Heir to Sevenwaters (18 page)

It was just as well she couldn’t see my expression.
I might visit some time, but you can forget about the sweetheart. Besides, there’s no shortage of young men at Sevenwaters while Johnny’s here.

He’s still with you, then?

For now, anyway.

He doesn’t mind about the baby being a boy? Won’t that cut him out of his inheritance?

Perhaps,
I told her.
But Finbar’s only a baby. Johnny doesn’t seem at all upset. Besides, he has other things on his mind.

Don’t tell me our cousin has finally become interested in a girl.

It’s nothing to do with women
.
Just an issue with one of the local chieftains, you know the kind of thing. Johnny’s a little edgy and so is Father. It’s nothing important.

One of the chieftains? Which one?

The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I could almost hear Cathal whispering in my ear,
I told you
.

I’m not sure,
I lied.
You know Father expected this. That the northern leaders might see your marriage to Illann as an affront, I mean.

You must be able to remember which chieftain it is.

I can’t, Deirdre. I really have no idea.

But you’re always so interested in these things, Clodagh.

And you’re not, I thought. Or weren’t before.
I’ve been too busy to take much notice,
I told her.
Finbar’s arrival has set the household upside down. I don’t think it’s anything to be concerned about.
I did not mention Father’s furrowed brow, or the serious conversations the men seemed to be having all the time now, talk that often included the name Eoin of Lough Gall.

Really? I hate to think of Father riding out to battle with a new baby at home.

He’s not riding out to battle, Deirdre. It’s nothing like that, only Gareth and some other men going north with a message, that’s all.
My heart was thumping now. Either Cathal was right and I’d already said more than I should, or he was wrong and I would upset my sister for no good reason by refusing to answer perfectly reasonable questions. Suddenly, talking to Deirdre was like balancing along a very thin line indeed.
I have to go,
I said.
I’m supposed to be looking after Finbar and I can hear him crying.
As if to prevent me from lying, the baby stirred, making a small sleepy sound, then fell silent once more.

Oh. So he’s right there with you? Where are you? Who else is there?

Deirdre, I have to go.

A little silence, then she said,
Can we do this again, Clodagh? I know what I said before, but I didn’t realize how much I was going to miss you. It would make such a difference, just being able to talk to you sometimes, exchange our news, find out how everyone is . . . Can we?

Of course,
I told her, but there was a cold, tight feeling in my chest. If news was what she wanted, why hadn’t she asked after a single one of our sisters? She’d questioned me over the northern chieftains, but she hadn’t so much as mentioned Muirrin or Sibeal or Eilis. This was Deirdre; Deirdre who to the best of my recollection had never in her life discussed strategic matters with me.
Goodbye for now, Deirdre. I’ll tell the others you sent your love.

The moment she was gone from my head a wave of exhaustion hit me. I sank down onto the bench beside the little hearth, glad that the baby seemed to have fallen asleep again, for I did not think I could find the strength so much as to pick him up, let alone change his wrappings or carry him to my mother’s chamber to be fed. A tear dribbled down my cheek. What was wrong with me? I did not feel at all like a young woman whose mother had not so long ago thanked her for being competent. I fished for a handkerchief and wiped my eyes.

Someone tapped on the door. I cursed under my breath. Company was the last thing I needed right now. Still, it was probably only Sibeal come early for her turn with Finbar. She wouldn’t ask awkward questions if she found me in tears.

I opened the door and found myself face-to-face with the person I least wanted to see.

“You’re crying,” observed Cathal, brows up.

“Go away.” I began to close the door, but he stuck out his foot and stopped me.

“Clodagh. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“None of your business. What are you doing up here? I’m supposed to be looking after the baby.”

“You can look after him and talk to me. There’s no rule against that. It would be more civilized if you invited me in so we could sit down and talk in more comfort. These doorway trysts are so awkward.”

“Get your foot out of the door, Cathal.”

“Tell me what’s wrong and I will.”

“I told you, it’s none of your concern. What do you want, anyway?”

“Come out here and talk to me and then I’ll go away. I promise.”

“I doubt if your promises are worth much, Cathal.” How could I get rid of him without attracting attention? This hallway was a thoroughfare for serving people and family alike. “All right, I’ll talk, but only for a moment. I can’t leave Finbar.”

Cathal took a step back. I could have slammed the door in his face, but that did seem rather childish. I stepped out of the chamber to stand with one hand holding the door ajar, so I could still see the willow cradle with its small occupant drowsing in the firelight. “Why are you here?” I asked. Cathal was wearing his big cloak and his riding boots. I saw now that, despite his flippant manner, he looked pale and drawn. “What’s wrong?” I added despite myself. “You seem upset.”

He didn’t answer. He was leaning against the wall by the door now, shoulders hunched, eyes not on me but on a patch of flag-stoned floor.

“Cathal?”

“I might not see you for a while,” he said. “I don’t think it’s wise for me to be here.”

I had not expected this. “Is Johnny sending you north? Has there been news from Gareth?” The awkward conversation with Deirdre came sharply back, but I knew I was not going to discuss it with him. If it hadn’t been for his disturbing theory, I would have given my twin the family’s happy news and felt nothing but pleasure that Deirdre was prepared to talk to me again. It was entirely his fault that I was filled with wretched confusion. As for his leaving, I was not at all sure how I felt about that.

“Not exactly. But I don’t expect to be here much longer. I know you find my presence irksome and disruptive, Clodagh. All the same, I didn’t want to go without saying goodbye.”

His tone chilled me. I hated the lost look in those dark eyes, which held none of their usual mischief today. “What is this?” I asked him. “You sound like you’re going away forever. Isn’t Johnny staying here over the summer? Is Aidan leaving too?”

He attempted a smile; it was a sad wraith of a thing. “Not him, just me. I suppose you will be glad to see the back of me.”

I did not dismiss this as a bid for sympathy as I might once have done. “I have mixed views on the matter,” I said, wondering why I couldn’t put together the pieces of this and make sense of it. “Besides, you’ll come back, won’t you? Johnny’s here almost every year. I will see you again some time.”

The forlorn smile appeared once more. Willow’s Wolf-child story came sharply back to me and my heart twisted. What was this? I didn’t even like the man. Why did I feel the urge to give him a reassuring hug and tell him everything would be all right?

“Doubtful,” Cathal said. “Now you’d best get back to that baby. Good practice for when you have one or two of your own. Goodbye, Clodagh,” and he leaned across and kissed me. For a moment I was too taken aback to move, and for another I allowed myself to enjoy the pressure of his lips on mine, a sweet, intense feeling that made my whole body spring to life in an utterly surprising way. When his hand came up to touch my neck I had to force myself not to nestle closer and slip my arms around him. Instead I pushed him away, shocked at my response and appalled that I had allowed such familiarity here in the family quarters of the house. I shouldn’t even have let Cathal linger outside the door.

“Stop it!” I hissed. “This is madness! Just go, will you?”

Cathal’s eyes met mine, and there was not the least trace of mockery in them. He turned on his heel, his cloak swirling around him, and I saw a curious sight: across the lining of his garment were scattered many small items, sewn there in the manner of charms placed for protection, as with the rowan cross of the clurichaun story. There was a cross in Cathal’s cloak, certainly. There was also a feather, a snippet of bright silken cloth and something made of green glass. There were more tiny trinkets, but I had no time to identify them, for in a heartbeat he was gone, shadow swift and completely silent. I caught a movement further along the hallway. My mother’s maid, Eithne, was standing there staring at us, a pile of folded cloths in her arms. She met my gaze, then scurried into Mother’s chamber. I was in no doubt that she had seen the whole interchange, kiss and all.

Now I was really crying, with no good reason for it. I retreated into the nursery chamber and shut the door, then sat down on the floor by the hearth with my arms around my knees. There was some comfort in the small glow of the fire. By the time Sibeal came I would be calm again if I worked at it. Chances were I would go downstairs later and find that Cathal had simply been playing games again. I should put him right out of my mind; I should not let him upset me so. Why on earth had he come up to see me? And what had that kiss been all about, that tender, frightening, completely inappropriate kiss? How dare Cathal sneak under my defenses at the same time as saying, more or less, goodbye forever? The thought that he was going away gave me a strange hollow feeling inside, and that was completely wrong. I should, as he had pointed out, be glad to see the back of him.

I sat there staring into the flames, breathing the faint scent of the herbs I had strewn earlier and trying to make sense of the utterly inscrutable. Cathal, Deirdre, Johnny, Father . . . There was too much to think about, and it was all too easy to give in to feeling sorry for myself. I should be happy Cathal was going. I should be pleased Aidan was staying. I must get a grip on myself.

Finbar stirred, making his basket creak, and I realized I had been lost in my thoughts for some while. It must be well past time for the baby’s next feed. I must take him in to Mother and hope she did not notice my red eyes. What if Eithne was there and had already mentioned she’d seen me behaving as if I didn’t know what decorum was?

Finbar made a little sound. My whole body stiffened in alarm. His voice was different; wrong. It was not the cry of a healthy, hungry baby but a curious, painful rasp. No normal child made a sound like that. Finbar must be sick. He was choking, he couldn’t breathe . . . I sprang up and hastened to the basket, my heart racing. I looked down, an image of my baby brother still fresh in my mind—the delicate fingers, the soft eyelids, the peachy skin and rosebud mouth. My heart gave a single wild thump and was still. Now I was cold all over. Finbar was gone. All that lay in his little bed was a curious jumble of sticks and stones, leaves and moss.

The baby couldn’t be far away.
Breathe
, I ordered myself, forcing down panic. He couldn’t even be out of the room, because he’d been in the basket, I’d seen him with my own eyes, and I’d never gone further than the doorway. I’d had Finbar in sight the whole time, even when I stepped outside the door. I’d made sure of it. Except . . . except for a moment or two, when my attention was on Cathal. Except for when he kissed me. Even then, nobody could have walked past me unseen—I’d been right by the doorway. My brother must be here. He must be.

I began a frantic hunt, knowing all the time that there was nowhere in the chamber that a baby could be successfully hidden for more than a moment. Under the pile of towels. Behind the bench. In the alcove. Nothing. My heart was pounding. My skin was clammy with terror. How could this be? How could he be gone? I’d hardly taken my eyes off him.
This must be a bad dream. Let me wake up now, please, please.
It was only after I had spent what seemed an age scrabbling about looking in every corner that I remembered the sound I had heard from the basket. Sticks and stones do not cry out. Maybe the whole thing had been a delusion. Perhaps the Fair Folk had sent me a malign vision of some kind. I made myself take two deep breaths, then approached the basket again.

The little pile of sticks and stones still lay there on the pale linen of the under-blanket. No vision, then. My heart dropped down, leaden again. Finbar was gone. I must call for help, I must tell them . . .

The sound began once more, a plaintive, scratchy crying like a mockery of a baby’s voice. And the sticks and stones were . . . They were . . . My gorge rose. I made myself go on looking, and saw mossy lids opening over pebble eyes, a little mouth shaped from twigs stretching to reveal brown, barky gums, a pair of hands with skinny sticks for fingers reaching up toward me as if begging for the comfort of my embrace. The thing was crying; it was hungry. It kicked the blankets away—my baby brother’s soft blankets—to show its form as that of a newborn infant, but bizarrely made of the debris of the forest, here a stick of rowan, there a brown leaf, here a crust of moss, there a polished stone in mottled black and white. Its head was covered, not with thick fine hair like Finbar’s, but with a random patching of what looked like the breast feathers of a crow. Its voice was crowlike, too, rasping a louder and louder demand for attention. I pinched myself on the arm, hard, but all that happened was an escalation of the squawking cries. I was awake, and it was true. Someone had taken my brother, the long-desired son of Sevenwaters, my mother’s gift from the gods, and in his place had left us the ugliest changeling in the world.

CHAPTER 6