by Kate Forsyth
Dedrie hit the ground with a thump. Rhiannon sat astride her then, as Dedrie tried to heave her off, grabbed her head with both hands and knocked it hard against the ground. Dedrie lay still.
The winged stallion’s massive hooves came down lightly upon the ground, and then Lewen’s boots.
‘Ye still banging people’s heads on the ground?’ he said.
‘Indeed I am,’ Rhiannon replied, then she scrambled up from Dedrie’s prone body and ran to throw herself into his arms. They closed strongly about her. For a long moment they stood, embracing fiercely, rocking in each other’s arms, then mutely Rhiannon raised her face and Lewen’s mouth came down on hers.
A clatter of hooves, an indignant neigh, and then the emphatic shoving of a black muzzle separated them. Rhiannon looked round, caught between tears and laughter, to find Blackthorn behind her, dancing a little in her impatience. Rhiannon put her arms about her horse’s neck, pressing her damp face into the silky black shoulder. Beside them, Lord Malvern rocked and wept, crooning to the dead raven in his arms, utterly oblivious to anything else. Lewen quietly took a coil of rope from his saddlebags and bound it about the old man. Lord Malvern looked up, briefly, his face misshapen with grief, then bent his grey head over the dead bird again.
‘So ye’re a thigearn now?’ Rhiannon said when at last she found her voice. ‘Where on earth did ye find yourself a winged horse?’
‘I made him,’ Lewen said, almost apologetically. ‘I could no’ think how else to get here.’
‘Ye carved him?’
‘From the oak tree that fell the night ye left.’
‘He’s beautiful.’
‘Thank ye. I’ve called him Lightning.’
‘Blackthorn likes him too,’ Rhiannon said with an impish smile as the two horses touched noses then whickered softly. ‘Do ye think …?’
‘Maybe one day,’ Lewen answered, grinning. ‘Who kens?’
Then, as the bluebird swooped around them, singing ecstatically, he stepped forward and slid his arms about Rhiannon again, his mouth finding hers. ‘I love ye,’ he whispered unsteadily when at last he came up for breath.
‘Och, I ken,’ Rhiannon answered.
Rhiannon and Lewen had only a few moments before Captain Dillon and the Yeomen were running towards them, faces grim. They took in the sight of the heaped bodies incredulously, then looked at the lord of Fettercairn, who rocked back and forth, keening over the body of his raven.
‘Take him into custody,’ Captain Dillon said, and let his hand fall from his sword hilt, grateful that Joyeux was to be deprived of her feast. ‘And the skeelie too.’
Lord Malvern clutched the bird closer and scuttled away as the soldiers approached him. ‘No!’ he screamed. ‘Let me go! I’ll give ye anything, anything ye want. I ken the secret o’ life and death, ye ken. Help me escape and I will share them with ye. Is there no’ someone ye love who is dead and cold in the ground? I will raise them for ye!’
Captain Dillon’s face was hard as granite. His past was littered with dead loved ones. He turned away, saying quietly, ‘Gag and bind him, and throw him in the hold. The laird has an appointment with the hangman.’
‘Mercy! Mercy!’ Lord Malvern screamed.
‘I’ll show ye the same mercy ye showed my lady Olwynne,’ Captain Dillon said, and strode away as the soldiers roughly wrested away the dead raven, bound and gagged him, and dragged him away. Lord Malvern fought them every step of the way, his face turned back to stare at the limp bundle of black feathers, tears pouring down his agonised face.
‘To think that, in the end, the only thing he really loved was that blaygird bird,’ Lewen said.
‘Should we no’ let him have it?’ Rhiannon said unhappily. ‘We canna just leave it lying there on the ground.’
Lewen drew her to him, and kissed her. ‘Ye ken, ye try so hard to be fierce but I do believe ye have the softest heart o’ anyone I ken.’
Rhiannon scowled. ‘What dragon dung!’ she said scornfully.
Lewen laughed. ‘I see two weeks in Finn the Cat’s company has improved your vocabulary immensely.’
She grinned. ‘I do like her … what do ye call them? Her bodies o’ speech.’
‘Her figures o’ speech,’ Lewen corrected, and then saw her eyes gleaming with laughter. ‘Minx,’ he said.
They watched as the big pirate with the pet rat surrendered, meekly, and Dedrie was securely bound and carried away by two of the soldiers. Rhiannon called another back and gave him the dead raven. ‘Give it to the laird,’ she said gruffly.
The soldier grimaced with distaste, but took the bird and carried it away with him.
‘Alone at last,’ Lewen said. ‘We have much to say, I hardly ken where to start. Tell me first. How are ye yourself? Are ye hurt?’
She touched her bloodstained shoulder. ‘A scratch, no more. And ye? How is your head?’
‘Still ringing,’ he replied with a grin. He drew her to him again, and kissed her lingeringly. ‘I do no’ ken what to say,’ he murmured at last. ‘I am so sorry.’
The words were inadequate.
Between them lay an ocean of emotion – Rhiannon’s anger and heartache at Lewen’s betrayal of her, his own guilt and confusion, as well as the grief and horror he felt at Olwynne’s death, even though it meant he had been freed from her love spell. Rhiannon had never been one for words, though. The look in his eyes, the warmth of his hands on her body, and the mesmerising touch of his mouth were enough for her. She smiled and lifted her mouth to his again.
His hands were sliding under her shirt, pressing her closer and closer to him, his breath coming short, when Rafferty and Cameron came racing up the road in high excitement, Landon labouring along behind. Reluctantly Lewen let her go and stepped back, his colour high, his expression rueful.
Once again their chance to talk and kiss privately was lost, as the boys dragged them back down to the burnt and ruined pirate town, where Iseult waited to thank and congratulate them both.
All was noise and confusion. Owein was having his head rather inexpertly bandaged by a rosy-cheeked and shining-eyed Fèlice, while Iseult tried hard not to weep with relief and desperate sorrow. Captain Dillon was overseeing the rounding-up of all the prisoners and their safe incarceration in the hold of his ship. The sailors were readying the ships to sail at high speed, since everyone was most anxious to get back home to see what had happened in their absence. A company of soldiers had been sent up to bury the dead, and to exhume Olwynne’s bones, to take back to Lucescere for burial in the MacCuinn crypt. Still more soldiers were loading up the ships with all the pirate loot taken as the spoils of war, while the pirate town was systematically burnt to the ground behind them.
Roden was leaping around in high excitement, Lulu scampering beside him. He threw himself into Rhiannon’s arms, embracing her joyfully, only to realise that she was hurt. So then Rhiannon was being bandaged up as well, and fussed over by Nina and Iven, and Lewen could do nothing but stand by, a hand on the back of both winged horses, while everyone marvelled and exclaimed over the miracle of Lightning.
Lewen was feeling very hot in the cheeks, torn between pride and embarrassment at the clamour everyone made over the winged horse he had created out of a lightning-felled oak. He still did not understand himself how he had managed such a miracle, and he felt, uncomfortably, that it was due more to the grace of Eà than to his own puny powers.
He was relieved when Rafferty touched him gently on the shoulder and said, ‘My Lady Iseult would like to speak to you, when you have a moment. Rhiannon, too.’
Lewen could not help noticing the diffidence of Iseult’s summons. He was used to a far more peremptory command. He nodded and caught Rhiannon by the elbow, steering her out of the noisy crowd. They followed Rafferty to an inn close to the jetty, one of the few buildings till standing in the fire-scorched pirate town.
Iseult was sitting by the unlit hearth, staring without seeing into the ashes. She was still dressed in her old-fashio
ned leather armour, stained and battle-scarred, though her helmet lay discarded on a nearby table. She had loosened her hair, and it flowed down her back, its fiery colour faded almost as much as the embers in the grate. Her eyes, though, were as brilliantly blue as the summer sky, and for the first time in weeks, Lewen’s breath did not hang frostily before his mouth as he approached her.
She smiled at him wearily. ‘I’m sorry to drag ye away from the celebrations,’ she said softly, indicating with a graceful gesture of her hand that they sit. ‘I just wanted to thank you – and apologise to you.’
‘No need,’ Lewen stammered as he sat down on the very edge of his chair.
Her smile widened. ‘I know how much I owe to ye both,’ she said. ‘If it was no’ for ye, Owein would still be in that blaygird sorceress’s hands. Margrit would never have let him go, I ken that. We would have had to fight, and more among us would have lost their lives, even if Owein had survived. I still find it hard to believe … the sight of you soaring over the cliff, striking Margrit down, your hands moving so fast they were a blur! Oh, Lewen! You have been a true friend to the MacCuinns. Thank ye!’
Lewen swallowed a lump in his throat. ‘I … I’m glad I could help.’
‘I am sorry I bid you stay behind,’ Iseult said. ‘I ken I hurt ye.’
He shrugged. ‘I wouldna have whittled Lightning if ye hadn’t.’
Iseult laughed. ‘Then I am glad! The Spinners move in mysterious ways. Obviously it was meant to be.’
He found it hard to say the next words. ‘I only wish I could’ve … been in time … got here earlier … Olwynne …’
Iseult put up one hand and pressed it against her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know. I too wish … oh, I wish so many things! And all of them useless. Lachlan is dead, nothing will bring him back, Olwynne … my little Olwynne! So bright, so beautiful, so brilliant! I still cannot believe she is dead. I’ve been thinking … I canna help thinking … why canna we use the spell o’ resurrection to bring her back? Could we no’ have saved her somehow? But who would I sacrifice for her? Who could I kill without causing some other mother the dreadful grief I feel now? I could no’ do it.’
Rhiannon moved restlessly.
Iseult glanced her way. ‘Ye think none would grieve to lose ye?’ she said, rather sharply. ‘Ye’re wrong! There are many who love ye, satyricorn girl, and many who would grieve if you were lost. And I know ye did your best. I know ye came close to saving her. Owein told me. So thank ye for trying. I ken ye did no’ love Olwynne. I ken she did ye wrong. Owein told me it all. I am truly grateful and …’ she paused and fought a little battle with herself, then said, more sharply than before, ‘I’m sorry too. I also did ye wrong. If it was no’ for Lewen, ye would’ve been hanged, and that would have been a heavy burden on my conscience, now I know the truth. I’m sorry. I hope ye will forgive me.’
Rhiannon frowned, and did not know how to answer. The truth was, she had not forgiven Iseult. She had imagined she would carry a grudge against the Dowager Banrìgh forever. She was surprised to find herself moved by Iseult’s words. Rhiannon would have mistrusted glibness, but the difficulty Iseult had in speaking the words made them seem more true.
When she did not speak, Iseult sighed and drew herself straighter in her chair. ‘When we are back in Lucescere, I will speak to Donncan … and to Bronwen … to the Rìgh and Banrìgh … I am sure they will reward you handsomely.’
‘I did not do what I did in hope of reward,’ Rhiannon said stiffly.
‘No.’ Iseult’s face softened. ‘Ye did it for love, did you no’? Lewen is a very lucky man, to be loved so much.’ Her voice wobbled.
‘I am,’ he said. ‘Very lucky.’
He put out one hand and covered Rhiannon’s, clenched on the arm of her chair. She flashed a quick glance at him, and he smiled at her. After a moment, against her will, she found her mouth softening and the corners turning up. He grinned at her encouragingly, gave her hand a little pat, then tucked it up in his own big, warm hand and drew it into his lap. She could not help but smile more naturally.
‘I’m sorry about Olwynne too,’ she said then, on impulse. ‘I really did try.’
Iseult nodded. ‘Thank ye. It is no’ your fault they killed her. All o’ us tried, all o’ us failed. I could spend the rest o’ my life thinking “if only, if only”, and try as hard as I can, I canna help it running through my head almost continually. But I am determined not to wallow in my grief. That, more than anything else, is the true cause o’ Olwynne’s death. I was so overwhelmed by my grief for Lachlan, I did no’ act fast enough … or well enough … and so now Olwynne is dead too.’
‘It’s no-one’s fault but Laird Malvern’s,’ Rhiannon said emphatically. ‘He wielded the knife! If ye’re going to blame anyone, blame him!’
‘Believe me, I do,’ Iseult said coldly.
‘What will happen to him? And to Dedrie?’
‘They will hang,’ Iseult answered. ‘And they should be grateful. If I had my way, they’d be staked out for the White Gods!’
By the look on Iseult’s face, Rhiannon guessed her gods were as dark and fearsome as the dark walkers of the satyricorn. She made a little superstitious movement against harm, and Lewen took her free hand and tucked it up with the other.
‘My lady,’ he said. ‘You spoke of the Rìgh. Does that mean … do ye have news?’
Iseult’s face brightened. ‘Indeed I do! As soon as the weather calmed, a messenger bird flew in. It’s a miracle it survived the storm. Donncan is safe in Rhyssmadill – and, can you believe it! If it wasn’t for Bronwen, he could’ve been killed too, poisoned by the Fealde’s man!’ She told them about Bronwen’s desperate swim to Donncan’s side, and it was clear from her voice that she was amazed and impressed by the Banrìgh’s courage and fortitude. ‘Who would have believed she had the wit, or the spunk?’ Iseult marvelled. ‘And Beau says she and Donncan are just as a newly wed couple should be, with eyes and hands for no-one but each other.’ She sighed, and then shrugged and smiled, dabbing at her eyes with her sodden scrap of a handkerchief.
‘But here’s news!’ she cried. ‘Beau and Dide are to marry! After all these years! I can hardly believe it. And he is to join the Coven, so I daresay we shall be seeing a lot more o’ him. I am so glad.’
Lewen and Rhiannon both exclaimed in surprise and pleasure, and then Lewen said, a little of his diffidence returning, ‘My lady, ye ken that I … that Rhiannon and I … we shall want to jump the fire too, just as soon as we can.’
Iseult looked at him in silence for a long moment, then slowly nodded her head. ‘I ken Olwynne ensorcelled ye,’ she said, low and stilted. ‘I ken it was no’ true love that led ye to jump the fire with her. But if ye and Rhiannon could wait a while … just a while … I do no’ want all to ken …’ Her voice trailed away.
Lewen glanced at Rhiannon. It was half a question, half a plea. Rhiannon had to wrestle with her jealousy and pride. She wanted everyone to know that Lewen was hers, and had always been hers. So she tossed her head and said, ‘It’ll have to be a while, anyway. I have lots I want to do. I want to go see this Theurgia everyone keeps talking about and see if I want to go there, and then I want to go back to Fettercairn Castle …’
‘But why?’ Lewen exclaimed.
‘Rory. The little ghost-boy. He is still there, all alone, except for the ghosts of all those other murdered boys. I promised to help him, though I do no’ ken how.’
Iseult smiled at her. ‘Isabeau can help you there. She will ken what to do.’
‘I would like Rory to be at rest,’ Rhiannon said. Much to her shame, tears prickled her eyes. She scowled and willed them away.
‘I would no’ be surprised if Donncan and Bronwen give ye the castle for your own,’ Iseult said.
Rhiannon gaped at her. ‘Me? Fettercairn Castle? Why?’
‘By all accounts, it is in a most strategic position,’ Iseult said. ‘Donncan will want someone loyal to him and Bronwen to man it, and y
e and Lewen have proved your loyalty over and over again. If ye plan to marry, as ye say ye are, well, then, it would be a fitting wedding present, do ye no’ think so? Besides, Isabeau will want the Tower of Ravens to be rebuilt, and I canna think o’ anyone better suited than ye and Lewen to head it …’
‘Me?’ Both Rhiannon and Lewen spoke at once, then glanced at each other and laughed.
‘In time,’ Iseult said, smiling. ‘Ye are still only very young. Yet I would be very surprised if you are no’ awarded your sorcerer’s rings for what you have done these last few weeks – especially ye, Lewen! Whittling a living horse out o’ a lump o’ old wood! It’s extraordinary!’
‘I do no’ think I could ever do it again,’ Lewen admitted, looking worried.
‘Your winged horse is testament enough to the fact ye have done it once …’ Iseult began.
‘Twice!’ Rhiannon cried. ‘Do no’ forget Bluey!’
The little bluebird had been perched all this time on the back of Rhiannon’s chair, sharpening its beak on a cuttlefish it had found down on the seashore. At the sound of its name, it looked up and chirped and ruffled up its wings, then returned to the cuttlefish.
Iseult was properly amazed, and Lewen and Rhiannon had to tell her the whole story. Then Lewen asked, rather shyly, ‘What about ye, my lady? What do ye plan to do now?’
She looked pensive. ‘I will join the Coven, I think,’ she said. ‘I have much to learn. And then, if all goes well, I will go back to the snows. I have missed them dreadfully all these years. The Tower of Roses and Thorns needs a First Sorceress – it is the only witches’ tower to survive Maya’s Burning intact, and yet few witches have been willing to leave Lucescere and go up there to the mountain heights. So much knowledge there, in the library, just waiting to be found!’
Just then, the door to the inn opened and a stream of happy, bright-faced people poured in, looking for food and drink. Owein was in the lead, his arm about Fèlice’s waist, with Rafferty, Cameron and Landon on their heels, and Nina and Iven following behind with Roden swinging between them. All were talking and laughing, though there was a shadow on Owein’s face that no amount of relief and pleasure at his safe deliverance could banish. Owein had lost his twin sister, and had not yet had time or leisure to truly realise the implications of that loss. Lewen knew his friend would find it very hard in the upcoming months, and promised him silently that he would be there for him. They exchanged a quick glance of troubled understanding, before Owein turned away and called for ale.
