Another shadow moved in the twilight. “Donaill has never behaved in such a way before.”
“He has never been cruel.”
“What you describe would be a terrible cruelty.”
“Yet he has gone, in the span of two days, from offering me a courtship to wanting to marry Coiteann.” She tried to make herself think calmly, analytically, to soothe her raging emotions and use reason instead—but still her voice shook, and her heart pounded and raced, and she struggled to draw breath even though she had been sitting still for a long time.
“He could have gotten away from her, had he truly wished to! He must have had no such wish, at least, not last night! He has chosen her, that I have plainly seen, and I can only wish them the greatest of happiness together!
“What else can I do?” she whispered, stumbling to a stop. “What else can I do if he prefers another? What else…” She dropped her head into her hands, fearing she would cry out again, and that this time it would tear out her very heart.
Then, just as the darkness fell, the shadows moved out of the forest to surround her. Soon she was safe within the soft touches and gentle embraces of the Sidhe, and their whispered words and soothing presence eased her pain somewhat and reminded her, again, that she was not alone, and would never be alone so long as she lived among them.
After a time they withdrew, leaving her again standing by the trees in the dark and misty forest with her two dogs calmly standing beside her. Rioghan drew a deep breath, realizing that now she could breathe slowly and easily as she had always done before, and that her heart was quiet and steady once again. Even her hands had lost most of their trembling.
“I agree with what you say,” she began, folding her hands and pacing slowly among the trees. “Donaill has never been a cruel man. Nor has he been a liar. Always his actions have matched his words. Always—until now.”
She stopped, and ran her fingers down the smooth, damp trunk of a holly tree. “Last night he wore a tunic like the one Airt had. A tunic that must have been made for him by Coiteann, the mistress of the dye, who no doubt added something extra to those particular black dyes…something dark and binding and just persuasive enough to turn the head of a man already inclined to look in her direction.”
The gentle voices again floated out of the night.
“Yet you were certain that the only one Donaill looked to was you.”
“We are certain of this, too.”
“Was the magic in this dye so strong it could compel him against his will?”
Rioghan shook her head. “I cannot believe it could be so strong,” she said, “and yet the fact remains: he is with her.” She tightened her fists again. “But how did she persuade him to accept such a gift from her at all? Why, if he had chosen me, would he allow her close enough to let her do such a thing to him?” She closed her eyes as pain threatened to overwhelm her again.
“We agree,” said another voice, “that he did not lie to you.”
“Coiteann’s powers are not great enough to force his will.”
“There must be something else—something more—that she has done.”
“But what? Who would help her with such darkness, such power, such evil? No one that I know, not at Cahir Cullen and certainly not among you. I know she must despise me for helping Sabha get her justice—and for the things I said to her yesterday. But hatred alone will not give her the power of magic.”
“Again, we agree,” said a Sidhe voice.
“None of us would have helped with such a spell.”
“Not even any of the men would do such a thing.”
Gentle arms hugged her shoulders before vanishing back into the night. “Yet we believe hope remains for you and Donaill.”
“Hope?” Rioghan found herself caught between laughing and weeping. “How could there be any hope for us, after what I have seen this day?”
The voices came rapidly now, floating all around her in the night.
“There is hope because Coiteann had not the power to do this alone.”
“Donaill would never have chosen her of his own free will.”
“She would have to have used the darkest of magics to trap him.”
“Such a thing is difficult to do, and even more difficult to hide.”
“There is more here than any of us know.”
“Find out how this was really done.”
“Find out the truth.”
Rioghan closed her eyes. “The truth may be that I have not the power to turn his will, either…or the strength left to try, after the grief that he has caused me.”
“Yet we see that your eyes are dry.”
“If you do not weep for your lost love, it is because of your anger.”
“Anger at a woman selfish enough to steal away the beloved of another.”
“And at a man foolish enough to allow such a woman to get close to him.”
“This anger will give you the strength to fight for him.”
“Do you wish to fight?”
Instantly, she raised her chin. “I could not do otherwise,” she admitted. “And, if I lose, at least I will be certain of where his affection truly lies…and I will know that I gave the best I had to give.”
“Then come home now, where you can rest, and heal, and know that you are safe.”
But she shook her head. In the distance, beyond the trees, she could just see the low orange glow of the torchlights from Cahir Cullen. “I cannot,” Rioghan said. “Not yet. I have one more task to do this night, if I intend to fight for him—and I do intend to fight.”
Chapter Nineteen
Darkness found Airt still outside, pacing around the inner wall of Cahir Cullen with his heavy cloak pulled up over his head, unable to make himself go back inside the house that he had so happily shared with Sabha and then abandoned for Coiteann.
Now he was alone.
He could only look at the tall, solid gates tightly closed against the long winter night, and wonder if he should simply walk out through them tomorrow when they opened at dawn…walk out and keep on walking until he dropped, until thirst or hunger claimed him or the wolves tracked him down.
He did not know what to do. So many lives affected, simply for a little time spent alone in the company of Coiteann!
His beloved Sabha had left him, going back to her family at Dun Orga after her marriage had been destroyed. Coiteann had shown her true colors by stealing Donaill away from Rioghan, destroying their newly forming and very promising relationship. Donaill was poisoned with dark magic, just as he himself had been, and Rioghan had lost the man who loved her.
There seemed to be nothing left for him here…or anywhere.
He continued to walk, staying close beside the high, thick earthen wall that curved along the outer perimeter of the fortress, staying deep in its shadow—until he heard familiar voices.
Peering up, Airt realized that he was near the very back of the fortress, at the open space near the wall where the men often gathered to talk in the evenings. This night was no different, it seemed, for he heard Beolagh, Flann, Dowan, and Bercan talking in low voices.
Donaill, he noted, was not among them.
They fell silent as he approached. Beolagh grunted as he recognized the newcomer. “So, Airt, you have no one else for company this night?”
“I do not,” Airt said quietly. “Everyone here knows it well. It seems that I am good for only one thing, and that is being the butt of every joke told at this fortress.”
“Not every joke,” said Beolagh. “There are a few at Donaill’s expense, too.”
“And not just a few,” added Flann. “It’s been extremely gratifying to watch the great and arrogant king’s champion brought to heel by the best- known bush strumpet at Cahir Cullen.”
“Perhaps she placed a spell of some kind on him,” Airt ventured.
“A spell? That one? The dye woman? Ha! She has no such powers. She might be able to turn his head with some little charm, but that is all she could do. Donaill is there because he allows himself to be there.”
“And now that he has turned his full attention to Coiteann,” said Beolagh, “he has turned it away from Rioghan—and from Sion.”
The men fell silent, but as Airt looked at each face he saw that all of them wore grim smiles and smug expressions. “From Sion?” he asked. “You are…you are planning to return there?”
“That we are,” said Beolagh, looking hard at him. “Donaill is no longer the guardian of Sion nor the protector of the midwife. He is busy elsewhere. And we will do no harm to the Sidhe, not as long as they give us the gold they have no use for.”
He took a step toward Airt, still fixing him with a glare. “Perhaps you would like to join us. You have lost much. A little gold might do something to rebuild your status, would it not? Perhaps even help you find another woman, now that you have lost two in two days.”
Airt swallowed and looked away. “Would you allow me to go with you?”
Beolagh laughed. “That we would! You may not be much at keeping women about you, young Airt, but you are a good enough fighter to help keep the Sidhe at bay while we take their gold. And we know very well that the midwife would never come near
you.
She is a woman, after all, and we know how they run from you!”
All of them laughed uproariously, and Airt tried to smile. It was yet another joke at his expense, and he knew it was just the start of many more to come—unless he found a solution to his loss of face.
“I will go with you, if you’ll have me,” he said in a clear voice.
“Oh, we’ll have you, all right,” said Beolagh. “There’s no one with better reason than you to gain some gold and raise your status.”
“When?” whispered Airt.
Beolagh glanced up at the sky. “We’ll need to do a bit of planning,” he said, “but we don’t want to wait too long. We cannot chance Coiteann changing her mind again and letting Donaill go, though I doubt she will now that she has the champion of the king. We’ll go at the dark of the moon.”
Airt nodded. That would be about ten nights from now. “The dark of the moon it is, then. I will be with you.”
The house was as quiet as it had ever been. The low fire in the hearth did little to banish the cold and the dark, and Coiteann could almost see her breath in the cold air. But that did not matter. She was alone with Donaill inside his own house, and she would be here every night from now on because it would be her rightful place as his wife.
Excitement rose within her. Donaill, the king’s champion, the carefree warrior who had recently begun an idle pursuit of a reclusive, manipulative little wretch named Rioghan, had forgotten all about that woman. Now he was bound to the powerful and enchanting Coiteann the way a mountain was bound to the earth.
She stood facing him beside the sleeping ledge, smiling up at him, wearing only a light linen gown even in the cold. The thin fabric draped nicely over her curves and hid little even in the dim light; but he seemed not to notice her at all. Her blond hair hung down long and loose, but when she threw back her head and allowed the gown to slip low over her shoulders he merely smiled at her and stood quietly, as though waiting for her to tell him what he should do next.
Coiteann sighed. “Would you like some hot wine? Maybe that would…relax you a bit.”
“Of course,” he said, still staring down at her. “Whatever you would like, I would like, too.”
She smiled back. “Of course.” She caught up one of the stitched fur covers from the sleeping ledge, threw it around her shoulders, and walked around to the other side of the hearth, where she crouched down to find the wineskin and a pair of wooden cups.
As she stood up with them, she was startled to see Donaill standing right over her. “Oh,” she said, trying to smile at him. “I found the wine.”
“You did.” He stood still, watching her, waiting for her to do something else. When she went back to the sleeping ledge with the wine and the cups, he followed, then stood waiting once again.
He stood there the whole time and watched everything she did, never taking his eyes off her hands as she poured the blackberry wine into a small cauldron and set it on the glowing coals. In a short time the liquid was steaming and ready, and she poured a little into each of the wooden cups.
She handed him one, and he took it, but still did nothing but stare at her. “Drink,” she said softly, and he obeyed. Coiteann downed her own wine in a single gulp.
She set down her cup, and he did the same, and at last she reached for him and took him into her embrace. He allowed her to hold him, but merely stood still with his arms at his sides. She got nothing in return from him but his beating heart and the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Coiteann stepped back and caught hold of his hands. “Come with me,” she whispered, smiling up at his shadowed face. “Come with me, into the warm furs, where we can be together the way we were always meant to be together.”
She pulled the fur cover from her shoulders and sat down on the edge of the wide ledge, sliding over toward the wall so that there was room enough for him to lie beside her. “Come here, Donaill,” she said again, stroking the soft, thick furs covering the empty space beside her. “Come here.”
Obedient as a child, Donaill sat down on the edge of the ledge, untied his heavy boots and pulled them off, and then stretched out flat on his back beside her. Quickly she covered them both with more furs and a couple of heavy woolen cloaks, and moved close to press the length of her cold body against his.