Heir to Sevenwaters (36 page)

“That is not the man you are, Cathal,” I said quietly. “You are not your father. You are yourself. Maybe you owe it to her, to the mother you loved so much, to rise above this. To be strong enough to transcend it.”

There was a little silence. Then he said, “You didn’t ask me what I saw.”

“Sibeal has taught me that one should not do so. If you have something useful to tell me, perhaps you will. But I don’t expect it.”

Cathal sighed. “I hoped to see something that would help us. What I saw was obscure. I could do nothing to interpret it.”

“If I were a seer right now,” I said, “I would want a vision of Sevenwaters. To know how my family is coping. I had distressing dreams about them.”

“I’ll try again in the morning, if you want.”

“I had a sad sort of dream,” I told him. “It seemed to show how things might be at Sevenwaters if we don’t achieve this quest. At the end I saw warriors of Inis Eala riding to battle.”

“The Painted Men.” Cathal smiled. “The fighters of that legendary leader, Bran of Harrowfield. Your uncle is revered on the island. His rare visits are cause for great celebration, with drinking, feasting and extraordinary feats of arms.”

I had never been able to think of Aunt Liadan’s husband as an uncle. There was too much danger about him; his outlaw past set him beyond all that was ordinary. I wondered what he had made of Cathal when they met.

“I liked those older men when I visited Inis Eala,” I said cautiously. “It seems to me that the ones who were part of Bran’s mercenary band have something that ordinary people don’t. A . . . a tolerance, I suppose it could be called. As if they have seen and endured so much that they can rise above everyday difficulties.”

Cathal shot me a look. “You wouldn’t be trying to teach me something, would you?” he asked.

“If I were I would be far more subtle about it, Cathal. I think this lesson is one the two of us may take time to learn. We need to get home and weigh it, free of the fears and challenges that await us here.”

“How very wise and measured of you, Clodagh.” He was mocking me. “What if there is no time?”

“Then I suppose we’ll stay as we are,” I said, a lump in my throat. “With important things unsaid. With mysteries unsolved. With treasure still buried, waiting forever to be found. With secrets unshared.”

Cathal looked at me, not mocking now. “It might be safer that way,” he said.

In the human world spring had been well advanced and the soft evening light had made outdoor activities possible long after suppertime. In this eldritch realm nothing was predictable, not even the passage of sun and moon across the sky. Today the dark came rapidly, as if a great hand had drawn a blanket over all, shutting us in with the shadows. Beyond the circle of light cast by our small blaze there now lay a profound blackness. I took a walk to relieve myself in a secluded corner and could barely find my way back. From twenty paces away the campfire could be discerned only as a faint glow in the gloom.

Becan lay on the cloak waving his twiggy hands, and beside him sat Cathal with legs stretched out. As I approached I heard him addressing the infant in a serious tone. “. . . hope you realize how good she is to you. You’re privileged, young man.”

As I came closer he glanced up. “It won’t be easy for you to relinquish him,” he said. “Are you prepared for it?”

I wished I could pretend to him, to myself, that the thought of handing the baby over to the Fair Folk did not fill me with anguish. Becan was so vulnerable. I had only had him in my care a few days, but he trusted me. He knew me. He’d been left at Sevenwaters without a thought. If I had not saved him, he would be dead by now. How could I know his own folk would look after him? How could I be sure they would love him as I did? “I’m not prepared at all,” I said. “When it comes to the point, I suppose I’ll just do it.”

“As long as you know it’s going to hurt,” Cathal said. “I see how much you care for him and it fills me with wonder. He’s such a dried-up little scrap of a thing.”

“Even a scrap is worthy of love,” I said. “I suppose Becan has a mother and father in this realm, but I’m not looking forward to returning him. I didn’t think about it much until we were brought here and it started to look as if the quest might actually succeed. If it does, if we get Finbar back, then there will be another problem to face.” The warmth I had felt when I overheard those words of praise was gone. In my mind was the long, dark way through the forest; the river; the cliff, which must this time be scaled; the fields whose sweet scent lulled the mind to sleep; the perilous raft we must rely on to bear us through the portal to our own world. A baby who, this time, could not survive long on honey water.

“The homeward path may be different,” Cathal said quietly. “If, as it seems, you were intended all along to achieve your quest, surely these folk will not let you fail for want of a little milk.”

“They might,” I said, imagining the cruel possibility that I might win Finbar’s release and head for home only to see him perish from hunger before I reached Sevenwaters. “You heard that creature confirm what Willow said, that darker forces now hold sway here. That is just such a trick as they might play.”

“Clodagh,” Cathal said.

“Yes?”

“There’s evidently a certain animosity toward me in these parts. That creature made it clear I’m unwelcome. I concur with what it suggested—I believe my presence endangers you. I think my role as protector may be over now. From a certain point on, you will do better without me.”

This chilled me utterly. “No, Cathal!” I said, panic making my voice shake. “You must stay with me! If we split up we might never find each other again.”

His brows arched. “And you would wish to do so?”

“I can’t believe you need to ask that!” I dropped my gaze. Let too much feeling slip into my voice and I might drive him back behind his old barriers: cynicism, cutting wit, silence. I gathered Becan up, cradling him in my arms. I should settle him for the night.

“You underestimate your own courage, Clodagh.” The firelight cast a strange red glow on Cathal’s features. His hands were restless, the long fingers knotting and twisting. “You started the mission without me. If I hadn’t met you in the forest as I fled, you’d have kept going on your own. You’d have found your brother and brought him home, I’m sure of it. No”—he glanced up, sensing a question in my mind—“I’m not speaking from the certainty of a vision. I cannot tell you how this will fall out. But I have faith in you. Such a capacity for love must surely see you triumph. If there is one weight dragging you down, it’s my presence. These folk don’t want me here. And indeed, if I had not accompanied Johnny to Sevenwaters, I suspect your baby brother would never have been taken.”

“You said something like that before. What do you mean? How can the two possibly be connected?”

He sighed. “This is a thing I cannot tell you; not even now, when you have learned some of my best-kept secrets. If this turns out well . . . if the two of us reach the home shore again and Lord Sean’s heir is saved, I will answer any question you want to ask. That’s a promise, Clodagh.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” I said after a moment. “Lord Sean’s heir. Finbar isn’t that, not the way things stand. There was a prophecy, believed to represent the will of the Tuatha De. It was always interpreted to mean that Johnny would be chieftain of Sevenwaters some day. My father has promised that and he’s a man of his word.”

Cathal hesitated before speaking. “A man might change his mind once he had a son of his own,” he said. “Not all fathers dismiss such a gift as worthless. And what of Johnny’s opinion on the matter? Perhaps becoming chieftain, settling down, producing his own heirs, is not a prospect that he truly welcomes.”

“He’s always seemed perfectly happy with the idea,” I said, surprised. “True, Father made that promise at a time when he believed he’d never have a son. But it would be hard on Johnny if he did change his mind. Bran’s holding at Harrowfield is to go to his second son, Fintan, because Johnny is expected to take on Sevenwaters. If what you suggest happened, Johnny could be left with nothing.”

“Ah,” said Cathal. “But maybe that doesn’t trouble him. Maybe he’d rather things stayed as they are right now. He has a home and a calling on Inis Eala.”

“But no chieftaincy; no holding beyond the island itself. No wife and children. Inis Eala is not a particularly good place for families.”

“That is true, Clodagh.” His tone was a little odd, and when I looked at him I saw an expression on his face that seemed part compassion, part sorrow. “Johnny’s adept at maintaining a good face; like his father, he seldom lets others see deep. Clodagh, he loves the island. He loves his work as a leader of men. As for the other, he doesn’t want a wife and children. You must know how things stand between him and Gareth.”

For a moment I failed to understand what he meant. Then I wondered if he was teasing me in the way that had become all too familiar at Sevenwaters. But he’d looked and sounded entirely serious. Rather than utter the denial that sprang to my lips—for what he suggested was a complete surprise to me—I held my tongue and considered the possibility that it might be true. I recalled my visit to the island and Johnny’s trips to Sevenwaters, on most of which Gareth had accompanied him. They were certainly very close, the two of them. But if there was something more than friendship between them, they were expert at concealing it.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I am, though perhaps I should not have told you. I thought you would know. On the island it is not a secret.”

“I didn’t know, Cathal.” I thought again about Mother’s ambivalent attitude to Johnny as heir to Sevenwaters, which I had always put down to the fact that she had never quite approved of his father. Nobody could dislike Johnny himself. He was the kind of man everyone wanted as a friend. “Maybe my parents do, but it’s not the sort of thing they would discuss with me—we aren’t quite as open in our conversation as that. Poor Johnny; such expectations of him, and all likely to leave him deeply unhappy for the rest of his life.”

“A man can marry and father sons even if he is not that way inclined,” Cathal said dryly. “But there would be little love in such a partnership.”

“Love?” I echoed. “In our circles, marriages are made for reasons of strategic alliance. I count Deirdre lucky that she actually likes Illann. None of us expects love.”

“How fortunate that you met Aidan, then. With him you will have both a strategic alliance and love. I most certainly should not set any obstacles in your way.”

“Obstacles? You mean, such as an existing promise? You didn’t exactly set that in the way, Cathal. You merely made sure I knew about it. I may not have been grateful at the time, but really you were doing Aidan and me both a favor. A relationship can’t be founded on lies. Anyway, this is a ridiculous conversation for us to be having here, now. It’s dark, it’s cold, we’re miles from anywhere. Once Becan’s sleeping I’ll take my turn on watch. You should get some rest.”

“In fact, I was not speaking of Aidan’s betrothal to Rathnait.” His voice was very quiet. “It is possible I exaggerated the importance of that just a little.”

I glanced across at him and immediately he dropped his gaze so I could not see what was in his eyes. “Then what were you speaking of, Cathal?” I asked.

“Nothing. Forget it.” His tone forbade further questioning. “As for rest, I doubt very much that I will sleep tonight. This place disturbs me.”

He did lie down after I had settled the baby. I thought he would drop off to sleep quickly, disturbed or not, for it had been a long and eventful day. As for me, I had plenty to keep my mind occupied during the hours of my watch. I had learned more about Cathal today than during his entire time at Sevenwaters. His mother’s story was a sad one, though not so very unusual. Often enough poor women did fall victim to selfish men. I could hardly imagine how terrible it must have been for those two little boys to find her body; for young Cathal to realize that his mother had not thought her son’s existence enough to go on living for. Cathal had grown up in the conviction that every part of his own character that he disliked was inherited from his unknown parent. Privileged by Lord Murtagh’s kindness, he had longed for his mother’s love. He had both welcomed and resented his place in the chieftain’s household. That was exactly echoed in his edgy relationship with Aidan. They were as close as brothers; they knew each other’s weak spots. Like Deirdre and me, I thought. Often my twin irritated me beyond measure. That did not stop me from keeping a special corner of my heart especially for her. It didn’t matter what Deirdre did, I would always love her. I spared a thought for Aidan, remembering him as he’d watched our departure from the human world. He had stood there with his bow in his hands and his eyes full of tears. Not for me, for Cathal. If my companion thought himself unloved, he was quite wrong.

I glanced across at him again. He was lying quite still, his eyes closed, the blanket covering him to the chin. I wished him better dreams than mine had been.

The birds had fallen silent in the trees as darkness came, and the fire was all I had for companionship. I must stay awake and alert until Cathal had had a proper rest. He’d been more than tired. Something was troubling him, something more than a belief that he should not accompany me right to the end of this journey. Beneath the strength and resourcefulness that made him such a good companion, Cathal was afraid.

At home, when I needed to stay awake, I would keep both mind and hands busy by tackling a complex piece of embroidery or practicing the harp. Neither was possible here, but one task was long overdue. My hair was full of knots. I hunted through my bag and found my comb. Setting my tangled locks to rights was going to be a long and painful job, and I didn’t have Deirdre to keep me entertained. But I could sing. Cathal appeared to be sound asleep now, so I shouldn’t disturb him as long as I kept it quiet. A ballad had been unfolding in my mind for quite some time, based on a traditional form but with its own words and tune. While I combed, I would work on that.