The Forbidden Land

by Kate Forsyth

  Quenched, Finn subsided. The old woman leant forward, her amber beads clinking. ‘We were called back to Lucescere in early spring. It seems the Rìgh has a new task for us. We are on our way back to Rionnagan now.’

  ‘So what brings ye to Castle Rurach?’ Gwyneth asked warily. ‘Ye have lost some weeks coming this far north. Ye could have crossed the Wulfrum above Loch Finavon and headed across the Tìreichan plains.’

  Finn held her breath, looking from her mother’s pale determined face to the dark inscrutable face of the old woman. Goblin’s small triangular head turned at exactly the same rate and angle, as if the elven cat’s mind and body were fully attuned to Finn’s.

  ‘We have come because His Highness Lachlan MacCuinn has requested the help o’ your daughter,’ Enit replied quietly.

  ‘Fionnghal! But she is naught but a lass. What could the Rìgh be wanting with her?’

  ‘They want me to break into a castle and steal something?’ Finn suggested hopefully. She sensed her mother’s horror and wished she had held her tongue, particularly as Enit smiled in amusement and said, ‘Aye. Well, at least, someone.’

  Very coldly, Gwyneth said: ‘Fionnghal is heir to the MacRuraich, Enit Silverthroat, no’ some common thief. It is absolutely out o’ the question!’

  ‘But mam …’

  ‘That is enough, Fionnghal! Ye are only a child still and heir to the throne o’ Rurach …’

  ‘I’m seventeen, no’ some snotty-nosed bairn! Ye were near married at my age …’

  ‘Mind your tongue, lassie, else ye’ll be sent back to your room until ye learn some manners!’ Gwyneth then turned to Enit and said icily, ‘I am sorry, but I canna be allowing my daughter to play the part o’ some sneak-thief. It is absolutely out o’ the question.’

  ‘Ye canna stop me!’ Finn cried, leaping to her feet, the elven cat flying from her lap and landing gracefully with a twist of her body. The chatter subsided as everyone turned to look at Finn. Colour flooded her cheeks. Her mother folded her hands and looked at Finn coldly until she was squirming with shame and embarrassment. Then deliberately Gwyneth turned back to Enit. ‘As ye can see, Fionnghal has much to learn about the dignity and demeanour required o’ someone o’ her breeding and position. If her father was to be killed in the consummation o’ his duty, she would be laird o’ the MacRuraich clan and banprionnsa o’ Rurach. She needs to be here, to learn how to fulfil her obligations to her people.’

  ‘The prionnsachan have a sworn duty to the Rìgh o’ the land as well,’ Enit said gently, a subtle lift of her finger keeping angry words from spilling from Finn’s lips. ‘The MacRuraich clan have sworn fealty to the MacCuinns and are obliged to answer his call. I’m afraid there is no-one else who can do what Finn can do. Her peculiar combination o’ talents is rare indeed, as ye must ken.’

  Spots of hectic colour burned in Gwyneth’s cheeks. ‘And what o’ the Rìgh’s obligations to his vassals?’ she replied quietly, her hands clenched together. ‘We sent troops to the aid o’ the MacCuinn and the MacFóghnan in the winning back o’ Arran, yet still we have received little aid in the repelling o’ the Fairgean from our shores. When is the Rìgh going to wipe out the sea-faeries once and for all?’

  Enit’s dark face was troubled. ‘The human population o’ Eileanan needs to be united and at peace afore the Rìgh can be dealing with the problem o’ the Fairgean,’ she answered. ‘Ye ken we canna be fighting two wars at once.’

  ‘Yet we have been beset on all sides ever since my husband helped Lachlan the Winged to the throne,’ Gwyneth said bitterly. ‘We have had the Fairgean swarming in the seas, seekers hiding in the villages, the uprising of Siantan against our rule and the dissolution o’ the Double Throne, riots for bread in the countryside, famine and pestilence and the need to feed thousands o’ refugees from the coast and rivers. When is the MacCuinn going to come to our aid?’

  ‘His Highness has sent ye men and arms …’

  ‘A scant five hundred, and all o’ them hungry!’

  ‘Indeed the Rìgh kens ye have had a hard struggle the past few years. He has no’ been idle, ye must ken that. There has been much to do since the Tìrsoilleirean were driven from southern Eileanan. I shall tell him your concerns and ask that more relief soldiers and supplies be sent.’

  Gwyneth was silent, though the colour in her face had drained away, leaving her white and haggard. Enit played with her amber beads, which glowed like trapped firelight. ‘Your daughter has particular skills that the Rìgh is in dire need o’.’

  ‘Aye, thieving and deceiving and sneaking about like that wicked cat o’ hers,’ Gwyneth said with bitter shame in her voice. ‘Very well, take her. She does no’ wish to be here anyway.’

  Gwyneth rose, clutching the plaid about her shoulders. Finn stared at her in dismay but her mother did not meet her eyes, sweeping out of the drawing room with her head held high. After a moment Brangaine followed, and a murmur of speculation rose. Finn bent and picked up the cat winding about her ankles, and cuddled her under her chin, staring round at the whispering crowd with fierce, defiant eyes.

  The jongleurs drove out the very next day.

  Finn was left behind, though secret arrangements were made for her to join Enit Silverthroat’s caravan a week later at the border with Tìreich. Enit had insisted that none must know that Finn was to travel in the jongleurs’ company. ‘Too many o’ our Rìgh’s plans have unravelled at the seams,’ the old jongleur had told Gwyneth. ‘There are enemy spies everywhere. Even the son o’ one o’ the Rionnagan dukes has been tried as a traitor, Eà curse his black heart. The MacCuinn has insisted that as few as possible ken your daughter has left Rurach. Tales o’ the banprionnsa who can climb like a cat have travelled far and wide.’

  ‘Tales o’ the banprionnsa trained as a thief,’ Gwyneth had said.

  ‘We canna risk anyone wondering why the Rìgh has need o’ Finn’s particular talents. No-one must ken, and I mean no-one. Ye mun make up some excuse. Say ye are sending her away for safekeeping, or to punish her for her wildness. Whatever ye say, make sure it rings true. Tell no-one the truth.’

  ‘But how can I? I would no’ send Fionnghal away without her maid and some men-at-arms to guard her, at the very least. What tale can I tell that would be believed?’

  ‘Ye are better able to judge that than me,’ Enit had replied.

  ‘We could pretend I’d run away,’ Finn piped up. ‘I could tie together all my blankets and hang them out the window, then leave some scraps o’ cloth on a tree in the forest …’

  Her mother had looked at her coldly. ‘Aye, so I would have to send out search parties to pretend to look for ye, when your father needs every man he can get to help him drive off the Fairgean. Do no’ be foolish, Fionnghal. The idea is to draw as little attention to yourself as possible. That way the whole countryside would be buzzing with rumours and every eye on the lookout for ye.’

  ‘Tell them ye’re sending me to the auld witches’ tower in the mountains,’ Finn had suggested with a grin. ‘So all the ghosts will frighten the foolishness out o’ me.’

  ‘That’s enough, Fionnghal. Take that evil-eyed cat o’ yours and go look over your history book, for I am sure ye will no’ do any studying once ye’ve gone.’

  Finn had picked up Goblin, stroking her triangular head lovingly. ‘She doesna have evil eyes,’ she protested. ‘They’re bonny!’

  Gwyneth had sighed. ‘Please, Fionnghal, do as I bid for once.’

  ‘Aye, mam,’ Finn had answered meekly, too excited about her impending escape to protest. She gave a little curtsy and left the room, Goblin riding in the crook of her arm as usual.

  Two days after the jongleurs had left, a foam-flecked horse galloped up the steep, winding road to the castle, bearing a messenger from the army. He carried frightening news. The MacRuraich’s troops had been driven back and the Fairgean had swarmed up the river and into Loch Crossmaglen, the fifth loch from the sea. Not once since Castle Rurach had been built had the Fairgean
penetrated so deep into the countryside. They were little more than a day’s ride away from Loch Kintyre and the castle itself.

  That night Finn was shaken awake in the dark of midnight by her mother. Gwyneth’s face was haggard in the light of the lantern she held in one hand. ‘Pack quickly, my bairn,’ she said, her voice shaky with repressed tears. ‘It is time for ye to go. Take only what is most necessary. I shall see ye downstairs.’

  When Finn came bounding down the stairs a few minutes later, she carried only a small bag, her crossbow and a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder. The elven cat leapt along behind her like a living shadow.

  She came to an abrupt halt at the sight of her mother standing in the great hall, little Aindrew clinging close to her side. Next to her stood Brangaine in travelling clothes—a riding dress of blue serge with a long matching coat over the top and her plaid pinned round her shoulders. By her feet was a small trunk. Behind her stood Ashlin the Piper, his beloved bagpipes in the cradle of his arm, and Donald the Gillie, beaming at Finn, his unlit pipe in his hand.

  ‘What is Brangaine doing all dressed up?’ Finn cried, undisguised hostility in her voice. ‘Look at her, fine as a proud laird’s bastard!’

  ‘I have decided what is the best thing to do,’ Gwyneth replied curtly, her hands gripping each other. ‘I am going to send ye all to safety to your father’s hunting-lodge, high in the mountains.’

  She held up a hand to still Finn’s protest. ‘Your father’s auld nurse lives up there with her son and his wife. If the Fairgean win through to Lock Kintyre we shall be in a state o’ siege. It is quite reasonable o’ me to want to keep ye and my wee laddie safe. Ye shall ride out with a small number o’ guards and once ye are clear o’ the castle, ye and Brangaine shall leave them and make your way down through the forest to meet up with the jongleurs on the far side o’ the river.’

  ‘Brangaine!’ Finn cried. ‘Why her?’

  ‘Your cousin has offered to accompany ye on your journey,’ Gwyneth said coolly. ‘She will be able to watch over ye and make sure ye mind your manners.’

  ‘Nay!’ her daughter cried hotly. ‘I do no’ want her! She’ll ruin everything.’

  ‘If Brangaine stays, so do ye,’ Gwyneth replied. ‘I have had a message from your father, and he agrees with me that she should go to watch over ye. He has sent Ashlin and Donald back to accompany ye also. They will serve ye both and guard ye. I would have liked to send more but your father needs every man he has to hold back the Fairgean. Besides, Enit says it is imperative that none but the most trusted ken ye travel in the Rìgh’s service. It seems the tales of Finn the Cat-Thief have spread.’ Her voice was bitter.

  ‘But Lachlan doesna want Brangaine!’ Finn cried. ‘What use will she be on an adventure? She’d be worried about getting her hair mussed, for Eà’s sake!’

  Colour rose in Brangaine’s cheeks. ‘I have the NicSian Talent,’ she said with a tremor of anger in her voice. ‘A talent with weather is always o’ use.’

  ‘Brangaine has offered to keep up your lessons in courtly demeanour,’ Gwyneth said coolly, ‘and make sure ye do naught to disgrace your name. It is very thoughtful o’ her to offer to go when she must be made uncomfortable.’

  ‘What a dray-load o’ dragon dung!’ Finn cried. ‘She just wants to go so she can ruin it all for me …’

  ‘If ye do no’ like it, go to the hunting-lodge with Aindrew,’ her mother said tersely. ‘Though I ken ye will do anything to shake the dust o’ Rurach from your shoes.’

  Finn flushed crimson. She had to press her lips together to stop angry words from spilling out. The little cat hissed and arched her back.

  Suddenly Gwyneth softened. ‘Och, Fionnghal, have a care for yourself and come home safe to me!’ she cried and pulled Finn to her. Finn stood stiffly within her mother’s sweet-scented embrace until at last Gwyneth let her go.

  The banprionnsa said rather shakily to Donald, ‘I put my wee lassie’s safety in your care, Donald. I ken I can rely on ye to keep her safe.’

  ‘That ye can,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘Do no’ fear for us, my lady, Eà shall shine her bright face upon us.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Gwyneth said, her voice thick with tears. She stood alone in the huge shadowy hall, her plaid pulled close about her, watching as Brangaine, Aindrew and Finn followed Donald and Ashlin out into the inner bailey, where horses and men waited. Aindrew pulled back against Brangaine’s hand, crying for his mother, but Finn did not look back.

  Finn sat on the step of the caravan, eating her porridge and staring out over the plains, which undulated away as far as the eye could see. The long grass swayed, waves of silvery colour rippling away as the wind swept past. The only feature in all the wide landscape was a great tree on the far horizon, its shape silhouetted against a brilliant blue sky.

  It was hot. Finn wore only a thin linen shirt and a pair of shabby breeches which tied under the knee, leaving her calves and feet bare and caked with dust. Her hair was dragged back into a bunch at the back of her neck, and her sleeves were rolled up past the elbow. She could smell a tang of wood-smoke in the air but otherwise there was only the clean strong wind and the sharp scent of the herbs growing in the grass. Finn scraped her bowl clean and put it down with a sigh. She was happy.

  The four caravans were drawn up in a semi-circle around the fire, the horses hobbled nearby. Dide sat on the step of his caravan, strumming his guitar and talking to Jay and Ashlin, who were eating bannocks with honey. Brun the cluricaun was fussing around the fire, making a fresh pot of tea for Donald as he fletched his arrows. Nina was sewing up a rent in her skirt and Enit was talking with some birds that had fluttered down to perch on her knees. Despite the warmth, the old woman wore a crimson shawl wrapped close about her thin form. Lying back in the grass was Dide’s father Morrell, smoking his pipe and blowing perfect smoke-rings up into the sky, where they were torn apart by the wind.

  Finn groped around in the pocket of her breeches and pulled out her own pipe and pouch of tobacco. Nimbly her fingers went about their work while her eyes roamed about the camp, enjoying the colour and activity. She stuck the pipe in the corner of her mouth and tried to catch a spark from her flint, but the breeze was too strong. She wandered down to the fire to drag out a burning twig with which to light her pipe. Morrell saw her and beckoned to her lazily.

  ‘Come amuse me, lassie, an’ I’ll light it for ye.’

  Finn sat down next to him and he conjured flame with a snap of his fingers and held it to the bowl of her pipe. Fragrant smoke billowed up and he said with a wink, ‘By the stink o’ that, it’s Fair Isles smokeweed ye’re puffing on. Could ye be sparing a man a pinch o’ that, by any chance? Sick to death I am o’ smoking dried grass, which is all they’ll sell a man in the marketplace these days.’

  Rather reluctantly Finn gave him a pinch of her tobacco, conscious of how thin her pouch was growing. Morrell knocked out his pipe, packed it again cheerfully, lit it with his thumb and drew back greedily. ‘Aye, that’s the stuff!’ he sighed and drew out a battered silver flask from his pocket which he unscrewed and drank from deeply. ‘Och, naught like a wee dram and a lungful o’ smokeweed!’

  He amused her by breathing out his smoke from his nostrils in two long streams like a dragon, then showed her how to send one smoke ring drifting through the centre of another, until six blue hazy hoops hung above them in ever-widening concentric circles. Finn lay back in the grass to practise, Goblin curling up on her stomach. She suddenly became aware of a long blue skirt towering over her. She shaded her eyes with her hand and peered up through the smoke. Brangaine stood over her, her face stern with disapproval. As always, she was clean and neat, her fair hair tied back in a plait, her boots shiny.

  ‘I do no’ think your mother would approve o’ ye smoking a pipe,’ Brangaine said.

  ‘Well, mam is no’ here, is she?’ Finn replied mockingly.

  Her cousin’s lips thinned. ‘Ye look like naught but a beggar lass.’

  �
�Why, thank ye, my dear,’ Finn replied. ‘That was exactly the look I was going for.’

  Brangaine breathed through her nose in exasperation, the sound far too genteel to be described as a snort. She turned on her well-polished heel and marched over to the fire, where she helped Brun wash up the breakfast plates, the griddle and the porridge pot.

  ‘Och, a braw lassie,’ Morrell said admiringly. ‘And wi’ such bonny manners.’

  ‘There be too much o’ the stink o’ sanctity about her for my taste,’ Finn replied morosely.

  ‘Aye, well, happen if ye were a laddie ye’d sing a different tune,’ Morrell replied with a wink, before settling down in the grass again, his cap pulled over his eyes.

  Finn smoked the rest of her pipe in silence, then got up and went down to the fire, the elven cat at her heels. Not looking at Brangaine, she said to the cluricaun, ‘Is there aught I can do to help?’

  ‘Nay, thank ye kindly,’ he replied in his gruff voice, looking up at her with bright brown eyes set in a furry triangular face. His ears were exceptionally large and pricked forward with eagerness. Dressed in the rough clothes of a farm lad, he had cut a hole in the trousers for the long tail which he used rather like another hand, picking up spoons to be polished or some kindling to fling on the fire. ‘Bonny Brangaine has done it all.’

  Brangaine smiled at him.

  ‘Is she no’ the sweetest thing?’ Finn showed her cousin her teeth.

  Brangaine’s smile faltered for a moment then she answered as sweetly, ‘Aren’t I?’

  ‘Indeed ye are,’ Brun assured her with absolutely no trace of sarcasm. Brangaine laughed and said, ‘Thank ye,’ and Finn walked away, shoving her hands in her pockets.

  To her surprise Enit looked up as she passed, saying softly, ‘Why do ye beat each other wi’ nettles, ye two? Are there no’ stings enough in this world?’

  Finn did not answer. The old woman stroked the head of the bird perched on her knee. ‘Jealousy cuts both ways, lassie.’