Easing him to his side, Aigneis clutched the cloak and pulled it over them. She gave into the call to oblivion and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Strangely, it was she who awakened first in the morning and eased from him. Dawn’s light had not yet pierced the darkness of the sky, but she could not sleep any longer. Gathering her clothes, she went to the stream, saw to her needs, and was dressed and ready to go before he showed any sign of rousing. Then, as the sounds of the coming day began around them, he opened his eyes.
“Good morrow,” he said in a voice husky from sleep. His body reacted in its normal way, hardened and ready to tup. He glanced down at it and shrugged as he climbed to his feet. “I will be ready in a moment.”
She’d shaken out his clothes and handed them to him on his return. Aigneis handed him a chunk of hard cheese and the last of their ale and watched as he consumed it in moments. With everything packed and ready, she stood and waited for him to lead. He surprised her by taking her hand in his.
“I had the strangest dream,” he said, staring at her as he spoke. “Did we couple in the night?”
She nodded. “Aye.”
“Are you . . . well?” he asked, clearing his throat.
The shadows of the shared passion remained in his memory but not the details. He must think he rode her too roughly?
“I am well, Breac,” she said. “Worry not.”
“Come,” he said, still holding her hand. “The lake is not so far away and we can make it there in an hour or two.”
They walked hand-in-hand for a ways and in silence as they headed to his village. By the end of the day, he would know the truth and suffer for it.
Aigneis searched within herself for the words of a song, for the way to begin, but could not find them. Whatever understanding had been there was gone now and she had no song left within her. Though she frequently cursed the powers she seemed to have, a sharp pang shot through her now.
Regardless of the limitations of it or her lack of understanding of it and regardless of her anger over having it at all, the song had been a link to the Sith and to her sons and it was gone.
As they walked toward Breac’s destiny with the truth, she wondered if she would ever find them.
She kept pace with him and they reached the southern end of the lake sooner than he thought they would. He used his coins to buy some food and hire a boat to take them north and, before nightfall, they approached his village.
She felt his anxiety as the boat came to a stop at the dock. He barely waited for the men to tie off the ropes before jumping out and lifting her over the side of the boat. Then he took her hand and led her through the village. Though many called out to him, he did not slow or stop to speak with them, or to answer the questions that she could see in their gazes about her.
Aigneis did not need the powers of the Sith to read the truth in their eyes—Fenella was indeed dead. And Breac was about to discover it.
At first, he identified people and places as they passed but once they reached the edge of most of the cottages, he stopped speaking and simply walked. When she struggled to keep up with him, she released his hand and let him run as he wanted to see his sister. By the time she caught up with him, he was already entering a large cottage that stood apart from the others.
Aigneis waited outside while he went in, and noticed that others had followed them from the village. She heard Breac call out to his sister and then again before he came back out to where she stood. The tears gathering and burning in her eyes fell on their own the moment he looked at her and realized the truth—his beloved sister was dead.
Chapter 9
Breac stumbled as the truth struck him and he would have fallen over, but for Aigneis at his side. Even as he struggled to avoid believing that Fenella was dead, she clutched his hand and squeezed it as the villagers, many of his friends, approached. From their silence, he understood their confusion over what to say.
“Fenella?” he asked, wanting some explanation. His mother’s friend Daracha, whom he left in charge of Fenella’s care, walked closer and put her hand on his arm.
“I am so sorry, Breac,” she said softly, her voice cracking in sorrow as she said the words he dreaded to hear. “The fever took Fenella while you were gone,” she explained.
While you were gone.
Those words damned him forever. His sister who depended on him died while he was gone. Images of her calling out for him, alone, frightened, sick, flashed in his thoughts and the pain nearly tore him apart.
“Lord Malcolm comes,” Seumas, the miller, called out.
The gathering crowd stepped back to allow Lord Malcolm to approach him. When Breac would have bowed, Lord Malcolm took hold of his shoulders and held him up straight.
“Cousin,” he said, embracing him before all. “Breac, your cousin Gaira sends her greetings to you in this terrible time of grief. She said to make sure you knew that she has had mass said for Fenella’s soul each morn since her passing.”
It should offer him some comfort, the efforts to pray for his sister’s immortal soul, but in the face of losing her, it did not.
“And Gaira had her buried in the graveyard next to our chapel, in respect for your kinship.”
Again, the most proper and unexpected regard for his sister’s soul and burial and Breac waited for the pain or anger or something to strike, but he felt only emptiness.
“Come to see Gaira on the morrow so that she can speak to you.” Lord Malcolm extended the personal invitation, again, an unexpected gesture for their kinship was not so close as to warrant such treatment. With a nod at him and to those gathered around, Lord Malcolm left them.
Daracha and Seumas and his closest friend Ceanag approached and spoke of Fenella. The words flowed by, his grief striking so deep he could not even hear them. He knew they cared, but his mind and heart could not take it all in. He only realized that Aigneis was not at his side when he spied her standing near his cottage away from those gathered around him. Seumas’s daughter spoke to him then. Beatha was close in age to Fenella and the two had been friends.
“Breac, we have our evening meal ready. Come, join us now,” she invited. Seumas nodded.
“I am not hungry,” he said, but they would not accept his refusal.
“Come and rest then,” Daracha offered. “Go stay with Seumas. It is not good for you to be alone this night.”
He turned and looked at Aigneis. She stood aside with her head lowered and shoulders slumping as though trying to disappear from view. “I am not alone,” he said.
His friends turned as one and stared over at Aigneis, who still did not raise her eyes to his.
“Who is she?” asked Ceanag. “Why is she with you?”
“This is Aigneis of . . .” They’d not really discussed what they would tell people about her before their arrival and now the moment was upon him to explain her presence. “Farigaig,” he finished, naming the village where he’d tried to leave her as her origin. “She is recently widowed and comes as companion and caregiver for Fenella.”
The words explained the situation but there was much left unexplained. Now that Fenella did not need a companion or caregiver, other arrangements would be expected for this woman.
“Is she welcome in your house, Seumas?” he asked, stating clearly that she was under his sponsorship until things were settled.
“As you are,” Beatha answered, taking his arm in hers and beginning to lead him back down the road to their dwelling.
He did not look back, as he let himself be led to his friend’s house. Soon he found himself seated at table with a huge bowl of Beatha’s stew and a steaming loaf of bread in front of him. Aigneis sat near the hearth, separate from the family, but where he could watch her. No one spoke to her or approached her throughout the meal, which proceeded quietly with an occasional mention of his sister and the recent illness that took her.
A short while later, understanding that he must face the inevitable, he thanked Seumas and his
daughter for their hospitality and stood. He held out his hand to Aigneis and she accepted his help in standing, but dropped it as soon as she did. Silence filled the cottage, an uneasy one even he could tell, until they left.
She walked at his side back to his home . . . his empty home. Once they reached the door, he stopped, unable to step through it knowing his sister died there. He lifted the latch and pushed it open, staring into the darkened chamber before him.
“I cannot,” he began, shaking his head. “I . . .”
Aigneis put her hand on his arm then. “’Tis fine, Breac.” Moving around him, she stepped inside and motioned to him to enter.
Mayhap it was the darkness inside or Fenella’s absence or some other thing, but Breac could not enter. He shook his head. “I cannot come in there, Aigneis. I will be back later,” he said as he turned and strode away.
Aigneis recognized the stark expression of loss in his eyes, sure that hers had borne the same look when she’d lost her sons. Coming at him so quickly without warning, for he had to believe his sister would live or he would not have left her side, Aigneis understood his need to be alone.
He must stand high in the regard of his lord for Lord Malcolm to attend him personally with news of his sister’s death and burial. And such an invitation as was made to him spoke of the respect he held in this village. Aigneis knew all of that because, as Donnell’s wife, she watched as he doled out such regard and respect to the few he believed worthy among his men and followers.
But, for now, Breac needed time to accept his loss.
She closed the door and looked around the larger chamber. Someone had left a lamp burning so she took some kindling and used the flame to light a new fire in the hearth and two other tallow lamps. This first room held a table and some stools, the hearth in the center under an opening in the roof and a cooking area. Several trunks and a cabinet with some food supplies completed this chamber’s furnishings.
Walking to the next room, she found two sleeping areas—one with a larger bed obviously for Breac and a smaller one, separated by a wooden screen where his sister must have slept. Again, several trunks lined the walls, most likely for storing their clothing and personal items. Though smaller than Donnell’s main house in Ardrishaig, it was larger and more well kept than most cottages they’d passed on their way from the dock.
Unsure about whether to prepare for sleep or to wait for his return, Aigneis retrieved the sacks Breac had dropped at the door when he entered the first time looking for Fenella and unpacked the food. She hung the skins on a hook near the cooking area and put his clothing next to the pallet that must be his.
And she waited.
Several times she walked outside, peering into the darkness and listening for any sign that he was close by. Though she left the lamps burning for his return, most of the other cottages lay darkened and silent in the night.
After a few hours had passed with no sign of him, she sat on one of the stools and laid her head on her arms. Aigneis did not feel right about making herself welcome in either bed, but especially not Fenella’s. And sleeping in Breac’s arms on their journey here was one thing, but sharing his bed in his house was another.
The tension of this day, along with the sadness of Breac and his friends tired her and she found herself dragged into sleep. The loud knocking on the door was the next thing she heard.
Waking in a strange place confused her and it took a few moments to realize that she was in the very bed she had not chosen to sleep in—his—and someone was at the door. With no sign of Breac in his bed, she climbed out and discovered she was fully clothed and alone in the cottage. He was not in the larger chamber and not responding to the visitor’s call, so she lifted the latch and pulled the door open. The older woman who’d greeted Breac stood there, with several bundles and baskets in her arms.
“Good morrow, Aigneis,” she said, walking in as though this was her home. “Breac asked me to bring these to you.”
“Breac?” she asked, reaching over to unburden the woman of some of the things she carried. “Where is he?”
“At work in the fields down the road,” she answered, pointing with her hand in a direction once she put the basket on the table. “The harvest will begin in several weeks and he wants to be ready.”
She spoke as though Breac had shared his thoughts on the matter this morn. “You spoke with him this morn then?”
“Only about the food you needed,” the woman said. “I am Daracha,” she explained. “A friend to Breac’s mother.”
Since she knew nothing of Breac’s family other than that Fenella was his sister and Lord Malcolm’s wife was a distant cousin, she knew not if Breac’s mother lived or had passed. Her lack of knowledge must have shown for Daracha offered, “His late mother.”
Aigneis opened the bundles and looked in the baskets to find an assortment of root vegetables, flour, another sack of oats, another of barley, a jar of butter, another of cream, some eggs, and a piece of meat, though she knew not what kind. Foodstuffs enough for several meals for several days if she knew how to cook.
“The baker at the end of the lane will cook the roast and your bread if you bring it to him by noon,” Daracha explained. “And he has been paid so no coin is needed.” Gesturing at the empty bucket in the cooking area, she added, “The well is near the dock in the center of the village.” Pointing in the other direction, she continued, “and the stream for laundry is on the other side of the village.”
Aigneis nodded at each instruction, keeping track of each location given, though she knew not the first thing about cooking or laundry or the other tasks of being a goodwife. Her servants carried out those duties, putting her food before her when she was hungry, washing her clothes, and meeting her needs. The only thing she did well was sewing. And she could read, a task not many could do, whether man or woman, but one of which she was proud.
It had only been these last few weeks when, tossed out without her belongings or any gold or other means to support herself, she faced actual hardship. Before that, she had still remained a part of Donnell’s household or her father’s, though forced from her rightful place at the head table.
And when she agreed to accompany Breac here to care for his sister, she thought it would be simply assisting Fenella as she recovered, not cooking and cleaning for him. Then when she realized that Fenella had passed away, she’d not considered that he would want her as housekeeper.
Daracha left as quickly as she arrived, but not without several pointed and curious looks at her and her uncovered hair, before Aigneis was left alone with food to cook and tasks to complete. She found some cheese among the baskets, and some oatcakes already made, so she ate those to break her fast before attempting anything else. She would need fresh water, so she grabbed the bucket and walked to the well.
Though she crossed the paths of several other women, none greeted her. They watched her though, without meeting her gaze or appearing to, and nothing about her was missed. Though familiar with being scrutinized by others, she was not used to being the stranger. And without further explanations or introductions by Breac, she would remain a stranger to the villagers.
After filling her bucket and carrying it back to his cottage, Aigneis decided to try to make a stew like Beatha had the night before. Without a recipe, she did what she thought would work, cutting the piece of meat, chopping some of the vegetables, tossing it all in the large pot and covering it with water. Moving it onto the cooking rack, she let it cook the rest of the day, hoping it would be ready when Breac returned.
If he returned.
Since she did not think he would ask Daracha for so much food if he did not intend to return, she felt confident he would be back this evening. So she walked around the village, learning where things were, and then waited for Breac.
Just as night began to fall in earnest, she heard his approach and opened the door. He stood talking to Seumas and two other men she did not know outside the cottage. They all nodded to her and then
the three left before much time passed.
Breac turned to her and she saw exhaustion and sorrow written on his face. He walked up to the door, pausing as though still not certain he would or could enter. She stepped aside and he walked past her with barely a look.
Chapter 10
Breac had avoided his home for as long as he could this day.
Though Aigneis probably did not remember, he’d come back in the dark of the night and carried her to his bed, after finding her bent over the table sleeping. He sat in a chair next to the bed but could not find rest himself. Before the sun rose, Breac was gone. He spent the day doing his duties, the ones he’d neglected when he left to seek help for his sister.
After seeing to the oversight of the coming harvest, he poured himself into some hard labor—felling some trees, repairing one of Lord Malcolm’s barns, and moving large sacks of stored grain all in the hopes of being too tired to notice the empty place in his house. He glanced into the smaller chamber as he walked inside, an unconscious gesture, for Fenella always greeted him at the door.
Instead Aigneis stood waiting.
He’d not explained more than his initial introduction of her to his friends or even to Lady Gaira. If he was being honest, he’d not thought on her place here today. They would have to discuss it, but he had not the heart or will to think of the future. Luckily, his friends and the men who worked the fields seemed to know that he needed to focus on the work and there was little talk that did not involve the fields, the harvest, the supplies, or plans for the rotation of the fields in the spring.
But now, in the house where he did not want to be, in the silence of the coming night, he suspected there was no way to avoid it. She’d kept some lamps lit for him the night before and this night too, and as he entered, she took his cloak and hung it on a peg by the door.
“I made a stew,” she said softly. “Are you hungry?” He was not, but he nodded, more to appreciate her efforts than in a need for food. “Sit then,” she directed him.
From Undone: A Storm of Love, A Novella Page 6
