Back in the dim enclosure, Deord fastened his charge to the shackles set in the bench before releasing the bracelet and chain that linked the two men together. Drustan was not looking
at her now. He stood in the shadows by the wall, his head bowed, and said not a word.
“Come,” said Deord. “I’ll escort you as far as the door and ensure you are not seen. Give me the key.”
Ana looked at him.
“Without it,” Deord said calmly, “the two of us are imprisoned here and cannot so much as fetch our meals or fresh water. We do not go out often. These trips beyond the wall are covert.
Perhaps you did not understand that.”
“You asked me not to tell Alpin,” Ana said. “I suppose you expect me to hand over the key and keep my mouth shut, as if I had seen nothing here. I won’t do that, Deord.”
His manner remained untroubled. “I will take the key from you if I must. I would prefer that you gave it willingly. He requires protection. You’re interfering in a matter of which you have
no understanding.”
“Then explain it to me,” Ana said. “Tell me who he is and why he’s shut up here. Tell me why nobody out there has mentioned this. What sort of crime must a man commit to deserve such incarceration?”
“Not here. You must leave now.” Already he was ushering her toward the grilled gate. Behind them, Drustan had not stirred. To see him thus defeated, the light in his eyes quenched,
troubled Ana greatly. Deprived of the sun and the wildwood, he seemed a shadow of the man she had watched in the clearing, a creature lovely as a bird in flight.
“Very well,” she said. “I will go, but you must tell me the story later. And you must let me return here.”
“Folk don’t come here,” Deord said flatly. “It’s not safe. Alpin’s rules. If you want to change it, talk to him. Now move.”
Ana was not accustomed to being addressed thus and it offended her, but Deord was right to urge haste, for the sun was creeping up the sky; she had been here far too long. “Give me a moment,” she said, and without waiting for a response she walked briskly across the enclosure to stand beside the silent Drustan, close enough to touch.
“No!” Deord said sharply, but Ana closed her ears to his voice.
She reached out and took the shackled hand in hers. The touch sent a thrill through her body, startling and heady.
“I must go now,” she said, looking up at the prisoner. “I’m sorry I cut short your time of freedom. If there’s anything I can do to help you …”
“Enough,” said Deord, and he seized Ana’s arm to draw her away. Drustan’s hand came up so quickly that Ana gasped, the captive gripping his guard’s wrist until Deord’s fingers opened and he released her. She recognized in that moment Drustan’s fearsome
strength.
“Don’t touch her,” Drustan said quietly. “She will go with you of her own accord; no need for force. Good-bye, Ana. It made me happy to see you.”
Ana felt a curious sense of bereavement. She could not understand it; they were strangers to each other. “Farewell,” she said. “I hope I will speak with you again. No matter what you did, surely you do not deserve this.” She made to withdraw
her hand; Drustan lifted it instead, touching it to his lips and closing his eyes a moment. Ana felt the blood surge to her cheeks, and saw a flush rise in Drustan’s features, a perfect reflection. Then he released her, turning away. The strange meeting was over.
“I cannot speak to you now,” Deord said quietly as the two of them reached the little door to Alpin’s chamber and, with a sigh, Ana
placed the key in his outstretched hand. “It will be noticed if I deviate from the expected pattern of my day. I will attend you before supper.”
“With my maid present, I will be unable to seek the answers I need,” said Ana.
“That is your choice.”
“No,” she told him, “it seems it is Alpin’s choice: to lock this prisoner away and conceal him further behind a web of secrets. Whatever it is he
has done, Drustan could still have visitors, surely. He does not seem a dangerous man.”
“No, he does not,” Deord said mildly, opening the door and going through in front of her to check there was nobody about. “But I know him. You are a stranger here.”
“Very well,” Ana said. “I will speak with you later. You can rely on my discretion. Please tell Drustan that. I’m truly sorry the two of you
had to come back inside because of me. I understand how precious those escapes must be to you.”
Deord inclined his head politely. A moment later he had vanished back through the door and closed it in her face.
I
T WAS AFTERNOON. Ana sat in the sewing room with the other women and tried to concentrate on hemming, but she was finding it difficult to fix her mind on anything save Drustan’s light-filled eyes, his quiet voice, his powerful hands. The memory of his touch brought the blood to her cheeks once more. Her hands trembled and she almost dropped her needle.
“Are you unwell, my lady?”
Ludha asked in an undertone, eyes anxious.
“I’m quite well, Ludha, just a little tired. I slept poorly last night.”
“I could finish that for you—”
“I can do it!” Ana heard the sharp note in her own voice. It was not fair that her little maid should suffer because she could not keep her mind on her job; because she was behaving like some foolish lass who cannot look at a comely man without her
knees turning to jelly. Ana straightened her back and spoke to herself with the voice of a royal daughter.
They don’t chain people up for nothing. Drustan must have done something terribly wrong
. It didn’t seem to help much; her body was still restless, her mind filled with his image. She tried again.
I’m here to make an alliance for Bridei. I shouldn’t allow myself to be
distracted
. Then she
said to herself,
Faolan would be shocked by what I did. He would think very badly of me
. After that, it was possible to turn her attention back to her work for a little and to observe how crooked the last few stitches had been. Sighing, she began to unpick them and found the garment removed gently from her hands.
“Please,” Ludha said. “Let me help. This is such a sweet little gown, it would be
a pity to spoil it.”
Ana nodded. “I thought I’d begin replacing the baby clothes, the ones that were lost at the ford. But my stitching is awry today.”
“No matter, my lady.” Ludha was already whipping out the spoiled work, lips pursed in concentration, eyes narrowed. “I could finish this with a worked border, if you approve. I have some fine-spun colored thread, russet, blue, a heathery green.
Flowers, maybe?”
Ana smiled absently. “How about birds?” she said.
“Birds? What kind of birds?”
A wren, a crossbill, a hoodie.
“I’ll leave that up to you,” Ana said. “I’m sure you’ll do a beautiful job, Ludha.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
DRUSTAN’S HANDS WERE white-knuckled on the grilled gate, the fingers threaded through the ironwork. The rhythmic clang of the metal filled the small
enclosure, a drumbeat of pain; the birds were hiding up high, huddled in a tiny niche below the barred roof. Each time Drustan struck his head against the iron, the birds shuddered as if they felt the blow in their own frail bodies. On the far side of the enclosure Deord was calmly sweeping. He kept a close eye on his charge.
The gate was rattling on its supports; Drustan was strong. One day
he would wrench it free. It was unlikely to do him much good. Deord had seldom been required to exercise his full strength, but he had been hired for his ability to deal with such a situation and deal with it he would, if it came. He hoped it would not. There were other ways of controlling this captive, better ways of keeping his mind and body reasonably sound during the long imprisonment. Deord swept
and watched, and after a certain length of time the slamming sounds slowed and ceased and there was only Drustan’s breathing, a gasping like that of a child who has wept all his tears.
The broom stopped moving. “Drustan?” Deord asked quietly.
Drustan turned. His eyes were wild. The pain in them struck Deord like a blow to the chest.
“Out!” Drustan’s voice was hoarse and uneven. “I want out!
I want it to be over!” He strode toward Deord, hands raised before him as if to seize the other by the throat.
“Come,” said Deord, setting down his broom and moving to the bench. “Sit by me a while. Breathe slowly.” His arms came out to take Drustan’s and he guided him to sit. “You’re frightening the birds.”
Drustan buried his head in his hands. His fingers clutched tight into the fiery strands
of his hair. His whole body quivered with tension.
“Breathe slowly, as we practiced,” Deord said again. “This will pass.” He had made no attempt to shackle his charge; the manacle and its chain lay slack beneath the bench. “Sit quiet; let your breath calm you. Trust me, Drustan. It will pass.” He continued in this vein a while, his tone soft as he sat on the bench beside the other man.
After
a time, Drustan’s breathing became less labored, less ragged. It was clear the red-haired man was making an effort to regain his self-control. After a longer time, Drustan raised his head, sat upright, and took his hands from his hair to wrap his arms around himself as if he were chill to the bone. Without a word Deord got up and fetched a blanket from the sleeping quarters. By the time he came back
the birds had flown down to perch one, two, and three on Drustan’s head and shoulders.
“Here,” Deord said, wrapping the blanket around the other man; the birds arose with a small flurry of wings and settled once more. “This girl has upset you. You should not have encouraged her curiosity. All that’s likely to achieve is to bring down your brother’s anger, not just on the two of us, but on her
as well.”
“She will not tell him.”
“Your trust is childlike, Drustan. She may not intend to do so. But I saw the look in her eye as she handed back the key. A righteous look; she believes your imprisonment unjust, and will be hard put not to tax her husband with it. How can she explain that to Alpin, when he believes she knows nothing of your existence?”
Drustan regarded him soberly. “He’s
not her husband,” he said.
“He will be,” Deord said. “He wants her. They say he makes no attempt to conceal that. She’s more than usually comely. And she’s here to seal a treaty between Alpin and Bridei of Fortriu. It will happen.”
Drustan reached up and the wren hopped onto his finger. With his other hand he stroked its plumage gently.
“Deord?”
“What is it?”
“Ana should not marry my brother.”
“Should not? What is this? You know such decisions are all to do with strategy, alliances, territorial advantages. Clearly both Bridei and your brother think it entirely appropriate that this go ahead. You should not have involved yourself with her.”
“She should not wed him. Her light will be dimmed; her spirit will be quenched.”
Deord regarded him curiously. “It was you who sent Alpin to fetch
her from the road,” he said.
A flicker of his earlier anger made Drustan’s features suddenly dangerous. “How else could we help her?” he challenged. “Had I been free to go myself, I would have told her … I would have warned her …”
“Hush,” Deord said. “You go too far. Your brother has an opportunity. He and this girl should do well enough together. I agree, she seems a little too much of a lady
to be quite at home here, but she’s not lacking in her wits and she’s demonstrated that she can stand up for herself. Besides, your opinion and mine count for nothing at all in such matters. You should not have meddled.”
“She will not tell.”
“In fact the lady asked me to convey a message to you, to just that effect,” Deord said diffidently. “That we could rely on her discretion.”
Drustan smiled,
the anger gone.
“Her intentions are good,” Deord went on. “It’s her ability to maintain that discretion once Alpin starts to tell her the truth that concerns me. Your brother will want to keep Ana as far away from you as possible. You can hardly expect otherwise.”
Drustan made no reply. The smile had faded quickly. After a little he said, “I would never hurt her.” His voice was constrained.
“Never. She knows that.”
Deord’s eyes were full of compassion as he regarded his charge. “She is naïve,” he said, “if she makes her assessment of men so quickly. Perhaps she believes she knows. But you cannot know. You can never be sure, and neither can your brother. For that reason you must stay out of this. You must leave the two of them to live their lives, and to make and mend their own errors.”
Drustan looked his keeper straight in the eye. “And what do you believe?” he asked quietly. “Do you believe I would hurt her? What do you see in me?”
“A man of many good qualities.”
“But you still don’t trust me.”
“You don’t trust yourself, deep down. You did what you did. Alpin believes it can happen again. If you hadn’t been his blood kin he would have put you to death seven years ago. There
would then have been no need for my services.”
Drustan gazed down at his hands, open on his lap, and the tiny wren nestled trustingly on his palm. “This is a kind of death,” he said. “Had I a knife, I would be a hairsbreadth from ending this imprisonment today; from opening my veins and letting Bone Mother take me. I’ve endured seven winters. I can’t do this forever.”
“You’d be surprised what
a man can weather,” Deord said. “You’re strong. You’ll get through it.” After a moment he added, “Don’t think I haven’t been tempted, at full moon in the woods. Don’t imagine I haven’t thought of turning my back a moment too long and letting you disappear.”
“Then he would punish you. He would kill you.”
“I’m not without certain physical resources. That’s why he hired me.”
“My brother has many
loyal men, and all of them love to hunt. Even you could not escape.”
“The question’s irrelevant,” Deord said. “You would return. You always do.”
“A hundred years would not be long enough to compensate him for what I did.” Drustan’s voice had shrunk to a whisper. “I cannot risk repeating that deed.” Drustan lifted his hands and the tiny bird flew across to perch on the iron gate. “Why don’t you
leave, Deord? Even the heaviest purse of silver is inadequate pay for such an existence. Guarding me condemns you, too, to lifelong imprisonment.”
“Hush,” Deord said, rising to his feet. “I do what I do and, like you, I dream of an end to it someday. An end that has nothing to do with knives and veins.”
Drustan sat quiet for a long time. Crossbill and hoodie kept vigil, one on each shoulder.
Deord busied himself within the living quarters. The sun passed over. Its pale light glanced briefly across bare flagstones, dark water, stone walls, gone almost before it had time to touch this sunken space. At length Drustan got up and went to stand by the little window, staring out at the tree framed by walls made to withstand the assaults of siege weaponry. The oak’s broad canopy was brushed
with light; the color glowed.
“A flower plucked carelessly and left to wilt,” he said softly. “A forest bird tethered to a perch and forced to sing. How can we stand by and see that? She should not wed him.” But there was nobody to hear him but the two birds, and if they had any opinion on the matter, they did not voice it.
AS ALPIN’S PARTY rode back to Briar Wood, Faolan worked at
his bardic character: a little shaken, but surprised and pleased that he had been able to assist them in their skirmish. They made rudimentary camp for the night, then rode at speed along the ill-defined tracks that threaded, mazelike, through these tangled woods. When they stopped to confer before crossing the difficult bridge that marked the border of Alpin’s own land, Faolan noticed that the water
level, though still dangerously high, had gone down since their previous passage four days earlier. Soon enough Breaking Ford might provide safe crossing once more, if the flood had not scoured too many holes in the riverbed.
Ana was waiting for her husband-to-be as the party rode through the gates of the fortress. She looked distracted as she greeted Alpin, as if her mind were somewhere else
entirely. She did not glance Faolan’s way at all. He let a groom take his horse and made his way to the sleeping quarters.
Someone had found the harp. It lay on the pallet he had been allocated, a sorry-looking instrument whose broken pegs and missing strings spoke of long neglect. An image of another harp was in Faolan’s mind, one whose curves and lines a bard’s hands knew intimately, whose
strings recognized his touch like that of a lover, whose frame trembled in his arms as the instrument sang of passion or death or delight. This poor remnant of the past would never play such a tune.
“Can you fix it?” Gerdic was passing by, a bucket in each hand, heading out to the pump.
“Given the materials, I might make something of it.” The desire to offer a negative was strong, but one must
be mindful of Alpin and how much rode on winning his trust. “Need to replace at least three of the strings and fashion a couple of pegs as well. If there’s a supply of suitable wood, and tools I can borrow, I’ll make a start in the morning. Where would I find sheep gut?”
FAOLAN COULD NOT speak to Ana alone at suppertime, nor afterward. He sat in his place among the serving men of Briar
Wood and watched her unobtrusively as she partook of the meal. She was listening to Alpin and his favored men as they recounted the tale of their victory over the Blues. She seemed a small island of tranquility amid the raucous company of the Caitt with their rowdy jests, expansive gestures, and robust enthusiasm for their ale and meat. Faolan wondered if she could ever be at home here. He pictured
her as an old woman; she would still be beautiful. She would sit quietly as the household belched and shouted and guffawed around her. She would watch her children and grandchildren in turn become part of this riotous, undisciplined company. Undisciplined: no, that was inaccurate. On the field of battle these warriors were no rabble. Their leader was astute and decisive, the men courageous, controlled,
and skillful. They could be a threat to Bridei or a significant asset. He must not lose sight of that.