Son of the Shadows (9 page)

avenge the murders of my good men."

"What did he say to you?" I was unable to keep silent, for it was a fascinating tale, though terrible.

"His voice was—very even, very calm. In that place of death, he spoke as if discussing a business transaction. It was only for an instant. He released his grip; and as I drew breath and turned to pursue him, he vanished into the encircling mist, and he said, Learn from this, Eamonn. Learn well. I am not done with you yet

. And I was alone. Alone save for my trembling horse and the broken bodies of my men."

"You still believe these are not—are not some creatures of the Other-world?" asked my mother.

There was an unsteadiness in her voice that worried me.

"They are men." Eamonn's tone was controlled, but I could hear the anger in it, "men of awesome skills in the field, skills that would be the envy of any warrior. For all the strength of
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our forces, we neither killed nor captured a single one of them. But they are no immortals, this I discovered when I heard from their leader again."

"Did not you say you had never seen this man?" asked Liam.

"Seen, no. He sent me a message. It was some time later, and we had encountered no more of them.

Your reinforcements had arrived, and together we'd flushed out die rest of my neighbor's meager force and sent them packing. Our dead were honored and laid to rest. Their widows were provided for. The raids ceased. The threat appeared to be over, though folk still shuddered with dread at the memory of what had happened. They had given this murderer a name. They dubbed him "the Painted Man." I

thought his band gone from my territory. Then the message was brought to me."

"What message?"

"No simple words of challenge; nothing so honest for this miscreant. The message was . . .

perhaps I

should not relate this here. It is not fit for ladies' ears."

"You'd better tell us," I said bluntly. "We're going to hear it regardless, one way or another."

He looked at me again. "You're right of course, Liadan. But it is—it is not pleasant. None of this story is.

I was brought ... I was brought a leather pouch, which had been left where my men could not fail to find it. Inside this pouch was a hand, a neatly severed hand."

There was total silence.

"By the rings it wore, we knew this was removed, with some skill, from one of our own. I interpret the gesture as a challenge. He tells me he is strong; I know already that he is arrogant.

His services, and those of the men he leads, are now for sale in these parts. Of that we must take heed in planning any venture."

We sat stunned for a while. At last my father said, "You think this fellow would have the gall to offer any of us his services after what he has done? To ask for payment?"

"He knows the value of what he has," said Liam dryly. "And he's right. There's many a chieftain whose scruples would not stop him from accepting such an offer had he the resources to finance it. I imagine they would not come cheap."

"One could hardly consider it seriously," said my mother. "Who could ever trust such a man? It appears he would change his allegiance in an instant."

"A mercenary has no allegiance," said Eamonn. "He belongs to the man with the fattest purse."

"Nonetheless," Sean spoke slowly, as if working something out, "I would like to know if their skills by water equal those they showed in ambush. Such a force, used in conjunction with a well-disciplined, larger troop of warriors, would give one a great advantage. Do you know how many men he has?"

"You would not seriously consider employing a rabble such as this?" asked Liam, shocked.

"Rabble? From Eamonn's account, this is no unruly band of oafs. They seem to strike with the utmost control and plan their raids with a keen intelligence." Sean was still thinking hard.

"They may work cleverly, but they are worse than fianna, for they carry out their missions without pride, without commitment save to the deed itself and the payment," said Eamonn.

"This man has misread me badly. When he dies, it will be at my hands. He will pay in blood if he sets foot on my territory or touches what is mine. I have sworn it. And I will make sure my intention reaches his own ears. His life is forfeit should he cross my path again."

At this point Sean wisely held his tongue, though I could sense the suppressed excitement in him.

Eamonn took another goblet of wine and was soon surrounded by eager questioners. I thought this was probably the last thing he wanted at that moment when his tale had brought the memory of his losses back starkly into his mind. But I was not his keeper.

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I suppose that night was the first time I had seen Eamonn come close to conceding he was not in control of a situation. If he had any outstanding quality, it was authority, and next to that was his commitment to what he believed in. It was no wonder, therefore, that the precision and audacity of the Painted Man's attack, and the arrogance of its sequel, had disturbed him deeply. He was due to escort his sister home

the next day, for there were many matters to attend to. I was surprised, therefore, when he came into my garden soon after I had begun my morning's work, as if our previous appointment had merely been slightly postponed.

"Good morning, Liadan," he said politely.

"Good morning," I replied, and I went on cutting the spent blooms from my ancient briar rose.

Prune them back now, and they would provide many more flowers as the summer advanced.

The hips, later, could be used for a powerful cordial with a multitude of applications, as well as a tasty jelly.

"You're busy. I don't wish to interrupt your work. But we leave soon, and I would like to speak with you first."

I ventured a glance at him. He did indeed look rather pale and extremely serious. This campaign had aged him beyond his years.

"You will, I suppose, have some notion of what it is I wish to discuss with you."

"Well, yes," I said, realizing there was no choice but to stop pretending to work and hear him out. It would have been helpful if I had any idea of how I was going to reply. "Would you like to sit here awhile?" We moved to the stone bench, and I sat down, basket on my knees and pruning knife still in my hand; but Eamonn would not sit. Instead, he paced, with hands clenched. How can he be nervous about this, I thought, after all he has endured? But nervous he was; there was not a doubt about it.

"You heard my tale last night," he said. "These losses have made me think long and hard about many things: death, revenge, blood, dark matters. I did not believe I had it in me to hate so; it's not a comfortable feeling."

"This man has done you a wrong, that is certain," I said slowly. "But perhaps you should set it behind you and move on. Hatred can eat you up if you let it. It can become your whole life."

"I would not see that happen," he said, turning to face me. "My father made bitter enemies of those who should have been his allies; thus he brought about his own destruction. I would not wish to be consumed by this. But I cannot put it by. I was hoping that. . . perhaps I should start this again."

I looked up at him.

"I need to wed," he said bluntly. "After this, it seems even more important. It is—it is a balance to those dark things. I am weary of coming home to a cold hearth and echoing halls. I want a child to secure the future of my name. My estate is significant, as you know, my holdings secure, save for this upstart and his band of cutthroats, and I will deal with them soon enough. I have a great deal to offer. I have—I have admired you for a long time, since you were too young even to contemplate such an alliance. Your industry, your application to a task, your kindness, your loyalty to your family. We would be well suited.

And it is not so very far to travel; you could see them often." He shocked me by moving closer and dropping to his knees beside me. "Will you be my wife, Liadan?"

As proposals go, it had been—businesslike. I supposed he had said all the correct things. But I found it somehow lacking. Perhaps I had listened too much to the old tales.

"I'm going to ask you a question," I said calmly. "When you answer, remember that I am not the sort of woman who seeks flattery or false compliments. I expect the truth from you always."

"You will get the truth."

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"Tell me," I said, "why have you not offered for my sister, Niamh, instead of me? That was what everyone expected."

Eamonn took my hand in his and touched it to his lips. "Your sister is indeed very beautiful," he said, with a trace of a smile. "A man might well dream of such a woman. But it would be your face he wanted to see on his pillow when he woke."

I felt myself blushing crimson and was quite lost for words.

"I'm sorry. I have offended you," he said hastily, but he held onto my hand.

"Oh no ... not at all," I managed. "I'm just—surprised."

"I have spoken to your father," he said. "He has no objection to our marriage. But he told me the decision is yours. He allows you a great deal of freedom."

"You disapprove of that?"

"That depends on your answer."

I took a deep breath, hoping for some inspiration. "If this were one of the old tales," I said slowly, "I

would ask you to complete three tasks or kill three monsters for me. But there is no need to test you in such a way. I recognize that this would be a highly—suitable match."

Eamonn had put my hand down and was studying the ground at my feet where he still knelt.

"I hear unspoken words here," he said, frowning, "a reservation. You had better tell me."

"It's too soon," I said bluntly. "I am not able to answer, not now."

"Why not? You are sixteen years old, a woman. I am sure of my own mind. You know what I can offer you. Why cannot you answer?"

I took a deep breath. "You know my mother is very ill, so ill that she will not recover."

Eamonn glanced at me sharply, and then he moved to sit beside me on the bench. The tension between us eased just a little.

"I have seen how pale she looks and wondered," he said gently. "I did not know it was so serious. I'm sorry, Liadan."

"We don't speak of it," I said. "Not many are aware that we count each season, each cycle of the moon, each day that passes. It is for this reason that I can make no commitment to you or to any other."

"There is another?" His voice was suddenly fierce.

"No, Eamonn," I said hastily, "you need have no concern on that score. I'm aware of how fortunate I am to receive even one offer such as yours."

"You underestimate yourself, as always."

A silence fell again. Eamonn stared at his hands, frowning.

"How long must I wait for your answer?" he asked eventually.

It was hard to reply, for to do so was to set a measure on Sorcha's days.

"For my mother's sake, I will make no decision before Beltaine, next year," I said. "That is long enough, I

think. I will give you an answer then."

"It's too long," he said. "How can a man wait so long?"

"I must be here, Eamonn. They will need me more and more. Besides, I do not know my own heart. I'm sorry if that hurts you, but I will return your honesty with the plain truth."

"A whole year," he said. "You expect a great deal of me."

"It is a long time. But I do not mean to bind you to me for the passing of these four seasons.

You are under no obligation toward me. If you meet another during this time, if you change your mind, you are quite free to pledge yourself, to marry, to do whatever you wish."

"There is no chance of that," he said, with absolute finality. "None whatever."

At that moment I felt a shadow pass over me, and all at once I was cold. Whether it was the
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intensity of his voice or the look in his eyes or something quite different, for an instant the peaceful, sunny garden grew dark. Something about my expression must have changed.

"What is it?" he asked anxiously. "What's the matter?"

I shook my head. "Nothing," I told him. "Don't be concerned. It's nothing."

"It's nearly time for me to go," he said, getting up. "They'll be expecting me. I would be happier if we had at least some—understanding. A betrothal, perhaps, with the marriage delayed until—until you are ready.

Or—or might not the Lady Sorcha wish to see you happily settled before . . . might she not wish to be there at your wedding feast?"

"It's not that simple, Eamonn." All at once I was terribly tired. "I can agree to no betrothal. I want no commitment. I have told you when I will answer, and that will not change. A year may not seem so long."

"It seems forever. A great deal can change in a year."

"Off you go," I said. "Aisling will be waiting. Go home, sort out your household, put your people to rights.

I will still be here next Beltaine Eve. Go home, Eamonn."

I thought he would leave with no more said, he was silent so long, arms folded, head bowed in thought.

Then he said, "It will be home when I see you waiting there in the doorway with my child in your arms.

Not till then." And he strode away through the arch in the wall with never a backward glance.

My mind did not dwell long on this, for events soon overtook our household with a swiftness that came close to overwhelming us. We were already unhappy, divided among ourselves by Niamh's unwillingness to so much as consider her suitor's offer and her total silence as to the reasons why. By Liam's anger; by my father's frustration at his inability to make peace between them. My mother was distressed at seeing her menfolk at odds thus. Sean was missing Aisling and snapped with irritation at the slightest thing. In desperation, one warm afternoon close to midsummer, I went out into the forest alone. There was a place we used to visit often in our childhood, a deep, secluded pool fringed by ferns and bracken, filled by a splashing waterfall and protected by the gentle shade of weeping willows. The three of us had swum and played there many a time on hot summer days, filling the air with our shrieks and splashing and laughter. We were too old for that now, of course. Men and women, as Eamonn had reminded me. Too old for fun. But I did remember the sweet herbs that grew lush and wild near that place—parsley, chervil,