by Jayne Castel
“I should go north and meet them,” he said after a long pause.
Ru huffed, his sharp-featured face tightening. “But you just got here.”
“Aye, but I can’t wait around while my brothers and their wives scour this isle for me.”
Lutrin’s frown deepened. “At least stay for the noon meal. Afterward we will saddle up and go with you.”
Chapter Thirty
Meeting in the Mist
THEY MET GALAN’S party just south of the Black Cuillins.
It was late in the day, and the mist and rain had grown heavier, converging upon them in a dense milky shroud. The worsening weather worried Donnel, for they risked losing their way in the fog or passing the chieftain and his companions without seeing them.
But as the grey day grew grimmer still, and dusk reached out its shadowy fingers from the west, Donnel spied the outline of four ponies ahead.
Drawing up his stallion, Donnel glanced back over his shoulder at where Lutrin rode a few yards behind him.
“Look … up ahead. Can you make them out?”
Lutrin’s gaze narrowed. The warrior had the best eyesight of any in the tribe, making him a great hunter. “Aye,” Lutrin murmured. “It’s them.”
Donnel inhaled deeply and twisted in the saddle, his gaze sweeping over his companions. The rest of you wait here,” he said. “Eithni and I will meet them alone.”
Lutrin nodded. Donnel was relieved he did not need to explain anything else. They all knew how difficult this meeting would be.”
Donnel urged Reothadh forward and rode toward the advancing riders. Eithni, seated behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, squeezed his torso gently. Placing a hand over hers, Donnel squeezed back. He appreciated her silent support. He had been dreading this moment for a while.
The others had seen them, and as he drew nearer Donnel could make each of them out clearly. Galan rode in front with Tea a few yards behind him. Tarl and Lucrezia brought up the rear, riding side by side.
The sight of his eldest brother shocked Donnel. The past two moons had aged him. He was barely four years older than Donnel, yet his face was set in hard lines, with grooves either side of his mouth that had not been there before the summer. A deep line etched the skin between his dark brows. Galan’s harsh expression accentuated his hawkish looks. In the grey gloaming he looked ill-tempered and dangerous.
Their gazes met, and Galan tensed, his broad shoulders drawing back.
His brother did not look pleased to see him. Donnel was not surprised—they had parted on terrible terms. Donnel had brought shame upon his tribe, and he had made Galan look weak—as if he could not control his younger brother.
Donnel had much to apologize for—and he was not sure where to start.
He drew Reothadh up a few yards from Galan while his brother brought his black stallion to a halt. Tea had also stopped. She watched Donnel, her face suffused with relief. However, she did not speak. Like Eithni she was waiting for the two brothers to talk.
“I heard you went looking for me,” Donnel broke the strained silence first.
“Aye,” Galan replied, his voice rough. “It seems we had a wasted trip.”
“We left the Glen five days ago.”
Galan’s gaze narrowed. “And you went back to Dun Ringill?” There was a challenge in his voice and an edge of accusation. Donnel sensed that Galan imagined him and Eithni making themselves comfortable in the broch while the others searched for them. It was time to put his brother right.
“No,” he replied evenly. “We traveled south to An Teanga. I went to see Urcal.”
Galan’s grey eyes widened. “Why?”
Donnel heard the mistrust in Galan’s voice, and although it was merited, it stung. After the mess he had made of things, Galan thought he had gone south to stir up more ill-feeling. Although had that been the case, they both knew Donnel would not have left An Teanga alive.
“I remember your last words to me well,” Donnel said softly.
Did he imagine it, or did Galan flinch at that? Donnel had just reminded him of his fury that day.
“I was in a black rage,” Galan rasped. “I spoke harshly, but you gave me no choice.”
“I know,” Donnel replied, “and that’s why I went to see Urcal. To fix the mess I made.”
Galan gave him an incredulous look. “And you’re still breathing? Urcal’s not a man to forgive easily.”
Donnel allowed himself a thin smile. “You’re right … he isn’t. He took away my weapons and pitted me against four of his best armed warriors. He told me all would be forgiven if I survived.”
Galan’s mouth twisted. “And you did.”
Donnel gave his brother a humorless smile. “Aye, although there would still have been ill-feeling if Eithni hadn’t saved the life of Urcal’s young son. The lad had succumbed to a fever, and they had prepared themselves for the worst.”
Galan’s gaze shifted to where Eithni now peeked over Donnel’s shoulder, and his expression softened slightly. “We owe you much, lass.”
Donnel felt her nod, acknowledging Galan.
The brothers’ gazes met once more. “Urcal bid me to tell you that our tribes are now friends,” Donnel said quietly. “He bears you no ill-will. However, his cousin Gurth—whom I fought last—won’t forget so easily. Fortunately it’s Urcal’s word that counts.”
He saw the tension release from Galan’s shoulders as if a great weight had just been lifted from him. His brother swung down from the saddle and strode toward him. Donnel dismounted and stepped away from his pony.
Galan wore an intense expression, and for a moment Donnel was not sure whether his brother was going to belt him or hug him. Galan did the latter, pulling Donnel into a rough embrace, hugging him tight. When Galan released him, his brother’s eyes were shining.
“Don’t ever make me do that again,” he growled. “It nearly broke me.”
Donnel swallowed, suddenly choked up. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I didn’t think about anyone but myself that day. Bitterness and anger turned me cruel … but Eithni, she healed me.”
Galan’s gaze widened before he glanced up at where Eithni still sat upon Reothadh. When he met Donnel’s gaze once more, his expression was speculative. “You certainly seem different,” he replied. “The bleakness in your eyes is gone … it’s good to have you back.”
Eithni leaped down from the pony and raced across the wet grass to her sister. Tea grabbed her, enveloping her in a fierce hug.
“I was so worried,” Tea choked, and when Eithni pulled back she saw her sister’s face was wet with tears. Fierce, strong Tea was weeping at the sight of her.
Tarl and Lucrezia stepped forward to embrace her too, before Tarl strode across to greet Donnel, leaving Tea and Lucrezia to fuss over Eithni.
Lucrezia scrubbed at the tears running down her face, her eyes alive with joy. “Gods, how I’ve missed you, Eithni.”
“We all have,” Tea said huskily. “I’ve raged at Galan ever since we returned home.” She cast a censorious look in her husband’s direction. “Not only has Galan been worrying himself sick, but he’s had my shrew’s tongue flaying him day and night.”
Eithni smiled at that. She knew her sister could be vicious when riled.
Galan approached them and put an arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her close. “I deserved it,” he said with a tight smile. “Blood should not turn against blood. I should have defied Urcal.”
Donnel stepped up beside him. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he said, meeting Galan’s eye. “It was the only way. I couldn’t go on like that … so full of vengeance and rage.” He looked over at Eithni then, and their gazes fused. “And Eithni and I would never have grown close … if we hadn’t been left alone together.”
Surprise rippled across the faces of their companions, and Eithni realized that with all eyes on Donnel and Galan, none of them had spotted the obvious.
Tarl gave a low whistle. “Sly dog,” he said with a grin, g
iving Donnel a prod in the ribs with his elbow.
Donnel gave him a withering look in response. “There was nothing sly about it. We’re not all like you.”
Tarl threw back his head and laughed. “I’d forgotten how much better with women you are than me,” he teased, a wicked smile still curving his lips.
“Tarl, stop it,” Lucrezia admonished, giving him a playful punch in the arm.
Warmth spread over Eithni as she watched them. How she had missed these people: missed their laughter and teasing, missed their company. They were her family.
The party made camp where they stood for the night, for dusk came upon them swiftly on such a grey day. They erected hide tents to keep the rain off and took refuge around a smoky peat hearth as night settled over the world.
Eithni sat between Tea and Donnel, next to the fire, and ate a simple supper of bread and cheese, listening as the conversation moved around her. She was weary tonight; it seemed as if all the excitement had finally caught up with her. She could have fallen asleep where she sat.
To her left Donnel was talking animatedly with Tarl. It was clear the two—who had always been so close—had missed each other. Donnel was telling his brother of their experiences at An Teanga.
“Eithni, is everything alright?”
Eithni glanced to her right, where she found her sister observing her. She favored Tea with a tired smile. “Aye, just exhausted.”
Tea’s brow furrowed. “No, I meant between you and Donnel. It’s clear you’ve developed a bond … but you’ve both been through a lot.”
Eithni’s smile widened. Tea was just being protective, but there really was no need. “And that’s why we’re so well suited. We understand each other.” She paused here, struggling to find the words to express herself. “Donnel said I healed him, but he healed me too. I trust him, Tea.”
Tea’s face softened, and she reached out, placing a hand over Eithni’s. “I’m so happy for you,” she said huskily. “After Forcus I thought you’d never let a man near you again.”
Eithni sighed. “Neither did I, but my time with Donnel changed all that. It’s hard to put into words, Tea … but somehow he set me free.”
Later that evening Lucrezia approached Eithni.
The women were laying out furs for them all to sleep on. It was warm and smoky inside the tent, and the air smelled of damp leather and wool. Still, it was far more pleasant than sleeping under the stars, especially in this weather.
“That potion you gave me …” Lucrezia whispered, leaning close lest anyone else hear her. “It worked.”
Eithni stared at her blankly for a moment, before she realized what Lucrezia was talking about: the herbs she had given her friend at The Gathering, to help Lucrezia’s womb quicken.
Eithni’s eyes widened. “Are you with child?”
“I’ve missed two moon flows … and I throw up my oatcakes most mornings,” Lucrezia whispered. “It must have happened at The Gathering.”
Eithni reached out and hugged Lucrezia tight. Life over the past two years had been hard at times. She had come to live at Dun Ringill and made a new start with Donnel, but it was hard to forget all the darkness. Forcus had been the worst of it, but she had also lost her father and brother. Alpia and Maphan had both been her friends, but they were dead too. It lightened her heart to know that Lucrezia carried Tarl’s child. She knew how much it had meant to her friend.
“I’m so happy for you both,” Eithni said, her voice husky with emotion. “That is wonderful news.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Long Overdue
THE RAIN CLEARED as they rode back into Dun Ringill. A crowd awaited them, for news of Donnel and Eithni’s return had spread throughout the fort, and everyone was anxious to see the chief and his brother make peace.
Ruith was among the crowd, full of nervous excitement as she studied the faces of the riders who rode through the gate of the outer wall. She had cast the bones many times ever since they had returned from The Gathering but, strangely, they had not given her answers. Each time she had cast the bones and peered down at the symbols carved upon them, she had felt more confused.
Sometimes they spoke of harmony, other times of death and treachery.
It had boded ill as if the gods themselves had no idea what the future held.
However, when her gaze alighted upon Eithni, seated behind Donnel as they followed Tarl and Lucrezia through the gate, the knot of worry in the pit of her belly eased. Her practiced eye could see at a glance that something monumental had shifted in both of them.
Donnel was smiling again; the hard lines that had turned his handsome face savage were gone. Eithni was radiant: her skin glowing and her unbound walnut-colored hair flying in the wind. That reticence—that reserve—the girl had brought with her from Dun Ardtreck was gone. It was a woman, confident and at ease with herself, that returned home.
Ruith smiled and let the tension that had plagued her ever since returning from The Gathering seep from her. Then she turned, following the riders and the crowd of excited folk up the path back to the broch.
Donnel drained the last of the ale from his cup and pushed himself back from the table. After three huge bowls of boar stew and great slabs of buttered bread, he was now full.
“Where are you going?” Lucrezia, who sat to his right, asked. “We’ve still got plum and apple pudding. I made it myself.”
“I can’t eat another mouthful,” Donnel replied with a groan, rubbing his belly. “Please save me some.”
Next to Lucrezia, Tarl’s gaze narrowed. “Hold up … how about a game of knucklebones and another cup of ale?”
Donnel shook his head. “Later … there’s something I need to do first.”
Donnel turned to Eithni, who was seated to his left. “Will you come with me?”
Gaze curious, Eithni nodded before rising to her feet.
Leaving the others to their pudding, the pair of them left the broch, descended the steps to the stable yard, and made their way toward the stone arch leading into the village. Above them the last of the mist had lifted. The sun was warm on their faces.
“Where are we going?” Eithni asked, linking her arm through his.
“To make a visit long overdue.”
Her face softened in understanding. “To see Talor?”
“Aye—it’s time, don’t you think?”
Truthfully Donnel knew he had left this moment far too long. He did not like to think back on how he had shunned his son, for it filled him with shame. Luana would have been furious to see him behave so, but he had been so filled with hate at the world for taking her away from him that he had not cared.
He did now.
He was also nervous and a little embarrassed. Mael had taken his son in and was raising him along with her daughter as her own. The woman had her own grief to deal with; she had recently lost her husband and was now bringing two children up without assistance.
Donnel could not let things go on as they had been.
They crossed the village, making their way past clumps of low stone roundhouses built into the ground. Smoke rose from the roofs of many as the inhabitants were indoors having their noon meal—the largest meal of the day.
Mael’s dwelling was not far from where her old house had once stood. The roundhouse Maphan had built for her was no more—and in its place was a vegetable plot filled with turnips, kale, and onions.
Mael’s new roundhouse was smaller than the one she and her husband had shared. However, one glance at the neat rows of herbs, the clay pots of flowers, and the skins drying outdoors on racks, and Donnel could tell this was Mael’s home. She had always been an industrious woman.
They found her feeding the children turnip and onion pottage inside the smoky interior. Talor gnawed on a piece of bread while Ailene had succeeded in getting food all over her chubby face.
Donnel’s heart swelled at the sight of them.
Mael rose to her feet, a wide smile of welcome splitting her tired fa
ce. She was thinner than Donnel remembered, her blue eyes hollowed with grief. However, that smile had true warmth in it.
“Donnel! Eithni!”
Donnel stepped forward and embraced Mael before moving aside so that Eithni could greet her.
“How are you?” Eithni shifted back from Mael, her gaze searching her face.
Mael’s smile faded just a little. “Well enough.” She stepped back, motioning to Talor and Ailene. “The children are thriving as you can see.”
Donnel’s gaze returned to Talor. The lad, who was now approaching his second winter, stared steadily back at him with wide blue eyes.
Luana’s eyes.
Donnel had not spent much time gazing at his own reflection, having only glimpsed it occasionally in the still surface of the lake or the polished curve of a shield, yet he knew the lad looked a lot like him: the same thick black hair and the same shaped face and nose.
“Do you know who this is, Talor?” Mael asked gently.
The boy shook his head, his gaze still fixed upon Donnel.
Donnel’s chest constricted at the knowledge his boy did not recognize him, and yet he deserved no better. He had done his best to ignore Talor’s existence.
Moving forward, Donnel hunkered down before Talor so their gazes were level. “I’m your da.”
Talor’s bright blue eyes widened. “My da?”
“Aye, lad.”
“Remember, Talor. I said your father was a great warrior?” Mael interceded. Donnel could hear the tension in her voice, the embarrassment. She likely worried that Donnel would think she had never spoken of him to the boy.
Talor nodded, his face growing serious. His gaze took Donnel in, studying him from the crown of his head to the tips of his boots. By the time the lad had finished his inspection, he wore a stunned expression. Donnel had to remind himself that Talor was still very young. He was only just starting to form short sentences, only just beginning to become aware of the world beyond the roundhouse he shared with his cousin and aunt.
