by Erin O'Quinn
“Like the breakfast of a carrion crow,” he said thickly.
“Hush,” said Jay, “lest our friends hear such careless talk.” I could see that he was teasing Torin and that the clansman had caught the jest. He smiled ruefully and waited for us to proceed.
“Let us find your cousins, and our other friends,” I told him. Jay led us for the next ten or fifteen minutes. The undergrowth thinned more and more. At last I could see dancing, gleaming waters showing through the branches of weeping larch and columns of beech, and I beheld the remarkable strand of the great Lough Foyle.
The sand and rocks stretched for miles, now ruby and rose-pink in the light of the setting sun. Rushes and grasses of all kinds stood tall along the shore, and thousands of waterfowl stood or waded in the salt marshes. I saw great mute swans, our old friends from the Brayford Pool in Lindum, and several species of colorful, talkative ducks. I saw strutting geese and smaller-crested grebes. Jay pointed out the much smaller plovers darting among the rushes and spiral tassel weeds.
I could not help but point out the swans to Torin. “Yes, O brother, they can reach thirty pounds. And standing up, they would reach your own height. If you were to threaten their nests, they would show you how a bird can bite with rows of needle teeth. Let not yourself be attacked by a swarm of them.” I grinned as I teased him, and in return he showed that telltale twitch around the corners of his mouth I already knew from Liam, the one that told me he was deeply amused.
“I am beginning to believe the lies about Ravenscar,” he said.
At that moment I turned my head away from Torin, so overcome was I by my sudden yearning for his brother. I did not want Torin to misunderstand the love that no doubt filled my eyes. I felt my throat close up again in the instant fear I felt for Liam, and I fought down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.
“Behold our little army,” said Jay, and he pointed. I followed the direction of his arm somewhat up the shore, on a rise several hundred feet away, and I saw the unmistakable glow of tiny fires just beginning to stand revealed in the gathering twilight. Not speaking, we all three walked toward the fires with long, impatient strides.
I saw a group of Saxons squatting around a fire, preparing a featherless fowl of some kind for their supper. “Glaedwine,” I said, and one of them pointed. We walked farther.
It was hard to miss my Saxon vassal, for he stood, a hulking mass in the growing twilight, illuminated by his own cooking fire. My other armsman Gristle stood next to him. I called out, and the two men stood astounded as I strode to the circle of light. Jay and Torin hung back somewhat, waiting.
“And have you prepared our supper?” I asked Glaed.
“Milady—Caylith—you astound me more every day. How come you to be here?” Then he saw Jay. “Ah, now I understand. The Whimsical Walk. The Magical Meander.” With a huge grin, he extended his hand, and I grasped it as hard as I could with my own tiny hand. I reached out to Gristle, who merely grasped my hand warmly, betraying no surprise at all.
“Please meet our new friend Torin, oldest brother of Liam.”
Torin walked forward and extended his hand. Glaed and Gristle took turns grasping his hand and arm in the traditional gesture of brotherhood.
“Torin, ye ugly spawn of a bean sidhe—with apologies to your fair mother. Come kiss me cheeks!” It was Ryan, suddenly emerging from the growing darkness.
I had heard about the howls of a “banshee” all my life, and I just now realized it was a Gaelic word.
Torin and his cousin fell on each other’s shoulders, indeed kissing each other’s cheeks and pounding each other’s strong backs until I thought one or the other would collapse from the pummeling.
“An’ where is me cousin Michael?” asked Torin.
“Come, I will lead you to our fire.” The two men walked into the shadows, leaving me to confer with Jay and my armsmen.
“Gentlemen, let us eat supper while we get our bearings and formulate a plan to speed up my wedding to Liam. Shall we?”
Jay said, “I think the first action we need to take is to find out exactly where Liam is, and where Sweeney himself is.”
“And ye plan to do that by—?” prompted Glaed, his mouth full of roasted duck.
“By asking my owlish friends, of course,” he replied.
“Oh, Jay, can you—will you do that right away?”
Without answering me, he rose from the fire and walked into the darkness. The rest of us ate in silence a while.
After a time, Gristle spoke. “If Sweeney’s men are also following the lakeside route, we will have to travel from now on with no fires. The last time I met them, they did not betray too much intelligence. But even they may figure, when they see ten or more clustered camping fires, that perhaps they are being followed.”
“What other route is there?” I asked.
“When your friend Magpie came to us,” said Glaed, “she told us to head for the peninsula. The very birds, she said, had told her to strike for the coast line of the great lake. There was another way, more direct, but in the mountains—through rugged canyons and ravines. It would be a path well known to Sweeney and his company of criminals. Of course, we chose the lake shore. We knew the horses would always have fresh water, and we would hope for grazing ground as we traveled.”
“And have you had a problem with feeding the horses?”
“None at all, Milady. The grasses are abundant no more than half a mile from shore.”
Then Jay was back, quietly taking his place cross-legged before the comforting fire. Against his story-telling nature, he did not wait to be prompted, but spoke quickly and urgently.
“Two men sit beside a fire near a small lake, about five miles due west of us. A third lies with no arms or legs showing.”
Before I could cry out, Jay reached out his hand in a consoling gesture. “Cay. Remember, we are looking through the eyes of owls. They have seen a man who is bound hand and foot. They tell us they have seen Liam himself.”
I let out my breath in a great, ragged sigh.
“We ourselves are close to a landmark the locals call dhá crann, or ‘‘Two-Tree.” Our enemies have no doubt decided to take the more direct route, though slower and more hazardous to their unfortunate horses. From what the owls tell me, our men and Sweeney’s men are equally far—or close—to any given destination on the peninsula.”
“And where may that destination be?” asked Gristle, not expecting an answer.
But Jay did have an answer. “I have already sent White Face and Speckle Wing to seek out Sweeney. They grumbled at me, for they would seek their supper. But they told me they would return by dawn with an answer. I need to mention that they were grouchy about the matter. Owls hate to fly hungry except to follow already-marked prey.”
“Then our plans will have to wait for dawn,” I said. Let us seek our various beds.”
And so we did. I lay with my head pillowed on a large, fragrant clump of purple loosestrife. I had seen the flower often enough, growing along stream beds. Only now did I begin to appreciate its name. “May you be a good omen,” I whispered to the darkness. “Help me to end strife by freeing my darling Liam.”
Sleep came slowly and only when I let my mind play with the silken tassels of his mustache and feel his warm lips cover my own.
I woke with a start, wondering where I was. The realization sunk into my drowsing mind in slow degrees, and I got to my feet reluctantly, hating to face another day without Liam. “The sooner started, Caylith, the sooner you will join Liam,” I told myself. I slowly picked my way through the barely glowing lights of dying camp fires toward the lake shore.
Dawn was perhaps an hour away. And with the dawn would come the news we needed to formulate our plans. I decided to shrug off the shroud of fear and indecision I felt, and I removed my fine fox-skin tunic, laying it carefully on a high, flat rock. I waded very slowly into the gentle waters of the lake, remembering that I must avoid swans’ nests or indeed the nests of any shore
bird. I wanted no angry swans to pummel me with their heavy wings, or with their knobby beaks, as they had once done to Glaedwine.
I smiled just thinking of Glaedwine on the towers of Ravenscar, seeing in my mind’s eye the great Saxon hero yielding with curses to the onslaught of beautiful swans. Ah, that was a time long ago and a place far away, I thought dreamily.
I knelt in the shallow waters close to shore, gradually surrounded by swans and ducks. I smoothed lake water over my shoulders, letting it flow in rivers down my body. It was icy cold, but I scooped great handfuls of it over my head and shivered while it ran down my face. Shaking my headful of impossible curls, I raised my eyes to seek the morning star. A couple of herons stood with me, their heads raised like my own.
The water was just the tonic I needed to feel a vibrancy flow back into my limbs, and I ran to the rock to retrieve my tunic. Just as I reached for it, I felt someone’s eyes on me, and I froze.
Whoever was watching me was far enough away that I could safely reach for my tunic and hold it against myself before I turned around. I saw that the predawn sky could not possibly afford anyone more than a shadowy outline of my body. So when I finally turned around completely, it was with confidence and grim fury.
“How long have you been watching me?” I asked Torin.
“Not long.”
“Turn around while I put on my tunic,” I said coldly, and he did.
“Now tell me the reason for your cowardly impudence,” I said when I had put my red fox back on. I could barely contain my anger. Betrayed again, I thought, by a kinsman of Liam. I carefully tucked the furry tail around my breasts and pinned it to my tunic.
Torin walked to within a few feet of me, his hands held in a gesture of supplication.
“Ye must believe me, Caylith, I did not come here to watch ye.” Torin spoke quietly, his eyes probing mine. “I came here to bathe in the lake, and there ye were. Ye turned around at almost the same time that I even noticed another person on the shore.”
“Is that so?” I could not help the distrust that leapt from my eyes, and I was sure he saw it.
It was Torin’s turn to be angry. “Why do ye not believe me? I would sooner be rolled into me grave than to hurt me brother Liam. Not another person on this earth is worth even a hair on his knuckle.”
“Perhaps because I have been through this before. With your cousin Fergus.”
“Fergus MacCool? That slavering beast? That crude bullock of a man? I love him, but I know him well, and I am not at all like him. Ye must believe me, Caylith. I played with ye a bit before I knew who ye were. But now that I know the truth, I am ready to welcome ye as me sister. I swear it.”
I looked long into his eyes, and I saw the truth. “Torin, I believe you. I am sorry for my anger, for doubting you. But Fergus attacked me not once, but twice. As recently as a week ago. That has put my guard up a bit.”
“I blame ye not. Let us part friends.”
He stood looking so vulnerable that again it was hard for me to look at him, for I saw Liam’s face in place of his. I extended my hand, and he took it. “Brother,” I said. I grasped his hand briefly, then I turned quickly and left him to his morning bath.
He had recently come from a Roman fort, where an early bath would have been not just a habit but almost a command. I believed him wholeheartedly now, and I felt ashamed of my instant distrust. Perhaps I would find a way to make it up to him. I felt even worse knowing that my own eyes could not hide the longing I felt when I saw Torin, for I saw Liam in his place.
I found our own cold fire being rekindled by Gristle, and for the first time, I saw my pony tethered to a nearby chestnut tree. Gristle must have brought it around for me. When he looked up, I thanked him by saying, “NimbleFoot,” and he nodded. We had known each other long enough to get by on a minimum of words. I thought of Liam and myself. We, too, knew how to talk with little more than a word or a gesture, and our intimate understanding would only get better as time went by.
I saw that NimbleFoot’s saddle was on the ground near him, and also a little rolled-up blanket. I knelt and unrolled it, realizing what it was. I had rolled my old tunic and some newly made clothing into it at Magpie’s house before I put it behind Macha’s saddle. Magpie had no doubt found it and transferred it to the pony so that I would have a change of clothes.
I felt a stab of affection for her as I unrolled the blanket and laid out the contents. First was a warm brat—a mantle—I could use as a blanket. Next was my old, tattered tunic with my sandals and old belt. I saw a soft woolen cloth and pulled out a léine Magpie had fashioned for me out of the wool I had found at a vendor’s booth at the fair in Tara. The egg-shell-white fabric was soft as baby skin, woven to a fineness that would have graced Queen Máirín herself. The sleeves had been woven from a dark wool blended with silk. And last was a gown, equally soft, dyed with some deep violet-colored flower.
I would not be wearing the lovely tunic and gown until my wedding, so I rolled them back gently into the blanket along with my old sandals. With a deep sigh, I went behind a tree and took off my new fox-skin tunic and slipped on my old one in its place. After saddling NimbleFoot, I put the rolled-up blanket and my fox-pelt tunic and the bushy foxtail behind the saddle and cinched them tight.
I would rather wear the thin, much-torn deerskin tunic than show off my new one. Perhaps I was inviting attention without knowing it. I told myself I would put it back on for Liam and for him alone, no matter how cold I felt. But I still wore the leggings, necessary for horseback riding, and I slipped the brat over my shoulders.
Back at the fire, I squatted and held my hands over the flames, for the wind blowing off the lake was enough to set me to trembling. Gristle or Glaedwine had already set a duck to roast over the fire, and we were almost ready to eat when Jay emerged from the bright green needles of a stand of nearby larch trees.
He settled down near the fire and threw a capful of chestnuts into the flames. Soon they were popping, their skins peeled back and ready to eat. I realized guiltily that Jay simply did not eat fowl, for all birds were his distant kin. He had gone hungry last night rather than eat the tangy duck that the rest of us had enjoyed.
After he had somewhat assuaged his hunger, Jay began to talk. “White Face and Speckle Wing had a good hunt last night. So their later hunt for Sweeney went well, too. Sweeney’s homestead is located on the southern end of a large bay, though not nearly so large as the Lough Foyle. It is the only large body of water that lies due north of us. And Sweeney’s holdings are the only ones near the promontory you call a ‘thumb’ that sticks out into the North Sea.”
“How far from here?” asked Gristle quietly.
“The owls say fifty wing beats times five. And that would be about ten miles in owl reckoning, perhaps twelve or fifteen of our miles, allowing for shifts in the landscape. We can leave the coast if we choose, for apparently the terrain becomes smoother from here.”
“So one full day of riding and part of another morning,” Gristle said. “Tell us what you know of the holdings. What did the owls see?”
Jay shook his head a bit despairingly. “Sweeney has erected three buildings. Judging from the description of White Face—she is the more poetic of the two—one is round and gray-colored as an owl pellet. One is smaller, a pile of stones. And one is four-sided as a barn, but not large like a barn.”
“The small teach would be Sweeney’s,” I said slowly, conjuring up the image in my mind. “The little stone structure is perhaps a prison for Liam. The largest building is where the lickspittles sleep.”
“The bad news,” continued Jay, “is that the buildings sit all alone, desolate, with nothing at all around them. Not a boulder, not a tree. Only the bay on one side, and the rest of it either flat grassland or rocky bluffs fit for the woolly sheep.”
“So,” I said, “we have no vantage point for hiding in wait.”
Glaed said, “We could wait on the bluffs and look down, if we could get there ahead of Sweeney’s
men.”
“Yes,” said Gristle. “That is what we will do. But we will have to ride early and set no campfires.”
“What if we were to leave our horses hidden, say two or three miles from the holdings, and walk the rest of the way?” I was thinking quickly. “A man may move without the need to graze every few hours. A man may carry a wineskin and drink as he walks or runs. He could outpace a horse if the journey is far enough.”
Gristle said, “That is the kind of thinking that will make you a formidable warrior some day, Lady Caylith. Right now you are merely excellent.”
Gristle had never openly praised me—never. I flushed deeply and looked away.
“My friends Talon and Crow are nearby,” said Jay, eating the last of his store of roasted chestnuts. “When we get to the bluffs and see the lay of the land, we can devise a plan using their talents as well as my own. What do you think?”
“I may have to wear my fox-skin tunic again, Jay.” I smiled. “You may have to call upon my talents as well—the reincarnation of the terrible warrior Macha.”
“Bring it on,” he said quietly, and everyone laughed.
“Let the word be spread to all our men, Gristle and Glaed. Find nuts and berries. Light no fires. Travel quietly. Keep a sharp eye out for our enemies. Let us move with speed and purpose without tiring our horses. And when we rise tomorrow morning, we shall leave our horses and fly like the very wind. Straight to the bay, and straight to Sweeney.”
I turned and saddled NimbleFoot. Grasping the pommel of the saddle, I leapt on his back and turned his bridle to the north. Looking back over my shoulder, I silently bade my friends to saddle quickly and follow me. Liam would know I was coming, and I must not make him wait any longer.
Chapter 24:
A Skulk of Foxes
The owls’ observations had told us that we could leave the coastal route and bear more northerly. We began to travel gradually inland, away from the crystal waters of the Lough Foyle. The terrain was not gouged with rough canyons but sprinkled with hills and valleys and sudden amazing streams where our horses drank.
