Heir to Sevenwaters Read online

  Under instructions from Deirdre, folk were moving the furniture to make room for dancing. Gods, I was tired. No wonder I had fallen victim to my own imaginings out in the forest earlier; I’d probably been walking along half-asleep. There was a little door not far away leading to a set of stone steps that went up to the roof. In summertime that was a good retreat, with a broad view over the forest of Sevenwaters and only passing birds for company. I slipped through and shut the door behind me. All I needed was a few moments’ respite, and then I’d go back and smile for the guests.

  It was not quite dark. A lamp had been placed on the bottom step and the sound of music floated down from above, a slow air I had played myself, though not so well as this. I followed the sound up to the first turn of the stair, where I found Aidan seated with harp on knee and a little frown on his brow. He was dressed up for the festivities in a tunic of dark blue wool with a snowy shirt beneath it, plain good trousers and well-polished boots. His hair was neatly tied with a ribbon at the nape. He looked, if anything, still more handsome than he had earlier. I recalled the way I had hurtled out of the forest like a screaming banshee, and felt quite awkward. It was a long time since Johnny’s last visit here, and I wondered if I had misremembered the degree of interest Aidan had shown in me then. When he saw me he put a hand across the strings and the tune came to an abrupt halt.

  “Please don’t stop on my behalf,” I said. “It was lovely.”

  Aidan made to stand, tucking the harp under an arm.

  “Don’t get up, please. I’ll go if you want to be alone.” Gods, I sounded like a flustered thirteen year old.

  Aidan’s cheeks reddened. “I’m just practicing. Johnny expects me to play later. I want to get it right.”

  “It sounded fine.” I settled myself three steps below him, tucking my skirt around my legs. “That’s the tune I taught you last year,” I could not help observing.

  Aidan grinned. “Ah, you remembered! Would you listen while I run through it again? Perhaps you’d rather get back to the dancing.”

  “The dancing can wait,” I said, fully aware that it was improper for me to stay here alone with him, but suddenly not caring a bit.

  His fingers moved over the strings, and as the tune rang out again I had an odd sensation, as if I were the harp and felt the touch of those hands on my body, gentle but sure. My thoughts shocked me. I must put such foolish notions out of my head and concentrate on the music. As soon as he was finished I must go straight back.

  “Excellent,” I said as he reached the end and looked at me with a question in his eyes. “You’ve improved a lot since last year.” I hoped my blush was not visible.

  “Really?” There was a sweet hesitancy in Aidan’s smile.

  “Really,” I told him, smiling in my turn. “I’ve got my own set of embellishments for the second verse—you could use those for contrast. Shall I show you?”

  He passed his harp to me without a word and I demonstrated what I meant, biting my lip in concentration. I was not nearly as able a musician as he was, and it was awkward playing on the steps. But Aidan listened intently, then took the instrument back to try out what I’d suggested.

  “If you fetched your own harp, we could perform together,” he suggested.

  “Maybe another time.” This was Deirdre’s night to shine. It would be unfair to her if I made a show of myself. “I’m expected to go out there and dance. I think I’d better do so before people notice I’m missing.”

  “Will you dance with me, Clodagh?”

  “Oh.” Ready words vanished again. “I wasn’t hinting—I didn’t mean—”

  “I know that. Actually I’m not much of a dancer. You didn’t get the opportunity to find out when I was here last time, but I would certainly tread on your toes.”

  His honesty was disarming. “I’ll wager you dance as well as you play,” I told him. “I did visit Inis Eala once, you know. Everyone dances there.” Johnny’s island community was inhabited by grim warriors and energetic women. The folk of the island worked hard and they put the same vigor into enjoying themselves.

  “True, but most do it with more enthusiasm than grace,” Aidan said wryly, descending to my level and offering his free hand to help me down the steps. “If you’re willing, I’ll give it my best try.”

  Back in the hall the juggler still held the younger ones spell-bound, but the music had begun again and folk were already dancing. Deirdre had her head high and her hand in Illann’s as they stepped forward and back, circled and passed under the joined hands of other couples. Aidan set his harp in an alcove and we attached ourselves to the end of the line. I caught Deirdre’s eye. She, at least, had not missed the fact that I had come back into the hall from a secluded area in company with a young man. Well, let her think what she wanted. As Aidan offered a rueful apology for stepping on my toes, I let my troubles go and was happy.

  I stayed with Aidan for a second dance. We didn’t talk much—he needed to think about the steps. The third was a jig, requiring such concentration that we didn’t exchange a word. The hall was getting noisy. A long chain of folk was forming around the perimeter of the dancing area and spilling out into the courtyard where a bonfire had been lit at a safe distance from the house. We were wary of fire at Sevenwaters, for it was only four years since the hideous accident that had scarred Maeve for life. But we had learned to deal with this, since fire formed an essential part of major celebrations such as weddings and seasonal rituals.

  The chain of dancers snaked past us. Coll and Eilis were in it.

  “Clodagh!” my youngest sister shouted. “Come on!”

  Then Aidan and I were in it too, whether we liked it or not. With one hand in my sister’s and the other in Aidan’s, I found myself dancing out the door into the courtyard, where wild shadows were thrown high on the walls by the changeable light from the great fire. Our forms were transmuted into immense prancing deer and owls and hares, or mysterious creatures that were half human, half something quite other. Aidan was laughing. His hand in mine was warm and strong. My heart beat faster. The drummer from Illann’s band came out after us to stand by the main steps, picking up the pace as we moved away from the house. The line went right around the fire now, down as far as the stables and back again, and people were starting to sing.

  “All right?” I saw rather than heard Aidan ask me. I nodded, answering his smile with one of my own. Proper conversation was impossible. The singing was robust, the dancing undisciplined. The line lurched along and we had to grip hard to avoid being pulled right over. Eilis was laughing hysterically. I hoped she could not understand the words of the song, which were getting progressively bawdier with each verse. Perhaps it was time for me to take her indoors. But I was enjoying myself, and so was Aidan—he squeezed my hand, grinning madly. The drum hammered away. Now the whistle player had come out too, adding a high, true version of the melody to the erratic one the singers were bellowing.

  Down by the stables Eilis tripped, pulling me hard. I stumbled, letting go of her hand and Aidan’s. Before I could so much as blink, someone pulled me out of the line and into the darkness by the steps to the harness room. He had my arms in a powerful grip; he knew exactly how to hold a person so she couldn’t fight back.

  “Let me go!” I shouted. It was as ineffectual as my efforts to free myself. The singing drowned out everything. If someone wanted to abduct me, this was the perfect time.

  “Stop struggling, then.” An unmistakable voice spoke right in my ear; I could feel the warmth of his breath. Cathal. “Believe me, I have no desire at all to molest you. I just want to offer a friendly warning.”

  “Friendly! I’d hate to see how you treat your enemies. Let me go, Cathal! You’re hurting me.” And you’re frightening me. I would not give him the satisfaction of hearing me say that.

  His grip slackened marginally. I made to pull away and he tightened it again. He’d chosen his spot well—the corner of the stable was between us and the riotous company. I couldn’t
see any of them, and nobody in the courtyard would be able to see us.

  “What in the name of the gods is this?” I hissed. “How dare you manhandle me?” As soon as he let me go I’d bolt back inside and tell Johnny just what kind of mistake he’d made in hiring this uncouth bully.

  “Planning to rush in and tell on me?” Cathal murmured. “You won’t do that. You wouldn’t want to spoil your sister’s wedding party, would you? Now listen. A good girl like you doesn’t dance all night with the same man unless there’s some kind of promise between them. I don’t believe there’s any such undertaking between you and Aidan. Take my advice. Leave my friend alone. Appearances can be deceptive, Clodagh. He’s not for you.”

  This was the reason he had seen fit to assault me in public? It defied belief. “Finished?” I asked, squashing the urge to ask him what he meant or to make the obvious retort that it was none of his business whom I danced with.

  “Clodagh!” Aidan’s voice came from not far away, its tone concerned. “Clodagh, where are you?”

  “He’s smitten,” Cathal said, removing his hands abruptly from my arms. At that moment something stirred behind him, a shadow, a figure perhaps twenty paces away, hardly more than a slight disturbance in the many shades of gray between here and the gates. I blinked and it was gone. “Make sure you’re not,” Cathal went on. “There’s nothing but harm in it. Now you’d best go before my friend gets entirely the wrong idea. Ah, Aidan, there you are. We thought we saw something, a little stray dog maybe, but it’s gone.”

  “A dog.” Aidan’s tone conveyed complete disbelief. His sunny smile had vanished. His eyes judged first Cathal, then me.

  “Excuse me,” I said, and passed between them with my chin up and my heart thumping. I headed straight for the house, collecting Eilis on the way. I did not report to Johnny or to my father. Cathal was right: I would not spoil Deirdre’s party by making accusations against one of my cousin’s trusted warriors. I would simply stay out of both men’s way. Cathal was devious. Everything about him set me on edge. I had liked Aidan when he came to Sevenwaters last spring, and I liked him even more now. But I had not liked that look of jealousy and doubt in his eyes. Let the two of them sort this out between them, whatever it was. For now, I had had quite enough of men.

  CHAPTER 2

  On the day of Deirdre’s wedding, the household at Sevenwaters also observed Meán Earraigh, the ritual for spring’s balance point. Ciarán had taken no part in the previous evening’s festivities, but he emerged to help Conor conduct the rite. This druid uncle of my father’s was tall and pale, with hair of a deep fiery red and intense mulberry-colored eyes. Ciarán was a man who seemed solitary even when in company. Although he was Conor’s half-brother, he was much younger, of an age with my father.

  Meán Earraigh was one of my favorite feasts. Down on the grass by the lake shore we marked out a circle with leaves and flower petals. There the ritual was celebrated, with family and guests joining the chanting and the sharing of mead and herbs. We bade farewell to winter and greeted the new season’s warmth and promise. Sibeal played the part of the maiden, wearing a circlet of blossom as she danced in the circle. She was exactly the right age this season, just barely come to her monthly bleeding. She danced without awareness of self, her dark hair rippling down her back, her eyes distant, her features gravely composed. For as long as her part in the ritual lasted she was not a reserved girl of twelve, but the embodiment of the goddess in her youthful, budding form.

  Alongside my sister danced the young son of one of Father’s freemen, representing the sun in its nascent power. The whistle and drum, the reed pipe and harp set my feet tapping, though the pace of this measure was contemplative. Conor made an imposing figure in his white robe and golden torc, with his snowy hair bound into many small braids. He watched the young dancers with pride, but there was a shadow over Ciarán’s features, as if the pair’s very freshness and innocence touched a secret sorrow in him. The dance drew to a close. The boy put a sheaf of spring flowers in Sibeal’s hands, representing the burgeoning growth of the season, and she dipped a little curtsy.

  Unlike some of his Uí Néill kinsmen, who had turned to the Christian religion, Illann was steadfast in the old faith. This had strengthened his suitability as a husband for Deirdre, and it meant the hand-fasting that followed the spring ritual could be conducted with a full druidic ceremony. I had never thought Deirdre especially beautiful; to do so would have felt a little like admiring myself—vain and wrong. But my twin looked lovely today, her happiness shining from her face, the green gown perfectly setting off her bright eyes, her hair tumbling over her shoulders from the ribbons that caught it high at the back. She was a perfect young bride, and admiration lit Illann’s eyes as the two of them joined hands before Conor, promising to love, trust and be truthful to each other until death sundered them forever. Deirdre’s happiness made me happy. But I could not stop thinking of going to bed tonight all by myself in our chamber, without my twin to say good night to. My mind was full of the long months stretching ahead with not a word from the sister who had been closer to me than anyone else in the world.

  All too quickly the hand-fasting was over, the celebratory mead and cakes were consumed, and we were bidding Deirdre and her party farewell, for they were to ride to Illann’s home at Dun na Ri straightaway. Most of our guests were also leaving. The way through Sevenwaters forest was not easy, especially for folk who were unfamiliar with it, and Father had arranged for the visitors to travel out together with an escort of his men-at-arms. In view of Mother’s delicate state of health he was keen to return the household quickly to its former peace, though he had not said so publicly. So I hugged Deirdre and said goodbye, and neither of us shed tears, but as the riders headed down the path and under the trees I felt a little part of me being torn away.

  “You know, Sean,” said Conor, who was standing close to me, “I’d enjoy sitting awhile over some of that very fine mead, the stuff you didn’t get out while our guests were here. Johnny, perhaps your young bardic fellow might be prevailed upon to play for us, something soothing, and we can reflect a little on the passing of time and the changes that lie ahead for us all. Ciarán, will you stay?”

  “Thank you, but I will not.” Ciarán had his cape on and his staff in his hand, ready to depart. His awkwardness in family gatherings was easy to understand, for he was the son of Lord Colum of Sevenwaters by his second wife, a sorceress descended from a twisted branch of the Fair Folk. Until a few years ago my sisters and I had not known he existed. Then suddenly he had been there among the druids, a member of the family we’d never been told about. It seemed he had overcome his dark legacy, for he was now expected to be chief druid after Conor.

  Ciarán inclined his head courteously to my father. “Farewell, Sean. We have shared some momentous times, both painful and joyous. I hope your daughter will be happy with her new husband. Farewell, Aisling; the gods walk with you and your child.” With that, he was gone.

  “Uncle Conor’s right, Father,” said my eldest sister, Muirrin, who had reached Sevenwaters just in time for the ritual. “What better occasion could there be for that special mead?”

  “I haven’t seen Eilis for a while,” Mother observed. She was leaning on Father’s arm; coming outside for the ritual had tired her. “And where’s Coll?”

  “I’ll find them,” I said. I’d seen the children disappearing in the direction of the stables as soon as the ceremony was over, and I feared for their best clothing.

  Eilis and Coll were not in the stables. They were not in the yard outside.

  “Down yonder, my lady,” said one of the grooms, gesturing toward the lake, which could be glimpsed through the open gates. “They’ll be safe; they had one of Johnny’s men with them.”

  A fresh breeze had got up and I was cold in the light wool gown I had worn for the wedding. I hesitated, wondering whether to run inside for a shawl. Best not; Eilis and Coll couldn’t have gone far, and the sooner I brought them ba
ck the less opportunity there would be for Mother to start worrying.

  I headed along the lakeside path, expecting to spot the children at any moment. It was only when I reached a place where the track split into two, with one branch heading uphill into the forest, that I began to feel uneasy. This was surely too far. I couldn’t see any trace of them along the shore ahead. Could they have gone up under the trees? The two of them knew quite well that they were expected to be in the hall for the rest of the afternoon. Something was wrong. Something didn’t add up.

  I stood at the fork in the track, unwelcome memories of yesterday’s strange experience crowding my mind. If someone could get close enough to the house to follow me between the hawthorn and home, what was to stop that same someone from abducting my sister and cousin from right under the noses of the family? What about the shadowy figure I’d half glimpsed last night when Cathal had pulled me out of the dance? I shivered. What now? Run back home and fetch a guard? Or go on in the hope that I was not too far behind the children to catch up? If I wasted precious time getting help we might lose them altogether. Besides, what if they were just around the next corner and nothing untoward had happened? I’d be worrying my parents for no good reason. With a sigh, I set off up the track into the forest.

  I climbed for some time, long enough to get quite warm. As I went I called out, “Eilis! Where are you? Coll!” but my voice lost itself under the encroaching trees. The only answer was the shrill cry of a bird high above. I hauled myself up a steep rise. My best shoes were coated with mud and the hem of my embroidered gown was seriously the worse for wear. My heart was thumping, partly from effort, partly from a growing fear. My little sister was only nine. She trusted people.