Daughter of the Forest

by Juliet Marillier

  I did not sleep much that night, or on many nights to follow, as summer advanced and the days grew less and less before my brother’s return. I would sit at my work all day, going down only when I must, to take my place at the table on Lady Anne’s right, and eat my small meal under her watchful eye. I knew there were things she wanted to say, questions she was burning to ask. But that was not her way. Besides, she knew she would get no answers from me. I wondered, sometimes, if she had some idea where her son had gone, for Ben’s explanations had sounded thin indeed. An old friend; a territorial dispute. Where, they asked? Ben wasn’t sure where. But it wouldn’t take long; he’d be home soon. But if it were for that, people asked (as the season advanced), why wasn’t he back? And if it were so, why tell nobody his plans? Not even his own mother? Rumors abounded, and I was in all of them. So I kept myself to myself, and when I returned from the table, I worked on in my large, candlelit chamber with only Alys for company. Time was growing very short.

  Sleep continued to evade me. I paced the room at night, my head full of visions of Red captured by my father’s men, and subdued with hot iron. Of the swans flying over storm-tossed water, the movement of their wings becoming ever more difficult. Of Red sustaining some injury, out in hostile territory with nobody to help. Alone in the forest. There would be no handy girl with needle and thread. I had not even had time to sew a rowan cross into his garments, before he left me. I pictured Finbar as I had last seen him, too weak to walk. Too weak to fly. I imagined Red’s face, when he at last found the young man with no past. The man he believed to be his brother. It could not be Simon. If I had been able to tell him that, perhaps he would not have gone away and left me alone. Then my little voice, the sensible one, spoke up. Make haste, Sorcha. Make haste. There is no time for this. Spin Weave. Make your shirts. Time is shorter than you think. Nonetheless, I had less control over my thoughts than I’d have liked. The little ring hung around my neck, under my gown, where nobody could see it. When I was alone, I took it out sometimes, wondering how he had judged the size, with nothing but my swollen, knotted fingers to go by. Wondering if my hands would ever be as they once were, small, white, and fine. By the time that happened, if it ever did, I would be long gone from here. I would have left behind both husband and wedding ring. It mattered little whether the size were right or no. Yet, when I thought this, I found my hand closing around the ring as if I did not want to let it go. It’s mine, something inside me would say. This feeling troubled me greatly.

  In her son’s absence, Lady Anne took up the reins of the household as she had obviously done before, with calm competence. But the job was not so easy this time. The days followed their familiar pattern, but without Red it was not the same. Disputes took longer to settle. A man burned another’s shed, and a donkey was saved only at the very last minute. A stranger, passing through on the road, stopped at one of the settlements for ale and shelter. The next morning he was found dead in the yard, with a neat little dagger wound between his ribs. Some of the men complained about taking orders from Ben. Who did he think he was, anyway? He may have been a foster son of the old man, Lord Hugh’s father, but that didn’t give him the right to start throwing his weight around when Hugh chose to absent himself. Young fellow was getting too big for his boots. Besides, hadn’t Master Benedict been there the day Lord Hugh…well, you know. Lady Anne told them to get on with their work and stop wasting Ben’s time and hers; the estate did not run itself. They obeyed, grumbling. But we could all feel it. The good times were over. As spring grew into summer and a bright, fruitful warmth bathed the land, distrust and suspicion flourished among the people. They became fearful and angry, not just toward me and those who protected me, but toward each other as well.

  Matters came to a head a few days before midsummer. The wife of a cottager was assaulted; another cottager was accused, but protested his innocence. Factions formed. It seemed only a matter of time before some enthusiast wielding pitchfork or scythe did someone a nasty injury. Lady Anne called the parties in and did her best to arbitrate. Ben, with the assistance of a handful of loyal men, managed to keep them from each other’s throats. But no solution was reached, and the mood turned ugly. There had been no word from Red. So Lady Anne sent for her brother.

  If the atmosphere of the house had been tense before, once Richard closed his well-manicured hand around us, the place was on a knife edge. His method of solving the immediate problem was very efficient. The accused man was summarily taken away, somewhere exceedingly private. He was accompanied by several rather large men in the russet and black of Northwoods. Later in the day, Richard advised Lady Anne that the man had confessed. Still later, he was strung up from a tree and that was the end of it. They said, when they cut him down, that his body had some injuries that hadn’t been put there by a rope around the neck. That was what they said, and it wasn’t so hard to believe. Nobody had dared try to save this man, who may or may not have been guilty. There had been no young Finbar and Sorcha to intervene here, no passionate children brave enough, or foolish enough, to take the law into their own hands as we had with Simon. It was the other things that were said, that would have worried Red more. Things like, at least Lord Richard understands what’s what. Takes quick action. Lets folk know what they can get away with, and what they can’t. Of course, the other faction disagreed entirely. They muttered things like, a man’d confess to anything, if they did that to him; and, what about the idea of a fair hearing, and proper questions asked of both sides? Where was Lord Hugh when they needed him? And who did Richard think he was, to decide, anyway? Heard what happened to his men, when he sent them off over the water on a fool’s errand?

  Me, I stayed in my room, scarce venturing out save for the necessary ablutions. Megan understood, I think, and made my excuses at the evening meal once, twice, three times. A delicate stomach. Could not keep anything down. Before, Lady Anne would have summoned me. But now I was her daughter-in-law, and she must show respect for my wishes. I was, in name at least, the lady of the house. Megan came back and told me there were whispers about the cause of my sudden illness. A bit soon, maybe, but—Lord Hugh had evidently been busy, they said; sampling the wares before he bought them, maybe. I felt a cold fury when I heard these rumors, but I kept a tight rein on my anger. It’s not important, I told myself. Nothing is important except your work. Working alone in my room, I finished the fifth shirt and began the last.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was just unlucky, I suppose. Unlucky and unfortunate, that my plan to slip out of the house after dark and make my way alone to the river was completely ruined by Lady Anne’s last-minute decision to take the whole household down to the water for an outdoor supper. A torchlit picnic under the trees, to mark the eve of midsummer. For she recognized the unease, the suspicion and mistrust among her people. This was her attempt to jolt them out of themselves, to lift their spirits, to get them talking again. It was a good idea. A great strategy. For me, it spelled disaster. I spent most of the day agonizing about whether to go with them, or whether to feign illness again, and try to slip down later, unobserved. I had no idea where my brothers would come, but Conor, I supposed, could see things as they were and might guide them to some place of relative safety. If I were at the river before dusk, if I could get away from the others without attracting notice, perhaps they could fly to where I waited alone, and I could warn them. Perhaps. My spirit shrank to think that Richard would be there, so close. Ben had watched over me like an anxious mother with a delicate babe. Even Margery had given me a wan smile the other day. But still I felt alone, so alone; the path was indeed a hard one, and full of dangers.

  If Red had been there, he would have engaged his uncle in some complex debate about boundaries or allegiances. If Red had been there, he would have ensured I was surrounded by those whom he trusted, protected from prying questions and suggestive looks. But Red was gone; and his uncle made himself my close companion as the household walked down the avenue of poplars to a broad green ex
panse of riverbank, that warm summer afternoon. It lacked but a short time until dusk. Not long. Not long enough. Lady Anne had provided me with clothing fit for my new status as her son’s wife. I had chosen the plainest and most demure of these gowns, dark green in color with a high neckline and sleeves to the wrist. But still he made comment, with a sidelong glance and an insinuating lift of the brows. His fair beard was trimmed neat as a privel hedge after the first autumn pruning. His black tunic was immaculate, the neckline finished with a thin line of silver thread.

  “Well, my dear.” He looked me up and down, taking his time. “Quite the lady, I see. You surprised us all. Hugh surprised us. Never thought he was one of those men that think with their loins first and their head later. Not our Hugh. Monumental blunder. Still, it may be short-lived enough.”

  I walked on, grimly suppressing the urge to kick him. Before and behind me, people carried blankets and baskets, chattered and laughed. Lady Anne had sound instincts. Where was Ben? I thought I glimpsed his blond head somewhere in front.

  “I hear you’ve been a little—indisposed, my dear,” said Richard in silky tones. “Too bad. So pleased you thought fit to show yourself today. Must keep up appearances, you know, now you’re one of the family. Wonder how the locals will take to a half-breed brat as the new heir to Harrowfield? Not too well, I’d have thought. Not too well at all. Neither of Britain nor of Erin, but at the same time, both. Heard that one? Tell me, was this part of your original plan? Was that the reason they sent you here?”

  He continued in this vein for some time, while I tried to block out his words; it would soon be dusk, and I feared what might happen if I could not escape the group and find a place alone. Any meeting with my brothers must be brief indeed. I would see them, and touch them, and utter a warning; and then they must lie low till dawn, for here they were no more than barbarians strayed deep into the heart of enemy territory.

  “What I still can’t understand,” said Richard, “is why he had to wed you. Was he so desperate to have you, that he must sacrifice his future to quench his lust? Any other man would simply have taken what he wanted, and got on with things. Don’t get me wrong, my dear. Your charms are quite obvious. You would stir any man’s blood. But a wedding ring? That should scarcely have been necessary. It’s enough to make one believe what they say, about witches and spells and love potions. Something drove the boy out of his right mind, long enough to put the ring on your finger; and I’ll wager my best stallion to a pot of porridge it wasn’t your sweet young body alone, delectable though it is. Oh, please forgive the remark about fingers. I see you cannot well wear a ring. Those hands are scarcely apt for it. Not the most attractive part of your anatomy, my dear, if I may say so. Now that’s another thing that intrigues me…”

  We had reached the riverbank. It was close to dusk; folk spread their blankets on the grass, and Lady Anne ordered the cask of ale to be broached. Somebody got out a whistle and began to play dance tunes. I saw Ben hovering on the outskirts of the group, as if looking for signs of trouble. Five or six of his men were placed strategically around us. He was doing his job, and doing it well. But this was one evening when I could have wished for a less effective net of protection.

  There was no choice but to sit by Richard and his sister. I was family now, whatever anyone might think of me. They ate and drank; I sat on the ground, straight-backed, silently thanking Lady Anne for engaging her brother in conversation about the sale of surplus stock. Around us, the household relaxed enough to enjoy the balmy evening, their sense of well-being no doubt assisted by the copious flow of good ale. I saw Margery there with her little son. He was sitting up by himself now, and his brown hair had grown sufficiently to show the hint of a curl. Margery was still pale, but she exchanged a quiet word with this one and that. Ben did not relax. He and his men patrolled the margins of the group, weapons at the ready.

  The sun sank below the treetops, and the sky turned to lavender and violet and deepest gray. Above us the willows sighed and were still. Framed by their weeping branches, the river water slowly darkened to black. Torches were lit, and placed on poles around the grassy expanse where we sat. The whistle was joined by a drum and a fiddle, and some of the young folk got up to dance. Out on the river, there had been no sign of swans.

  “Tell me, my dear,” Richard turned his attention to me without warning, “have you no idea where your husband has gone off to so suddenly? I found the official explanation just a little hard to believe. Stretched credibility just a touch too far, I thought. Young Ben’s keeping something back. What about you? Did Hugh let on what he was about, when he abandoned you so quickly? Secrets of the pillow, and all that? I should think you’d be adept at that, got him eating out of your hand, I hear. What did he tell you?”

  “Richard,” said Lady Anne reprovingly, not liking his manner at all. Her loyalties here were clearly divided.

  “I wouldn’t trouble yourself, Sister.” Richard gave her a comical look. “You forget a woman of Erin cannot think and feel as you do. She does well enough at the surface appearance, I grant you that, but scratch that surface and you’ll find your enemy under it. A spy. A sorceress, even. I’d put money on it any day. You can’t trust them.”

  “Jenny is my son’s wife,” said Lady Anne tightly.

  “Mm,” said Richard. “So she is, so she is. Now tell me, little niece, for so my sister would have me call you, though it sticks in the throat, where did Hugh go? What was his errand? What could be so urgent, that he abandoned his bride on her wedding day? What could be so secret, that even his mother was not informed?”

  Sorcha. Sorcha, where are you?

  “What is it, Jenny? What’s the matter? Are you ill?” Lady Anne had seen my face change, as my mind caught the silent call of my brother.

  Wait. Wait. I’m coming. Don’t move.

  I sprang up, trying to keep my expression blank. Nodded and mimed. Please excuse me. My stomach…

  “Take Megan with you, my dear,” Lady Anne called after me, as I walked as calmly as I could toward the river, toward the shelter of the willows. On pretext of needing privacy to rid my stomach of its contents, perhaps I could—maybe I could—

  “Where are you going?” Ben loomed up in front of me, face anxious in the torchlight. “By God, woman, you have the weakest stomach in history. Here, let me help you. No going off alone, it’s against the rules, remember?”

  But I gestured, and gestured again. Please. Just for a minute. I won’t go far. Please. He regarded me, frowning. It was true, there were certain bodily functions that did require due privacy. But he respected his orders. Please. I’ll be safe enough.

  “All right,” he said, “but don’t go far. He’d kill me if he knew I’d let you go out of sight. Take care. If you’re gone long I’ll come looking.”

  Then, a sedate walk across the grass until I was out of sight. Feet moving cautiously, mind reaching with frantic haste. Where are you? How far upstream from the little bridge? Quickly, I don’t have long.

  The bridge is not far to the south. A place where a great willow has fallen. I will come to you.

  No! There is danger! Wait there; I’m coming.

  At last, a bend in the path, and Ben was gone from view. I ran. Picked up my skirts and ran soft-footed under the willows, to the place where I remembered a huge tree lying by the path, its knotted roots laid bare, its guardian spirit long gone to seek another home. I could not see them.

  Where are you?

  “I’m here, Sorcha.” My brother Conor stepped out from behind the tangle of earth-covered roots, a thin, frail figure in the faint moonlight. I saw the extreme pallor of his face, the long, tangled hair, the ragged shreds of clothing that were all he had left. He looked as insubstantial as a wraith.

  Don’t speak aloud. There are people close by. Oh, Conor! I felt his arms close around me. He was wasted like a man dying of the flux, and his body was racked by a violent trembling. But it felt good; so good to hold him.

  The others
. Where are the others?

  They cannot come. Not this time.

  But—but—Bitter disappointment flooded through me.

  It takes great strength, great resolve, to coerce them; to force them to follow when every instinct they have cries out against it. I can bring them only once. When you are ready, call me, and we will come. Don’t weep, little owl. This is a very brave thing that you do for us.

  At Meán Geimhridh, you did not come. I looked for you, and you did not come. That had indeed been a terrible night. Terrible and yet wonderful, for I had not forgotten the birth of John’s son.