’

‘Then any plan would lead to naught!’ she retorted.

Lorn flushed, looked at his spread hands and tucked them under his armpits in a boyish gesture that did nothing to soften Rhiann’s heart. ‘Nevertheless, I wish your oath.’