“Well dressed? Armed? A warrior? A courtier?”
“A dark man,” Drustan said again. “Go now, Alpin! Help her!”
“Oddly enough,” said Alpin, rising to his feet, “for once I can only agree with you. This must surely be the bride chosen for me by King Bridei of Fortriu. Young, beautiful, and headed this way—I can think of no other explanation. I’ll send a party to meet them. Or … why not? I’ll go and fetch her myself.”
SIX NIGHTS THEY spent camping rough, six nights warmed by little fires and each
other’s bodies under the shared blanket. Faolan had begun to regain his strength. His arm was healing well, assisted by the fresh bandages Ana insisted on applying each morning. That he no longer felt the sapping, draining despair of that first night was, in one way, an inconvenience. Once the exhaustion was gone, physical desire began to make itself apparent, and his efforts to conceal this from
Ana as she lay half-asleep curled up against him kept him long awake. He could hardly refuse to lie close to her; the nights were chill. He could most certainly not explain to her. For all her almost nineteen years, she was an innocent, a real lady, and would be shocked and frightened, he thought, if she knew the truth. Under the circumstances it would be all too easy to take advantage of her. That
he needed to consider such a thing at all showed how far his self-discipline had slipped.
There came a morning when neither of them felt the compulsion to move on. The shocked numbness that had followed their losses at the ford had been gradually replaced, as they traveled, by a tolerance between them, an acceptance that what had befallen them had altered the rules and constraints of their mission
entirely. There was a new easiness to their talk and a new trust in their sharing of the day’s responsibilities.
They had camped in a grassy hollow above a small stream, and the sun had arisen on a day already full of spring’s promise: birds were noisy in the trees fringing the water, small, bright flowers bloomed in clumps here and there amid the grass, and the air was fresh with the scent of
renewal. Yet Faolan’s heart was full of a new heaviness, a thing he did not wish to put into words, even for himself. By his calculations, they were close to Alpin’s stronghold. Within a day or two they should be there, and the major part of his mission would be achieved. He could never call it a success, not with such grievous losses. But he would deliver this bride to her husband. He would seal
this alliance for Bridei and take the news of it back to White Hill. Looking across at Ana as she sat by the fire working the knots out of her long hair with the small bone comb he had carried in his bags, he recognized within him a powerful wish that he need not do so. He did not want to deliver her up to a man unknown to her, and leave her to live the rest of her life among strangers.
She looked
up, perhaps conscious of his scrutiny. “Faolan?”
“Mmm?”
“How long do you think it will be now? We are near the edge of Briar Wood, aren’t we?”
He attempted a smile. “Getting hungry?”
Ana looked at him. “I would welcome a meal other than those pieces of leather, most certainly. But that’s not why I ask.”
“Perhaps two days,” he said. “We must travel through dense woods; the paths may elude
us and make the journey longer. I’m sorry about the food. If I’d brought a bow—”
“It wouldn’t be much use with that arm the way it is,” Ana said crisply. “I never expected you to provide me with sumptuous meals and a soft feather bed, Faolan. I grew up in the islands. It wasn’t a pampered existence.”
“All the same,” he said, “I would wish to provide for you, at least. I’ve done a poor job thus
far.”
“If it helps,” Ana said, “I will tell you that, of all the people I know, you are the one I would choose to walk by my side and be my protector on such a journey as this. I would have no other.”
He was mute.
“It wasn’t like that when we set out from White Hill. I resented those riding lessons. You had such a disapproving air about you, and I dislike being judged by people who haven’t
made the effort to know me. I’m sorry you cannot stay long at Briar Wood.”
“I’m not sorry,” he said, feeling a strong distaste for the prospect of seeing her wed to a man who valued her only for her bloodline; thinking that perhaps this journey had sent him somewhat crazy, since such thoughts had no place in the head of a hired guard. And, having chosen to put his past entirely behind him, that
was indeed all he was.
“Oh,” said Ana, her head drooping like a wilting flower.
“I didn’t mean—I meant—”
“I understand, Faolan,” she said with careful courtesy, picking up the comb again. “You must get back to White Hill. You must take Bridei the news of our terrible losses, and tell him the alliance with Alpin is sealed.”
“I’ll stay for one turning of the moon at the very least. Bridei’s
instructions were precise. He doesn’t want a formal handfasting until I’m certain of Alpin’s loyalty.”
To this, Ana had nothing to say.
“Or if you … should you …” No, he would not put this into words.
“If I don’t take to him? I don’t think that was ever a factor,” Ana said tightly.
“Ana—”
“What?”
Faolan had a leaf between his fingers; he twisted and twirled it. “I’ve asked you this before,
but I’ll ask it again. If you … if there were no duty, if you had free choice, what would you do now?”
She was silent a little, pondering the question. Then she said in a whisper, “I can’t lie to you. I would ask you to take me home. Back to White Hill. I think I would rather grow old as a maiden aunt to Derelei than go through with this journey. At heart I’m a terrible coward. What about you?”
“Me?”
“Given free choice, what would you do?”
“I can’t tell you,” he said. “Besides, I can’t have free choice. I sacrificed it long ago.”
“You mean, to serve Bridei?”
He shook his head. “Oh, no. That was a liberation of sorts. This was far earlier. When I was a boy.”
“Will you tell me that story?”
Her voice was very sweet to his ears; he felt the danger in it, and drew himself back from
the brink. “It’s not worth telling,” he said. “We have two days; then you become Lady Ana once more, and I melt into the anonymity of Alpin’s household to do the work Bridei pays me for.”
“I’m glad you will be staying,” Ana said, “if only for a little. Bridei said you were a good friend, and I told him I found it hard to believe. I believe it now.”
“Bridei is all too ready to bestow the status
of friend on those who are no more than loyal servants.”
“That’s rubbish and you know it,” said Ana. “He relies on your good counsel, your strength, your support. He sees through the walls you build around yourself. And you, I think, have stood by him in his own times of self-doubt.”
Faolan remembered the winter when he had first been assigned to Bridei; himself and his fellow guards keeping
vigil with a shattered and sickened young nobleman after his first and only observance of the Gateway sacrifice at the Well of Shades. He recalled a desperate ride through the snow from Caer Pridne to Pitnochie, and a valiant old horse that had carried him to Bridei’s side in time for him to fish the future king, half drowned, from the seer’s pool. Ana was perceptive; she saw what he had believed
well concealed.
“I want to ask a favor,” Ana said.
“What?”
“If we’re going to arrive there in two days, I should make some effort to clean myself up. I’d like to appear presentable when Alpin first sees me. There’s a pool downstream, and it feels as if the day will be warm. I want to bathe and wash my hair and put my old clothes on. You can have these ones back; they’re cleaner than what you’re
wearing. You could do with a wash yourself.”
He looked across at her then, imagining himself in Alpin’s shoes as the travelers walked out of the woods and up to the gate of the fortress. She was lily-pale and her face was smudged with ash from the fire. In his tunic and trousers, with his belt tied around her narrow waist, she looked every corner a woman. The too-large garments failed to conceal
the graceful curves of her body, the high, round breasts, the swell of her hips, the shapely thighs. She was replaiting her hair now; the dust of the journey had darkened its ashen flow to the color of honey and subdued its floating exuberance, but still it was a thing of rare loveliness, a silken waterfall, a swathe of living light, a cloak of springtime. He looked into her eyes, the honest,
clear gray eyes that seemed to speak straight to his heart. “Your misgivings are groundless,” he said. “Alpin will be satisfied, believe me.” And he wanted to tell her,
You are beautiful
, but he silenced those words before they left his lips.
A delicate blush rose to Ana’s cheeks; she held his gaze as if seeking to ascertain if he were, indeed, capable of lying merely to please her. “I would
like to wash, all the same,” she said. “For my own sake as much as Alpin’s. To look my best—or at least to make a small effort toward it—would give me courage.”
“You need courage for this, after all you have done? After what you did at the ford? You risked your own life to save me.” He was incredulous.
Ana looked down at her hands. When she answered, her voice was like a child’s. “I’m very afraid
of this, Faolan. I need all the help I can get.”
They lingered by the stream. They spoke little, but rested quietly, content in each other’s company. The horse grazed unhobbled; here in this gentle cup of the land the grasses grew sweet and lush, and he found no reason to wander. It was, Faolan thought, a day he would put away in his memory and keep like a precious talisman to sustain him when
this was over. He knew that, for him, there could never be another such day, a brief span of time that seemed to stand outside the ordinary life of a man or woman; a day that was not part of the turbulent flow of affairs but, quite simply, a gift.
By midday it was warm enough for him to discard his boots and tunic and lie on the grass in his travel-stained shirt and trousers. Ana was sitting
on the rocks by the stream, dangling her bare feet in the water and humming to herself. Faolan got up, intending to tell her that if she insisted on bathing, now would be a good time. He had taken one step toward her when a sound made him freeze in place. Ana went very still; she had heard it, too. Movement in the woods beyond their small sanctuary: voices, hoofbeats, a jingle of harness.
They
had rehearsed this, weary as they were those first days after the disaster at the ford. By the time the riders came into view between the pines on the hillside above them, Faolan was standing strong and defiant, a throwingknife in his left hand and his short sword in his right, and Ana was behind him, gripping the weapon he had given her.
The riders advanced in single file. These men did not
wear the blue headbands of the earlier attackers. Red seemed to be their color; it was blazoned on their tunics in the form of a scarlet dog, marking them out as members of a household whose chieftain bore this kin symbol. They were big men, as was the nature of the Caitt, tall, broad-shouldered, and distinguished by flowing hair and full beards, some plaited, some left to their natural bushiness.
They came down the hill and halted, moving so their leader was flanked by a man on either side; both of these bore thrusting spears, and the tips of their weapons were pointed with accuracy at Faolan’s heart. He stood relaxed, calculating the required trajectory for his throwing knife and knowing he would not use it, not with Ana here. To attempt a defense was to ensure his own demise and her capture.
“Well, well,” drawled the man in the center, grinning, “what have we here?” He made no attempt to dismount. “Your name and business?” This came in a different tone, sharp and dangerous.
“I might ask you the same,” Faolan said evenly. “As you see, I have a lady with me, and we are in some difficulty, having suffered a serious mishap at the ford some distance from here. The lady is weak and distressed.
We require your assistance, not an inquisition.”
The Caitt leader eyed him closely. His expression was less than warm. “Only a fool traverses that path in time of spring thaw,” he said. “What is your errand? Where are your warrior markings? You have the semblance of a Gael, and the accent to match it. And what’s this about a lady?”
“I am—” Faolan began, and then Ana stepped out from behind him,
the knife in her hand, and all eyes went to her. The Caitt leader’s gaze passed up and down her body, measuring, assessing; his brows rose in disdain and his nose wrinkled as at an offensive smell. A black rage possessed Faolan; his fingers tightened on his knife.
“My greeting to you,” said Ana sweetly. “I am a kinswoman of Bridei, king of Fortriu, and am on my way to Briar Wood. The accident
that befell us had nothing to do with spring thaw. We were attacked, and had no choice but to attempt a crossing at the ford. There was a …” She faltered.
“A flash flood of freakish proportions,” Faolan said. “Our escort was swept away.”
The Caitt leader dismounted; his two guards maintained the position of the spears and, behind him, others moved in with weapons in hand.