Firebrand

by Gillian Philip

  ‘I love you,’ I said, ‘but piss off out of my private life.’

  ‘And I love you and your filthy disrespectful tongue and all. I should slap you but I’ll get you that drink.’ As he released me we each averted our eyes. ‘I need one more than you do.’

  * * *

  And so I did the right thing. I did the right thing then, and it hurt so much that later, much later in my life, it helped convince me to do the wrong thing.

  No. Even now I can’t call it wrong. My conscience made me fight it, but when my conscience hollered too loudly, I’d make myself remember Leonora. I’d remember how long she survived Griogair, in the end, and I told myself it could be the same for another woman. That another, so like Leonora in so many ways, could outlive for centuries the death of her bound lover. I told myself she would survive me, and live, and be happy again. That’s how I convinced myself.

  But all that was far, too far in the future. For now, for Catriona, I did what was right.

  * * *

  That night we lay together, her back against my chest, my arms around her. Her body fitted mine in every way. Though she was turned away from me I sensed her smile as she reached out to the table beside my bed and picked up the crude wooden wolf.

  ‘My fingers are better now,’ she said. ‘I could make this better.’

  ‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘I like it.’

  ‘Oh! Good.’ She set it carefully back on the table. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Do you mind if I keep my hair like this?’

  I couldn’t answer that. Behind her back I frowned, kissing her between her shoulder blades to buy myself time. Full-mortals bewildered me altogether.

  ‘What’s it got to do with me?’ I asked eventually.

  Wriggling round to face me, she drew a forefinger down my brow to smooth the frown. ‘I thought you’d have an opinion. I thought you might like me to grow it.’

  ‘I do have an opinion.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That it’s up to you how you wear your hair,’ I told her patiently.

  ‘Then you don’t mind if I keep it short?’

  ‘Why would I mind?’ I was exasperated. ‘It would be beautiful long. I’m sure I’d love it. I love it the way it is. It’s beautiful short. What do you want me to say? It’s your hair.’

  ‘All right.’ She made a face and gave me one of her funny smiles. ‘You’re still strange.’

  ‘Look who’s talking.’ I put my forefinger against her lower lip and she kissed it. ‘This isn’t about your hair, that’s what I think.’

  My hair was a lot longer than hers. She stroked it behind my ear, not quite meeting my eyes. ‘No. But them shaving it. It hurt, they pulled half of it out by the roots. And it was terrible, it was humiliating. It was just before they…it was almost as terrible as…’ She gulped. ‘I never want that to happen again. If it’s short no-one can…it wouldn’t be so…’

  ‘Stop,’ I said. ‘Stop. It will never happen again. Understand? Nobody will touch you again if you don’t want them to. Including me.’

  ‘Really?’ Her eyes grew sceptical. ‘You wouldn’t touch me now? If I said not to?’

  ‘Of course I wouldn’t. Where do you people get your strange ideas?’

  ‘You know, I keep thinking.’ She gave a small and effortful smile, and when she spoke her words were jerky. ‘Fighting off my stepfather. Waste of effort, wasn’t it? If I’d just given in. He’d never have. Done it. Denounced me. And then the guards wouldn’t have. Done that. I wouldn’t have. Been there. Maybe it would have been better for me if I’d just…’

  ‘That’s what the bastard would want you to think. So don’t.’

  ‘And if none of it had happened,’ she said after a moment, ‘I wouldn’t be here with you.’

  ‘These are the thoughts,’ I said, ‘that can drive you mad.’

  ‘No. That last one is the thought that makes it better.’

  I caressed her thigh, felt her flesh tremble under my touch. She was a joy to love.

  ‘Listen, Catriona,’ I said. ‘There can’t be any binding. My brother won’t let me.’

  ‘Your brother won’t let you?’

  There was such gentle mockery in the question I felt heat flood my face. ‘Well, I wouldn’t just do what he…I wouldn’t just obey him.’ I looked at her ear, but that was so cowardly I made myself meet her eyes again. ‘He’s right.’

  Laughing, she kissed me. ‘I know. It’s all right. I know about binding, I know what it is.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Of course. I heard Griosach went into the sea. After her man Broc was killed. They were bound, weren’t they?’

  ‘See, you’re a full-mortal, and…’

  ‘And I won’t be around for long.’ She put her fingers over my lips. ‘Not in your terms. But long enough for me.’

  ‘And don’t worry if I’m not faithful,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t matter. We’re not like that.’

  That, it seemed, was pushing my luck. Almost as hard as she pushed my chest. I grunted with shock as I was thrown back onto the mattress.

  She sat up, tugging the sheet across her breasts and slapping my supplicant hand aside.

  ‘You may not be like that,’ she said icily, ‘but I am. It’s not much to ask, Seth. It’s not for long, after all. Not in your terms.’

  Lost for words, I blinked. We faced each other across a sea of crumpled linen. Tentatively I reached out my mind, but she glared back, her dark eyes like flint, so that I had to back off. She looked so fierce, so determined, all I could do was grin.

  ‘Then I’ll be faithful,’ I said. ‘You’ve no respect for a foreign culture, have you?’

  ‘None,’ she said crisply, though this time she let me take her hand. Her gaunt pretty face twisted as she fought her own laughter, and then she gave in to it.

  ‘And if that’s your promise, Seth,’ she said, ‘Go ahead and always touch me.’

  30

  THIRTY

  Her dark brown hair would have been lovely tumbling down her back. It probably was, once. But I wasn’t lying when I said I loved it anyway. I thought that again as I rode at her back to the forest a month later, my arms encircling her to hold the reins, the first frost of autumn singeing the air. I liked the brown crop that was like a seal’s pelt. The stubble had grown enough to camouflage the still-raw scars where the razor had hacked off her hair, but it was short enough to show every angle and curve of her beautiful skull.

  I don’t make the seal comparison lightly. I’d swum with her in the rolling breakers of the north bay, and she was lithe and graceful as a selkie in its skin, her eyes as dark and deep; and when she broke the surface, laughing, her damp dark pelt of hair was beaded with silver. She was no longer shy of her nakedness, not when she swam with me. And not when she lay beside me in the echoing stone silence of my room that was no longer too big and graceful for me.

  The October day felt keen and fresh in my nostrils; I was both sad and relieved to see the end of summer. It had been my first summer back at home and yet an unnamed dread had hung over it with the heat, an oppressive promise. We were still exiles, my brother and me. We had come home. The two were not compatible.

  I knew Kate was only waiting.

  * * *

  It should have been too cold for us to fall asleep in the woods that day, but cheating the cold was no longer difficult for me, and Catriona was kept warm by my body. I never felt the cold as much as I used to; after two harsh winters in the blackhouse I had sworn I’d never be so cold again. Not only did the cold of home affect my bones less than the otherworld cold, I worked at feeling warmer and I did it with nothing but my mind. Instead of wrapping myself in skins and blankets and woollen cloaks, I found the place in my brain that controlled my body heat and I used it. Teaching myself the skill, though it bordered dangerously on witchcraft, had a double advantage: it added to my reputation. It did not make me better liked but it certainly made me better
respected. To be seen stripped to the waist in bitter winds and snow made people think twice before taking me on, even if they hadn’t seen me at swordplay. And most of them had.

  But on that day, the snow was yet to come. Catriona and I both slept badly at night, and we had got into the summer habit of riding out in the dawn to our forest, exhausting ourselves with love, and falling asleep for an hour or two there on the soft peaty ground. That early morning, something in the atmosphere must have woken me. Something in the atmosphere did wake me, but I didn’t realise it straight away.

  Catriona was not in my arms. She must have gone to empty her bladder, because she wouldn’t wander off otherwise. I was instantly awake as always, and I stayed quite still, propped up on one elbow and listening.

  She screamed.

  I was up and running straight away. It went through my mind that the roan had fatally disobeyed me, but instantly I knew that wasn’t true. I called him and knew he was coming, but for now I was on my own.

  A bank of sand, knotted together with pine roots, fell away ten or more feet to the grainy beach of the loch. She was there, forced onto her knees, her head yanked back by the jaw, and she was fighting. Smart girl, to keep her seal-skin crop. The thing could not get as good a grip on her chin as it would on a hank of hair. She thrashed and struggled in its hold despite the curved blade in its hand, she tore desperately at its scrawny arms. Cadaverous face, lank yellow hair, papery skin. Thin enough to be translucent. No shadow.

  It straddled her, grinning, waiting for her to tire and settle down so she’d feel the cut better when it happened.

  That’s how they are, the Lammyr.

  I took a running leap off the sand-cliff, not breaking stride, and it dropped her just in time to parry the slash of my dirk.

  Fast, it was so much faster than any Sithe I’d fought. I was fast too, but it took all my concentration, all my swiftness, every move I ever learned to keep me out of the path of its swinging blade.

  Catriona did her best to help me, wrenching a dead branch from a twisted pine and swinging at the thing, but it was far too fast for her. All the same it was a small distraction for the Lammyr, splitting its focus enough to irritate it. At last, exasperated, it swung its skinny torso and loosed a blade in her direction. I heard her cry out but I didn’t have time to think, could only spring for its neck and seize its lank hair to twist its head aside. It caught my disgusted eyes, grinning up at me as I slashed its throat.

  I fell awkwardly as it did, rolling against the rough stones at the edge of the beach and grunting as the air was knocked out of me. Frantically I kicked away from it as it jerked and jolted, its colourless blood spilling into the sand. It was looking at Catriona as its eyes went dead, and it was still grinning.

  I staggered over to her. She was clutching her side, and blood soaked her fingers, but she didn’t cry out, only looked into my eyes, terrified.

  I peeled her fingers away as the roan thundered to my side, skidding and backing and snorting when it caught sight of the Lammyr’s corpse.

  She flinched as I touched the wound. ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I mean it. I’m not lying. It’s all right but you’ll need Grian. Can you get on the horse?’

  She nodded, and I boosted her onto its back, not letting go of its mane. It didn’t try anything. I was up and behind her in a second, and besides, it was a mischievous creature but not entirely evil. And it was mine.

  I kept the roan to a smooth swift canter, talking to her all the way to keep her mind off the pain that lanced with every stride. Now I had time to curse myself for my complacency and my arrogance. For leaving my sword in my room, just because we were at peace and had been all summer. For leaving Branndair with Liath and the other hounds, because I felt self-conscious when he rested his amber eyes on me as I made love to Catriona. For forgetting I was a Sithe, and a fighter, not a lovestruck full-mortal boy from the clachan.

  My lover was pale but quiet, and I admired her all over again.

  ‘Did it remind you of anyone?’ I said lightly.

  ‘The minister. The priest.’ She said it straight away.

  ‘My clever one. It was a female, though.’

  ‘Was it?’ There was such dry humour in her voice I couldn’t help kissing her neck.

  ‘Believe it or not, yes. We’re nearly home, Catriona.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘There aren’t any more. We’re all right.’

  Actually I wasn’t sure that was true. I was almost too afraid to roam the moor with my mind. There was a malevolence in the air that I couldn’t pin down, and I reminded myself never to be so stupid and careless again.

  ‘I’m sorry I wandered off.’ She gasped as the roan thudded down a sharp three-foot drop, then recovered her breath. ‘I felt sick.’

  ‘Next time you feel sick,’ I told her, ‘don’t for gods’ sake wander off.’

  She gave another small gasp that might have been a laugh. I tightened my arm round her.

  The shock was beginning to wear off, the adrenalin leaking away, and a chill of suspicion was creeping into my bones. How long had it been since Lammyr were seen around here? Not since Griogair had cleared the place of them, centuries ago. It made no sense that they would return now, unless something was changing that I didn’t recognise and couldn’t understand.

  Catriona’s leaking blood was warm and wet against my arm, and I felt young and ignorant and helpless again. And my thoughts were drifting in horrible directions when the roan skidded to a startled halt for the second time that morning. I blinked, and shuddered.

  Kate had come.

  31

  THIRTY-ONE

  The gates of the dun were thrown wide, and five detachments of her troops were milling outside the walls, eating our food and drinking our ale. I rode straight through them. It wasn’t a problem: our path cleared before us. The blue roan’s ears were back against its skull, its teeth bared in a hideous grin, and the horses of Kate’s fighters backed and trembled and skittered in terror, fighting their riders or jerking at their tethers. The fighters watched me, I knew it. But I did not look at them.

  In the central courtyard Kate stood on the highest point of stone, where Conal should stand. Lilith was at her side, and five more detachments of her fighters waited around her, along with her personal guard. Their swords were sheathed but their eyes were cold. An absolute silence lay across the whole dun.

  ‘Murlainn,’ said Kate, her voice clear and lovely in the frosted air. ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘Then you can wait one more minute,’ I said.

  There was a hiss of anger from Kate’s guard captain, but someone was shoving through the ranks: Grian. He caught Catriona as I lowered her from the roan’s back. Good old Grian, I thought as I dismounted. He was intimidated—who wouldn’t be?—but his work came before his fear. Lifting her into his arms, he looked at Kate.

  ‘Kate,’ shouted my brother. ‘The girl’s hurt. Let Grian take her.’

  He stood ten yards from me, weaponless, expressionless. Everyone looked at Kate, except for Lilith, who looked at me.

  Kate waited a dramatic second, and another, then gave a gracious nod. Quietly Grian turned and carried Catriona away. Clutching his neck, she looked imploringly back at me, but I closed my eyes and let myself breathe again.

  I walked over to stand with Conal. I knew he was furious with my insolence, but glad of it too. The faintest smile twitched the corner of his mouth before we both turned back to Kate.

  ~ Are you ready for this, Murlainn?

  ~ If you are, I told him. ~ Cù Chaorach.

  ‘Come here,’ said Kate.

  It was the longest walk of my life to that moment, crossing that wide empty space in the centre of the courtyard. I knew what I had to do when we reached her, and there was sourness in my mouth. Gods knew what Conal was thinking; he wouldn’t let me hear, though he was seething. That iron yett of a block was across his mind again.

  Every eye in the place was on
us. I amused myself thinking of what was going through all those Sithe heads. From our own clann, rage and resentment at Conal’s humiliation and delight at mine. From Kate’s, there would be smug satisfaction, and contempt for us both. Mostly. But there wasn’t an opinion in the place that mattered to me, besides Conal’s, and I knew what he wanted of me. I also knew I would not let him be first to kneel. At Kate’s feet I dropped to my knees.

  I did not look at my brother but I sensed his surprise and his gratitude as he knelt at my side.

  She let us kneel there on the cold rock till I thought my knees would buckle, and my head would split open with my contained fury. Neither of us moved a muscle till she stepped forward and extended her hand.

  I watched Conal. All that betrayed him was a vein at his temple that throbbed as he took her hand and pressed it to his forehead, then kissed it.

  Kate smiled and turned to me. I felt Conal’s gaze burning into me, felt him pleading with me not to be stupid. I took her hand. I pressed it to my forehead: her slender delicate bones and soft flesh against my skull. Pain throbbed at the front of my brain. I brought her hand to my lips and kissed it. Her skin was like cool silk. I released her hand and she took a small step back.

  She slapped me. Hard. Then she turned, taking her time, and slapped Conal.

  I said nothing; neither did he. I did not let my eyes drop from hers, and I know he didn’t either. To lose our tempers would be to lose face, and quite possibly our lives. I hoped he knew it, because despite his seniority and his dignity and his quiet acceptance, I knew Conal was far, far angrier than I was.

  She let us kneel there longer still. I thought the rock would grate right through to my kneecaps, and still we were surrounded by mocking silence. Oh, she was revelling in this. And then, quite unexpectedly, she laughed, all benevolence again. She had a lovely laugh.

  ‘Look, Lilith. Your boy has become a man.’

  My mother smirked. I looked at her, and then back at Kate, and I felt a shocking surge of fierce desire. Kate laughed again with delight.