by L. M. Hawke
“Are you well?” Ailill asked. “Only you look rather… er… sleepy.”
“I don’t think I slept more than ten minutes together, all last night,” Una said. “In fact, I’ve hardly had a sound night’s sleep since I got here. This place has me proper worn out. Kylebeg is an odd little town.”
Ailill sat forward suddenly on his chair. A fraction of the strange, distracted dullness left his eyes; he seemed to perk up like a dog hearing a whistle. “Better to get back to the city, then, I suppose. Country life isn’t for everyone.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Una said slowly, narrowing her eyes as she watched him fidget anxiously in his chair. “Only just this morning, I’ve begun to think I should call off my plans to sell the cottage. Or wait a bit longer, at least.”
She rubbed her eyes, pressing hard against them. Little stars danced in the darkness behind her eyelids. What had made her say that? It was true that she had mused on what it might mean if she didn’t sell, or even if she waited a few weeks longer—but she had by no means come to a firm decision. And to say it aloud… what was she thinking?
You’re not thinking at all, Una told herself. You’re too knackered to have this conversation. If you don’t keep your mouth shut, you’ll say something stupid. Something you can’t take back.
“What do you mean?” Ailill asked cautiously. “I thought you were dead set on leaving.”
Una shrugged and poured herself more tea. She breathed in the fragrant steam for a moment, searching for some measure of peace.
“If I tell you something, Ailill, promise you won’t think me mad.” She drew a deep, steadying breath, then said in a rush, “Strange things keep happening to me here—at the cottage and in Kylebeg. I suppose I just want to get to the bottom of it, that’s all. Solve the mystery. Figure out what’s up with this place, why it keeps… doing strange things to me.”
No! Una’s thoughts shouted desperately inside her head. You do want to sell. You must. Get out while you still can! But although her thoughts were wild, Una’s heart didn’t race, nor did she feel a tingle of anxiety. The thought of staying on longer—maybe even forever—was entirely comfortable. She hadn’t expected that. But now that she’d spoken aloud of the possibility of staying, it seemed almost a foregone conclusion.
“I…” Ailill swallowed hard. “I don’t know if that’s best, Una. Perhaps you ought to sleep on it before you decide. You said yourself that you’re tired out—”
“Sleep on it?” She barked a bitter laugh. “If I could sleep on anything I’d be all right.”
Then she squinted suspiciously at him once more. “You are a real gentleman, aren’t you? First you sleep with me, and then you try to shuffle me off out of town. Why is that? So no one will find out about us? Well, you needn’t worry on that count. I won’t tell anybody in Kylebeg about what happened between us; I can promise you that.”
“No, Una—that’s not the way I meant it. Not at all.” There was such genuine anguish in his voice that Una looked at him more closely. That strange, haunted sorrow was clearer in his eyes than ever before. She could all but feel the regret and shame pouring off of Ailill in hot waves. “I only meant…” He held up his hands in a desperate gesture. “I want you to be safe. That’s all.”
A cold prickle made Una sit up straight in her creaking kitchen chair. “What do you mean? Isn’t Kylebeg safe?” She could barely force her voice to rise above a whisper. Maybe that was because Una already knew the answer to her own question… knew it all too well.
Ailill swallowed hard. He seemed on the verge of saying something, but then the wind rustled through the garden, and he turned to stare out the window as if compelled by some outside force to watch the leaves and flowers dance and sway. His eyes darted; his shoulders were visibly tense, as if he suspected he might see someone waiting for him, out there among the foxgloves and roses. Slowly, still staring at the breeze-tossed leaves, he stood and pushed back his chair.
“I should go,” Ailill said quietly. “I’ve already stayed too long.”
“Don’t go,” Una said quickly before she could think harder about her response. She scolded herself for coming across as the desperate, grasping girl—never an attractive look—but in her exhausted and confused state, she suddenly felt as if she couldn’t bear the quiet of the empty cottage. She may be a bit cross with Ailill for his ungentlemanly ways, but at least he was company. Una didn’t want to be alone at that moment. Not with the wind shivering outside.
She scrambled up from her chair, stumbling a few numb steps toward him. So close they were almost touching, Una and Ailill stared at one another for a moment, neither of them certain what they ought to do. Ailill leaned toward Una as if longing for a kiss… or did she lean toward him? But in the next moment, before their lips could even come close to touching, Ailill gave a great shudder that looked suspiciously like a flinch of pain.
Gritting his teeth, his dark brows drawing together in a frown of determination, Ailill wrapped his arms around Una. He pulled her against his chest and held her there. His grip was strong, but it was not imprisoning. It felt… somehow defiant.
Una stood in perfect contentment, resting her cheek against Ailill’s chest, feeling his strength and warmth once more. She had missed that feeling, in the day they’d been apart. Just how much she’d missed it took her aback now. Her quivery exhaustion left her like water draining from a bathtub, in a smooth, swirling flow. She felt she could be quite happy like that for an eternity, safe and renewed in Ailill’s embrace.
“You played me back home,” she muttered, content and sleepy.
“What?”
“Last night,” Una said. “You saved me.”
Ailill pulled back from their embrace. He looked down at her, an uncertain half-smile twisting his lips. “What do you mean, Una?”
“I was lost. I was down at the crossroads,” Una said, shaking her head in vague confusion. “The paths kept taking me back to the center, no matter which one I took. And then I was even walking through different times, and…” She shook her head again, helplessly. It was impossible to explain. He would think her mad. Una thought herself mad… and yet, she knew she was not. “I heard your music, Ailill. Down there in the wood. Your music led me out again. You played me home.”
“No, Una.” He said it firmly, and yet there was no startlement in his voice, no skepticism. “That never happened. You only imagined it, or dreamed it.”
“You know I didn’t.” Una was angry now. How could he pretend as if he hadn’t been there—down there at the crossroads? She stepped away from him, breaking their embrace, and stood well back, challenging him with her eyes. “You know it was real. Don’t try to deny it now. I can tell by your voice, by your face, that you believe me.”
Ailill heaved a rough sigh. He turned away, unable to meet her firm stare. Instead he gazed out the window again—out into the garden. “This place is playing tricks on your mind. You should go back to the city. That’s where you belong—not here in Kylebeg.”
Confusion and hurt flooded into Una’s heart, the tide rising so high that she gasped with pain. One moment he holds me, and the next he tells me to leave!
She said, levelly but with more venom than she’d intended, “You’re being a real arse, Ailill. Do you know that? Are you doing it on purpose, or is it just your nature?”
It would be his nature, if he’s anything like all the rest of the men I’ve fallen for. And why shouldn’t he be just like all the others? I picked him, after all. I let him into my bed, and into my heart. Another fine choice, Una Teig.
“I think it’s best,” Ailill said cautiously, “if we don’t see each other anymore.”
That sent another stab of pain into Una’s middle, deeper and sharper than the last. She tried to tell herself it was ridiculous to feel this way. After all, she had only known this man for a few short days. What was he to her, really? What could he possibly mean to Una, after such a short time?
But though her inner
monologue was as strong and defiant as could be, Una couldn’t deny the truth of her feelings. “Better for whom?” she snapped. “For me, or for you?”
Without another word, Una marched to the door and held it open. But in that moment, just as she revealed the sunlit garden outside, the wind picked up its pace. Blowing with a sudden fury that made a mockery of the gentle, cloudless, springtime sky, the wind rattled the thatching and sent clods of pulled-up weeds skittering the garden path.
And then, with a white-and-black flicker, something dropped down from the roof, swirled in one great arc on the wind, and fluttered inside the cottage to land on the floor, squarely between Una and Ailill.
Una stared at it in horror. For a moment that seemed to stretch out to an eternity, she couldn’t recognize the thing, though deep in her heart she knew full well what it was. Then her sluggish, stunned thoughts caught up with her eyes. It was the blackthorn twig, dislodged at last from the roof. The white flowers still as perfect as they’d been on the day when Una had picked it at the crossroads.
After a long, tense silence, Ailill looked up from the blackthorn. Now, at last, he met Una’s eye. He had paled with shock, and fear was written plainly on his face… fear, and a strange sense of knowing. Then, without one word of farewell, he hurried out the door and up the garden path, leaving Una to stare helplessly after him with her long black hair whipping in the wind.
12
“And that’s why Ailill is a bloody plonker,” Una said with relish. She stabbed the last bit of pie crust on her plate with a jab of her fork, brandished it at Kathleen as if it punctuated her point to perfection, then finished off the crust with a single bite.
Kathleen, sitting at the other end of the old red sofa, watched Una with wide but sympathetic eyes. She had brought over a beef pot pie to share a supper with Una, but had received more than she’d bargained for when Una unburdened all her various miseries, dropping them gladly in Kathleen’s friendly lap.
Kathleen had listened, with more than a hint of delighted awe, as Una confessed how she and Ailill had ended up shagging in the bed upstairs. She had reacted with appropriate dismay when Una told of Ailill’s abrupt disappearance afterward. Una had recounted everything that had followed, too: her disoriented walk through the crossroads (which she explained away as a waking dream, brought about by her nights of terrible sleep), the mysterious music that had guided her home, and Ailill’s re-appearance that morning, along with the awkward and infuriating conversation they’d only recently had.
It was quite a satisfying little hen party, Una reflected, even if it was only the two of them in her parlor. Kathleen was the most sympathetic friend a girl could ever hope for.
But when Una finished the long and sordid tale, Kathleen bit her lip, mulling it all over, and then admitted, “It just doesn’t sound like Ailill, though. I mean, I don’t know him all that well, but Angus does, and he’s always sworn Ailill is a respectable lad.”
“Well, surprise,” Una said drily. “He’s not.”
“I suppose he isn’t, if he could do all that to you. It’s a real shame. Now we don’t have a local celebrity in Kylebeg who’s worth looking up to.” Kathleen stood and stretched. The sun was beginning to set outside. The light poured in through the parlor window, casting a halo of flame-red light around her wild curls. “Let’s go out for a stroll, Una. Some fresh air will do you good. Plus, I bet walk will help you sleep better tonight. Tire you out properly so you can’t help but drift off and stay asleep all night long.”
Una hesitated. She watched the sun sink a little lower behind the distant mountains. It would be dusk soon. Could she and Kathleen make it back to the cottage before night fell?
Kathleen noted her reluctance. “What’s the matter, then?”
“I… I don’t like to be out after dark. Not after what happened at the crossroads.”
“But that was only a bit of sleep-walking. You said so yourself. And anyway, I’ll be with you, so there’s no harm.”
“I don’t think I should, Kathleen.” Una sank back onto the sofa, leaning her head tiredly against its cushions. “Oh, I don’t know what to think about anything—or what to do about anything, either. I’ve an appointment with your Da on Wednesday to talk about selling the cottage, but now I’m not certain I should. I can’t work out whether I should stay in Kylebeg or go. Though it’s clear enough that Ailill wants me gone,” she added bitterly, “so maybe I ought to listen to him.”
“Una,” Kathleen said. She sank down beside her on the antique sofa. “Things only look bad to you now because you’re tired. Once you get a good night’s sleep, everything will feel loads better.”
“But what should I do about this place? I feel so tied up in knots over it. It’s as if I must make my decision now… like something terrible will happen to me if I don’t.”
Kathleen tipped her head to one side, considering Una’s dilemma for a good, long while. At length, she said, “I can’t tell you what you ought to do about the cottage, of course. I can only tell you what I think. And here it is: You were called here to Kylebeg for a reason.”
Called. Una remembered the whispering voices at the crossroads, the sensation of being pulled toward the depths of the blackthorn thicket. Suppressing a shiver, she said, “I was ‘called’ here by my gran, to take over her house—to claim my inheritance. That’s all. Well, now I’ve claimed it. What do I do with it?”
But that isn’t true at all, is it? Una thought. Or at least, it’s not the whole the truth.
Some other force was calling her. Something so strong, she wasn’t sure she could resist anymore. Would she dare to tell Kathleen about the voices at the crossroads? Could she tell her friend what the voices had said to her?
Wear the thorn, my blood, my kin. Don the crown and see.
No. She couldn’t mention such things. Kathleen would think Una absolutely mad if she confessed to hearing voices. Mysterious, disembodied music was bad enough, even in the context of a waking dream.
I must keep the rest of it to myself. It means nothing, anyway. It’s only exhaustion and anxiety playing tricks with my mind. It means nothing.
“Hello, what’s this?” Kathleen changed the subject abruptly, for which Una was grateful. The red-head had spotted Nessa Teig’s leather-bound journal, which Una had left on the coffee table, unopened since the last time she’d tried to read it. She had no desire to leaf through its bizarre pages again, but she didn’t know what else to do with the book, either.
“It’s my grandmother’s old journal,” Una said. She picked it up and handed it to Kathleen. “I found it in a trunk in back of her closet.”
“Have you read it yet?”
“No,” Una said casually, hoping Kathleen believed her. “No time. I’ve been working in the garden every day, trying to pretty the place up in case I decide to sell.”
“Would you mind if I…?” Kathleen asked hesitantly, almost shyly. “It’s just that I love old things like this, you know; anything that might have a bit of history is especially exciting to me.”
“You’re welcome to it,” Una said. That got rid of the journal. If only the cottage could be so easily disposed of.
Kathleen gleefully tucked the journal into her handbag, and the girls went on talking—about inconsequential, comfortable things—until the sun had long since set and twilight surrendered to the dark of true night. Una was yawning hugely by then, barely able to finish a sentence without being uninterrupted by her own looming weariness.
“Looks like you’re well on your way to a good night’s sleep,” Kathleen said.
“Mm,” Una agreed. “You’re brilliant, Kathleen. Thanks for coming over. A little company was just what I needed.”
They parted ways with a warm hug, and Kathleen left the cottage with a squeal and an eager, skipping step. She could hardly wait to get home before she delved into the journal.
Una stood in the doorway, listening as the motorbike fired up in the dark, then faded on its way down the hil
l.
But as soon as Kathleen was gone, the anxiety returned to Una, more forceful than ever before. She pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed her fingers between her eyes, groaning, trying to make it all go away.
Just when I thought I could finally sleep…
If she did sleep, though, her dreams would be full of Ailill, for she hadn’t stopped thinking about him since that morning—hadn’t stopped feeling his arms around her, nor stopped hearing the haunting strains of his music drifting through the trees.
He was there at the crossroads. Whatever he wants me to believe, he was there.
But why?
Something whispered—in the garden outside, or inside Una’s own taxed and wobbly mind—that Ailill would be at the crossroads again that night. That if Una went, she would find him, and then at last she would have no more cause to wonder or worry about Ailill. She would know what he was about, what made him embrace her one moment and reject her the next.
You’re mad, she told herself sternly. You need rest. Go up to bed like a sensible girl and get some sleep.
But even as she scolded herself, Una was already gathering up her jacket and a woolen hat. She retrieved a sizable empty pickle jar from the pantry and tucked it in the crook of her arm.
She would sacrifice one last night of sleep in order to get to the bottom of this mystery that went by the name of Ailill. One last night… and then she would be content, and go on with her life, as if Ailill had never come into it.
One more night at the crossroads. Then Una would be done with Kylebeg forever.
13
Una walked steadily down the hill, never taking her eyes off the crossroads. She didn’t know whether it was the blankness of pure exhaustion or an unexpected flush of bravery, but something inside had quieted her fears.
