Flame of Sevenwaters (15 page)

“Rhian,” I said now, “you have younger brothers. Don’t you think Finbar is unusually solemn for a boy of his age?”

The brush continued its steady work. “He is rather quiet,” Rhian said. “But he’s the son of a chieftain; he’s not likely to be ripping his pants on blackberry bushes and having mud fights the way my little brothers used to.”

“I don’t think my sisters and I ever had mud fights. They sound like fun.”

“Washing the clothes afterward is no fun at all, so don’t get any ideas.”

“I have ideas already, Rhian. Luachan won’t be here for the next few days. It’s a good opportunity for Finbar to be a little boy for a while. But I’ll need your help. It’s all right. I’m not planning anything outrageous. They’re concerned for his safety, so I imagine he’s not allowed to stray far when Luachan’s not here to keep an eye on him. We could borrow a guard, I suppose. I must speak to Father about that, and about Swift.”

Rhian had finished the brushing and was taming my curls into plaits, ready for the night. She said nothing.

“What?” I knew her; her silence spoke eloquently.

“Nothing. But…maybe you should wait a bit before you start trying to change things here. Especially if we won’t be staying long.” She fastened one plait and started on the other. “There’s nothing wrong with spending time with your brother. And of course arrangements have to be made for the horse. But you don’t have to do everything yourself, and you don’t have to do it right now. There are other things…”

“Go on,” I said.

“You sound cross. Like a queen daring a kitchen maid to keep on speaking above her station.”

“Oh, stop it,” I said, swatting her awkwardly. “Just tell me. I see all sorts of things wrong here, things done in a way I don’t like, and I don’t understand why it’s happening. Certainly my mother used to run a tight household, but always with good judgment. My father was widely admired for his wisdom and restraint. People came to him for advice on making peace with their neighbors.”

“You believe that has changed?”

“Perhaps not. But something has crept in here, something that shows in small ways, like Duald deciding to bring Swift out into the yard and put him through his paces when I’m certain Emrys must already have advised against it. And Finbar. There’s something not right with him, but I’m the only one who seems to see it.”

“Not all boys want to spend their time running around and getting into trouble.”

“A child can be naturally quiet without being…Well, I can’t quite say what I think it is. A sadness. As if he’s constantly worried.”

Rhian sighed.

“What?”

“It’s not up to me to tell you what to do,” she said.

“You could give me some advice, since it’s plain you think I’m wrong.”

“My advice is to wait. You want to set everything right, and that’s good, but you’re forgetting that your mother and father had only short notice that you were coming home. They’re still getting used to having you back. And you’re planning to tell them they’re bringing up their son all wrong. And besides, their stable master isn’t doing things the way you want them done.”

“Well, he isn’t. And that needs attending to right away, Rhian. It can’t wait.”

She was finished with my hair. Now she began to unfasten the hooks at the back of my gown. “You know,” she said, “your uncle’s only just been buried. And they have other things on their minds. Terrible things, with that Disappearance, and the search still on for the missing men in the woods.”

I glanced at her sharply. “Who’s been talking about that?”

“Everyone. Nuala told me they’re shorthanded in the kitchen and in the fields because so many of the men are spending all day out on the search. They do it in shifts. This chieftain, Cruinn, the one whose men were lost, they’re saying that he threatened to come here with his men-at-arms and mount his own search if your father can’t find the last four missing men before winter sets in. And everyone’s worried about that. Not only is it more mouths to feed, but they’re not going to be friendly ones. Eithne said the fellows who are doing the searching are all having nightmares. The way the dead were found…I can hardly bring myself to say it.”

“I know how they were found. No wonder Finbar’s looking like a ghost, if everyone in the household is talking about this openly. He’s probably having his own nightmares. That does it. I’m speaking to Mother in the morning.” I stood up and slipped out of the gown. “Don’t look like that, Rhian. He’s my brother. Someone has to do something.”

“Arms up.”

I obeyed, bending forward, and she slipped my under-shift over my head.

“You know,” she said, holding up my night robe so I could put my arms through the sleeves, “if my daughter had been away for ten years and I had just got her back, I’d like her to come and sit with me awhile, and maybe ask me if I was happy. I’d want her to tell me she missed me, but that she was all right. I’d want the chance to tell her how much I’d missed her, and how my life was a little sadder for her absence. I’d want—”

“Stop it!” I wriggled into the night robe and folded my arms, unable to keep the glare off my face. “You’re saying I should tell lies to make my mother feel better?”

“Not at all.” Rhian spoke calmly; she was used to me. “I’m saying go slow. Talk to your father about the horse; that’s one thing. Ask your mother nicely if we can take Finbar out for a walk, or take him riding, or whatever you’d like to do. And that’s all. He’s her son. If there’s something wrong, do you think she hasn’t seen it, too?”

That was exactly what I did think, since nobody seemed to be doing anything about it. But enough was enough. Suddenly I was tired. I sat down on the bed and Rhian knelt to take off my shoes.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you don’t,” said Rhian, grinning up at me. “But here I am, with my ready advice. Just as well your mother can’t hear me, or I’d be dismissed for insubordination.”

I could not speak to Father about Swift, because Father rode out straight after breakfast to escort Deirdre and Illann and their attendants to the Sevenwaters border. A considerable number of men-at-arms went with them. I could not take up the question of Finbar’s education with Luachan, since he and Ciarán had not even waited for breakfast before slipping away into the forest, back to the nemetons. But I did find Finbar in the kitchen patting the dogs and talking to Nuala, so I took him with me to find Mother. That meant my talk with her was not the one I had
planned. She was in the upstairs hallway talking to Orlagh about clean linen, but she paused when we appeared.

“Mother, I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course, Maeve.”

“Since Finbar’s tutor is not here today, I wondered if he could come out with Rhian and me for a while. Rhian suggested we might go riding. Not far; you can tell me what is permissible. Or we might weed the little garden or go looking for nuts. May he spend the morning with us?”

A small frown creased Mother’s brows. She was looking pale; her freckles stood out against her skin. “There are some rules you must follow. Finbar knows what they are. When Luachan is away, Finbar doesn’t go riding unless he’s with his father.”

“But didn’t Eilis take him when she was here?”

“That was before.” She did not need to say
before the Disappearance
. “Besides, if anything should go amiss…”

“I won’t be able to cope, because of my hands?”

She flushed with embarrassment. Orlagh was suddenly very busy folding a sheet. “Maeve, I didn’t mean—”

“Let’s both be honest about this, Mother. If you don’t think I’m capable of looking after my brother for a morning, just say so.”

“Mother, I am a good rider,” Finbar pointed out. “Doran said I was unusually capable for my age. And of course Rhian will come with us. Anyway, Maeve has her own ways of doing things. She—”

“I think we can cope,” I said, cutting him short. “What if we stay within sight of the keep?”

“Finbar, if you had explained this to Maeve you would have avoided all this trouble. There is no riding without Luachan.”

“A walk, then?”

“If you walk out of sight of the keep, you must take a guard with you. And we’re short of men.”

The search. I could not argue with that.

“Why don’t you do something indoors?” asked Mother.

Because this child needs to run and climb and jump and get the roses back in his cheeks and the ghosts out of his eyes.

“Finbar could read to you,” she added. “Luachan tells me he’s remarkably accomplished.”

For one fleeting moment I saw on her face a look so full of love and pride and sadness that my heart bled for her. This was her only son, and perhaps she did know how troubled he was, and wished she could make it better. Hadn’t she said something once about it being bad for him to be too much alone?

“Maeve? Is something wrong?”

How could I answer that? “No, Mother. For today, we’ll walk only as far as the lakeshore. Come on, Finbar. Let’s find Rhian. Maybe we’ll go and visit Swift first—what do you think?”

It was a good day. I remembered that later, when everything began to turn dark. We obtained provisions from Nuala, including carrots for the horses. While Rhian and Finbar distributed these I spoke to Emrys and discovered to my surprise that the possibility of housing Swift at the nemetons had already been suggested—by whom, Emrys did not know—and that the main concern was a lack of men to maintain the required watch over him. With many of my father’s regular stablehands out on the search for Cruinn’s lost men, Emrys and Donal were setting their hands to whatever work Duald had for them, and there was plenty of it.

After that we walked down to the lakeshore, and as far along it as we could go while still retaining a view of the keep—in fact, two of Father’s men-at-arms seemed to be maintaining a patrol not far from us, and I wondered if Mother had sent them—and Finbar showed Rhian how to skip stones. I did not point out to him that a girl with a clutch of younger brothers was likely to be an expert in this kind of thing. They had a competition, which Finbar won easily. Again his stones seemed to move of themselves, bouncing over the water with an unusual grace. I wondered why he was happy to compete with my handmaid but not with his tutor.

By midday the three of us were grubby, tired and in fine spirits. My plan to get Finbar out of his shell for a while had been a great success, mostly thanks to Rhian, who proved to have talents not only at stone-skipping, but also at balancing along walls, climbing trees and running races, as well as more sedate pursuits such as
weaving grass stems into a basket or a little man. Finbar stopped asking questions and applied himself to action for the morning. Sometimes he smiled, as when Rhian made a curious creature from the grasses, with a long neck, a flared snout and a feathery brush of a tail. He might think some pursuits were for little children, but he was not too proud to slip this creation into his pouch before we headed home.

I had done my share of balancing and running, and was feeling comfortably weary. Finbar had some writing to do for Luachan. He headed off to make a start on it—one morning of play had not turned him into a completely different child. I waited in the hallway outside the kitchen while Rhian went in to fetch provisions for the two of us. It had been a satisfying morning. Perhaps the difficulties I saw at Sevenwaters were all in my mind. Maybe I really could fit in here.

Voices drifted to my ears from the little chamber where game was hung—two men talking as they worked. I was about to move away when I caught what they were saying.

“…never find a husband for the girl. Her face is pretty enough. Much like her ladyship. But have you seen those hands?”

“Just think of that against your skin. It’d turn your manhood limp in a moment.”

“Makes my flesh crawl to think of it.”

The door to the kitchen swung open, and Rhian emerged carrying a laden tray. The men were still talking, but their voices had dropped and I could no longer hear the words.

“Maeve? What’s wrong?”

I drew a deep breath.

“Maeve?”

“It’s nothing. I’m wearier than I thought, that’s all. What kind of soup is that?”

Rhian was not fooled. When we were upstairs and behind the closed door of the bedchamber, she set the tray on the little table, then swung around to face me. “You’re upset. What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want any food.”

“You’re having some,” Rhian said. “Sit down there. You’ll feel better with a full belly, trust me.”

I ate in silence, with my head full of images of myself on my wedding night, and my husband—his face was not clear—turning away in disgust when I touched him. It didn’t matter that I had already accepted I would never marry. It didn’t matter that the words had not been intended for my ears, or that the speakers had probably meant no harm by them. I felt dirty, ugly, worthless.

Rhian said nothing at all until our meal was finished and the dishes were tidied back onto their tray. I was sitting on my bed, a pillow held against my chest. My handmaid seated herself on her own pallet, opposite me, and turned her limpid eyes on mine. “If you can’t tell me,” she said, “who can you tell?”

“I thought I was strong.” It was as if something heavy had rolled over me. I had to squeeze the words out. “For ten years I’ve learned how to be strong. I’ve practiced and practiced.”

“And?”

“I heard something not intended for my ears, and I feel…Never mind.”

“What did you hear, Maeve? Who has upset you so much?”

I tried to arrange my features in a reassuring smile.

“Maeve, what?”

“It doesn’t bear repeating. The fault is mine for letting it disturb me. I should be armed against casual cruelty—I’ve experienced enough of it.” It had been such a good day up till now.

“If you won’t tell me, is there anyone else you can talk to? Your mother?”

“No!”

Rhian sat quiet, waiting while I struggled with myself. Try as I might, I could not banish those images from my mind: the marital bed, the tender gesture, the moment of recoil. Who hadn’t heard such tales as a child, relishing the shivering chill of terror? The beastly wife. The loathly bride. The monster in the bed.