Dreamer's Pool (47 page)

Another silence; a telling one.

‘I was scared,’ said Ciar. She did not look at me, or at Mhairi, or at Blackthorn, but fixed her gaze on the middle distance, and I wondered if she was seeing that day unfold in all its shocking truth. ‘Scared by what happened to me. Scared to tell, because nobody would have believed me. I thought I could do it. I thought I could be Lady Flidais; I’d spent a whole year with her, listening as she prattled on, watching as she played with wretched Bramble or admired wildflowers or fussed over her letters and her books. What was I supposed to do that day, when I hardly knew myself what had happened? I came out of the water, and there was my own body lying on the shore, drowned. I thought I was dreaming. I thought I’d wake up any moment. But I didn’t. What I did – it felt like the only choice.’

‘Black Crow save us,’ muttered Grim.

‘So you took your mistress’s place,’ Blackthorn said with a mildness I suspected was deceptive. ‘You lay with her sweetheart, only days after you arrived in his house.’ I felt myself flush with mortification; just as well the place lay half in shadow. ‘You would have married the prince; you would have become lady of a great house, and in time, queen of Dalriada.’

‘I could have done it,’ Ciar said, looking up. Now there was a hint of defiance in her voice. ‘I may not be a chieftain’s daughter, but anyone can run a household and bear children. And I know how to please a man in bed, most likely better than Flidais ever would have.’ She fixed me with her gaze. ‘Prince Oran can attest to that; he wasn’t exactly reluctant.’

‘That’s enough!’ snapped Donagan. ‘You’ll speak to the prince with due respect!’

‘You!’ retorted Ciar. ‘If you’re so shocked, why did you turn a blind eye to it? You must have known.’

‘Enough,’ said Blackthorn. ‘I don’t suppose anyone’s behaviour has been entirely beyond reproach; that’s for each of you to come to terms with. Just now we are only concerned with you, Ciar. Why did you lie to me about Prince Oran and what he had done to you? Why did you accuse him of rape, or something close to it?’

Ciar scowled. ‘You were always there, asking questions, looking at everything, writing in your wretched little book. I was sure you’d find out, if you didn’t already know. I guessed he – the prince – had asked you to snoop. I’d have had to be blind not to realise he’d started to suspect me. And poxy Bramble didn’t help. That dog took against me from the moment I came out of the pool. I talked to Mhairi about the best way to put you off the scent. We’d heard you at the council, seen how angry you were about that girl, what was her name? And you’d spoken out in the sewing room about men having too much power over women and not being properly answerable for what they did. If you believed Prince Oran had abused me, then you wouldn’t want to help him anymore. That was what we thought.’

‘I’m sorry, my lord.’ Mhairi was weeping again. ‘I didn’t want to, but . . .’

‘But she threatened you,’ Blackthorn said. ‘It can be hard to find the courage to stand up for what you know is right. You’ve done it now, at least. A bit late, maybe. But not too late.’

‘Too late for what?’ asked Ciar. ‘I’m not going back in that water. If that was Flidais in my body, she’s dead. There’s nobody for me to change back into. You can’t do this. It would be murder.’ The terror was back in her voice; she looked from one of us to another, her face white in the moonlight. Grim shifted his grip.

‘You know,’ said Blackthorn, ‘I don’t believe it would be. If this concerned only yourself and Lady Flidais, maybe. But there weren’t only two who went into Dreamer’s Pool that day. There were three.’ She pushed back her concealing cloak and there, in her arms, was Bramble.

Ciar stared, not understanding. Mhairi was quicker. ‘You mean – are you saying Lady Flidais has been alive all this time? That she’s in Bramble’s body?’

‘So I believe. And so Prince Oran believes. If we are right, a terrible injustice has been done, and there is only one way to fix it.’

Ciar let fly a stream of curses. She was fighting against Grim’s hold.

‘It seems hard,’ said Blackthorn. ‘It is hard. But we cannot leave things as they are. Lady Flidais is the innocent in all this; she is entirely without blame. If I’m wrong, then both you, Ciar, and the dog will emerge from the pool unchanged, if a little cold, and it will be up to the prince to decide what comes next. If I’m right, then . . .’

‘No!’ shrieked Ciar. ‘No! That can’t be Flidais, it’s only a dog!’

‘Then you have nothing to fear,’ said Blackthorn.

‘You can’t do this!’

‘Just watch us,’ said Blackthorn, her voice like iron. She stepped toward the drop, and my heart quailed. The water was so cold, and Bramble was so small.

‘Now, Grim,’ said Blackthorn.

He picked up the struggling Ciar as if she weighed no more than a babe, walked to the edge and, without a moment’s hesitation, cast her bodily over. There was a splash, and my heart clenched in shock. This was real. We were actually doing it. I, the prince of Dalriada, was here in the woods in the dark, a willing party to what might be an act of murder.

‘Oh gods, oh gods!’ muttered Mhairi.

And now Bramble, so tiny, so delicate, so trusting. I wanted this with all my heart, and yet I could not bear to see Blackthorn cast her in.

‘Don’t –’ I began.

Bramble wriggled, twisted, half-fell from Blackthorn’s arms. Like a streak of moonlight, she bolted toward the drop, leaped off and was gone.

‘Morrigan’s curse!’ murmured Donagan.

I strode toward the edge. Strong hands gripped my arms, holding me back – Donagan on one side, Grim on the other. I teetered on the brink, staring down as the cold light revealed only widening ripples on the dark water.

‘Down to the shore,’ said Blackthorn. For the first time, her voice was less than perfectly steady. ‘Quickly.’

We ran, tripping over tree roots and sliding on the carpet of damp leaves in the deceptive light. We ran all the way to the place where the waters of Dreamer’s Pool lapped a flat stretch of shore, the spot where someone had lain dead on the fateful day when Flidais first came to Winterfalls. We stood there, Blackthorn and Grim, Donagan, Mhairi and I, staring out over the water, waiting.
Perhaps she cannot swim
, I thought.
Perhaps Bramble cannot swim.
But I did not say it. None of us spoke a word.

Time passed. Too much time. Donagan moved to the water’s edge and started to take off his boots.

‘No,’ I said. ‘If anyone’s going in, it should be me.’

‘Wait,’ said Blackthorn. ‘All of you wait.’

Out in the dark water, something stirred. Ripples spread out, catching the moonlight. She rose, spluttering and gasping, her dark hair like a mermaid’s over her shoulders, her eyes huge and shocked in her deathly white face. She struggled a moment, hampered by her long gown, then struck out toward the shore. There was no knowing, yet, which woman had emerged from the pool.

Another disturbance, another head coming up, this time Bramble’s. She swam as a dog swims, untidily, following her mistress in. Without any awareness of having moved, I was at the water’s edge. The woman waded to the shallows, shuddering with cold. Her gown clung to her, revealing plainly the lovely form beneath. The body I had enjoyed for two long nights in that time of utter madness. I felt my face grow hot.

The woman halted in knee-deep water, staring at me. She moved her hands to cover herself, one across her breasts, the other lower down. It was Flidais. Without a doubt, it was my lady.

‘Prince Oran.’ Blackthorn put something in my hands. A cloak. Flidais’s fur-lined cloak. As my beloved stepped up toward me, I reached to put it around her shoulders.

‘Oran,’ said Flidais through chattering teeth, and it was the loveliest sound I had ever heard. ‘My love, my dear, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry you have had to go through this.’ She reached up a hand to brush my cheek. ‘Don’t weep, beloved.’ She was crying too; tears flooded down her perfect face. ‘It’s all my fault,’ she said. ‘If I had not taken it into my head to swim that day . . .’

‘Morrigan’s britches!’ murmured Grim. ‘Who’d have thought it?’

Bramble was crouched on the shore, wet through and shivering. Donagan attempted to pick her up, then cursed as she sank her teeth into his hand.

‘I’ll take her,’ Blackthorn said. ‘She knows better than to bite me. Now, it’s freezing cold, and Lady Flidais needs to get warm straight away. You’d best come to our cottage, sit by the fire awhile, and have some food and drink before you go back to Winterfalls.’ She glanced at Mhairi. ‘You’ll all have some matters to consider.’

‘Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn.’ Wrapped in the cloak, sheltered by my arm, Flidais sounded steadier now. ‘We owe you far more than we can ever repay. You’ve taken a great risk in order to right this wrong. And yes, it is indeed cold; a sojourn by your hearth fire would be most welcome.’ She gazed up at the moon. ‘We have been fortunate, I believe. Fortunate that whatever spirit dwells here has looked on us with kindness tonight. We should be mindful of that.’

‘We will return here, my love,’ I said. ‘Say prayers. Make offerings.’

‘But not tonight,’ said Blackthorn, ‘or Lady Flidais risks perishing from cold, not to speak of this dog. The spirit won’t require that, I’m quite sure of it. Let’s go and find that warm fire, and perhaps a jug of mulled ale.’ She bent to gather up Bramble. ‘Try to bite me,’ she said, ‘and I’ll set a curse on you. Fancy life as a slug or a beetle? I thought not. Grim, lead the way.’

40

~GRIM~

T
hey talk and talk. I make a brew and another brew, and keep the fire burning high. Blackthorn takes Lady Flidais to the lean-to to remove her wet clothes, and the lady sits by the hearth with my blanket wrapped around her, over the prince’s cloak. Her and Prince Oran, they’ve only got eyes for each other, though they thank us, and they thank Donagan, and they listen while Mhairi fills in some parts of the story that haven’t come out yet. For instance, how Ciar had thought that if she was with child, the prince would still wed her even if he found out the truth. How she’d slipped into his bed a couple of times, trying to make this happen, until Lady Sochla came and she’d had to stop.

When Mhairi says this, the prince is ashamed. Scarlet in the face, can’t look at Flidais. But she says, quite sweetly, ‘I know, Oran. I saw and heard a great deal during that time; I understood it in ways a dog could not.’

Because yes, she’s been Bramble, or Bramble’s been her, all this time. Three-way switch, like Blackthorn thought. The one who drowned that day wasn’t Ciar and it wasn’t Flidais. It was the dog. Lady Flidais, the real one, is sad about this, says she loved Bramble dearly, and if she hadn’t taken it into her head to go swimming that day, Bramble would still be here. Prince Oran tells her he knows Bramble can never be replaced. But when she’s ready he would love to help her choose another little dog. Maybe a pair of them.

Bit shy with each other, those two. Must be odd for them. He’s lain with Ciar, only she was in Flidais’s body. And the dog, that is, Flidais, has heard Ciar bragging about it to Mhairi. But the lady, the way she is now, hasn’t lain with any man. She’s the high-born, untouched bride of a future king. Could be awkward, you’d think. But a blind man could see they’re fond of each other. And though Lady Flidais is a quiet, courteous sort of girl, she’s not afraid to speak up for herself, that’s plain. Could be the two of them will do all right.

I make another brew, and we eat what food there is at the cottage, which isn’t much. Donagan’s brought some honey-cakes and cheese in his saddlebag, as well as the mead, so we finish those off as well, though Flidais and the prince don’t eat much. Too busy gazing into each other’s eyes and whispering in each other’s ears.

They’re supposed to be off to court in the morning, the prince, his lady and a bunch of other folk, and it’s getting late. Prince Oran asks Flidais if they should leave it a few days, put off the hand-fasting till she’s recovered, and she says no, best if everything goes to plan. That way nobody else needs to know what’s happened, ever. And they won’t be starting their marriage with all sorts of weird tales being whispered. As for Mhairi, Flidais tells her she’ll need time to work out what’s best, but she’s pleased Mhairi told the truth at the end, and for now she can stay provided she keeps her mouth shut and makes herself useful. The first way she makes herself useful is taking off her gown and tunic so Flidais can wear them on the ride back. Mhairi gets an old shirt of mine to put on over her shift, with a cloak on top. Blackthorn bundles up the lady’s wet things for Donagan to carry.

We stand at the door and watch them go. Moon’s high now, lights the path home for them. Donagan’s a good man. He’ll make sure they get there safe.

Blackthorn and me, we’ll stay here at the cottage now. Go over in the morning and pick up our bits and pieces from the prince’s place, borrow some supplies from Brid, maybe wave farewell if they’re not already gone. But no going back to stay there. Didn’t need to say so, either of us. Just knew.

The place is toasty warm. I bank up the fire, find a couple more blankets. Glad we got the repairs done. I sit on my pallet, reach down to take off my boots. Something growls and snaps, nearly taking my hand off. ‘Dagda’s bollocks!’

It’s the dog, Bramble. Or not Bramble, because this is Ciar. Maybe it’s fair, though it seems cruel. She kept quiet about the spell on Flidais, and now the same thing’s happened to her. Seems she doesn’t think much of being a dog, and plans to let everyone know it.

‘Thought they’d taken her with them,’ I say, lifting up my feet so I can get the boots off and keep my fingers. ‘Walk her over there in the morning, mm?’

The dog bolts out from under my bed, skitters across the room. Dives under Blackthorn’s bed, right to the back. Two eyes in the shadows. She whines.

‘She’ll be staying here,’ Blackthorn says, off-hand. ‘Lady Flidais may be a soft-hearted girl, but it’s too much to expect her to hold on to the creature. And Oran wouldn’t want it, I’m quite sure of that.’

‘Just put her out the door and forget about her.’ Told a lot of lies, Ciar did. Made a lot of folk unhappy. ‘Can’t understand why you’d want to keep her.’

‘I have to.’ Blackthorn lies down on her bed, shuts her eyes, pulls her blanket over her. ‘Hear that whining? If that isn’t a cry for help, I don’t know what it is.’

Morrigan’s britches! Blackthorn’s going soft about a vicious, noisy little monster like that? And here I was, thinking how peaceful it’s going to be here, all neat and tidy, everything where it should be, and me and her settling in as if it’s a real home. I was feeling good. Almost happy. ‘You have to? Why?’

‘You know,’ Blackthorn says, sounding half-asleep. Been a long day. A big, big day. ‘Conmael. My promise.’

‘Didn’t think that fellow made you promise to give a home to stray dogs, even ones that used to be human.’ Use her gifts only for good and stay away from Mathuin for seven years, those were the two parts of it. Nothing about dogs.

‘Not dogs in particular. Cries for help. Remember, I have to say yes to folk who ask me to help them. Even if they don’t say it in so many words. Even if they’re folk like Ciar. It gets complicated sometimes. Difficult. But I’ve kept to it. And I’ll keep to it even now Ciar’s a dog. I can train her not to bite you.’

I think about this a bit, then I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d never asked about the dog, because a shadow’s come down over me, and my head’s full of folk calling me Bonehead, and folk making fun of me, and Strangler dying just after I got him out, and Dribbles and Poxy lying butchered by the road. And before that, the dark thing, the terrible thing, and a load that’ll be on my shoulders till I die. Thought I could put it behind me. Thought I could start again. That night, when she called me up to her campfire, when she said I could come with her, I thought it was because she wanted me. I thought she needed me around, even if it wasn’t forever. That made me feel like flowers and sunshine and fresh bread. Like a starving cur expecting another kick, and getting a juicy bone and kind words. What she’s just told me turns that upside down. She only took me on because of poxy Conmael and his wretched promise. She never wanted me. She never needed me. Fool. Bonehead. Soon as you think you’ve found something good, someone comes and takes it away.

Blackthorn’s breathing quiet, like she’s asleep. Shadows creep close, pressing into me. Can’t stay. Not now. I get up, go out quiet-like, shutting the back door behind me. Path’s been laid new, flat stones in a pattern. I pick up a few big ones and put them in my pockets. Shouldn’t take many. Never did learn to swim.