by Erin O'Quinn
His voice became even more harsh, and I blanched for the first time since he had begun to speak. “Yes, I wanted to hurt you as you had hurt me. I wanted to take your lover, as you had taken mine. I tell you, my mind was festering like rotted meat. I could not think rationally for more than a few days or a few hours at a time. I went back to the first home I had known in Éire—the lonely promontory and the cold, blue bay. There I surrounded myself with dull-witted men who would carry out my irrational demands.
“They built me a tunnel to nowhere, an escape hatch to the sea, where I could only sink with my useless body. They built a vile teach and cobbled together the ruined out buildings of my former holdings. They somehow managed to capture young Liam and one of them actually traveled to Tara to demand that the king return my lands. The plan was as demented as I myself was, yet I thought I was brilliant.
“I cannot tell you how relieved I was when you captured me. Did you know that I was pleading with you to punish me? Yes, I think you did know. And then your lover wanted to forgive me! I was so exasperated I wanted to attack him just so he would hit me back. That was a low, low time in my life, young Caylith.”
He lay back somewhat, and I sat stiffly gazing at him, and our eyes never unlocked. But at last he sighed, a deep, shuddering sound.
“The time I spent with the monk, with Séamas Gallagher, brought me back almost to sanity. Almost. He let me rant as we drank tea and played chess. We argued about theology, about Christianity, about rationality and insanity, too. The pretty young woman Brigid let me sit in her Latin classes and treated me like her own teacher. By the time you came to see me that day a few months ago, I was not well. But at least I was not tottering on the edge of madness.
“It is no use to ask me why I ran from Séamas—from you. The opportunity presented itself to me one day, and I seized it. I would not have to confront my past, something I had begun to dread, in spite of my lifelong quest for my father. The druids would take me to the curative waters, the way Aileen used to. They would pronounce worthless incantations, and I would pretend that my legs may be whole again. That the pain would end at last. It was a desperate escape, one I am quite ashamed of, but there you have it. I am still not whole where it really matters—in my mind.”
“On the contrary, Owen. Right now, you seem to be one of the more sane men I have ever met.”
“Do not lie to me. I do not believe it for a minute.”
“Well, I believe it. You need to start believing in yourself.”
Then his eyes shifted to a look of appraisal. “I will admit that things are beginning to change. You bring me an entire new life, Caylith. You bring back my mother and my…most of my beautiful children. You bring me promise of a future. You make me see that I could be a king or even a Christian. And your dear mother made me see that I could be a whole man. I love her for that, and now I can let her go. I no longer feel the desperate desire, but only the admiration. I hope she will somehow know that.”
He looked at me with a piercing gaze, as though he expected me to confirm his words.
“She will know that the next time she sees you, Owen. Your eyes and your manner will tell her everything.”
“And now I have met Mockingbird. She knows how to change my vile moods. She knows without words what I need. We argue like scholars and reconcile as lovers. I feel…almost happy.”
A tenderness I did not understand welled into my throat, and I reached out and touched his face. He looked startled, and then his solemn eyes softened.
“And now, by all that is holy, the earnest Deliverer Caylith and her annoying husband are my own kinfolk. What have I done to be so punished?”
Then Sweeney did something I thought I would never see. He smiled. It was a lopsided, ironic grin that placed him firmly in the royal cenél, the extended clans of the mighty Niall. And his eyes held a deep humor that I thought had drowned somewhere in the deep North Sea.
I laughed in sheer delight. “When I come back here, I expect you and your companions to be ready to travel. We board the Brigid four days hence.”
Chapter 28:
I Hate and I Love
My companions and I tried to stay together as we boarded the graceful longship. I held onto Liam’s hand tightly, and he helped guide me up the curving, movable ramp to more sure footing. As soon as I stood on board, I felt the old familiar nausea as the ship rocked on her moorings. So crushed was I by the moving, shifting passengers that I held it back with an effort so as not to sully their clothing with my sickness.
The day was very warm, and the people pressed against me until I felt suffocated. “Would you hold my mantle?” I asked Liam, and he gladly took it.
“Cat,” he said, his head lowered so that his lips were at my ear. “Conas tá tú?”
I squeezed his hand. “I feel…Perhaps I will feel better once we have set sail.”
I looked around for Sweeney, who had been carried aboard in his cart by Michael and Torin. I did not see him, nor any familiar face except Liam’s.
There was hardly any wind, and I saw that the bank of rowers nearest to me had already begun to strain against the oarlocks. They began a labored count as if to move thousands of pounds by the sheer force of their arms and their rhythmic chant. At last, somehow, we were sailing. Perhaps portending a good voyage, a stiff breeze began to blow, filling the huge mainsail, giving respite to the oarsmen.
There was no sitting, for all of us hundreds of bodies denied each other the comfort of even hard ship’s decks. The day grew later and later, and finally Liam lowered his head to me again. I strained to hear him over the sound of human voices and the crash of the waves against the ship. “Cat, I—have to relieve meself. Stay right there.”
I laughed in spite of my misery. Where would I go? And then the ship began to shudder like a drunk waking from a stupor. The strong waves were tossing us in every direction, and the rowers once again had to take up their struggling, measured effort to guide us.
I could feel my morning meal rising in my throat, and I felt very faint. In spite of the people around me, I struck out blindly with my hands and arms, heading for the side of the ship, barely keeping back the vomitus. Somehow I reached the side, and I hung my head over, my stomach heaving, until the sickness cleared.
As soon as I turned around to return, I was immediately caught in the crush of passengers, and I found I could not move, except to lean against the ship’s side. I wondered where Liam was. I found I could slowly, slowly sink my weight until my bum finally found the timbers of the deck.
Very well, I thought, I will try to sleep and wait for one of my companions to find me. I listened to conversations pulsing around me, all in Gaelige. Lost in the babble of voices, I did sleep. I woke to a familiar voice very close to my ear. And yet it was so dark that I could not see the face.
“We seem to be thrown together. Excuse my elbow in your side. I hope it is your side.”
“I hope it is your elbow,” I said dryly. “Dia duit. You came after all.”
“Yes. I felt…compelled to come. You have a way of compelling other people, Cate. Do you even know that?”
“No, I—I am not sure what you mean. But it does not matter. You are here. I am glad, Murdoch. I know your father and your Uncle Leary will be pleased.”
“I love that you are pleased.” His voice was quite low. I imagined his somber eyes and serious face, and I leaned toward him a bit to hear him a little better.
“What did you say? No, I am not a seasoned traveler.” I pretended to get his words wrong, for he was making me suddenly quite uncomfortable.
“You are not a sea dog, Cate?”
I smiled to myself. He was playing a small game with me, pretending now that he had not uttered those provocative words. “Entirely the opposite. I am marooned in this spot precisely because I could not hold back breakfast. You may find your clothing soiled by me if this tub keeps pitching.”
He laughed, more of a short bark than a laugh. “I care not. I, too, am a
land rat. I can hardly wait until we find a shore. Although sitting in close quarters like this has its advantages.”
“You mean the added warmth?” I was not sure of his meaning. Suddenly I began to feel what he meant. His body really was very close, pressed all along one side of me, and I found it impossible to shrink away. On one side was Murdoch and on the other was the ship’s planking. “I, ah, I wonder where my husband is,” I said lamely.
“I think you will not find your companions until tomorrow. You may have to tell him you slept with me.”
I did not respond. Our conversation was as improper as his hand kissing when I left him back in February. I wondered where this farmer had learned such sophisticated ways of bantering.
We were both silent for a while, listening to the hum of conversations and laughter on the ship. If Liam wanted to find me, he would have to somehow make it through scores of bodies packed tightly together, in the dark. Murdoch was right. I would have to wait until the light of dawn to find him, or for him to find me.
Much as I hated to admit it, Murdoch’s warm body was a comfort from the biting ocean wind. I did not lean into him. But I did not shrink away, either.
“You told me once I was very like my father. Do you still think so?” His voice sounded more normal, not laced with double meaning.
“Yes. You and Owen both are hard to bring to a smile, a real smile. Both of you are…what is the word? Highly skeptical. Like scholars. Out of my league, I am afraid.”
“What mean you, Cate? You are very intelligent. More so than most people.”
“Few have ever told me that. But thank you. I will take it as a compliment.”
“I do not want to be out of your league. I would be firmly in your league, if I but could.” His leg moved against my own, very slightly, perhaps accidentally.
Again, I did not answer him. I did not know what he meant, but I thought that almost everything he said was powerfully provocative. I could not scold him for it, for the meaning was on a level far beyond the stated words. To reprimand him would be to call attention to his frivolous attraction. I moved my leg away from his, and again, I changed the subject.
“What do you think of this grand ship? It was built by your cousin Michael MacCool. And named after his lovely wife.”
“Yes, it is grand,” he said. Again his voice was close to my ear. “Is this how your pilgrims came to Éire?”
“Not at first. At first, we came in currachs, also built by Michael. Back then, we were trying to escape as quickly as we could. This ship came later. And ’tis fortunate he built the Brigid, for the currachs wore out quickly.”
“I am glad to know about Michael’s skill. Thank you.”
I turned to speak just as he leaned closer to my face, and my lips brushed his. I turned my head quickly, completely mortified.
“Ah, sorry, Cate. It is too cramped to talk with great comfort. We will just have to embarrass each other from time to time.”
“I am sorry. I am not used to, um, to sitting on strangers. Or anyone besides my husband. Please forgive my boldness.”
He was silent for so long that I finally turned my head back, only to find his face very close again, his mouth only inches away from my own. I immediately turned my head away again, acutely uncomfortable.
“Cate.”
I did not turn my head this time. “Yes?”
“Can you hear me?” He leaned toward my head, now firmly embedded in the ship’s timbers.
“Yes.” I knew my own voice was so low it would be hard for him to distinguish my words.
“Please, just talk to me. We happen to be too close for social convention, but that is not our fault. It is the fault of this damned ship. Let us blame it on Michael.”
I laughed. “You are right, Murdoch. Where were we?” I turned my head toward him again, cautiously. I thought his face was still too close, for I felt his breath on my cheeks as he spoke.
“We were talking about being scholars, and being out of our area of comfort. You are uncomfortable with the trappings of scholarship, am I right? And I am uncomfortable with pretentious people. I find it refreshing that you do not pretend to be what you are not.”
“And what am I not?”
“You are not a student of language. You are not a proper lady. You are not a frivolous or unfaithful woman.”
I could not help laughing again. He had learned so much about me in such a short time that I could not imagine how he could have seen what lay underneath. “And I think you need to know what you are not.”
“Very well. What am I not, Cate?”
“You are not a simple cattleman or farmer. You are not a lover of social convention. You are not a liar.”
“What do you mean by social convention?” His leg moved again against my own.
“I think you probably are not a man who enjoys clothing, or even eating meals when others eat. If light permitted, I think you would wake at midnight and sleep at midday.”
Then I heard it—the sound of genuine laughter. “Sweet mother’s milk, Cate, you are correct. Right down to the annoyance with having to wear trousers.”
“We may not know each other, Murdoch. But we know what the other is not. That is an excellent basis for friendship.”
“I agree, Cate. Will you clasp hands on it?”
“If you will please behave like a gentleman.”
“But that is another of the things I am not.”
“Tá go maith. We will clasp hands then, anyway.” I reached my hand out in the darkness, and I felt his large, rough hand take my own and turn it over, palm up. I did not take it away when he raised it to his mouth. And I did not withdraw it when I felt his lips open just a little, and his tongue begin to move on my palm. I counted two heartbeats, and then I pulled it away.
“I let that happen because I like you. But you must know that far beyond liking, I love my Liam. And I would not hurt him for anyone or anything in this world. Please tell me you understand.”
“I do. And I will not test the boundaries of friendship. You have my word.”
“I believe you. Tell me about yourself, Muiredach Mac Eóghan. I would know how you learned so much in such a short lifetime.”
“I will tell you if you let me grasp your hand as I speak. In friendship only, you understand, and only because I am no gentleman.”
I found his hand again in the dark, and he held it. Then his other hand cupped it, too. “I am very much my father’s son,” he began.
Before he was sixteen, he had learned to read and write Latin and Greek. He had read the holy scriptures of your religion and the tragedies and comedies of the playwrights of Athens. He could argue theology with the most learned priest in the monastery. And all because his father wanted him to be an ollamh, he told me, and finally, a king.
I was only three years old when he was crushed under his horse, and we were forced to leave our home on the great peninsula. I had already learned to love the lonely, rocky shoreline of the bay, and I remember crying all night for a month after we left. My father was in anguish, both physical and mental, and yet he tried to comfort me.
We did not lack money, for Grandmother had acquired a fortune in jewels. We bought cattle and sheep, and Father hired men to build us a new baile, bigger and better than our old one. He also hired teachers—poets, druid priests—whoever he could find to open our minds to the world.
By the time I was six, I had two younger brothers and three sisters. And all of us soaked up knowledge as though it were stew on our wedges of black bread. Mother helped us when she could, and Grandmother forced us to learn Gaelige, for she would speak no other language.
When I reached the age of twelve, Father thought it was time for me to travel as he had, and he sent me with a wonderful poet named Dubcha, who took me first to Gallia and then to the land of the Saxons. I learned how to drink and to swear, and how to fornicate, and many other subtle social graces. But Dub made sure I was always surrounded by scrolls and parchments, all the world�
�s knowledge, and he held my bum to the switch if I had not learned what he had set for me to learn.
So I sat in libraries by day and taverns by night. You are right. Midnight was as dawn to me, and by midday I was searching for a soft bed. As long as I could memorize Caesar’s histories, or Euclid’s theorems, Dub cared not where I learned them. That was the most enjoyable time of my life.
Four years later, I was home. And when I got there, I found a stranger. I knew my father was erratic, Cate. Sometimes happy, often sad, and always in pain. But something had happened during the time I was away. He mind had slipped dangerously. He would rage sometimes for days on end. He would lock himself in his room, or he would walk away bare of shoes, even in the snow, and not return for hours or days.
Not until a few months ago, when I heard Grandmother’s story, did I know what had happened. His inner and outer pain had sent him over an invisible edge. An edge not even my mother could understand. I began to hide from him. Why? Pure and simple, he frightened me. And my fright turned into hate. I started to see his life with my mother as a kind of debauchery. I imagined that he held her against her will. I saw her ministrations to him as servitude.
The day my brothers found her dead, I knew he had murdered her. It was I who convinced them to flee to Ballycahan. It was I who swore an oath that he was a murderer. So you see, I have some years to give back to my father. Years of love and understanding and gratitude that he never received from me. Sweet mother, I know not how to do it, for I have his same dour nature. But coming to Tara is a start.
I squeezed his hand. “Yes. It is a start. I am very pleased that you are here.”
“I give you pleasure, Cate?”
“No, I—”
“Please let me say it. I need to learn how to articulate my emotions instead of reciting the Odes of Catullus. It is easy to say, ‘Odi et amo. I hate and I love.’ But I need to say it in my words, not in the words of a Roman poet. Father deserves to hear it at last.” His great hands closed more tightly on mine, and his lips were close to my ear. “I need to tell him, I need to say it, Cate. I…love…you.”
