Heir to Sevenwaters (56 page)

“Johnny would be impressed,” I said in wonderment, thinking it had not been so surprising that the strange folk of the trees had looked at Cathal the way they did, with respect and awe, for he had become a prince and a leader.

Cathal smiled; the pinched, white look on his face retreated a little. “Maybe he would, though he should take some of the credit himself. Without the training he gave me and the example of character he showed us daily on the island, I would not have had the strength to endure this long ordeal. As for those unusual skills I have acquired, they could be seen as both good and bad, blessing and burden. The difference lies in the intent of the user. But I will not put those skills into practice here, Clodagh; not unless my father . . .”

“You think he’ll keep trying to find you and to lure you across?” The idea was chilling.

“He won’t like being outwitted. I don’t think it ever occurred to him that I might befriend what he would consider to be the lesser races in his realm, despite the clue that was in his own verse. He believes them insignificant. He does not realize that there are good hearts there, slow as they may be to trust. Mac Dara has not spread his influence over all the lands and peoples of the Otherworld, though he might wish to.”

I could not bring myself to say what was in my mind: that those people must surely want Cathal to come back, to stay, to stand up to his father and perhaps attempt to restore their world to something better and brighter. The idea was there, all the same, a shadow at the edge of this day’s happiness. “He was angry to see us escape, certainly,” I said. “But sad as well. What he said about being disappointed in you was rubbish. I expect that watching you outwit him made him proud even as it broke his heart. If he still wants you back, it’s not to punish you, it’s because you are his son and, in his own way, he loves you.”

Cathal gave a crooked smile. “That’s exactly what I would expect you to say, Clodagh. Your heart is so brimming with warmth and love that you see good even in a black-hearted tyrant like Mac Dara.” He paused, looking down at our interlinked hands. “Clodagh, I have to tell you this before we walk on. I know how much your family means to you. You are dearer to me than anything in the world. But I can’t stay at Sevenwaters. I can’t live in the kind of household where you have grown up. It’s not just that I am ill at ease in such company and unable to play by the rules. If I settled here with you I might bring down my father’s anger on everyone in the place. I would certainly put you in danger. He knows you are the tool by which he can most easily control me. I only stayed out of his reach, those last few years in our world, because I was on Inis Eala where I’m screened from him. Clodagh . . .”

“I know this already, Cathal,” I said, kneeling up and turning so I could meet his gaze. Gods, he looked thin and drained. “I had assumed that when we were married we would live on Inis Eala. Yes, I’ll miss Sevenwaters, but I do have family on the island. I have skills that should come in useful there—I know there’s no room for idle folk in such a community.”

Cathal got to his knees and gathered me close. “Are you sure?” he said against my hair. “Are you quite sure you want to marry me, knowing whose son I am? He won’t forget that promise you extricated yourself from, you know. If we have children—sons—they’ll be at risk all their lives. We’ll be more or less trapped on the island. He won’t give up his efforts to recapture me, and you’ll be a target because he can use you to force my obedience. It may not be much of a life for you, Clodagh.”

“It’s the life I want. I want to be with you, Cathal. Nothing else matters.”

His arms tightened around me. “Why would you give up so much, just for me?” he asked, his tone full of wonder.

“You almost gave up everything for me,” I told him. “The reason is exactly the same. I love you. It’s as simple as that.” I touched the necklace he wore, with its white stone. “I have to ask you something,” I said. “Clearly you’ve developed great skill in magic, even if you do call yourself a beginner. Perhaps you could have left before, using those powers and your alliances. Maybe you were strong enough to defeat him all along.”

“Not without you,” Cathal said with such finality that I believed him instantly. “You are my talisman, Clodagh. To leave that place in safety, I needed you by me. I am as sure of that as I am that oak leaves fall in autumn. In all that long time of waiting, even when my spirits were at their lowest, I never lost the belief that you would come back for me. I never ceased to be amazed that you could love me, an outsider, a man who had insulted you, ignored you, caused you nothing but grief. That wonder will be with me all my living days. With you by my side I feel . . . I feel clothed in love.”

My heart melted. “When you put the ring on my finger,” I whispered, “it filled up my heart with happiness, Cathal. I never want to say goodbye again.”

We held each other awhile, not talking, as the forest creatures sang and chirruped and rustled around us in the warming day.

“I’ll have to give Johnny a full explanation,” Cathal said. “I’ll need to stay on the island and train others; I will not be able to accompany him on his missions. I hope he will be prepared to keep me on in view of that limitation.”

“Of course he’ll keep you,” I said. “And perhaps, in time, the Lord of the Oak will cease to hold such sway in these parts. Eventually it may become safe for us, and for our children if we have them, to go further abroad. Even in the world of the Fair Folk time passes and the balance changes.” I remembered Ciarán’s words:
Now is not the time for me to do battle with Mac Dara.
To say that was to imply that such a time would eventually come. When it did, my uncle would not be wanting to confront the Lord of the Oak alone.

“If you’re sure,” Cathal said.

“I’m sure.” We rose to our feet, but before we walked on I stood on tiptoe and kissed him, showing him that there was absolutely no doubt on the matter. His answering kiss set my body aflame. The compulsion to sink to the forest floor together, to lie entangled in the stillness of the spring morning and take our fill of each other was hard to resist. But we held back. He withdrew his lips from mine. I stepped away from him. He was flushed; my breathing was unsteady. After a moment, we both burst into shaky laughter.

“Come on, then,” I said. “Let’s go home. Keep your mind on that comfortable bed. Perhaps we can persuade Father to let us be hand-fasted quite soon. I’m hoping Ciarán will agree to conduct the ritual.”

“I have a new verse for your song,” Cathal said as we walked on. “I had been wondering, while I waited for you in that place, how it might end. I constructed several versions, but as it has turned out, this one is the most apt:

“Where have you wandered, my dear one, my own
Where have you wandered, my handsome young man
I met a young woman with hair like a flame
She laid my heart open, she banished my shame.

“And then, of course,” he went on, “you’d need a new ending, since the handsome young man has found his way at last.”

My eyes were suddenly full of tears. “It could be something like:
Together we’ll find the way home
,” I said. “I thought you couldn’t sing.”

“For you, my love,” said Cathal, “I’m prepared to try almost anything.”

There were no more tricks of time. We walked into the courtyard of Sevenwaters the day after my father had broken off his important council to ride at breakneck speed to the nemetons and fetch his baby boy home; the day after my mother had received her lost child back in her arms. At some distance from the keep we’d been halted by a pair of sentries, who had identified us then let us pass. They had eyed us with curiosity—perhaps it was not widely known that Cathal was with me, or perhaps it was his appearance that gave them pause. It was as if everything about him had been sharpened by that time away. He seemed taller, thinner, his skin paler, his eyes more intense. If he had been striking before, now he looked dangerous.

The first person we saw in the courtyard was Sigurd, on guard duty. “Thor’s hammer!” the big Norseman exclaimed, rooted to the spot and staring at Cathal. “What did they do to you? You’re a shadow of yourself, man!” He strode forward and clapped Cathal on the shoulder in hearty greeting, then sobered. “You’ve heard the bad news?”

“We know about Aidan,” I said.

More men had spotted us; I noticed a heavy presence of Inis Eala warriors around the keep. That would be because of the council. The place must be full of people. I felt the tension in Cathal. Straight from the isolation of that little cell, the long battle of wits, the confrontation with his father, to this . . .

“My lady, there’s a houseful of folk here, all sitting down to breakfast about now,” Sigurd said. “You won’t be wanting to walk straight into that.” His eyes went back to Cathal, assessing.

“Could you slip inside and tell Johnny we’re here?” I asked the Norseman. “You’re right, we’d best not create a drama in front of Father’s guests. We’ll go and wait in the herb garden. And please make sure those other men keep quiet about this until my parents are told.”

We made our way to the little walled garden outside the stillroom door. It was a peaceful place set with stone benches and shaded by flowering trees, with a lovely lilac in the center. The air was full of the healing scents of lavender and thyme.
Step across the field of thyme, fall so far you cannot climb . . .
I would never feel quite the same about that smell again. Cathal and I sat down on a bench, side by side, hand in hand, and waited.

The first person to find us was my father, who stepped out through the stillroom door looking every bit the chieftain in his council attire of dark tunic and trousers, pristine linen shirt and short cloak, only to run across to me and, as I stood up, envelop me in a fierce embrace.

“Clodagh!” he said indistinctly. “You’re safe! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my dear.”

“It’s all right.” My reply was shaky in the extreme. “I understand why you acted as you did, Father. Mac Dara cast his net over all of us for a while. How is Mother? Is she well? What about Finbar?”

But Father was looking at Cathal now, and Cathal, standing very still beside me, was meeting his gaze steadily. There was much in that look; almost too much. I opened my mouth to offer explanations, but at that moment Johnny strode out of the house, a big smile on his tattooed features, and threw his arms around Cathal.

“You’re back,” my cousin said. “Thank all the gods.”

“It is not the gods you should thank,” said Cathal quietly, “but Clodagh. I owe my presence here today entirely to her intervention.” He took my hand again; I felt the trembling in his. His uncertainty about the future was real, despite the bright welcome in Johnny’s eyes.

“I’ll need an account of your actions as soon as possible,” Father said, his gaze still on Cathal. “We have a number of influential chieftains gathered in the house, and your return has . . . implications.” Behind his words loomed not only the doubt that had hung over Cathal himself, but the issue of Glencarnagh, and the fact that it was Cathal who had called Illann’s role into question.

I glanced at Johnny, trying not to make it too obvious. “We’re both very tired,” I said. “Most of what we have to say can wait, can’t it? But I should tell you about Glencarnagh . . .” Faces, walls, bushes began to turn in circles around me and I swayed, then sagged down onto the bench. “Sorry,” I murmured as Cathal came to sit by me, his arm around my shoulders.

“Glencarnagh?” Cathal queried, as if he had never heard the name before. It took a moment for me to remember that he had been away a long time.

“Father’s holding that was attacked and burned,” I said, seeing the baffled glances of the other men. Gods, my head felt strange. All I wanted was a bath and sleep. “Father, Mac Dara—Cathal’s father—told me the attack was all his doing. I can explain more about it later. If it’s still causing trouble between you and Illann, it shouldn’t be. Illann had nothing to do with it.”

Father and Johnny exchanged a look, then turned their gaze on Cathal, who rose to his feet.

“Clodagh and I have not had time to discuss this particular matter,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “It seems so long ago. You’ll be wanting me to account for my sudden departure from Sevenwaters and . . . and other things.”

“Certainly, you have some explaining to do,” Father said. “A situation has developed. If what Clodagh has just told us is accurate, we may now have the means to resolve it while the chieftains are still at Sevenwaters for the council. The matter is pressing.”

“Welcome home, Clodagh!” Gareth had appeared in the stillroom doorway. “And you, my friend! By all that’s holy, man, you look as if you haven’t slept in days.” He eyed Cathal with evident concern. “They’ve told you about Aidan, I take it. A grievous loss; I’m so sorry.” He glanced from Father to Johnny. “I’ll take this fellow off for a meal and a rest, shall I?”

“There is no need,” said Cathal. “If you require my account now, I will give it, Lord Sean.” It was a brave attempt to sound wide awake and capable, but I could hear the exhaustion in his voice and it seemed Johnny could, too.

“Sean, this can wait until later,” my cousin said. “It’s not every day you get your daughter home from the Otherworld. With your approval, I’ll let the guests know that the full session will be delayed. They’ll welcome the opportunity to sit a little longer over their breakfast, I expect. Cathal’s going to be of more use to us if he’s had some rest and refreshment. And you’ll be wanting to take Clodagh up to see her mother.”

“Yes, of course,” Father said. He must indeed be distracted, I thought, if he needed such a reminder. “Thank you, Johnny. Cathal, my sympathies for the loss of your friend; he was a fine warrior.” Both his tone and his expression had relaxed somewhat. “Clodagh, we’ll go up the back stairs. Your mother is in the sewing room today. Your sudden departure wrought more changes than you could imagine. Come, my dear.”

I did not want to let Cathal out of my sight. But he would do well enough among the men of Inis Eala. They were his comrades; they would look after him. “Go and rest,” I said quietly. “I won’t be far away.”