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~Blackthorn~
‘Mistress Blackthorn?’
A pox on it! Just when I was starting to feel a very slight tingle of the uncanny, as if finally Conmael might be thinking of putting in an appearance, Cionnaola had to break into my half-trance and banish in an instant any chance of bringing my fey mentor here. It had been hard enough to get the Island man’s permission to be out of his sight for more than a few moments. Even as I’d settled cross-legged by the pool and begun the sequence of slow breathing that was required, I’d been aware of him just up the rise, standing behind some oaks. Keeping watch. Guarding me against possible abduction, even here, a stone’s throw from the prince’s house. My protectors were taking no chances.
I should have been glad. Glad that they were giving my testimony such weight. Glad that they were taking it, and me, seriously. And I was glad. Get this over and I would be free of the most monstrous burden I had ever borne. Get it done and I would know that in a world where so many people were cruel and selfish and downright evil, justice was still possible. Only . . . I did not want to go without Conmael’s blessing. Odd, that. I had so much resented his taking control of my life, making rules for my behaviour, thinking he knew what was best for me. I’d only agreed to that because I’d had no choice. It had been say yes or die. Time after time since then, I’d come within a hair’s-breadth of breaking those rules. I had broken them over and over in thought, if not in deed. So why did this matter so much? It wasn’t even the threat he’d made, the penalty he’d said he would impose if I did break my promise. What he’d said he would do was impossible, unless he had the power to make time go backwards. Besides, deep down, Conmael was on my side. He might well agree that I should go. It was that, more than anything, that made me want to see him first. Which didn’t make much sense. But there it was. Whatever I might think of his interference, Conmael had saved my life. I owed him honesty.
‘Mistress Blackthorn, we must leave soon.’
No chance of bringing Conmael here now. I couldn’t feel the least spark of the uncanny. Not even here, on the shore of the most eldritch body of water I knew. Had something happened to him? Was some reversal preventing him from coming back? Grim had joked about me going to the Otherworld to find Conmael. I almost wished I could.
I rose to my feet and made my way around Dreamer’s Pool to the higher ground where Cionnaola was waiting. ‘What about Grim?’ I asked.
‘If we don’t leave very soon we won’t reach the place in time. You agreed to leave before midday. That is already stretching things. We don’t want to push the horses beyond their endurance.’
I fell into step beside him as we walked back to the cottage. I willed Grim to be home. I told myself, stupidly, that if I saw exactly three of something on the way back – blue flowers, white stones, birch trees, small clouds in the sky – he would be there by the time the cottage came in sight. But I didn’t, and he wasn’t. I almost cried. There had been a clear picture in my mind of how it would be, his horse tied up by the steps, his familiar figure in the doorway, almost filling it, his eyes brightening as he saw me, the sweet smile lighting up his plain features. ‘Brew?’ he’d say, and in that one word would be wrapped up everything that our friendship was. But the only man there was Cúan, my other minder, adjusting the harness on the mare they had brought for me to ride. The other two horses were cropping grass beside the vegetable patch. Ready to go.
‘We should be off,’ Cúan said, glancing at the sky. ‘Cutting it fine as it is.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Cionnaola. ‘But we can’t wait for Grim any longer.’
A wave washed over me, disappointment, sorrow, anger too, that they had timed this so tightly. But the fact was, they had already waited most of the morning at my request. And most likely the planning for this mission had not been the work of either of these two, but of Ségán or of some leader above him. Who knew, even Prince Oran or his father, the king of Dalriada.
‘All right,’ I said, feeling like a betrayer. ‘If we have to go, we should go. I will leave a note for Grim.’ I couldn’t go without doing that.
‘No,’ Cionnaola and Cúan said together. ‘You must leave no record of where you have gone or for what purpose,’ Cionnaola went on. ‘You understand why, I am sure.’
‘What if he comes just after we’ve left and doesn’t know where I am? After getting a note that he’s needed urgently?’ He would be beside himself with worry.
‘Prince Oran’s folk will deal with that if and when it happens. Best close up the cottage now, and we’ll be on our – ah. Perhaps Grim has reached us in time after all.’ For there was the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats coming our way, fast. Not from the prince’s holdings, but from the other direction. From Wolf Glen.
The horse came into view, a fine grey galloping at full tilt, and on its back not Grim but a much slighter figure with a cloud of brown hair streaming out behind her. A crow flew alongside. Cara. Cara looking as if she had demons on her heels. Cara so white and shocked that I forgot to be disappointed that she was not Grim. She managed to halt the sweating mare and half-jumped, half-fell from the saddle next to us.
‘Father – I went – he hit my father – I think he might do something – something terrible – he said, he said – you have to come –’ She had her hands on my shoulders, gripping hard. She was wild-eyed, shaking.
‘Slow down, Cara. Take a breath.’
‘Mistress Blackthorn,’ Cúan said. ‘We –’
‘Wait!’ Too sharp. I made myself speak more calmly. ‘I’ll keep this as quick as I can, I promise.’
The men did mutter a little, but they turned their attention to the distressed mare, and I drew Cara inside, made her sit down, bade her wait until she had her breath back before telling her story.
‘I’m guessing that you rode up to Wolf Glen on your own, ignoring what I’d told you, and spoke to your father,’ I said. ‘And that he was angry, so you turned around and rode back again. Yes?’
She didn’t speak now, just stared at me.
‘If I sound a little short, it’s because I was just about to leave, and I have no time to spare. Now tell me what’s happened. Calmly and clearly.’
To her credit, she gathered herself and got the story out, even though Cionnaola came to stand in the doorway when she was halfway through, all but tapping his foot with impatience. It seemed she had walked into a scene between Tóla and Bardán; the implication was that Bardán had learned the truth, and that meant Grim must have told him. And now, Cara said on a sob, Bardán was being locked up and so was Grim, and she thought her father – Tóla, that was – might hurt them, hurt them badly, because he had been beside himself with rage. He had hit Bardán. And he had shouted at her.
‘How did you get away?’
‘I . . .’ She glanced at Cionnaola, then lowered her voice. ‘I . . . sort of made myself invisible. I think. At any rate, just for a little, Father couldn’t seem to see me. I took his horse – the crow helped me – and I rode here as fast as I could. I should have done something. I should have helped them. Only I wasn’t brave enough. If he hurts them it’ll be my fault.’
‘Not at all.’ There was a frozen thing inside me, lodged in my chest. ‘You may have been foolish to go up there on your own, but you showed good judgement in leaving while you could. And we’ll help. You need someone to go back with you, a couple of men-at-arms and someone else from the prince’s household. But not me, Cara. I can’t come. I’m already late for . . . for where I need to go.’ Oh, gods, Grim. Grim who had not responded to an urgent request to come home. Grim who would always come when I really needed him. ‘Cara, did you actually see Grim?’
She shook her head. ‘I think he may be in trouble. Mistress Blackthorn, you have to come with me!’
Cionnaola folded his arms. Jerked his head at me as if to say, Now.
‘Two of the Swan Island men are
here. One can take you over to the prince’s house and find you an escort, then catch us up.’ I glanced at Cionnaola.
‘If it’s quick,’ he said.
‘I never even had a chance to talk to him,’ Cara said in a wisp of a voice. ‘Not properly. But he is my father. I know it. He said Brígh, like he’d found the best thing in the world. And he said – he said, about the thatch, he said –’
‘Cara, you need to go with Cúan. Now.’
‘But . . . Grim.’ Cara turned her big eyes right on me. ‘Grim’s in trouble. How can you not come with me?’
Morrigan’s curse! I tried to think sensibly; tried to ignore the terrible ache in my chest. ‘Grim probably isn’t even there. A message went up for him yesterday, and they told the messenger he was away.’
‘He is there.’ Cara’s flat tone chilled me. ‘My father said – Tóla said – he said, Lock him up. And Grim with him.’
Dear God! This was going to break my heart.
‘Mistress Blackthorn,’ Cionnaola said, ‘please. Others are waiting for us.’
Cara would be perfectly safe with guards to protect her. Someone from the prince’s household could take her up to Wolf Glen and sort things out. Grim was a big, strong man. He could look after himself; he didn’t need rescuing. Besides, he would want me to testify. He knew how badly I needed to do it. I had to go. I had been waiting years for this.
‘Cara,’ I began.
There was a sound of barking outside, and Cúan exclaiming, ‘Dagda’s mercy!’
It was Ripple. Ripple on the point of collapse, her chest heaving, her legs wobbling, her tongue hanging out. Ripple with cuts and scratches all over her body, as if she had run a terrible race. Ripple trying to tell us something, though her voice was less of a bark now and more of a laboured rasp.
Cara found a dish and filled it with water. Ripple lapped a little, then collapsed beside the bowl. For all her exhaustion, she could not relax, but kept lifting her head, listening for something.
‘She’s run all the way,’ Cara said. ‘There’s something really wrong.’ She looked up at me from where she was crouched by the dog. ‘Mistress Blackthorn, I’m scared my father might . . . might kill someone.’
I stood completely still. Took a breath. Felt the world go quiet around me. Ripple had run herself to the very end of her strength. She would die for Grim, if it came to that. And Grim would give his life to protect me. I knew it as I knew the patterns of sun and moon. I knew it as I knew spring brought new life to the stark, bare trees of winter. I knew it as I knew even the bitterest, angriest, most wounded woman in all Erin could learn to love again.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to Cionnaola. ‘I can’t come. I must go to Wolf Glen with Cara, and I must go now.’
Perhaps he’d seen it coming; he didn’t try to argue the point, only raised his brows. If it had been Ségán, it might have been a different story.
‘Only,’ I said, ‘Cara needs a fresh horse, and we need an armed escort. And we must go right now. The other way, through Longwater, because it’s quicker. I’ll understand if you have to ride off immediately for . . . the place you were taking me to. Only, if you would come with us, it would save a lot of time.’ This felt quite unreal. I couldn’t believe I was doing it. I couldn’t believe I had made this choice. But I knew it was right. Ségán had my written testimony. And I could still go later, if one of the men would take me. I would be too late to stand up and speak, but I could find out what was happening with Mathuin. I could at least be witness to the aftermath.
‘A moment,’ Cionnaola said, and went out to confer with Cúan. I could have hugged him for not getting angry with me; for not pressing the point. For not bullying me.
‘We should take Ripple,’ Cara said. ‘We might need her.’
Exhausted as she was, Ripple was up on her feet again now, wobbling, making little whining sounds, pawing at my leg and at Cara’s. Trying to make us understand.
‘She was the one who found me when I fell down into that place,’ Cara said. ‘If – if he’s – I think we should take her.’
That made two men, two women and a biggish, exhausted dog. And only three fresh horses. ‘The Island men are supposed to be good at this kind of thing,’ I said. ‘We might leave it to them.’
They were indeed good at it. The ride to Longwater took us back through Winterfalls settlement, where we left Cara’s tired horse at the stables behind the brewery and borrowed two more mounts. Ripple shared Cionnaola’s horse; the tall warrior with his long twists of hair seemed a good match for the leggy grey hound, who rode draped across the saddle in front of him. I borrowed a rope leash, stowing it in my saddlebag. Cúan led the spare horse.
In Longwater folk came out to ask questions, for which we had little time. We learned that the local workers who had been helping Grim with the building had been told to take the day off. No reason had been given. I spotted the farmer’s son, Fedach, at the back of the group; he gazed only at Cara. She was wound up tight, her face pinched and pale, her shoulders hunched as she rode. But when Fedach flashed her a grin, she managed a watery smile in return. A good boy, that one. He would be beneath consideration as a future husband for Tóla’s daughter. But for Bardán’s daughter, the son of a successful horse breeder would be an excellent match. I found myself hoping for them; hoping they would be blessed with time and peace to learn what it was they truly wanted.
Several of the Longwater men offered to come with us – we had told them only that there might be some kind of trouble up at Wolf Glen – but Cionnaola said no. We rode on. Past the path that led to Bardán’s old cottage, where baby Brígh had been born. On through the woods. The crow was still with us, close but never too close, keeping watch over Cara. Maybe it had appointed itself some sort of guardian. Maybe it was an Otherworld creature. In the company of the two men I did not ask her. I limited my conversation to, ‘Are you all right?’ to which she replied ‘Yes’, though she wasn’t, of course. Who would be? As for me, my belly was a churning mess, my body was all jangling nerves, and my thoughts were racing as fast as my heart. When we got there, I could not expect Cionnaola and Cúan to take the lead. I would have to do it. What to say? How to start? And in the background, Mathuin. I’d had the opportunity and I’d let it go. If my absence led to a finding of innocent, I would never forgive myself.
We were not yet in sight of Tóla’s house when the increasingly restless Ripple made a sudden leap from the horse’s back, landed in a tumble of limbs, collected herself, then charged ahead, baying.
‘Ripple!’ I yelled, wishing I had Grim’s deep voice. ‘Stop!’
Cúan stuck his fingers in his mouth and delivered a piercing whistle. Remarkably, the dog pulled herself to a halt and came back, obedient as always, to stand beside my horse. Her whole body was quivering.
‘So much for an approach by stealth,’ commented Cionnaola. ‘If that was what you were planning.’
‘I don’t think there’s a plan,’ I said. ‘Cara’s in charge. What should we do, Cara?’
‘Ride straight to the house. When I tried to speak to my father before, he cut me off. I need to tell him what I know. I want him to give me the true story. But he’ll be angry. Not only with me, Mistress Blackthorn, but with you too.’
I grimaced. ‘I can cope with that. I don’t imagine Master Tóla would physically threaten either of us, but I suppose he might try to remove you from my bad influence. You two,’ I looked at the Island men, ‘should make sure that doesn’t happen. This may have been Cara’s home for the last fifteen-odd years, but I doubt she’ll be staying here.’
‘And I want to talk to my other father,’ Cara said. ‘My real father. I want to know if he’s safe. After this, he might not want to stay here either. But I don’t think he’s got anywhere to go.’
‘We’ll face that problem when we come to it,’ I said. Let Grim be all right. Let him be safe.
‘Cara!’ she exclaimed. ‘What is going on? Who are these people?’ Her gaze went from guard to guard, finally lighting on me. ‘Why have you come here?’
‘Aunt Della, I . . .’ Cara seemed suddenly struck dumb.
‘Good day to you, Mistress,’ I said, lifting my chin and straightening my shoulders. ‘I’m not sure if you know this, but Cara came here earlier today wanting to speak to her father. He frightened her away. So she’s brought . . . reinforcements. These men are from Prince Oran’s household. Could you tell Master Tóla we’re here, please?’
The woman had gone white. ‘I heard a – disturbance, in the morning. But I did not realise – Cara, is this true? Were you involved?’
Cara opened her mouth and closed it again without a sound. Cionnaola spoke for her. ‘Mistress, this is quite true. And we are in haste. Where is Master Tóla?’ His hand made the slightest of movements toward the weapon at his belt.
Den of Wolves Page 38
