Or might what had befallen Flidais have a different cause? Conmael’s folk were in the wood, or so he had suggested. Conmael had come to Prince Oran’s council. Conmael had caused the roof of Mathuin’s lockup to cave in on a calm, sunny summer day. He had worked a spell to ensure my future took the course he wanted, not the one I would have chosen. He knew how angry that made me. Could he be meddling with these folk’s lives for the sole purpose of testing my resolve?
If this really was a magical transformation, hard though that was to believe, it was bad news for Prince Oran. If the woman now being carried into her bedchamber was the maid in her mistress’s body, it meant the true Flidais had drowned that day in Dreamer’s Pool. There was no reversing this; not even the fey could bring the dead back to life. And I could not think of a way this would extricate the prince from his betrothal. Most folk wouldn’t believe the story, not even if the maid confessed. How could it ever be proved?
I’d have to ask Conmael outright if this was his doing. And since Conmael was hardly going to come when I called him, like a well-trained dog, I’d have to go to Dreamer’s Wood and look for him. The prospect of a walk over there and a day spent in the quiet was pleasing, though time was short. The cottage was as close to being home as anything ever was, and Grim made undemanding company. I could try my theory out on him first, and find out if he’d discovered anything useful. I would go in the morning.
Flidais came out of her faint soon after we reached the bedchamber. Mhairi seemed uncomfortable with my presence. But her lady was unwell, and the prince had said he wished me to look after her, so the maidservant could hardly ask me to leave. She helped her mistress undress and put on a nightrobe. Flidais’s monthly courses had started, which went some way to explaining both her discomfort and the faint, so while Mhairi cleaned her up and fetched a supply of rags, I checked the level in the jug I had given Nuala earlier and judged that Flidais had taken at most half a cup of the headache draught before supper.
Now was not the time to bully her about that, or indeed about anything. She was as white as the linen of her pillows, with shadows under her eyes. Exhausted, in pain and, I thought, frightened. Whatever was going on, it had become too big for her and she seemed lost.
‘Mistress Blackthorn?’ Nuala was in the doorway with Deirdre behind her. ‘How can I help?’
‘Go to the kitchen and ask for warm milk with honey. That may help Lady Flidais sleep better.’ I should make up a sleeping draught. But that meant going to my stillroom, and I did not want to leave Flidais’s side. It was at times like this, when folk were at their lowest, that they were inclined to let slip their secrets.
Mhairi had gathered Flidais’s clothing and taken it away to be laundered. Nuala headed off to the kitchen, and Deirdre went with her. For now, Flidais and I were alone.
‘Where does it hurt?’ I asked. ‘Your head? Your belly? Both?’
Flidais put a hand on her stomach; tears welled in her eyes.
‘You have this pain every month? I can make up a simple remedy for you, a tea, not at all bad tasting if you add honey. I know you don’t trust me, my lady, but believe me, I do know my craft.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not that,’ she whispered. ‘It’s . . . never mind. I only have cramps the first day, then it passes.’
I sat down on the stool beside her bed. The chamber was beautiful; the walls were hung with embroidered scenes of women sitting in a garden, playing with a ball by a fountain, walking with small dogs, picking flowers. I suspected every ornately carved chair, every delicate little table, every fine detail had been chosen by Prince Oran especially for his sweetheart. And here she was, utterly miserable.
‘Something is troubling you, Lady Flidais,’ I said, deciding on a direct approach. ‘Not just a headache or a bellyache, but something worse. I do know my herb lore. I do know how to ease pain. And they say I am good at solving puzzles. If there’s anything I can do, please ask.’ I hesitated, glancing toward the open doorway. Soon the household would be settling for sleep. ‘I am very discreet,’ I added.
Flidais’s gaze went to the door again, and back to me. ‘Later,’ she said. ‘When Mhairi is here. I can’t – it’s difficult –’
‘Then lie quiet until she comes back.’ I put my hand to her brow; it did not feel unduly warm. Did she mean she would tell me the truth once her maid was by her side? Would I finally have the answer? This felt almost too easy.
‘Mistress Blackthorn,’ Flidais whispered.
‘Mm?’
‘Did Oran bring you into the house to spy on me?’
Morrigan’s britches! She knew? ‘Why would you imagine that, my lady?’ I had no trouble sounding shocked. ‘I assure you, Grim and I are here only because the prince was kind enough to offer us shelter while our cottage is being rebuilt. Prince Oran was grateful, I think, for the action we took over Branoc’s abduction of the miller’s daughter. That is the only reason we came.’ Flidais was staring at me, her eyes full of distrust. I decided to take a risk; to treat her as maid, not mistress. ‘To tell you the truth, Lady Flidais, although I am grateful for Prince Oran’s generosity, I am very uncomfortable staying in a grand establishment like this, and so is Grim. We are both used to a far simpler life, with less company. That has been obvious in my manner, I imagine.’ And when she said nothing, I added, ‘I cannot think why the prince would send anyone to spy on you. You must be imagining things, surely. Have you spoken to him about this?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she said.
I did not ask why. For now, I would take advantage of this surprising thaw in her attitude to me. ‘With your hand-fasting coming so soon, you’ll want to be at your best, my lady. I’m speaking not only of headaches and the cramps that come with your moon cycle, but also of anything that might be troubling you.’
‘What do you mean, Mistress Blackthorn?’
‘A young woman who believes her betrothed may be spying on her is not likely to be looking forward to her wedding with undimmed pleasure.’
‘Forget it. Forget what I said.’ She closed her eyes. When I did not answer, she spoke again. ‘I don’t think you can help. You won’t believe me; nobody will. You all think he’s perfect.’
Before I could begin to grasp this, Mhairi was back, with various garments draped over one arm. She laid the clothing across a bench.
‘Mistress Blackthorn,’ said Flidais, ‘will you leave the room for a while? I need to talk to Mhairi in private.’
Wonderful. The two of them would decide, no doubt, that my questions and I had no place in a lady’s bedchamber and ban me from returning. ‘If that’s what you wish,’ I said. ‘I can go to the stillroom and make you a sleeping draught. It won’t take long. Since you don’t trust old wives’ remedies, I’ll make sure Master Oisin checks the ingredients.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Flidais, and managed a watery smile. ‘Your mixture will do very well.’
What had got into Flidais? She was being quite civil. Had she finally realised she needed help, or was this all some elaborate game? I went out, closing the door behind me. As I made my way to the kitchen, where a few of Brid’s helpers were doing the last of the after-supper cleaning, I found myself wishing Grim was at hand so I could ask him for his opinion before I spoke to Flidais again. Was I crazy to think it possible that swimming in Dreamer’s Pool had somehow switched maid and mistress into each other’s bodies? Should I press this with Flidais if she gave me the chance, or was it best to wait and speak to Conmael first? If I put my theory to her and it turned out to be wrong, she’d have good cause to throw me out of the prince’s household for suggesting she had lied, and there’d be no way of solving the mystery before the hand-fasting.
Unfortunately, Grim was on night watch. There’d be no going out looking for him without attracting a lot of attention and wasting too much time. I’d have to leave it until tomorrow.
Flidais was sitting up in bed, drinking the warm milk I had requested, and there was more colour in her cheeks.
Perhaps it had helped when I’d imagined she was the maid, Ciar, out of her depth in this odd situation. Of course, if that was true, she had been telling lies since the moment she came out of Dreamer’s Pool. Enough lies to weigh a woman down until her dying day, if she had a conscience at all. She’d have been terrified when the changeover happened; she would still be frightened.
‘Here is your sleeping draught. It’s quite safe to take this along with the headache remedy.’ I poured a measure into the cup I had brought and set it on the chest beside her bed. ‘Lady Flidais,’ I ventured, ‘I can see that you are upset, and I don’t want to tax you further. But something you said earlier is troubling me. About Prince Oran.’
Neither of them offered a comment. Flidais sipped her milk; Mhairi stood looking at me.
‘This is awkward,’ I said. ‘I don’t wish to offend you by speaking out of turn about the prince or indeed about anything. But . . . it seemed to me you were implying that Prince Oran was not the man he seemed to be, and that this was the cause of your distress. I do not know him well. I do know he is respected by the people of the district and by many in this household. Perfect? Few of us are. But most folk believe him to be a good man.’
‘I . . . I don’t know how to say it.’ Flidais passed the cup to Mhairi; Mhairi set it on the bench and took Flidais’s hand. ‘If my bleeding hadn’t come . . . If I’d thought there might be a chance . . .’
A number of ideas passed rapidly through my mind, to be dismissed each in turn as impossible. Could she be saying she’d thought she might be with child? That she had wanted it to be so?
‘A chance of what, my lady?’
‘You are a wise woman, Blackthorn, can’t you guess?’ Flidais put her hands up over her face. ‘Mhairi, you tell her.’
‘Prince Oran might seem the most kindly and considerate of men,’ Mhairi said. ‘And perhaps he is, when it suits him. He was less than considerate of my lady when we first came to Winterfalls. Helped himself as soon as he got the chance, and never mind that she had never lain with a man before. Over and over, in the dead of night, with her too frightened to call out or tell anyone except me, and what could a lowly maidservant do? It was only when Lady Sochla arrived that he stopped. That’s what Lady Flidais is trying to tell you. She’s afraid of the man.’
And suddenly, just like that, I was back in Laois, with a woman sobbing on my shoulder, telling me how Mathuin had taken her by force, casually, as if he had the right to; and how her husband, when he discovered that the child she was carrying was not his own, had thrown her out of the house to fend for herself. I saw her face, red with weeping; felt her body shaking with grief; heard her voice, harsh with weeping: I can’t bear that man’s child! It will surely be a monster! I’ve nobody else to turn to, Mistress Blackthorn! Help me! And later, when I started asking questions, when the women of the district heard that I was prepared to listen, there was another story about Mathuin, and another and another, all along the same lines. Men! They were liars, takers, hurters, selfish bastards who cared nothing for the harm they caused. Men of power and privilege were the worst of all.
I drew a ragged breath, forcing myself back from the past. Prince Oran. The wretch! He’d had me completely fooled. For a brief time, I’d let myself believe that there were good men out there. But it seemed the prince of Dalriada, for all his pretty manners, was as bad as any of them. My heart was pounding fit to burst from my chest. I had to do something, act on this, now, straight away.
‘He gets so angry with me,’ Flidais said, sounding like a miserable child. ‘Every day it’s worse. I make a silly mistake, say something amiss, and he looks at me as if he wants to hurt me. He was . . . he was not gentle in the bedchamber. I fear the hand-fasting for what must come after.’
By all the gods. There was nothing uncanny about this at all, simply a naïve young woman drowning in a sea of shock and cruelty and heartbreak. No wonder she kept saying the wrong things. No wonder she seemed so ill at ease. She must have been half out of her mind with distress.
‘I’ll go and talk to him,’ I said. ‘Right now. And if he won’t see me, I’ll hammer on his door and shout until he has to listen. You can’t let him get away with this.’
‘No!’ Flidais blanched. ‘Oh, please, no, Mistress Blackthorn! Nobody must know. He’s the prince of Dalriada. We’re to be hand-fasted.’
‘You must tell someone,’ I said. ‘Not only me, but – Lady Sochla, or – or Master Oisin, before he leaves Winterfalls.’ Her situation was dire. Oran ruled over the entire district; he was the king’s only son. Like Mathuin, the prince doubtless felt he could do anything he chose. As for why he had bid me spy on Flidais, and spun me that tale about her, I could not begin to guess his reasoning – and I no longer cared to. Perhaps, like Mathuin, he played cruel games to amuse himself.
‘No! I can’t tell! And you mustn’t either!’
‘But, Lady Flidais,’ I protested as my mind raced ahead, trying to find answers for her, ‘you cannot marry a man who has shown such disregard for your feelings. You cannot wed a man you are afraid of. What sort of life would that be for you?’ Even as I spoke, I reminded myself that this kind of thing happened all the time. Flidais was at least being offered marriage, where Mathuin had taken his victims casually and abandoned them without a second thought. But Flidais should not have to bear the full weight of this; Oran should be held to account.
‘I need this marriage,’ she said now. ‘Oran will be king one day. My family needs it; you know their situation, Mistress Blackthorn. I cannot just pack up and walk away. I would disgrace everyone back home. Besides, there is nowhere to go.’
I thought of Lord Muadan and his wife; no, if they sheltered her they would offend Oran’s father, who was Muadan’s overlord. I considered Lady Sochla, a woman with a great deal of common sense; but she was Oran’s aunt, close family, and although she had her own home, it was at Cahercorcan. Druids? A Christian nunnery? For the life of me I could not imagine Flidais seeking refuge with either. One did not lightly flee a marriage with a king’s son, however badly he had acted.
‘Lady Flidais,’ I said, playing for time, ‘where did these assaults occur? I know Lady Sochla was not at Winterfalls as chaperone then, but were you not safe here in the women’s quarters?’
Flidais pointed to something I had not noticed before: a second door in the bedchamber, half-concealed by a silken hanging. ‘That doorway leads straight into Prince Oran’s quarters. It is not bolted; he could come in any time he wanted, though he would not do it with his aunt in residence – her chamber is next door to mine. But . . . it was not only here, in this room. There were times . . . he would take me by surprise, in other places. When we were out walking, or had stopped to rest while riding.’
‘Who else knows about this?’ Surely Oran could not have kept such gross behaviour secret from his entire household. Could it be that they all knew and were prepared to condone it? What had I walked into when I agreed to help the man? ‘Deirdre and Nuala?’
Flidais shook her head. ‘Nobody. Only Mhairi.’
‘And the prince’s man,’ said Mhairi. ‘Donagan. He must know. At the time, he was sleeping in an antechamber to the prince’s quarters; he moved out soon afterwards, and you’ll have noticed that he and the prince are no longer the best of friends. But even if he doesn’t think much of his master’s behaviour, Donagan won’t talk. He’s been with
the prince a long time and he’ll protect him at all costs.’
Donagan. The perfect manservant, the prince’s childhood friend. My skin crawled; I wanted out of this place. ‘You can’t let them get away with this,’ I said. ‘It’s not right.’
‘This marriage will give me a home and a future.’ Flidais lay back on her pillows. ‘It will help protect my family in these difficult times. Many folk would say the price I have to pay for that is not too high.’
‘You should not have to pay any price at all. This could mean years of unhappiness.’
‘My lady thinks,’ said Mhairi, ‘that should she provide Prince Oran with a son, the situation would change for the better. He would, at the very least, be less . . . demanding.’
It was a great deal to assume from the available evidence. On the other hand, I remembered the prince speaking of his parents and how badly they had wanted him to marry; there was, no doubt, considerable pressure on him to produce an heir. ‘If you don’t want help in getting away,’ I said bluntly, ‘why have you chosen to tell me this? Why confide in me now?’
‘I thought . . . I thought he had asked you to spy on me. He’s been so angry since . . . since Lady Sochla came, and he couldn’t . . . And the way you looked at me, the questions you asked . . . I did not think he would invite you to stay here only because your house burned down. There must be more suitable lodgings in the village.’
It was a flash of the old Flidais, the one I had not much cared for. I must set that dislike aside; it had nothing to do with the current situation. Sometime I would tell her the whole story. After what I had just heard, I’d have no problem breaking my promise to Oran about secrecy. But not tonight. She was simply too tired.
‘I wasn’t thinking clearly,’ Flidais went on. ‘My mind has been all at sixes and sevens since that first night. I cannot settle to any of the pastimes I enjoyed before – reading, writing, walking, playing with my little dog . . . I have a confession to make to you, Mistress Blackthorn. You will hate me for this.’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘I can hardly make myself say it.’
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