‘You tell me, Grim.’
I just look at him.
‘He asked me to fetch you that day. If all he was planning to do was offer you accommodation here in the house, why did he tell me to bring you in the back way, so folk wouldn’t see you? Why not speak to you in the council chamber, or have Aedan do it?’
Time for some straight talking. ‘Tell me something,’ I say. ‘You’re the prince’s man. Have been for years, from what I understand. If he told you to keep something secret, would you go blurting it out to the first person to ask you?’
He flinches as if I’ve struck him. Then he says, in a tight sort of voice, ‘If you’d asked me that last spring, I’d have said no, never.’
‘What about now?’ Don’t like to press it. What I’ve said has hit the man hard. Didn’t expect that. But I want an answer. Isn’t that what this is all about, getting answers?
‘I would do what was best for him,’ Donagan says, looking wretched.
What in Black Crow’s name is going on with those one-time friends? I know nothing about this kind of folk, but I know a man in pain when I see one. ‘Thing is,’ I say, ‘you want me to tell you what the prince said to me and Blackthorn that day up on the hill. But if it was private, it was private.’
‘Fair enough,’ Donagan says. ‘But if he’s asked you to help him . . . to find answers to something he sees as a puzzle . . . I have to warn you that you’re probably wasting your time. There’s no puzzle there, just a . . . a mistake, an error. Look for answers all you want, but you won’t find any.’
This feels like wandering into a swamp with a blindfold on. Take a step the wrong way and you’re in over your head. Is Donagan guessing? Or does he know all about the prince’s problem? Could be Oran wants it kept from everyone, even this trusted friend. That’s what he said, more or less. I keep my trap shut. Seems safest.
‘If I could help him,’ says the prince’s man after a long, long time, ‘I would. Believe me.’
I’m remembering, then, something Prince Oran said to Blackthorn, after he’d told us the story. He said if he told anyone they’d say it was a fancy. Only in my mind, that was what he said. And I’m doing some guessing myself. He’s told his friend, and his friend doesn’t like what he hears, and now that friend has decided to take himself off after years and years of loyal service. Can’t be just the prince getting married; everyone must have known that would happen someday. What could be big enough to turn them cold toward each other? Could Donagan be one of those fellows that likes other men? Is he jealous of Lady Flidais?
I’m staring at him with my mouth open like a half-wit. I turn it into a yawn.
‘Do you have bad dreams every night?’ Donagan asks.
‘Been restless, have I? Sorry. Don’t want to disturb anyone.’ It’s not dreams. Doubt if I’ve dropped off more than a moment or two at a time, these last three nights.
‘You do thrash around and talk in your sleep.’
Thought I’d been doing a good job of keeping the words in. And lying as still as I could. Seems not. Have I been falling asleep without knowing? Maybe I can’t tell the difference anymore, sleep, wake, in between. Morrigan’s curse. Don’t know what to say to him.
‘I could arrange for you to sleep somewhere else,’ he goes on. ‘If you prefer. Close by, but not in with all of them.’
Yes fights to get out. I shove it back. ‘I need to be with the others.’
Donagan gives me a sharp look. ‘Not by night, surely.’
He knows why we’re here. Must do. ‘Well, no, but . . .’ How can I say I need Blackthorn, or at least a lamp or a fire? How can I tell him I’d be better out of doors than in the men’s quarters, even when it’s pouring wet and cold enough to freeze a man’s bollocks off? ‘More used to life on the road,’ I say. ‘Sorry.’
‘No need for apologies. And certainly not to me. Let me think about this, talk to a couple of people. I might have an answer for you before tomorrow night.’
This bothers me. Any sort of special treatment’s going to get folk talking, and that’s just what Blackthorn doesn’t want. ‘Might be best to leave it,’ I say, hearing the growl in my voice that’s not for Donagan, only for stupid Bonehead who can’t keep himself under control.
‘Why’s that?’
I shrug. ‘I can get by.’
Look on his face says he knows that’s a lie. Truth is, if we leave it I’ll be in trouble very soon. ‘Don’t want the whole place knowing about this,’ I tell him.
‘Understood,’ says Donagan. ‘Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll be discreet. I think I can do this without saying anything about tonight. Trust me.’
Funny, how things sometimes come clear all of a sudden. I guessed already that he doesn’t want to leave Winterfalls, doesn’t want to leave the prince, but for some reason he’s going to anyway. Now I see that he wants to help his friend but doesn’t know how. Maybe, deep down, he’s hoping he’s wrong and we can find answers. ‘Seems a good fellow,’ I say. ‘Prince Oran.’
Donagan nods. He picks up the poker and stirs the fire. Throws on a bit more wood. ‘The best,’ he says. ‘You heard him at the council. A fine man. A worthy leader. His modest demeanour makes some folk underestimate him.’ He falls silent a bit, and I wonder if there’s a but coming. I don’t say anything.
‘If he has a failing,’ Donagan says, still not looking at me, ‘it’s that he is not very . . . worldly-wise.’
‘Mm-hm.’ Not sure what he means, and not going to ask. Is he talking about women? Wouldn’t a prince be able to bed whatever woman he fancied?
‘That’s in confidence,’ says Donagan.
‘Wouldn’t breathe a word.’ Except to Blackthorn, I’m thinking, but I don’t say it. Wonder how she’s getting on among the ladies of the house. Hardly seen her since we got here. Big crowd at meal times, both of us listening hard to who’s saying what, no time to have more than a word or two. The way it’s going, it’ll be full moon before we know it and Prince Oran will be off to his hand-fasting with no way out.
‘Big step, going away,’ I say. ‘Leaving your position and all. Any chance you’d change your mind?’
He’s holding a bit of firewood in his hands, looking at it as if he doesn’t remember why he picked it up. ‘If I thought you and Blackthorn could turn back time,’ he says, ‘or work magic, I’d say yes.’
I’ve always thought wise women could work magic. Seems he’s got no faith in that.
‘If anyone can fix this,’ I say, ‘Blackthorn can.’
29
~ORAN~
It was harder than I would have dreamed possible to maintain an air of calm. How could I go about my daily business as usual when the days seemed to be slipping by ever more quickly? The moon became a waxing crescent. It swelled toward half-full. Blackthorn did not report to me. I had done as she requested, and neither called her to see me nor sought her out. Evidently she had as yet uncovered nothing.
Grim had been put on night watch. I did not understand this, but under Blackthorn’s rules I did not question Lochlan as to why a man who was in my house as a guest would be allocated guard duty. Perhaps Grim fancied a future in my service and had asked for a trial. Or, more likely, working alongside my guards gave him a better opportunity to talk to them in confidence. I did wonder how much sleep he was getting. Had he given up rebuilding his burned cottage? That made me uncomfortable. It had been clear to me how badly the two of them wanted that job done, and done quickly.
When barely fourteen days remained until full moon and my next open council, Winterfalls had visitors. They sent a messenger to let us know when they were a half-day’s ride away: the chieftain of southern Ulaid, Muadan, his wife, Breda, and two councillors, travelling to Cahercorcan early for the hand-fasting so Muadan could spend time consulting with my father. With them came an escort of men-at-arms.
My household was accu
stomed to coping with unexpected arrivals. Aedan and Fíona had quarters prepared for all of them. Savoury smells from the kitchen told me Brid and her helpers were preparing a special supper. The stables stood ready to accommodate the tired horses.
I had become something of a coward where Flidais was concerned, for with Blackthorn and Grim in the house I did not trust myself to act as if nothing were wrong. I was terrified of giving the secret away, alerting my betrothed to the fact that she and her circle were being watched. So I had ceased trying to coax her out of the women’s quarters to go for a walk or a ride, or to spend time with me in the council chamber or the library. Instead, I left her to her own devices. At meal times I exchanged the necessary pleasantries with her, no more. But with Muadan’s party present she would have to sit at table and be the lady of the house, and I would have to put on a convincing show that everything was fine. More than that, indeed, with our hand-fasting so close. If I seemed unduly cool toward my soon-to-be-wife, word might get to my parents that something was amiss.
When the visitors were spotted a mile or so from Winterfalls, I sent Donagan to fetch Flidais and my aunt. They came to join me in the courtyard: Aunt Sochla accompanied by Bramble, Flidais pale but lovely in one of her blue gowns, with her hair covered by a light veil. Mhairi hovered close behind.
As the visitors rode in, I saw that among them was one I had not expected. Riding along with Muadan’s party was a familiar, grey-robed figure.
‘Master Oisin!’ It was unusual for the druid to visit twice in such quick succession; I wondered what had brought him back to Winterfalls. ‘Welcome! Muadan, greetings. I hope you had a comfortable journey, Lady Breda.’ Once my grooms had helped everyone down, I led Flidais forward by the hand. ‘You have met Lady Flidais, I believe, on her journey from the south, when you were kind enough to accommodate her party. And of course you know my aunt, Lady Sochla.’
‘And the dog,’ observed Lady Breda with a wry smile. ‘Though I would have expected that creature to be in your arms, Lady Flidais. If there’s one thing I remember about your visit, it’s that the animal – what is its name, Bundle? – refused to leave your side for a moment. I see it’s settled in well here. I hope it’s been as easy for you, Lady Flidais. Many changes for you.’
Flidais smiled and nodded.
‘Please, come indoors,’ I said, wishing my betrothed could manage welcome, if nothing else. ‘You’ll be wanting to rest before supper, I’m sure. Master Oisin, my steward wll make sleeping arrangements for you.’
‘Thank you, my lord. Any corner will do. I trust you are well? And you, Lady Flidais?’ The druid’s was not the quick glance that went with a casual enquiry, but a deep, shrewd gaze that examined each of us in turn.
‘Well enough, thank you,’ I said.
Our visitors dispersed, led by Aedan’s helpers to their various bedchambers or, in the case of the escort, to the sleeping quarters in the stables. Men-at-arms generally weren’t happy to have strangers look after their horses for long, even if those strangers were capable grooms. Besides, we had more room there. Muadan and his attendant were still in the entrance hall with me.
‘Some mead?’ I asked Muadan. Clearly he wanted to speak to me in private, or he would have gone with his wife.
‘And a word, Prince Oran, if I may.’
We made our way to the small council chamber. After refreshments had been provided, I had the attendants close the door, leaving the two of us on our own. Muadan’s expression told me this was a weighty matter. Not too weighty, I hoped, with time passing and the question of Flidais still unresolved.
‘I have some news from the south,’ Muadan said.
I was suddenly cold. ‘From Cloud Hill?’
‘Mm-hm. I didn’t want to upset Lady Flidais; best for you to tell her in private, my lord.’
What was coming? Her father killed? His lands overrun? A wave of shame ran through me, for my first feeling, when Muadan spoke, had not been shock and sympathy for Flidais’s family, but the realisation that if either guess was true, I was trapped. If her father had lost his battle, Flidais’s entire future would hang on her marriage to me. Her home, as it had been, would no longer exist. ‘Tell me what has happened,’ I said, setting down the cup around which my hands had fastened themselves tightly.
‘I got word through a man of mine who was in the south on unrelated business. As far as I know Cadhan and his family are safe, but I heard that Mathuin of Laois tried to make a bargain. He wanted Cadhan to cede a large parcel of grazing land in return for Mathuin’s promise to cease these border attacks. As any leader worth his salt would do, Cadhan refused him outright. And that should be the end of it, but . . .’
‘But Mathuin seldom takes no for an answer.’
‘So I’ve heard.’ Muadan frowned into his goblet. ‘I don’t like Cadhan’s chances of dealing with this on his own. But the chieftains of the region won’t want it developing into outright territorial war.’
‘Is this fact, Muadan, or only rumour?’
‘The source was reliable,’ Muadan said. ‘It’s common knowledge that Mathuin is both ambitious and ruthless. And his personal army is sizeable; he could seize not only the stretch of land in question, but Cadhan’s entire holdings, I suspect. Probably thought he was being magnanimous in offering the so-called bargain. But now Cadhan’s refused, Mathuin may feel justified in taking what he wants by force. I did hear he’d had hopes of marrying Lady Flidais, and was mightily put out when her father promised her to you.’
‘Mathuin? He’s fifty if he’s a day. And . . .’ What I had heard of the fellow suggested he would not be a fit husband for any woman.
‘Mm-hm. I think your lady may have had a lucky escape, my lord. But the betrothal can’t have sweetened Mathuin’s temper. You may have made an enemy.’
I did not especially care if Mathuin of Laois loathed and despised me. Should we ever meet in the flesh, I was fairly sure the feeling would be mutual. His lands lay far from my father’s, and the likelihood of our ever being at war was slight. On the other hand, one day I would be king of Dalriada and a senior member of the High King’s council.
‘Thank you for bringing this to me, Muadan. Please pass all the information on to my father when you reach Cahercorcan. You’ll be there before me, and so, possibly, will Lorcan of Mide. Flidais and I won’t be at court until a few days before the hand-fasting.’
‘Nobody’s going to make any moves before spring,’ Muadan said. ‘Not the kind of moves that involve men-at-arms, anyway. What goes on behind closed doors is a different matter. This marriage may bring you some challenging times in the future, my lord.’
I could almost have laughed at that. ‘So it seems. Now I’ll let you go and rest, and I’d better break the news to Flidais.’ Would this give her an excuse to develop another headache and be absent from supper? ‘Again, thank you. Are your councillors aware of the situation?’
‘Not fully. I thought it best to bring the news to you and your father first.’
‘I appreciate your discretion, Muadan.’
When he was gone, I called Flidais into the council chamber. I asked Mhairi to wait outside.
‘Please sit down, Flidais,’ I said when the door had closed behind her maidservant.
‘This is very formal, Oran,’ said my betrothed, seating herself as instructed. She was indeed pale today; had the headache come even before the bad news?
I poured mead for her and waited until she had taken a sip before I told her. I kept it simple: her parents were apparently well, but the threat from Mathuin had increased, making it unsafe for any of her party to return to Cloud Hill until we knew more. It could be that they must all stay permanently in the north.
She heard me out in silence, not responding with gasps or tears or questions. When I was finished she said, ‘I see.’ And then, ‘Thank you for telling me, Oran. It all sounds rather serious.’
‘Oran?’
‘Yes?’
‘I was thinking we might travel to court a little earlier. Perhaps even ride on with Lord Muadan’s party. Your plan . . . arriving there only a few days before the hand-fasting . . . that will be difficult for me, as I have never been at Cahercorcan, or indeed any king’s court, before.’
‘It is not necessary to go any earlier. We will have sufficient time.’
‘But Oran . . .’ She looked at me now, with her head on one side and her lashes half-lowered over her eyes.
‘You know I must be at Winterfalls for the open council. My people need me. I explained that to you, Flidais.’
‘You think a mob of muddy-booted farmers and whining village folk more important than your own wedding?’ She was suddenly, inexplicably furious. ‘Anyone could preside over your council! Ask Donagan to do it, or Aedan! Or, if you really must be there in person, why not put it off until we return from Cahercorcan? It’s only squabbles over a patch of land or a cow or two. You are a prince, Oran.’ And, as I made to answer, she added, ‘If this is all you care about me, I might as well pack my bags and head straight back home.’ She drew a deep, shuddering breath. A tear ran down her flawless cheek.
I was a hair’s-breadth from telling her I’d be most happy if she’d do just that, and the sooner the better. But she could not go. Muadan’s news had only confirmed what I already knew. If Blackthorn did not uncover something truly remarkable – a proven plot to defraud me, or worse – I would have no choice but to go ahead with the marriage.
‘Were you not listening when I explained what Muadan told me?’ I used the kind of tone I employed in meeting with my father’s councillors, calm, firm, a little detached, though my heart was a mad jumble of emotions. ‘Even if the season allowed such a journey, you could not go. Your father is in serious trouble, Flidais. The last thing he would want was for his daughter to ride into the middle of it.’ I drew breath. ‘Why wasn’t I told that Mathuin of Laois had offered for your hand?’
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