Daughter Of The Forest (41 page)

Elaine made to speak again, then thought better of it. Richard resumed his pacing.

“She cannot tell us who she is,” he murmured. “Convenient. Very handy. So you can get no ransom for her. I could guess, maybe. Perhaps the girl has heard of Seamus Redbeard, him whose barbarians murdered good men in the passes above the long lake?” He stared into my eyes, and I was suddenly put in mind of the lady Oonagh, and summoned every effort of will not to show the tiniest flicker of knowledge, to keep my face as still as stone. “Maybe she knows of Eamonn of the Marshes, son-in-law of Redbeard; his trick is the use of fire, by night. A hot fire that leaves nothing but bone behind.” He circled again. “Perhaps she knows of Lord Colum of Sevenwaters, the most elusive of all, a thorn in my flesh if ever there was one. Through him the flower of my men perished. Perhaps she knows of these. For everyone is a daughter, or a sister; unless we believe in faery changelings now. Look at me, girl.
Whose daughter are you?
”

Silence. Silence was the only defense. Breathe in; breathe out. Try to think of nothing. Try to hold down the rage that rose in my breast; try to keep the pain from my face.
Your thoughts blaze like a beacon from your eyes; yours and Finbar’s
. Keep it back. Calm. Calm like a stone.

“You’re too soft, Hugh. This would be child’s play. But you never did like blood on your hands.”

He turned to the lady Anne. “What of your younger son, sister? What would you give, to have him home safe? If she could lead you to him, would you not have her speak, by any means you could? She could be made to speak, oh, so easily. But Hugh here, for reasons best known to himself, doesn’t seem prepared to do it. That makes me wonder. That presents a whole new set of questions.”

Don’t look at the lady Anne. Concentrate on breathing. In. Out.

“She’s only a child,” said Red very quietly. I realized suddenly that this whole thing was not about me. It was meant for him. It was part of some game only these two men understood. It was some sort of test. But which of them was being tested?

“She has nothing to tell. She came to my aid when I was in difficulty; I offered her shelter. That’s all there is to it.”

There was complete silence in the room. Richard raised his eyebrows quizzically.

“Not such a child, I think,” he said silkily. His back was to his daughter, and to the lady Anne. His hand came up, and one finger touched my cheek delicately, and then ran a slow pathway down my face, and my neck, and my breast above the neckline of my plain gown. I felt the blood drain from my face, and my insides clenched tight with remembered terror, and I caught my breath. I did not see Red move, it was so fast. But there he was, his large hand closing around Richard’s arm, rather tightly, and lifting it away.

“Enough,” he said softly. There was no need to raise his voice; the tone had said it all. “This is my household, uncle. The lady is my guest. Perhaps I did not make that clear.”

“Oh, you make it clear enough, Hugh, my boy, clear as crystal.” He was rubbing his wrist, his expression now comically rueful. He had quite a repertoire. “I hope it’s as clear to your mother, that’s all I can say. She may be less enthusiastic about giving house room to the—lady.” The little pause before the last word was exquisitely timed. But he had not read his audience as well as he might. Elaine had a small frown on her brow, as if she were thinking hard. Lady Anne was distressed. Nonetheless, she beckoned to me as I stood frozen in the center of the room, and I summoned up what dignity I had left and went to sit on the embroidered stool at her side. In that one gesture she had said more than many words were worth. She might disapprove of what Red had done; but he was her son, and this was his household, and she would see that his guests were treated correctly, whatever it cost her.

I endured the evening meal. This time I was better protected, for the family sat together, Lady Anne in her habitual place on her son’s right, Elaine on his left. Lord Richard was seated by his sister, and if I felt his eyes on me, I did my best not to look at him. Well down the table, I found myself between John and Ben, with Margery opposite. That effectively cut off any need to hear what was being said, or to school my expression. The three of them kept up a lively conversation on a variety of topics, ranging from the winter fair at Elvington, to whether sycamore or walnut was really best for fine furniture, to the merits of Red’s new breeding sow. They managed to include me, and a variety of imaginative expressions and gestures came into use, causing a certain amount of merriment among our small party. Once or twice, glancing up the table, I caught Red’s gaze, neither approving nor disapproving, just noting how things were. He spent much time in quiet conversation with Elaine. They were well suited, I thought. Childhood friends, they knew their place in the world and would work well together to keep what they had. She had impressed me, with her attempt to stand up to her father. Besides, both were tall and well favored, and they would breed handsome children. But I remembered the expressions on the faces of Liam and Eilis on the night of their betrothal; how they gazed into each other’s eyes as if there were no other in the world. I saw no such expression on Red’s face, nor on Elaine’s. Perhaps it is the way of the Britons, I thought. You do not show what you feel. Instead, you shut it away inside, locked in tight, lest it be seen in the light. But there were exceptions, I thought, watching Margery as she shared a joke with her husband, seeing John’s face as he passed her a platter of bread and she took a piece, touching his hand. There were those whose love spilled over into their every gesture, and so was shared by all who knew them. But they were rare folk indeed.

I slept badly; the night demons were strong, clutching at me even in sleep, and it was a relief to wake, finally, cold and clammy with sweat, and see through my around window the first dim traces of dawn light in the sky. I washed in cold water and threw on a cloak over my nightrobe, for the walls were closing in and I was desperate for air. I unbolted the outer door and went softly out into the garden, barefoot on the cold stones of the path. Alys followed with some reluctance, moving stiffly in the early chill. There would be frost within days, I thought. That was good; maybe in spring I would see the earth carpeted with jonquil and crocus. Today would be fair; I could still see stars in the lightening sky, where purple faded to pink and to the first touch of dawn gold.

Alys gave a tiny growl as we neared the foot of the garden. On the bench under the wall, Red lay asleep. It was scarcely large enough to accommodate his long frame; his arms were crossed behind his head, one leg lay stretched out along the bench and the other dangled to the ground. He would have a few aches and pains when he woke. He had his sword, and the small knife in his boot; but right now, any passing stranger could have finished him off. I stood there quietly, as the dawn touched his face with rosy light, and played over the straight nose, and the well defined bones, and the wide, relaxed mouth.
All right for some
, I thought.

He did not take long to wake. When he did, it was in one smooth movement, aches and pains or no, springing to his feet instantly alert, hand ready on sword hilt. Alys gave a yelp of fright. Then Red saw who it was and sat down again, scratching his head ruefully.

“Sleeping on the job. Not good,” he said, blinking. “Must have been more tired than I thought. Yesterday was not the best of days.”

I nodded. It was an understatement. Now he was looking at me properly, searchingly.

“You look terrible,” he said.

Thanks
. My expression must have told him how I felt.

“And your feet must be freezing. Sit down here.” I sat, tucking my feet under me on the bench, drawing my cloak around me to cover them. It was cold on the stone path, but it was a good cold, that winter chill that sets a sleep on the garden, to dream of spring’s new growth.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” said Red, and he reached out a hand toward my face. I flinched away, and he dropped it without touching me. “You have deep shadows under your eyes, and you’re white as chalk. I’m sorry about yesterday. They are leaving this morning. I don’t want you to be frightened.”

What I wanted to say could not be put into gestures.
You weren’t much help. Why didn’t you stop him sooner?
I could think of no way to convey this to him. I gave a shrug instead.

“I mean it, Jenny. I will ensure that he does no such thing again. It was not fair to you, or to my mother.” I studied his face. I thought that he was wrestling with himself, unsure how much to say.

“He—no, let me put this another way. My uncle is kin. I must accept that. I can go just so far, for now at least. I wished to let him talk, in case—no, I need not burden you with this.”

What? Burden me with what?
Of that man, with his smooth tongue and his creeping hands, with his ready smile and poisonous words, I could believe anything. Having him as your uncle must be bad enough. I would not have him as father-in-law, if I had the choice. But it seemed that for Red, that choice was already made.

“I know why Simon went away,” said Red in an undertone. I felt, again, that he was really talking to himself, not to me. Setting his thoughts in order. Saying the things one did not say aloud. “I’m not sure I understand why he did not return. There are ways of conducting a campaign, and Richard knows them well; whatever you might think of his motives, he is a professional with years of experience in the field. This campaign was different. You don’t set up camp in the heart of your enemy’s territory, not if you know what he’s capable of. You don’t put all your men together in a vulnerable position, to lose them in a single ambush. When you sleep, you set a watch. And it is not, usually, the newest and rawest recruit that is singled out for special treatment. Why didn’t he die with the rest of them?” He ran his hand over his short-cropped hair, frowning. “Simon had hostage value, I understand that. But there was no demand for ransom, no contact, nothing. And not a word of him, when I went there. Nothing; except—”

Except what I carried
, I thought.
And that was precious little good to you
.

“And when Richard himself went to search,” Red went on, and I thought he had almost forgotten I was there, “what he told us—it did not ring true. John said the same. What he told us, of how they were slain, how the men of Erin came on them by night—it just doesn’t happen to men of experience. Not like that. Richard said—implied—that it was Simon’s fault, that my brother somehow betrayed them, brought the enemy down on them. But I know my brother. He may be foolish, headstrong, overyoung for his years. But he is not a traitor.”

I nodded. I knew Simon was no informant. I had had faith in him, even when he had lost faith in himself.

“There is a truth to be found, somewhere in all this,” said Red. “Among the many versions of this tale, one must be right. I hoped, in searching for Simon myself, to find the truth, although after so long, I had little real hope that he would still be alive. But there were no answers there. I came away with no answers, and a head full of questions. In letting my uncle talk yesterday, I hoped for another clue. And so I let him go too far, and I regret that. I used you as a pawn in this game, and you were hurt.”

It was getting lighter. The sky was pale and clear, and the voices of birds spoke in the trees around us. Alys rolled on her back, stretching and scratching. There was something I had to tell him.

You could go back
. This could be conveyed by pointing, and the movement of hands.
You could go back there. Look again. Perhaps find him. You could take me back
. And then, I thought, when my brothers come back, I will be there waiting.

Red regarded me seriously. Evidently he had understood me quite well. “I cannot go yet awhile. There is much to do here; I was away too long, and had to leave others to oversee the harvest, and the culling of stock. The river may flood before midwinter, and—” he broke off, seeing my expression. “I don’t want to go back, not yet,” he said. “My absence from Harrowfield leaves vulnerable all that I hold dear. This is a time of change, with a new king in the south who is as yet untried. I doubt Ethelwulf has the strength of his father, and that leaves us open to the Danes. My duty lies at home, for now. My brother chose to go. He chose that way. I will not lose all that I have in the quest to bring him back. But I have not forgotten. Nor do I fear spilling blood, whatever my uncle says. If Simon is to be found, I will find him. If I must wait, then I will wait.”

Before he left, he told me to go back inside and bolt the door, and stay there until it was fully light.

“Do as I say, Jenny,” he said. “There is danger here. You have seen it at work. Perhaps I am wrong; perhaps I misjudge my uncle. I hope I am wrong. He leaves this morning, but I have no doubt he will return, and try again. He has seen you now. I know how his mind works; your strength will be a challenge to him. Remember your promise.”

I did, and, sitting quietly in my room with only Alys for company, I remembered a lot of other things too. In particular, I remembered the Lady of the Forest, as she told him
Make sure she is not hurt again
. And as she told me
You may not have to be so strong, now
. What game were the Fair Folk playing, that they used even Britons as their pawns? That they laid a command on Lord Hugh to protect me, when doing so went against every logical choice he should be making? Well, there was nobody here to ask. Nobody but me and little Alys. I took out needle and sharp thread, and as the morning light came up I began, laboriously, to finish off the woven square I had made, stitch by painful stitch. The first part of Conor’s shirt.

After that, things settled down for a while. The weather turned toward winter, with the frosts I had anticipated a mere prelude to days of storm, and a bone-chilling sleet that turned the ground to mud. Farm carts were bogged, and men got filthy shifting them. The river overflowed, and stock were moved to higher ground. In the kitchens, a cauldron of soup simmered constantly on the hob, ready for the next contingent of exhausted men. I noticed without surprise that Lord Hugh and his friends worked side by side with cottager and farmer, clearing fallen trees, shoring up banks, quieting horses crazed with fear when lightning struck the stables. My opinion of Lady Anne rose slightly when I observed her packing baskets with food and, on occasion, venturing out herself to deliver them, accompanied by a maidservant. It went up further when she began to use my name, instead of ‘girl,’ and reprimanded a servant who suggested the accuracy of the lightning strike might have something to do with my presence in the house. There were rows of muddy boots before the fire, and wet cloaks hanging in the kitchens. My room was freezing and I begged an extra blanket.