The Dawn Stag: Book Two of the Dalriada Trilogy (28 page)

As soon as the druids were out of earshot, the young warriors of both sides sprang to life. The first thing Conaire did was grasp Lorn’s shoulders, heedless of the Epidii warrior’s new rank. ‘My wife,’ he begged desperately, ‘what of my babe?’

A shadow seemed to flit across Lorn’s face. ‘The Lady Caitlin was safely delivered of a babe nearly two weeks ago.’ He drew breath. ‘A son.’

‘
A son!
’ Without glancing at Eremon or pausing to take a horse, Conaire bounded away for the gates of Dunadd.

‘Calum!’ Lorn barked at his driver, pointing with his spear. ‘Go and ensure no harm comes to him – or anyone he meets – for our fighters will not yet know of our peace.’

Calum did as he was bid, and Eremon found himself considering the new confidence of Lorn’s movements. Then something occurred to him. If Caitlin had borne a son, he could be seen as Lorn’s eventual rival for the kingship. Yet only Lorn could have kept the babe safe from his father and Gelert.

Eremon swept off his helmet and raked his sweaty hair. ‘There is great honour in you over the matter of the child. I thank you.’

Lorn’s eyes were sombre as he regarded Eremon for a long moment. Then, ‘Come!’ he said at last. ‘Let you and I confirm our pledges over ale. My throat is as dry as an old woman’s teat!’

His men and Eremon’s men laughed, all of them suddenly foolish with relief, and it was together that they made for Dunadd’s gates.

Rhiann jumped down from the rocks and, gathering her breath, paused before her two guards. ‘Well?’ she cried, suddenly too elated for bitterness. ‘Did you not see? My husband has made peace with Urben’s son.’

The warriors looked at each other, unsure what to do, but Rhiann gave them no chance to think. ‘I no longer require your services,’ she added sweetly, pushing past their burly shoulders. ‘Be sure I will tell my husband of your kindness.’

She hurried away, bracing herself for the sound of heavy footsteps following. Yet they never came. The Moon Gate was standing open, unguarded, and as she flew through it her tread grew faster and lighter. She was free!
Free!

The whole village was in a confused yet relieved uproar, as those who had watched the encounter streamed along the muddy paths towards the unbarred main gate. Rhiann slowed down to catch her breath, but as she passed the stables the gleam of sun on fair hair caught her attention. She glanced over and came to a sudden halt, before running for the stable door. ‘What are you
doing
?’

Caitlin paused as she tightened a saddle strap, her hand on her mare’s flank. For the first time in many moons she was dressed in her riding buckskins, a travel cloak pinned on her shoulders. ‘Now that the gates are open,’ she answered evenly, ‘I’m going to Linnet’s house to find my son.’

Behind her, Eithne hovered with a pack and bundled furs, her eyes mutely begging Rhiann’s forgiveness.

‘
What?
’ Rhiann strode to the horse and took its bridle, her voice sharpening as the sun revealed the stark paleness of Caitlin’s face. ‘Conaire will be here at any moment!’

‘I know.’ Caitlin raised her pointed chin with some of her old vigour. Her hair was roughly bound, and still matted from the bed-furs. ‘I do not wish to see him until I have our son in my arms.’

The horse tossed its head, wrenching the bridle from Rhiann’s nerveless hands. ‘What are you talking about? You are still regaining your strength, you nearly died! As your healer, I order you back to bed!’ Her voice was rising with all the suppressed strain of weeks.

Caitlin bit her lip, but straightened her shoulders. ‘And as your blood sister,’ she said clearly, ‘I tell you I am going.’

They glared at each other, but it was Caitlin who gave in first, guilt softening her trembling mouth. ‘I knew you would object, Rhiann, out of love, and I thank you. ‘But you cannot argue with me on this.’

Rhiann’s resistance was undone by the small hand that grasped her own. ‘But why?’

Caitlin took a deep breath, smoothing the loose hair at her temples. ‘I asked Aedan about the birth rites of Erin. There, a man’s bloodline runs from father to son. A new mother must leave her birthing bed and go to the father and hold the baby out to him, and only when he takes it and claims it is the babe acknowledged.’

Understanding began to flood through Rhiann’s mind. ‘But Caitlin, Conaire could never doubt he is the father. And what do the rites of Erin matter, anyway? This babe is of Alba.’

Caitlin nodded. ‘I know. And so Erin will never claim this son, and Conaire will never pass him his own father’s Hall. That is why I want to give him this.’ She wrapped her arms around her belly, and Rhiann glimpsed what she would not speak: the deep shame she felt for surrendering her child. ‘I
must
give him this, Rhiann – it is right and proper. Now, he will be here any moment, and I must slip away before he comes and stops me!
Let me go!
’

Rhiann pulled Caitlin close, breathing in the smoky scent of the tanned buckskins, and then released her. ‘Eithne, at least take it slowly. And keep her warm, and keep to the paths – do not let her hurry! Do you have yarrow, and comfrey?’

‘Yes, lady.’ The maid smiled, proud of her responsibility.

A shout went up, louder than all that had gone before, and a crowd of people spilled into view, milling around the open yard inside the gate. In its midst, one golden-haired man towered over the others, trying to pull away from those who threw questions at him and hung on his arms.

Caitlin stifled a soft cry, flattening herself into the darkness of the stable wall, as Conaire finally broke free and ran up the path to the crag. Her eyes lingered on his long back for one moment, before she turned to Eithne. ‘Quickly now!’

With a brief, fragrant kiss on Rhiann’s cheek, Caitlin pulled the hood of her cloak up, and together she and Eithne led their horses past the crowd and through the open gate, until they disappeared among the mass of jostling heads and spears.

Rhiann watched them go, and then lingered, indecisive, on the path before the stables. She knew that her duty lay in delivering this news to Conaire. And yet … her eyes strayed to the village gate. Eremon must be there. Torn, she gazed back up the path. No, Conaire needed her; he must be nearly mad with worry. Let Eremon enjoy the welcome of the people first.

She straightened her shoulders and turned to follow Conaire up to the crest of the crag, but just as she reached the Moon Gate she was halted by a striking sense of warmth between her shoulder blades, as if a ray of sun had pierced the shadows between the houses. And alongside it, she imagined she heard a sharp cry – her name. Her steps faltered.

No, Eremon would never cry aloud; he was the war leader, and must be strong and sure before his people. It must have been in her heart she heard it. And there was no power in her to ignore his call. For one moment she forgot Conaire and turned.

He stood halfway up the village path. Behind him, Lorn was smiling wearily, fielding questions from warriors and villagers alike. Yet Eremon stood separate, and her gaze took in his matted hair, his scruffy beard and the tunic stained with battle-blood weeks old. He was dirty and sweaty and unkempt, yet his eyes blazed bright, almost fevered. It was as if the sun shone on him alone.

Their eyes locked, and she began to walk towards him, stepping gracefully as befitted their rank and public dignity. But her feet quickened, and his slow smile broke out radiantly over his face. Then he opened his arms wide and she was running, heedless of the faces surrounding him, of everything except the moment when she flung herself into the circle of his arms.

It was as they closed about her, solid and warm, that all the fear and pain she had held at bay for moons crashed down upon her. And as he breathed in her ear, ‘
A stór
!’ she laid her face in his shoulder, and at last wept.

CHAPTER 24

‘T
he valley attack turned the tide,’ Eremon was saying to the warriors around him. Many of the red invaders died, and many fled, but by the gods we poured after them – nipping their heels all the way to the Forth!’

A murmur of laughter swelled. Seated on a hide by the riverbank, Rhiann could only see Eremon’s back outlined against one of the bonfires, yet despite the wild music of the pipes and drums she could hear him clear enough.

Though it was late, few people had left the feast, and torchlight still bloomed all along the palisade. Many revellers still crowded around the baking pits, picking at the carcasses of the deer and pigs among the hot stones, and groups of men lounged by the ale kegs, watching people dancing at the fires. Even the children were still awake, screeching and dodging between the dancers’ legs. A haze of rich, sweet smoke hovered over the riverbank.

‘Lady.’ Didius’s shadow detached itself from the people as he squatted beside Rhiann, handing her a basket of hazelnuts, hot from the coals. Placing it between them, Rhiann crossed her legs and drew the wool wrap tighter around her neck. The first hint of crisp cold had come this night, as if in recognition that Eremon and his men were now safe at home. She crunched a nut and smiled at Didius, touching her mead cup to his as he settled beside her.

Rhiann was happy to stay on the edges here, listening to Eremon, savouring the relief that was seeping into her tight muscles along with the mead. Urben had left the dun, and Gelert had made himself scarce, and only Lorn remained with his retinue and some of his father’s warriors. Rhiann caught snatches of conversation from the huddled groups of older fighters and cattle lords, and the talk seemed to be that the forced rift in the Epidii had not been a popular decision after all, even if Lorn did have a valid claim to the kingship. It was the underhand manner in which it had been done, the old men grumbled, with the warriors of the royal clan all off fighting with Eremon. Of course, Rhiann thought wryly, looking into her mead cup, they were happy to make such pronouncements now, once the situation had been resolved.

The council members had addressed Eremon and Lorn in manners that ranged from relieved to reserved. No one would own to supporting Urben, protesting that they were afraid to resist. Even Tharan had paid Eremon his grudging respects. Despite his truculence, he was a member of the old royal clan, after all.

Another burst of laughter rose from those crowding around Eremon, as he described the disintegrating confusion of the Romans when faced with organized attacks, and their haste to rush back to the safety of their lowland bases. This was Eremon’s first test of his ambush tactics, and he was making quite a point about their success.

The success of the stags
, Rhiann thought, with a swell of pride that warmed her.
The stags did give him the strength, after all
.

Eremon turned to grip old Finan by the shoulder now, speaking quietly, and Rhiann gazed up at the side of his face. Though he had bathed and shaved, the exhaustion and aftermath of fear were still engraved around his eyes, and she could sense the effort to appear strong and bright and alive, to reassure the people.

Rhiann picked another roast hazelnut and gnawed it nervously. Surely he would leave for bed soon, he was dropping from exhaustion. Abruptly, she swallowed, as her lips suddenly remembered the taste of Eremon’s skin, when she pressed them to that curve between neck and shoulder. As if he felt a touch, Eremon glanced over, his smile fading as his eyes ignited with a naked need. She fixed her eyes on her lap.

‘The Erin lord misses his lady,’ Didius said softly in her ear, crunching a nut, and Rhiann’s cheeks flamed. Confused, she opened her mouth for some suitable reply, but then she saw Didius was not looking at her or Eremon, but up at the village palisade. Twisting to follow his gaze, Rhiann glimpsed a tall, broad figure pacing the walls. Conaire.

With a sigh, Rhiann handed her cup to Didius and rose, tucking her shawl under her elbows. With a small smile at Eremon she slipped away inside the gatetower, and climbed the torch-lit stairs. ‘She will come back soon,’ she said softly, pacing the walkway behind Conaire. ‘Two warriors have been sent to Linnet’s home, so Dercca will be a prisoner no longer. Yet Linnet also will know when to emerge – she sees these things.’

At the mention of Otherworld powers, Conaire’s head sank down further into his neck. ‘I should have been here, with her.’

‘And the Romans should never have come.’ Hesitating, Rhiann laid her palm on his back, between his shoulder blades. The iron-hard muscles trembled beneath her fingers, and she sought to send reassurance into his heart. ‘It was women’s business – her fight to win. And fight she did; you would have been proud of her.’

There was a muffled exclamation of pain, and Conaire’s hand reached up and covered her fingers. ‘I thank you, Rhiann, for looking after her so well, and for getting my son away. Neither of them would have been safe if it wasn’t for you.’

Rhiann thought of the peace Eremon wanted so badly. Lorn protected us, too. I have no doubt that the babe would have come to harm if it wasn’t for him. Do not hate him. He was trapped, I think, as we were.’ When there was no answer, she squeezed his shoulder. ‘Eremon needs us to be one people.’

And what about you?
she asked herself, remembering the burning of her own rage.
Can you forgive?
She didn’t know yet, but Conaire’s peace was more important than hers, for he must fight by Lorn’s side.

Deep in dreams of Urben’s mocking face, and Gelert’s thin smile, Rhiann blinked awake, disorientated. Something had touched her neck.

Then a much-loved voice whispered, ‘Rhiann,’ and instantly she came fully awake with the scent of Eremon’s bare skin against her own. She groped for awareness of where she was. The air behind the bedscreen felt different, wafting up from the floor below, and the snores all around her spoke of the presence of men. She was back in their bed in the King’s Hall, because Eremon had asked her to sleep there. He wished to make it plain to the warriors he still held power here, along with Lorn, and had lost none of his influence.

Under her fingers Eremon’s arms felt wiry and lean from moons of travel and rough eating, and all the pain of missing him suddenly choked her.