Heir to Sevenwaters Page 8

  “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.

  “It’s true, that is the arrangement our fathers planned,” Aidan said. “But nothing’s signed and sealed. The fact is, my father could extricate me from the agreement easily. Especially if the bride I suggested had better prospects than Rathnait’s.”

  I turned a questioning gaze on him and he blushed scarlet. “Prospects?” I queried.

  “Gods aid me,” said Aidan, “this is like wading through a bog with lead boots on. All my skills with words seem to have deserted me. If I could put it into a song, Clodagh, I would express myself a great deal less awkwardly.”

  I suppressed a smile. “No songs are necessary,” I said. “Just explain clearly what you mean. And hurry. I can’t see any sign of Cathal or the children and I’m getting worried.”

  “My father would require me to marry a girl whose birth was equal to, or higher than, my own—the daughter of a chieftain at least,” he said. “He plays no part in the territorial struggles of this region: Whiteshore is too far west for that. But he would make an excellent ally for a chieftain of Ulaid, whether it be Lord Sean or another. He has considerable influence in Connacht, and the leaders there play their parts in the councils of the High King. In his turn, Father would welcome an ally in the east, someone in the mainstream of political affairs. Were I to present Father with the daughter of such a man as a prospective wife, he would at the very least be interested.”

  “I see.” Now
I was blushing too. “And what about poor Rathnait? Cathal said her heart might be broken if arrangements changed. Does he know her well?”

  Aidan’s lips tightened; his eyes darkened. “Cathal likes to meddle,” he said. “His talk of broken hearts is nonsense. He’s well aware that there’s nothing between Rathnait and me but a vague agreement our fathers made years ago. As I said, she’s a child. In a few years’ time she’ll get plenty of offers.”

  Something was not quite right about this explanation. “If Cathal knew that,” I said, “why did he warn me off?”

  “What did he say to you, exactly?”

  “That if you showed interest in me, I should discourage you.” This was getting uncomfortably direct.

  Aidan was quiet for a while as we rode on, crossing two of the small streams. As yet there was no sign of the children. Perhaps they were riding on to the Pudding Bowl with Cathal. I had expected them to stop and wait for us. But then, with Cathal one could not know what to expect.

  “Perhaps he’s jealous,” said Aidan eventually.

  “Jealous?” I considered this. Did Cathal value his bond with Aidan, a bond that had existed more or less since birth, so much that he would get in the way of Aidan’s prospects with a woman? Could Cathal possibly be jealous of me? Before I had time to weigh this idea, Aidan spoke again.

  “He wants you for himself,” he said flatly.

  “What?”

  “He’s jealous,” Aidan said. “He wants you for himself.”

  “No, no. That can’t be it. Cathal doesn’t even like me. He considers me a complete bore. If he’s jealous, it’s over his friendship with you. Besides, he’s of humble birth, isn’t he? He must know he’d never meet my father’s requirements for a suitor. If that’s what we’re talking about.”

  Aidan smiled. “That is what we’re talking about, Clodagh. Cathal doesn’t think the way other folk do. He doesn’t play by other people’s rules.”

  “But he’s an Inis Eala warrior. He must be prepared to follow Johnny’s orders, at least.”

  “That’s different,” said Aidan. “Cathal lives for combat. You’ve seen how he excels at it. He’s only here at Sevenwaters because Johnny ordered him to come. Cathal tried to get out of it. He hates the need to make conversation, to display his best manners, to comply with the codes of a great household like your father’s. He chafes at the restrictions. At Inis Eala his eccentricities don’t stand out the way they do here, or indeed the way they did at Whiteshore. As a warrior, he never sets a foot wrong.”

  I was about to ask for an explanation of the taunts the two men had exchanged during that fierce encounter with knives, when there was a sound of approaching hoof beats and around a corner ahead of us came Eilis on her gray pony, looking perfectly calm. Behind her was Coll on his bay.

  “We thought we shouldn’t go too far ahead,” Eilis said, “or you’d be cross, Clodagh. We turned back at the third stream.”

  “Where’s Cathal?” I asked.

  Eilis looked at me blankly. “Here, isn’t he?” she said, glancing at the others and back at me.

  “He went after you. Didn’t you see him? Did you and Coll ride off the track?”

  “Of course not.” Coll spoke up now. “Maybe Cathal’s the one who went off another way. If he came along this path he couldn’t have missed us.”

  I swore under my breath. Curse Cathal! How could he have disappeared? The man had a rare talent for complications.

  “We’d best ride on,” said Aidan, glancing at Doran, who had come up beside us with Sibeal close behind him.

  “Agreed,” said Doran. “There’s only the one track; he can’t have gone far. I don’t suppose anything untoward has happened, but it’s wisest that the rest of us stay together. We should reach the lake soon. Perhaps he’s there waiting.”

  “I’m sorry, Clodagh.” Eilis sounded unusually chastened. “We shouldn’t have ridden off; I know that.”

  “All right,” I said. “We’ll say no more about it now. But don’t do it again, please. The same goes for you, Coll.”

  As we rode on, something inside me was sounding a warning. The Inis Eala men were highly trained, not only in fighting, but also in such skills as tracking and path finding, not to speak of their peerless horsemanship. How could Cathal have lost his way on a perfectly simple track? What exactly was the man playing at?

  We reached the lake in good time. It was a lovely spot, nestled in a hollow high on the flanks of a wooded hill. There was a quiet over it that set the mind at peace, for there seemed nothing between the pale water and the arch of sky above but dreams and birdsong. When we came here, I liked to lie on my back on the sward and breathe deeply, letting my troubles go.

  That was not possible today. There was no sign of Cathal. While Sibeal and I set out the food and drink that Doran had carried in his saddlebags and the men went down to the water with the children to see if there was any good fishing to be had, I was still working my way through the possibilities and not liking any of them much. The paths through Sevenwaters forest were known to be deceptive. If the Fair Folk wanted a man to lose his way, he would lose it. In the past, certain travelers had ridden into the woods and never come out again. But this particular path was straightforward. That was one of the reasons I’d agreed with Eilis’s choice of destination. And if Cathal was with the Sevenwaters family, the Fair Folk should treat him as they would us. We never got lost, and nor did the trusted members of our household. I put no credence in the silly rumors that were circulating beyond the borders of our own territory, about the Tuatha De starting to turn against humankind. Certainly, such folk had great power and were prepared to use it. But not against us. Anyone familiar with the history of our family would know that could not be the explanation for Cathal’s disappearance.

  Had he ridden off on some mission of his own? That conversation in the stables had suggested Cathal was behind today’s outing. Perhaps he hadn’t organized it to help his friend, but for a more devious purpose. I thought of spies, abduction and assassination, and began to feel very uneasy. Deirdre’s marriage to Illann had offended the northern chieftains. Perhaps Naithi or Colman had decided that kidnapping one of us to gain leverage against my father would impress the influential Eoin of Lough Gall. Perhaps Cathal was out there right now, telling someone exactly where we were.

  We had started to eat when he appeared from under the trees on his black gelding. He dismounted, leaving his horse to graze beside ours, and walked over to sit down next to me. As the rest of us stared, mute, he helped himself calmly to a mutton bone. “You could have waited for me,” he said.

  “Where were you?” I held my annoyance in check, knowing it was only fair to allow him an explanation.

  “You know I was looking for Coll and Eilis, Clodagh. But I see they’re here and unharmed, unless the Fair Folk have transformed them into ghostly simulacra of themselves—let’s see—” He reached out and pinched Eilis lightly on the arm, making her squeal. “No, it’s the real thing all right. At least you saved me some food.”

  “Where did you go, Cathal?” Aidan sounded calm. Of course, he was more used to his friend’s oddity than I was. “That was a straight path, and the children turned and came back after quite a short ride. But we saw no sign of you.”

  Cathal’s dark eyes were guarded as he glanced at his friend. “Nor I of you,” he said. “I rode after them until I was certain I should have overtaken them. I turned back, thinking they might have ventured along a side path; investigated several of those, discovered nothing and returned to the place where I had left you, but found you gone. I deduced you had ridden on without me. So here I am. Shadow has had good exercise today.” He glanced at the gelding.

  “I see.” I could not keep the note of deep suspicion out of my voice. “How very odd that you missed us.”

  “The paths through this forest have a habit of changing,” said Sibeal gravely, her eyes fixed on Cathal’s face. “It’s not wise to ride off the track unless you know the
place and it knows you.”

  I saw something alter in his expression, as if a cold breeze had passed over him. It was an odd look. I would almost have said Cathal was afraid. But he answered lightly. “It’s not all swordplay and feats of strength at Inis Eala. We are trained in other skills, you know. Coll, pass me those bannocks, will you?”

  Sibeal was still staring at him. Folk who did not know our family sometimes found her scrutiny disconcerting, for she had a seer’s eyes, such a light blue as to be almost no color, and an uncanny power of concentration. “Being an Inis Eala man doesn’t protect you from the Fair Folk,” she said now. “If they want to draw you off course, tracking skills won’t help you. How can you find your way by signs and sounds if the path moves?”

  “That’s nothing but superstitious nonsense,” Cathal said.

  Doran cleared his throat.

  “Believe what you like,” I said, not wanting our man-at-arms drawn into an awkward argument. “This is your first visit here. If you stay with us long enough you’ll discover that it’s true. It’s one reason Sevenwaters is such a desirable holding. The place is more or less impregnable. Of course, although the presence of the Fair Folk helps protect us, it’s a responsibility as well.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Cathal in tones of complete disbelief.

  “It’s an unusual place,” Aidan said. “To grow up surrounded by this great forest, with its strange tales, and then to have to go away and live somewhere quite ordinary . . . I think your sister Deirdre would have found that difficult.”

  I remembered Deirdre vowing that if our mother died giving birth to a boy she would put Sevenwaters behind her and never come back. “It depends,” I said, steering the conversation onto a more comfortable path. “If the alternative is good enough people leave happily. Muirrin, for instance. She loves her new life. My Aunt Liadan, Johnny’s mother, went all the way to Britain. Of course, she—” I broke off, not wanting to discuss my aunt’s ability to communicate over distance with the disbelieving Cathal present.