by Joan Wolf
If he told her that he could never accept Morna’s child into his heart, she would understand. She would give the baby up. More than anyone, Nel understood how wrong it would be to leave a child where it was not wanted.
But he had seen the pain in her eyes.
What am I going to do?
He checked at the sight of a solitary feminine figure walking toward him along the base of the cliff. For a moment, sheer panic held him frozen. Nigak whined. Then Ronan saw that the girl’s hair was silver-blond, not red-gold, and his heart began to slow to its normal beat.
It was Fenris’s daughter. Siguna. He frowned. She should not be out here alone. He strode forward, Nigak pacing watchfully at his heels.
* * * *
Siguna saw Ronan at almost the exact moment he saw her, and she halted against the cliff, her wary eyes on Nigak. She had learned to be fairly comfortable with Nel’s dogs, but the wolf still frightened her.
“What are you doing out here alone?” Ronan said.
To Siguna’s relief, Nigak went right by her and began to sniff along the bottom of the cliff. “Where are Thorn and Mait?” Ronan demanded next, and she raised her eyes to see him scowling at her.
“Back at the Great Cave,” Siguna said. “I wanted to be alone.”
His frown deepened. “You have too much of a liking for being alone.”
Siguna drew a deep slow breath and steadied herself. She didn’t know why, but there was something about Ronan that always seemed to unnerve her. She answered him in an even tone. “These last days have not been very easy for me, and Thorn and Mait were kind enough to understand.”
She could see him remember why she might not have found the general rejoicing in camp very enjoyable. He passed a hand across his brow as if to rub away the scowl and said in a milder voice, “I am sorry, Siguna.” He dropped his hand. “But there are dangerous animals about; it is not safe for you to wander so far from camp.”
She thought that he looked weary. It came to her then that neither was Ronan in his usual place. Had he too been in search of solitude?
She asked tentatively, “Is something wrong?”
A raven swooped by overhead, its wingbeats making a hissing skhou, skhou in the heavy stillness. A picture of what the ravens had been doing last week flitted through Siguna’s mind, and she shuddered. As if from a distance, she heard Ronan’s voice saying, “Is it possible that you have not heard?”
She shook her head, forcing herself to concentrate on his words. “I have heard nothing.”
“I thought everyone must have heard.” He too was watching the raven, his dark eyes narrowed against the sun, bitterness in the hard lines of his mouth. “It is Morna,” he said. “She died in childbirth and left her son to my care and Nel’s.”
Siguna’s breath hissed in her throat.
The bitterness edging Ronan’s mouth deepened, “Sa. It is hard to believe, is it not?”
Slowly, Siguna seated herself upon a large rock that was jutting out from the cliffside. She knew what lay between Ronan and his sister; she had not been two weeks with the Tribe of the Wolf before she had heard that tale. She was also well aware of Nel’s barrenness and the sorrow it had caused her. She said now, looking up into Ronan’s wintry face, “I did not know.”
He grunted. “Well, now you understand why I too have been avoiding going home.”
She was deeply surprised that he was speaking to her in such wise. Slowly it came to her that this confidence sharing was his way of apologizing for having forgotten her own sorrow.
“Will Nel take the child?” she asked softly, ready to drop the subject instantly if that was what he wished.
He braced his right hand against the wall of the cliff and bent his head to look at her. “What do you think?”
Siguna replied honestly, “I do not think it will matter to her whose babe this may be—she will love it anyway.”
His face was utterly bleak. “That is what I think too.”
Siguna averted her eyes from that unguarded face, resting them instead on the hand he had braced against the cliff wall. It was a thinner hand than her father’s, but the forearm that was exposed by Ronan’s rolled-up sleeve was hard-muscled and deeply tanned.
Ronan said, “She wants a child, and when a woman has a longing like that in her heart, there is nothing a man can say or do that will change it.”
Siguna tore her eyes away from that strangely exciting hand. She said something about how hard it was for a man to accept another man’s child.
He shook his head, signifying that was not it. “I am his mother’s brother,” he said. “In the Tribe of the Red Deer, it is the mother’s brother who is a child’s closest male relative. I have obligations to this child. I know that. But…” Here his voice broke off. His face was even bleaker than it had been.
He was looking for help, Siguna thought suddenly. That was why he was discussing this with her. He was seeking for a way to make this child acceptable to him.
Suddenly, fiercely, desperately, Siguna wanted to help him. She made herself draw a long, settling breath before she asked, “Then why not take him, Ronan?”
His nostrils flared. “The answer to that should be obvious, I think. This is Morna’s child.” The way he said his sister’s name indicated the depth of his revulsion.
Siguna regarded the dark, arrogant face that was so clearly outlined against the cobalt blue sky. “Is it that you are afraid the child will be like Morna?”
He nodded his raven head.
Two red deer, a buck and a doe, suddenly appeared between the cliffs that guarded the path to the south. As Siguna gazed at them, they noticed Nigak and bounded away, disappearing as suddenly as they had come.
It was a sign, Siguna thought. The deer were a sign from the Mother. Suddenly she was sure that it was the Goddess’s doing that she and Ronan had come together on the cliff path this day.
For the first time in her life, Siguna closed her eyes and prayed: Mother, help me. If you have truly sent this man to me, then give me the right words to say.
Siguna opened her eyes. She looked at Ronan. She said, “We have bred horses in my tribe for many generations, Ronan, and any one of us would tell you that, no matter how wild the stallion or mare, if the foal is gentled young, then he is yours. The color, the speed, the temperament, all these may come from the parents; but the spirit belongs to the one who tames it. I am thinking that this is true for children as well as for foals.”
Ronan was silent for a long time. Finally he said, “I do not know.” He looked suddenly very uncertain and very young. He repeated, “I do not know.”
Siguna’s heart went out to him. Her hands longed to go out to him as well, and, feeling their movement, she clasped them together in her lap. She made her voice very cool in order to mask her emotion. “What would Nigak have been like if he had been left to his own mother to rear?” she asked. “He would have been the same wolf in blood and bone, but his spirit would be utterly different.”
They both turned to look at Nigak as he sniffed his way along the cliff, checking for the scent of another male wolf. Ronan answered slowly, his eyes still on Nigak, “That is so.”
Another silence fell between them. Nigak raised a hind leg and left his own scent on the lower part of the cliff.
Siguna smiled, as if something that had been eluding her had suddenly fallen into place. “You took twins into your tribe, Ronan, when no one else would. Why did you do that?”
His dark eyes were puzzled, as if he did not understand the change of subject. He shrugged and said, “It is simply that I do not believe that babies can be evil.”
He fell silent as he heard his own words.
This time the silence went on for a very long time. High on the cliffs Siguna could see several ibex. A male with sharp horns was reclining on the top of a flat boulder. As she watched, his head sank slowly under the weight of his horns until his nose touched the rock; then it jerked up, only to begin to descend again.
&
nbsp; Siguna’s voice seemed to come from a place deep inside her, a place she had never before plumbed. “Do you think that any living thing could be touched by Nel and not learn to be gentle?”
The softest sound, as of a breath being slowly released, floated in the air. Was it Ronan? Or was it something else? Siguna looked around and was caught by a pair of dark eyes.
“You have a wisdom that is beyond your years, Siguna,” he said.
She gave him a beautiful smile.
His expression altered, and Siguna abruptly found herself confronting the hard, intent, hunting look of the sexual male. It was a look Siguna was all too familiar with. It was a look she both feared and hated. Usually.
“How old are you?” Ronan asked.
She tried to answer, reminded herself to breathe, and managed to stutter, “Th-three-handsful of years.”
That dark gaze flicked lightly, speculatively, along the swell of her breasts, Siguna’s pulses began to beat faster, but she was not afraid.
“That is old to be yet a maiden.”
She raised her chin. “How do you know I am yet a maiden?”
He smiled, as if he found her question amusing. “Were you promised to a man of your tribe?”
She shook her head in violent denial.
Both the hunting look and the amusement were in his eyes now, and Siguna realized with astonishment that she wanted him to touch her.
He reached to pick up his spear. “Come,” he said. “I will walk with you back to the Great Cave.”
She stood up from her rock and found her eyes looking directly at the pulse that beat in the strong brown column of his throat. She was breathing rapidly and her legs felt unsteady.
What is the matter with me? she thought.
He said in a soft, dark voice, “I find it hard to believe that there was no man in your tribe who was special to you.”
She answered, stupidly, betrayingly, “The men of my tribe are not like you.”
There was a catastrophic silence, and then he grinned. “They most certainly are not. Heno says the men of your tribe need an introduction to Berta.”
She realized, with dizzying relief, that he had misunderstood her. She stared at that intoxicating smile and managed to croak, “I am thinking Heno is right.”
“A man who does not value a woman is a fool,” Ronan said, and the hunting look was back in his eyes. His voice deepened. “I promise you, little one, that if you choose to make your home with us, there will be many men more than happy to value you.”
But they will not be you.
As soon as the words formed in Siguna’s mind, she panicked. What was she thinking?
Ronan called to Nigak and turned his steps toward home. As she fell in beside him, he said in his usual voice, “I am glad I met you today, Siguna, but don’t come out alone again. I don’t say this because I don’t trust you, I say it because it is not safe.”
“Nel goes about alone,” Siguna said defensively.
“Nel is never alone,” Ronan replied. “If she doesn’t have Nigak, she has the dogs. Lately even White Foot has taken to following her around like a lost puppy.” He was trying to sound aggrieved, but Siguna’s sharp ears caught the unmistakable note of tenderness beneath the surface exasperation.
Siguna realized with a mixture of sorrow and relief that she would always be safe from Ronan. He might look with appreciation at an attractive woman, but it was Nel who held his heart.
Siguna had never met a man like Ronan before. He could be as ruthless as Fenris ever was; she had seen that when she had waded through the stinking corpses in the Volp gorge. He was a leader who exacted the same obedience from his men that her father did. Yet he was not really like her father at all.
A man who does not value a woman is a fool.
Siguna had not been thinking of Nigak alone when she had told Ronan that nothing could be touched by Nel and not learn to be gentle.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The baby slept, and when he woke Eken fed him. Nel had left the Great Cave shortly after her conversation with Arika, and as the daylight slowly waned, she still had not returned. The women of the tribe put their children down to sleep and gathered around the hearth in the cave chamber they had taken for their own.
“It will be a cruelty if Ronan won’t let her keep the babe,” Beki said defiantly.
The women of the Wolf looked at each other, and it was Fara who finally responded. “More than anyone, I have reason to know how tolerant Ronan can be in regard to children.” Her sweet face was deeply troubled. “But, Beki, I do not think it is fair to expect him to accept Morna’s child at his hearth.”
Berta said heavily, “He is the child’s mother’s brother.”
Tora said, “It is hard for me to believe that such a one as Morna was once considered the Chosen One of the Mother.” Her level brown gaze turned to her sister. “Morna has done this to break Ronan’s marriage.”
Berta sighed.
“That will not happen!” said Yoli. “You heard what Nel said to the Mistress, Tora. She said that if Ronan could not bring himself to accept the child, she would send the baby back to Arika. Nel will not let Morna destroy her marriage.”
Beki said flatly, “I do not care what Nel may have said. I do know this: if Ronan makes her give up the child, she will never forgive him.”
Heavy silence blanketed the chamber.
“I am afraid that Beki is right,” Berta said at last. “There is nothing in the world more powerful than a woman’s yearning for a child. It is put into her heart by the Mother, and no man can stand in its way.”
“It does not help that in the Tribe of the Red Deer there are a number of children who look exactly like Ronan,” Fara said sadly.
Yoli sighed.
“No one would make a better mother than Nel!” Beki said passionately. “It is so unfair that she has not had a child.”
Eken, who had nursed the orphan along with her own daughter, said now, “He is a beautiful baby. Perhaps once Ronan sees him…”
Tora was shaking her head. “Men do not feel the same about these things as women do.”
No one contradicted her.
In the sudden silence, a step could be heard outside the chamber opening. Then the shadow of a man was in the doorway, ducking his head to keep from hitting it on the stone arch. He straightened and looked at the group of women staring back at him. It was Ronan.
“Where is Nel?” he asked, when once he had ascertained that she was not present.
“We don’t know,” Berta replied. “She talked to Arika shortly after…” She waved her hand in lieu of finishing the sentence, then added, “We have not seen her since.”
Ronan’s face looked tired and bleak. “Where is the baby?” He asked next.
“Next door, sleeping with the other children,” Eken answered. “I nursed him after I nursed my Melie.”
“Will you get him for me?” Ronan asked her.
“Sa.” Eken scrambled to her feet. “Of course, Ronan, Of course I will get him for you.” She shot a quick glance at Fara before disappearing into the adjoining chamber, where all the children were sleeping.
Fara asked gently, “Would you like us to leave you alone, Ronan?”
He stared at her as if he had not understood. But then he nodded. “Sa. That would be…good.”
The women quietly got to their feet and melted toward the door as Ronan came further into the chamber. He was standing by the hearth, his hands clasped behind his back, his head bent, when Eken came back into the room, the baby in her arms. She hesitated a moment and then walked up to him. “Here he is,” she said, extending her arms a little so that he could see.
Ronan looked down.
He was indeed a beautiful baby. His small face was perfectly formed, the skin pink, not the angry red of most newborns. His fuzzy hair was brown, and the eyes that blinked sleepily up at Ronan were a soft and misty gray.
“He does not look like Morna,” Ronan said. His face was an un
readable mask.
“Na.” Eken was having a hard time talking around the lump in her throat. “He looks like himself.”
Ronan continued to stare at the baby with that masklike look on his face. Eken continued to hold the baby out to him as if it were an offering. The lightest of sounds came from the arched door opening, and then Nel was with them in the room.
* * * *
Nel had just spent what were perhaps the most emotionally exhausting hours of her life, and she looked it. When at last she walked into the room and saw Ronan and the baby, she still did not know what she was going to say. She had spent hours and hours trying to resolve the conflict, and her thoughts were still going around in circles.
Fine words she had said to Arika earlier, words that had wounded, words that had been meant to wound. “Ronan and I know what it is to grow up in a place where you are not wanted,” she had said, and Arika had been vanquished.
Fine words, but Nel knew that this baby was not unwanted. No baby in the world was more wanted than this one was.
Part of her said that eventually Ronan would come to accept the child as his own. Surely, she told herself over and over, surely she would be able to make him understand that this child had been given to them by the Mother. It was what she herself felt. Strongly. Surely she would be able to convey this conviction to Ronan.
But the objective, rational part of her said that she was being unfair, that she was laying too great a burden on her husband in asking him to take this child of his sister’s. She feared that if she forced Ronan to keep the child against his own instincts, she was risking the poisoning of the most precious thing in the world to her, her marriage.
Nothing, she thought, was worth that risk.
And then she came into the cave and saw Ronan and the baby. Without uttering a single word, Eken walked up to her, deposited the baby in her arms, and went out the door. Ronan and Nel were left alone, staring at each other across the bundle in Nel’s arms.
* * * *
Ronan spoke first. “He does not look like Morna.”
Nel looked down into the drowsy baby face. She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Ronan,” she said. “Ronan…”
