The Dawn Stag: Book Two of the Dalriada Trilogy (24 page)

This time it was Caitlin who enfolded Rhiann in her embrace, her arms strong enough to hold. Squashed between them the baby woke and squalled, and as they both fussed over him, Rhiann at last unburdened herself about the truth of Caitlin’s own birth. And in the end it didn’t matter, because of what Caitlin held in her arms.

Yet it wasn’t until Rhiann had bathed Caitlin’s stitches and changed the moss pads between her legs that her sister asked what pressed on her most strongly.

‘Rhiann.’ Caitlin cupped the babe’s head to her breast and rested her own back on the pillow. Her eyes were steady. I won’t be able to carry another child, will I?’

Rhiann paused in wrapping the bloody pads in a linen towel. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she whispered. ‘I am sorry.’

Caitlin was silent, looking down and tracing the curve of the baby’s cheek. ‘It is well,’ she said slowly, almost to herself. ‘A king needs much care to guide him to his Hall. Now, he will have all of me.’

There was no chance of keeping the birth a secret, and the sun was barely one hand-span above the horizon the next day when Urben and Lorn appeared at Rhiann’s door.

‘Show me the child,’ Urben demanded, shouldering his way into the room, glancing at Rhiann’s herb stores, drying roots and goddess figures with such disdain that she burned to refuse him.

Yet Lorn rocked on his heels, for once catching her eyes, and in his gaze Rhiann saw pleading. She glanced at the two guards that hovered at Urben’s shoulder, and went behind the screen to Caitlin’s bed.

‘No,’ Caitlin whispered, clutching the babe to her breast, her knuckles white.

‘We must,’ Rhiann murmured. ‘But I will not let them touch him, I swear.’

Reluctantly, Caitlin gave the child over, groping Eithne’s hand for support. Holding him to her chest, Rhiann placed herself before Urben.

The old chieftain peered into the child’s face. ‘A boy?’ he asked gruffly.

Rhiann nodded, her chin high. ‘Indeed.’

Urben’s cool eyes slid to the wicker bedscreen. ‘And the Lady Caitlin? When will she be recovered?’

Rhiann frowned in some confusion, for Urben had never shown any interest in Caitlin’s well-being. Yet her sharp eyes noticed the betraying flush creeping up Lorn’s neck – the heat of guilt and shame. And the truth of their position came crashing down around her. Of course! All this time she had puzzled over what Urben wanted of her and Caitlin. Now she understood.

Lorn’s claim to the kingship was through a kinlink several generations old, but if he wed either Caitlin or herself his claim would be much stronger. Sons gotten on them would be heirs of the last king, her uncle Brude. She and Caitlin would be Lorn’s links between the old line and the new. No wonder Urben had not harmed them! Though this consideration, she realized with sudden terror, did not apply to the babe.

Her arms closed tight on his body, and he squirmed and mewed. ‘My … my lord.’ Rhiann’s mouth had gone dry; she was too scared to be angry. ‘Caitlin is not well; she had a hard birth. And as her healer I advise that she lay abed for some considerable time yet.’

Urben’s grey brows rose, yet Rhiann ploughed on. ‘And … it is vital that she be left to feed the babe herself, for the drawing of the milk will likewise draw strength back into her heart and limbs.’

Urben stared hard at Rhiann, blinking once. ‘Then take good care of her, lady.’ He paused as he turned to go. ‘And yourself.’ The smile that he hid in his moustache was not returned, and Lorn did not glance Rhiann’s way again as he trailed out behind his father.

That night, Rhiann watched over Caitlin as she slept, the baby tucked into the crook of his mother’s arm. In repose Caitlin’s face was as childlike as her son’s, both of them so small and vulnerable, and Rhiann was swept with a fierce urgency to protect them both.

Yet how? Gingerly, Rhiann lay down beside them on the furs, her face pillowed in one hand.
I must get the child out of Dunadd
, she thought desperately. It wouldn’t be long before Urben – or Gelert – moved against him, for Gelert’s scrupulous appearance of neutrality did not fool her.

The people would never accept a king who murdered a child, but they were alone in this house, hidden, and what was to stop Urben spreading the rumour that the baby had died? The women of the dun knew that Caitlin’s son had come early.

Slowly, Rhiann rose. The night was still and warm, and her bare arms beneath the thin bedshift were damp with sweat as she stirred up the coals and steeped some dried cowslip flowers for a sedative tea. Didius and Aedan had not yet returned, and only Eithne’s sleeping breaths disturbed the silent hearth-place. Staring into the glowing coals, her hands around her cup, Rhiann set her mind free to wander, to find the solution that danced there on the edge of her consciousness, elusive.

And at last it came. She had been so taken with the concerns here at Dunadd that her focus had narrowed to what went on within these walls. Only two things lured her mind away. One was thoughts of Eremon – and she certainly could not reach him. The other was Linnet, a fellow priestess.

Though Rhiann’s own true powers had dimmed, as a priestess she had other means at her disposal for communication – and had used them before. It had crossed her mind, many times, to make the effort to reach out to Linnet, but besides assuring her that they were all well, there seemed little point. Such an undertaking left Rhiann weak and vulnerable, and she could not afford to undermine her own defences when so many were relying on her. Yet now, the need had become more urgent than the risk.

Only once had she used the sacred spores of the rye fungus to free her spirit from her body, and that had also been a period of dire need. It was time to try again, whatever the cost.

When Caitlin woke the next morning, Rhiann was sitting on her bed, rubbing the sleeping babe’s back with scented oil.

As Caitlin yawned and carefully stretched her aching body, Rhiann’s hand closed over her own. ‘Sister, I must speak to you of the babe, and Urben.’

Caitlin stilled and, for a fleeting moment, Rhiann debated how honest to be. She feared hurting Caitlin, but she must communicate the urgency, and in the end she decided to be blunt. ‘Your son is not safe here,’ she began, tightening her hold on Caitlin’s fingers when they jerked. ‘But I have thought of a way to make him so.’

Swiftly, she outlined what she proposed to do, as Caitlin wrapped the sleeping child and drew him to her chest.

‘He can live on goat’s milk, Caitlin, for a while. And your milk will come back if it is only a few weeks. Conaire and Eremon will be back then, I am sure of it.’

Caitlin shrank into the pillow, shock and fear stiffening her features. Then she swallowed hard and gazed down at her son, silent for a long moment. ‘It’s the only way, isn’t it?’ she whispered.

‘Yes. But do you trust me?’

‘With all I have.’ Caitlin’s eyes rose to meet Rhiann’s, shining with tears. ‘But, oh, it is dangerous for you – you said it yourself !’

Rhiann shook her head. ‘None of that matters, for sake of him. But I will need everyone’s help to keep me safe, as well.’

Caitlin nodded, and wiped her eyes with determination. ‘When?’

‘Tonight,’ Rhiann replied. ‘Eithne must speak with Aldera when she brings the food this morning.’

CHAPTER 20

L
innet watched the rush lamp-wick sizzle out, plunging her hut into darkness.

She sighed and rolled on to her back, kicking the clinging sheets off her damp, hot skin. Better that the light was gone, for then she did not have to see these dreadful men – Urben’s warriors – sprawled all over her floor, their feet on her chairs, their faces smeared with her food, their swords and spears sharp, bright flares in the light of her hearth. Oh, they treated her with the greatest of courtesies, and laid no finger upon her, but only Dercca was allowed the freedom of the sacred pool, the woods and goat-pen. Week after week, Linnet had sensed the path of the sun above, and she knew the moons of light and warmth were passing. Her anger and frustration grew.

At first she’d treated Urben’s men with icy disdain, for only by holding on to her anger could she keep despair at bay. Even so, every night under the cover of darkness, the fear gnawed at her. How did Caitlin and Rhiann fare? And what about Caitlin’s pregnancy? Ah, Gelert had been so clever, even though the men had come in Urben’s name.

That first day, she had listened to her new guards’ rhetoric with dawning amazement. Eremon must have been defeated, they said, in which case the threat of Roman reprisals or sudden raids by their neighbours was high, and it was with grave concerns for the Lady Linnet that Urben had given her four warriors for protection. Linnet had argued, of course, but it was so easy to hold her with the threat of those swords, for had she not, by her own choice, exiled herself on this mountain? No one would even know she was a prisoner.

The greater frustration was that she could have escaped, for she knew some means of dealing with such obstacles. Yet the only useful place for her to go was Dunadd, and if caught there she had no doubt that Gelert would devise a far more secure prison for her – or worse. Then she would be unable to lend her daughters any aid at all.

And Linnet knew that sometime, somehow, they would need that aid.

That was why she began to hide her desperation and rage, dropped the disdain and began to serve the men mead at night with gracious hands, and smile at them when they gave thanks for the food. She treated the minor aches and ailments of warriors with sweet salves and wax rubs, and strengthening brews. The guards responded swiftly to this kindness, their natural awe of her transmuting into an eagerness to treat her well.

She ensured that Dercca always came back from her chores exactly when she said she would, and only went a certain distance from the hut. After the first few weeks the warriors relaxed, stopped shadowing Dercca’s every step, and hardly gave any notice to the old maid. And Linnet noted this, as she sat weaving baby clothes on her loom.

On the first day of Lugnasa, Linnet asked leave to make an offering in the sun-bright yard and, turning to the south, Rhiann came into her mind. She knew in that moment that the daughter of her heart was giving the same offering at Dunadd. And on the last day, heavy with restless heat, Linnet pricked her finger with the bone needle and threw down her sewing in frustration, knowing that something was very wrong. Yet because Gelert had forbidden Linnet access to the sacred pool or ingestion of any herbs, she might pace and wring her hands and send tearful prayers to her Goddess, but in all she remained blind and deaf.

Just as on this night, when the lamp burned out and the restlessness returned with force. Linnet desperately needed to rise and do something, but she must never alert the men that there was anything amiss. Eventually, she turned to her priestess breath training to calm herself. In this way, she managed to make herself sink into an uneasy sleep.

In her dreams, she often saw Caitlin and Rhiann, and would hurry after them on desperate feet. Yet always they were far away, riding on horses too fast to catch, or disappearing into the maze of paths between Dunadd’s houses.

Which was why her sleeping mind shuddered with a kind of shock when, walking by the sacred pool as she often did in dreams, she saw on the path a figure robed as a priestess.

A woman who was not running away. A woman, she realized with a jolt of joy, who was seeking her.

Joined by a thin, silver cord, Rhiann’s spirit-self struggled to ignore the urgent feeling of sickness coming from her body far away, and stay within Linnet’s dreaming mind. Dimly, she sensed the presence of Caitlin, Aedan, Eithne and Didius around her, anchoring the root of the soul-cord in the body that writhed in agony on the floor at Dunadd.

The rye fungus that released a spirit was the most dangerous of druid preparations, used only for the rarest trances with other trained people present. Yet those with Rhiann loved her, and she had discovered that love had a power and a will of its own.

Of course, this knowledge did not completely still her fear that the cord would be cut, and she would lose her way, but each time the fear surged she returned to her priestess breathing. With each breath the silver light of the cord glowed brighter, anchoring her more strongly. And in the centre she focused on her heart, and what she had nestled there as a beacon to guide her – the exact texture of the baby’s cheeks beneath her fingers.

Walking in her dream by the night-dark spring, Linnet had now seen Rhiann. She stood there, arrested in all her spirit glory, her blurred features communicating a yearning that required no words. Rhiann could not speak either, for the boundaries of her strength were close to their limits, but she could show Linnet the images that were in her own mind, and hope that she understood.

For a long time they stood in the shadows among the sighing birches, hands clasped. Then Rhiann felt the tug of the cord grow insistent, and she reached out to caress Linnet’s face. By the light of joy that transfigured it, she knew that Linnet did indeed feel something, and it was only that glow that remained when all else in the scene faded.

Suddenly, Rhiann was back in the swirling tunnel of light that she had first entered, spinning faster and faster. Whereas on the way from her body her spirit had contracted to a pinprick, now, as it re-entered, her soul seemed to swell. It expanded the faster she flew down the tunnel, growing denser and more solid and then spilling out to fill every vein and limb and pocket of flesh and muscle that was her body.

This time, she found it easier to ignore the wild calls of the Otherworld beings and spirit shadows that reached out with glittering fingers and haunting voices to entrap unwary travellers.

For waiting in a bubble of light before her, solid and strong, were those who called her back even more fiercely.

Behind, in the darkness, the guard sprawled before Linnet’s door barely stopped his snoring as the old maid nudged him with her foot. He peered up at her in the faint starlight and rolled away as he did every night, when she went outside to pass her water. Old women!