by Cherry Potts
‘Well Phelan –’ Sorcha grinned. ‘Has he asked you to hand-fast recently?’
‘Not since last summer.’
‘He must be losing interest finally.’
‘He never did cope well with rejection.’
‘Hardly surprising. I’m not fond of it myself.’
Grainne frowned.
‘I never rejected you.’
Sorcha wandered to the shuttered balcony, her hands tucked defensively into her long sleeves.
‘I didn’t give you an opportunity to put it into words, Grainne. I’m not keen on humiliation. I could see the way the wind was blowing.’
She pretended not to hear the gasp of protest and peered through the slats of the shutter. The angle of vision was poor. She glanced at Grainne and walked into the side chamber, which offered a better view of the courtyard. The windows here were very high but if she got onto the deep sill and braced herself against the side, she had a reasonable view. She wasn’t sure what it was about the courtyard that was drawing her out there. She jumped back to the floor and gathered up a small stone jar. She took the jar back to Grainne.
‘You should lie down. If you need it, here’s the drug. You know how to mix it. I’m going for a walk.’
Grainne opened her mouth to protest, but Sorcha was gone, only a slight disturbance in the air to show where she had been standing.
Tegan retired from the meeting with Grainne and the argument with Chad in an ill humour, which she took out on the first person she encountered, who happened to be Maeve.
Maeve heard her out in silence.
‘Fine.’ She looked around for Corla, couldn’t find her and settled instead on Inir. He could use something to keep him occupied.
‘We’re not in charge yet, find one of Chad’s and negotiate barrack space.’ Her eyes strayed over the yard and lit on Brede, fidgeting with the reins of Corla’s horse. ‘Take the Marsh woman round to Eachan, but sort out the billets first. We’ll be down on the corner when you’re ready.’
Maeve shook her head at Tegan’s protest.
‘You’re not on duty. You need a drink,’ she grabbed Tegan’s arm and walked her firmly down the narrow street to the inn at the corner. Tegan allowed her first resistance to fade. An inn was a good place to learn what was happening, and she was restless with nothing official to do.
The inn was crowded, as it always was, and smelt of sour beer and stale sweat. Tegan hesitated on the threshold, overwhelmed by a wave of nostalgia. It had been a long winter.
She loosened Maeve’s grip on her elbow, and put her arm about her waist. Maeve grinned, and guided them both through the crush of bodies to the row of barrels at the rear of the building.
Settled into a corner, Tegan relaxed for the first time in months. She drank long of her beer and sighed contentedly. Maeve sank onto the arm of Tegan’s chair and shifted against her to aid her balance. She rested her elbow on Tegan’s head, creating the illusion of private space. Tegan wished Maeve had chosen somewhere more genuinely private and caught her hand, pulling her arm around her. Maeve laughed and leant in close, seeking a kiss. Their lips had barely touched when Maeve unbalanced and they tangled into a precarious closeness that had Maeve’s ale slopping across Tegan’s shoulder. Maeve righted herself.
‘Missed you,’ she said quietly, and leant forward to force her tankard onto the crowded table. Her movement caught the eye of a man at a table near the centre of the room, who called her name with some urgency. Maeve hesitated, glanced at Tegan, then recovered her drink and wove her way through the maze of stools and outstretched legs.
‘Missed me?’ Tegan muttered, glaring at Killan’s arm about Maeve. She shrugged him off quickly enough, but – Tegan never trusted Killan. She mopped at the spilt ale on her sleeve.
A solid looking woman, one of Chad’s lieutenants, took Maeve’s place at her side. Tegan shifted slightly to make more room for her.
‘Well, Tegan?’ Ula asked, planting a kiss on her forehead.
‘Passable,’ Tegan said, taking her hand; ‘worried.’
Ula glanced across at Maeve.
‘About that?’
‘No,’ a lie. And then, ‘about Ailbhe.’ The truth.
‘Chad said you were being over-scrupulous.’
‘Over-scrupulous? I left him minutes ago. He’s in a damn hurry to spread his opinion of me. What does he mean by it?’
‘What do we care how someone else does their job?’
‘I care when it puts me and mine at risk; I care when the woman paying me cares.’
Ula raised her shoulder awkwardly.
‘I think you might have more need to worry about Maeve and Killan.’ She twisted awkwardly and waved to Murdo, at the barrels. His mouth widened into a grin at the sight of Tegan, and he struggled through the throng to loom over them both.
‘Tegan! Alive after all. You have no idea how glad we are you’re back. Maeve and Chad have been fighting so badly it’s a wonder we still have a contract.’
‘So I’ve heard. How did we get it in the first place? Who had it before and why have they gone?’
Murdo laughed.
‘Tegan, the Queen changes her household guard like other people change their underclothes. We’ll need to be very good to keep this contract, regardless of Chad’s bickering. But I hear Grainne likes you?’
He looked expectant. Tegan smiled at the memory of Grainne’s liking.
‘More than she likes Chad, anyway. If we split the team, which way will you go?’
‘Split it? Why?’ Ula asked anxiously.
Tegan sighed.
‘I’m not sure I really want to get into this yet, I haven’t had a chance to talk to Chad.’
‘No, just to argue with him yourself!’
Tegan laughed. Murdo poured ale into her cup and frowned at her in mock severity.
‘You’re back, Tegan, that’s all that matters; you can control them both.’
Tegan shook her head, feeling exhausted.
‘I don’t think I can, and I’m not going to try. I’m giving Maeve the lead, and I doubt Chad will agree to serve under her. I know that your first loyalty is to Chad, but would you consider staying with Maeve?’
Ula and Murdo looked at one another. Tegan watching them sharply, saw a yes forming in Ula’s smile and a no in Murdo’s grimace. She waited. Ula won the silent argument. She turned briskly to Tegan.
‘Wherever you are, we are, you know that Tegan. You’re the best thing to happen to Chad, and if he’s too much a fool to know it, I’m not.’
Tegan hugged Ula.
‘Give me a chance to talk to Chad, won’t you, before you talk to anyone else? I’m glad you want to stay.’
Ula flushed, but nodded. Tegan glanced over at Maeve, still engrossed in whatever tall tale Killan was spinning. Ula once more followed her gaze.
‘I’d make sure Killan goes with Chad,’ she admitted softly, not entirely sure whether it was kindness or malice that prompted her words.
Tegan nodded.
‘I need to go and get clean, I think. Tell Maeve where to find me when she surfaces.’
Tegan drained her mug, hugged Ula again, and for good measure hugged Murdo, grinning at his surprise; and forced her way to the entrance. She stopped then and turned to survey the crowd, not looking for Maeve, but watching her back. She shook her head at her own uneasiness; this inn was the closest thing she had to a home, these people were her chosen family. Her eyes drifted to Killan; one did not always love one’s family.
Inir dispatched his duty regarding sleeping quarters swiftly. The mercenaries dropped their packs onto their allotted beds and began searching for clean clothing and money belts, disappearing in ones and twos to the bath house. Inir turned uncertainly to Brede.
‘You need new clothes. You’d better have mail, whatever Maeve thinks.’
Brede tilted her head in enquiry. Inir smiled, or it could have been a sneer. He eyed her, measuring. Brede stood taller under his regard, uneasy with it. Ab
ruptly he turned and tore into a pack on his bed, not his pack – Brede winced: Balin’s pack. Inir held up a sleeveless jerkin.
‘With a belt?’ he asked. Brede reached out a reluctant hand. The wool was good quality, but the jerkin, meant to reach to mid-thigh, came to her knees. Brede caught Inir’s glance, an awkward moment between pain and laughter. Laughter won. Inir rubbed tears out of his eyes and took the jerkin back.
‘We’ll barter these for something that will fit better.’
‘I don’t want you to part with anything that matters to you on my account.’ Brede said nervously.
Inir shrugged.
‘They are just clothes. Borrow something of mine for now; you can’t even look after horses in those rags.’
Inir flicked breeches and tunic at her, and wandered away, giving her a semblance of privacy while she whipped one set of clothing off and a fresh set on. Inir returned from his slow circuit of their quarters and eyed the transformation. He returned to his pack, and came back with a sleeve band of green cloth. He held it out silently; unable to voice just how foreign Brede now looked, dressed in his own clothes. Brede took the band and worked it up her arm to where it wouldn’t slip.
‘Don’t take that off,’ Inir said, his voice suddenly husky with doubt. ‘It wouldn’t be safe.’
He shook himself. ‘So now we do the grand tour. Pay attention, you need to know where things are and who is who; it’s dangerous else.’
Brede clenched her hand into her belt, not safe and dangerous swimming about her mind and her pulse beginning to skip and dive in anxiety.
Inir was an excellent guide, keeping his explanations and cautions to a low murmur, his introductions clear and brief. To everyone they met he said the same.
‘This is Brede; she kept Tegan alive this winter. She’s good with horses, when I find Eachan, we’ll see if she’s good enough.’
About everyone they met he told Brede, name, associations, how long she could expect them to be about.
Brede watched. She observed and wondered and doubted. Of each person she met she asked herself: Is this one, at least, too young to have been at the last gather? She couldn’t ask. She was reasonably certain of Maeve, Corla and Riordan; unless they were let loose in battle as children, none of them could possibly have been there. But Cei and Inir were certainly of an age to have been there with Tegan. And she couldn’t ask Inir about himself, so couldn’t ask about anyone else. Who to trust?
She walked restlessly around the yards, pretending an interest in the architecture, allowing Inir to think her some easily impressed simpleton gawping in wonder. She developed a swift dislike for the arrogant stone towers about her. They stopped at a gate. Beyond it stretched manicured gardens and smaller, lower, but equally brutal stone buildings.
‘What’s that?’ Brede asked.
‘We don’t go there, unless the Queen does,’ Inir said, turning his back on the ornate ironwork that bound the heavy boards of the gates together. He caught Brede’s expression. ‘We make them uneasy.’
‘But who would live there if –?’
‘Well, they don’t exactly live there, that’s the guest hall, it’s where the people come who want to influence the Queen – the ones who aren’t army.’
‘Are there any?’
‘You’d be surprised. Landowners too old to fight, merchants with more money than sense, the occasional foreign envoy –’ Inir moved away from the gate quickly, as though afraid of being overheard; ‘They think that by coming here they can sway the Queen’s decisions, and I suppose they do when she gives them a chance. It’s my belief she hides from them as much as she can.’
Brede laughed, amused by the idea of the Queen hiding from anyone.
Finally, the tour of the barracks brought them to the stables and to Eachan.
Inir’s introduction changed subtly.
‘This is Brede. She’s a friend of Tegan’s. Maeve thinks you can make use of her.’
Brede considered the man before her. He was much older than anyone else she had yet met, his hair grey and thinning. He had a scar across one side of his face, the eyelid puckered out of shape, the eye beneath it clouded and blind. He looked her up and down, and his eyebrows drew together. He nodded at Inir.
‘I’ll let you know.’ Inir grinned and turned to go. Brede gazed after him, uneasy at being left alone with this stranger.
Eachan flexed his fingers thoughtfully, and turned his sideways gaze to inspect the woman before him.
‘There are no new horses in Maeve’s string.’
‘Tegan’s given me Guida.’
‘Given?’
‘Given.’ Brede did not think Eachan would be patient with long explanations.
Eachan nodded slowly. Guida was not a horse he would have parted from.
‘What’s Tegan doing about another?’
‘I’m to help choose.’
Eachan laughed at that.
‘I wish you joy. Show me what you can do. There’s a stable full of horses out there. Take a look, and bring me out the three best, and the worst. Only the one worst, mind. You can take your time. I’ll go fetch us some food.’
Brede started towards the stable. She was going to like Eachan, she could tell; but he might have been at the gather, and the first thing she did once he was out of sight was to check the tattoos on every horse in the stables. She found only one more stolen beast, and few Plains bred animals at all.
Eachan returned with two deep bowls of mutton stew. He held one out to Brede, and let his gaze drift across the line of horses she had tethered outside the stable. One of them was Guida.
Brede took the stew and shovelled up a hot spoonful. Eachan leant on the corral fence and chewed thoughtfully.
‘You’re quick to judgement.’
‘I know horses.’
‘Why these?’
Brede chewed her way through a tough bit of mutton.
‘Breeding. The piebald is in lousy condition, and has a cranky temperament, but he can be brought back, because he’s well-built and strong in the heart. Guida’s one of the best horses I’ve seen. The grey colt has potential to be stunning.’
‘And your reject?’
‘Should have been put out of her misery years ago. It’s cruel to ride a horse with a back like that. And her lungs are shot.’
Eachan nodded, wiped out his bowl and held out his hand for Brede’s.
‘Then you know enough to pick Tegan’s new horse. Show me how well you ride. Bareback.’
Brede grinned and walked towards Guida.
‘Not her,’ Eachan said fiercely, ‘You’re used to her. The colt.’
‘He’s too young to be ridden yet.’
‘So you’ll argue with an order?’
‘If it’ll hurt the horse.’
‘Good. The other then.’
Brede approached the piebald stallion. He rolled an eye at her. Brede glanced back at Eachan, and she worked the bridle buckles loose and pulled it over the horse’s head so that he was loose and untrammelled by bit or rein. He stepped away from her, shaking his head so that his mane lashed about. Brede took a firm step forward, one hand to his neck, a steady sweep of palm against the arch of muscles, making sure he knew where she was, then hand into the mane, a twisting kick away from the ground and she was on his back. Brede settled herself, thinking her muscles into concert with the creature beneath her.
Eachan watched as the stranger brought his most tiresome horse under swift control and took him through his paces, reminding him of battle training he’d long forgotten, jumping him across the corral fence almost at Eachan’s shoulder. When she slid from the horse and persuaded him back into his halter, Eachan came to stand by the horse, his blind eye to Brede. The horse was blowing hard, but its ears were at a more cheerful angle than they had been for a while. Eachan listened to the huff of the horse’s breathing, and tuned his ear to Brede’s breathing – fast, but soft, regular and deep. He smiled to himself. If Brede had ears like a horse, they too woul
d now be at a better angle than they were when she walked into the stable yard.
‘Go and find Tegan. If I approve what she brings back, you have a job.’
Brede coincided with Tegan as she returned from a long soak in the bathhouse.
‘Come on, we’re due at the horse market.’
Tegan tried to dampen Brede’s urgency.
‘Have you been introduced to the master of the Queen’s horses yet?’
‘Eachan? I have: He’ll take me on as a stable-hand if I pick a good enough horse for you. I think he wanted to come too, so he could disapprove my choice.’
‘You’ve made a friend then.’
Brede grinned, not believing that Eachan could be so easily won, uneasy with the thought of another uncertain friendship.
‘Very well,’ Tegan continued, ‘but we don’t step outside the gate unarmed.’
‘I’m the probationary stable-hand.’
‘You are at risk.’
Brede looked doubtfully at Tegan, then nodded and loped back to the barracks. She was back almost at once, strapping her double knives about her.
Out in the street her stride lengthened and Tegan had to make an effort to keep up.
‘Slow up, girl.’
‘Sorry – glad to be out of the tower.’
‘Why?’
‘All that stone – towers make me uneasy.’
Tegan eyed Brede doubtfully; there was a tone to her voice that was at odds with her words, a haste that Tegan did not trust.
‘Are you lying to me?’ she asked.
Brede halted abruptly.
‘There is nothing here I recognise, nothing I can trust.’
Tegan nodded slowly, and gathered Brede by the arm. She pushed gently until Brede was walking once more, but at a more leisurely pace.
‘Tell me.’
‘You tell me,’ Brede said softly. ‘I need to know who was there.’ There was no need to be more precise. Tegan sighed.
‘Chad. Inir – and Balin. Killan. Ula, Murdo. Eachan. Cei. A group of Maeve’s friends you’ve not met yet, Oran’s their leader; all of them were there. Maeve of course.’
