The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One (61 page)

‘Rhiann,’ Caitlin said now, ‘tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’ll hold him up for you, hold him down for you, whatever you ask.’

‘No,’ Conaire broke in. ‘I’m staying by his side. I’ll do it.’

‘I will treat him alone.’ Rhiann’s own voice sounded so strange to her ears, strained and cold.

‘But we can help!’ Caitlin protested.

‘Mistress,’ Eithne moved to Rhiann’s side, ‘the brew will be ready soon. I can bring it for you.’

‘No!’ Rhiann turned on them. Three pairs of eyes widened. ‘
I will treat him alone!
Now leave me!’

Astonishingly, they did, seeing in her face, perhaps, a glimpse of the anguish in her heart. When they were gone, she let out a shuddering breath. For the first time in days, the healer self began to recede. She’d had to be strong, to get him home.

Until now.

She peeled back the furs, and eased his tunic up over the planes of his belly, over his ribs, up to his chest. And then she looked down, and gasped.

The entire surface of his skin was webbed with red welts. And beneath them, mottling his ribs and abdomen, were wide swathes of purple and green bruises. Of the kind not only made by fists, but also by feet.

Her fingers jerked free of the fine linen, and her eyes sought his face, the pale oval blurred by her tears.

In sleep, his mouth was a soft curve. His hair flopped over one injured eye, the lashes long and black against his cheeks. Perfect.

And yet below, ruin.

Eremon’s fingers had been well-splinted, and though Rhiann’s prodding of the bruising detected a cracked rib, no internal organs were damaged. The hunger and thirst and beating had weakened him, bringing on the fever, but it was a slight illness, and soon burned itself out.

On regaining consciousness, the first thing Eremon asked about was his men. Conaire looked down at him with sorrow in his eyes. ‘Angus and Diarmuid did not make it, brother. Three of the Epidii warriors also died.’

Eremon turned his head away at that, and did not speak for a long time. Caitlin pulled fiercely at the lacing on her sleeve, while Rhiann went to tend the fire. Conaire sat heavily on the covers without saying anything.

‘I was foolish.’ Eremon’s face was pale. ‘I knew I should go back but … I saw only the danger to me. Curse it! Curse
me
!’

Conaire shook his head. ‘We dealt the Romans an incredible blow,
brother. Like any of us, Angus and Diarmuid would be honoured to die for this cause. They feast with the gods now; the bards will sing their names.’

‘We all ache to kill the invaders, Eremon.’ Caitlin rested her hand on Conaire’s shoulder. ‘I was with Angus and the others, I heard them speak. They were where they wanted to be.’

But Eremon’s eyes remained bleak, and no amount of Rhiann’s strengthening draughts seemed to bring the colour to his cheeks.

It was at this time that Didius, who had been staying with Bran, returned to speak to Rhiann. He crept inside the door and stood as far away from the sickbed as possible. But Eremon, the hollows in his cheeks dark with shadow, caught sight of him.

‘Son of Rome,’ he croaked. Didius froze. ‘Your countrymen offered me the same hospitality as we did you.’

‘I know,’ Didius replied, watching Eremon warily.

‘Then we are even, are we not? We have shared the pain. So stop scuttling around me as if I will eat you. You perform a good service for my wife.’

Didius nodded, surprised.

Eremon’s eyes seemed to look beyond the Roman then, into the shadows on the wall. ‘Your governor seeks all Alba, and he is the kind of man never to rest until he has something. Is this not right?’

Now Didius glanced at Rhiann, confused, and back to Eremon. ‘This is right.’

‘The deaths of countless men won’t stop him, will they? So the death of one foolish, weak man will gain nothing … will mean nothing to him. Will it?’ The dark wells of Eremon’s eyes sought no answer from Didius, but Rhiann went forward to the bed.

‘No, Eremon, it won’t,’ she said softly. ‘Only to us.’

Eremon drew a shuddering breath then, as if a battle had been fought. From that day forward his recovery was swift, as youth and strength reasserted themselves in knitting bones and warm cheeks. Youth and strength; and perhaps duty. Certainly duty.

It was only then, at last, when Eremon was out of danger, and needed little of her care, that Rhiann’s own feelings about the whole matter were able to surface. And they surprised even her.

The first evening came when they were alone. Conaire and Caitlin, reassured about Eremon’s recovery, had gone, and Rori had called in to take Eithne for a walk, as the snows had thawed, and the days were fast growing clearer.

For the first time, Eremon was well enough to sit up by the fire in a new rush-backed chair that Didius had made for Rhiann. As she plumped the cushions behind him to ease the pain in his ribs, Eremon said, ‘I heard what you did at the Roman fort.’

She turned to adjust the cauldron chain, lowering it closer to the fire, not sure how to answer.

He raised his voice. ‘You must have relished the chance to prove yourself against them.’

She glanced back at him. His smile was tinged with that familiar bitterness, his eyes, circled by fading bruises, were shielded. She remembered the last time she had seen him in the stableyard, and how that bitterness lashed out at her. And look where that led!

Instantly, all the anger she suppressed while acting the healer rose up in full. First she nearly scared herself to death outside the fort, then she went without sleep for days, cold and exhausted – and all for him! And now those green eyes of his were prodding her again, and his voice held that same sarcastic edge, still! Something in her snapped. ‘Unlike you, I don’t care about
proving
myself ! You should be ashamed for putting me through all this!’

‘Sorry to inconvenience you.’

‘Eremon, don’t be stupid, and stop feeling sorry for yourself ! You ride around without a thought for anyone else, get yourself captured and beaten, and then I’m supposed to put you back together! And after everything, you dare to look at me like
that!
’

His face was hard and white. ‘I was not thinking only of myself … not at all!’

‘Oh, really?’ Rhiann put her hands on her hips. ‘So when you scared the life out of Conaire and the others, it was all to benefit them, I suppose! And what about me?
I’ve
never been so terrified in my life – and it was all fear for
you
, foolish man!’

There was a startled silence. ‘Imagine that,’ Eremon said faintly.

‘I’m more surprised than you, believe me!’ She stirred the fire up fiercely, then flung herself down on the hearth-bench. ‘I don’t know what to make of it!’

This time she heard an intake of breath, and she glared at him, before realizing, suddenly, what she’d said.

Smoothly, simply, Eremon leaned forward with his good hand and took her own, so confidently that it brooked no denial. And with that one gesture, all the words, the currency of the past year, were suddenly and simply redundant.

She waited for the unconscious flinching of her body, but the touch of his fingers just felt … natural. Their hands fitted together as if they had been forged as links in a chain.

Frozen, she stared into the fire, as the house held its breath around her.

‘Rhiann,’ Eremon said softly, after what seemed like an age.

She raised her eyes. And when she saw what lay in his, naked there, she did flinch. But still he leaned closer, and she found she was watching
his full, curved mouth, was enveloped in his musk scent, her heart skipping.

I cannot be what he wants me to be. I will let him down. I do not want to let him down
.

As his face drew near, as his eyes held hers, reaching deep into her breast … she looked away, pulling back in her seat, breaking the hold of his hand. ‘Eremon I … cannot.’ She dared not look at him again, for the shame was burning too bright in her face. Yet it was better that he did not begin to care for her; better for them both.

At her words, he had stilled, and now he slowly sat back in the rush seat. ‘I see.’

‘Let us not change what we have,’ she begged, her voice low.

He said nothing more for a long time, and then he asked, abruptly: ‘Surely I am now well enough to sit with Conaire in the hall?’

She nodded, and he rose and drew on his cloak with one hand, keeping the other arm close to his injured chest. When he had gone, she curled up in the rush chair, laying her cheek on one arm. Why couldn’t everything stay as it was?

She pressed her fingers to her lips, smelling where his scent lingered. And she remembered her own words to Linnet only a moon before.
One day he will be going home
.

If the thought of losing him to the Otherworld had brought such pain, then she knew what would come when he took sail again for Erin. No, she must ward her heart well.

He was her war leader, her partner, and friend. And that he would stay.

Chapter 60

T
he next day was Imbolc, and the gift of ewe’s milk to the river soon brought the return of weak sun and a flush of green to the bare trees. But the fair weather brought more than buds: the southern wanderers had come back to the marshes in clouds of whirring wings.

Though he had been ordered not to swing a sling, Eremon could stalk, and a day of fowling gave him and Conaire an excuse for air and exercise. They had little chance of a catch, anyway, for Cù was splashing in the pools and snuffling among the reeds, following one trail and then breaking off to lurch the other way.

He knows how I feel
, Eremon mused, watching the hound’s indecision, and his warring thoughts clamoured once more. He should not have tried to kiss her. But, by the gods, her eyes had flashed with that rare fire, and the light was in her hair …

His breath caught, and he stumbled over a tussock of sedge. ‘Quiet,’ Conaire muttered, scanning the reedbeds.

Eremon squatted down beside him, but could not keep his mind on the hunt.

At first she had been afraid for him – and she let him take her hand! Yet then she pulled away. Was it that she did not care enough? That struck a note of pain, and yet he could have sworn that he saw something deep in her eyes, a flame that mirrored the fire in his heart …

Was it something else, then? Something about her past? He stared out over the marsh, his eyes unseeing.

One thing only he knew: it had taken him so long to win her trust, to turn hatred and fear into friendship, that he would do nothing –
nothing
– to risk even that. If she only cared a little, if she only let him near her sometimes, then it was still more than he had ever had from her, or wanted from anyone else.

So he would not scare her again. Nor would he let that bitter anger grow in him once more. Apart from driving her away, it had made him do something so foolish that men died. For loyal Angus and Diarmuid, he would be stronger.

His heart lifted a little. She had given him a small sign of hope, after all, so it was easier to keep the bitterness at bay. Where there was that kind of opening, more could grow, in time.

As if reading his thoughts, Conaire spoke up. ‘You should have seen Rhiann when she heard of your capture, brother. I’ve never witnessed her so upset.’ He was fiddling intently with the sling.

Eremon smiled. ‘I know. She told me herself.’

‘Really?’ Conaire raised his face, and grinned. ‘Well!’ He nudged Eremon’s arm with his shoulder. ‘Perhaps she’s looked past your ugly face, at last!’

Eremon pushed back hard enough to edge Conaire off balance, and he fell on his haunches. Cù, coming up behind, yipped and barrelled into Conaire with great excitement. ‘Get off, dog!’ The pair disappeared into a jumbled mass of grey fur and flailing arms.

By the time Conaire extricated himself, Eremon was far ahead, sauntering along the trackway. ‘Hurry up!’ he called over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got my heart set on a nice roast duck, and you must shoot for both of us!’

As the earth woke from its slumber, so Rhiann’s blessing of flock and herd began, before the stock was released to the higher pastures. And after the long, fair nights of the previous sunseason, the women of the dun began to bear another kind of fruit, keeping her busy bringing babes into the world – a task to ease any heart.

And behind the rhythm of sowing and planting, the rites for fishing and lambing and birthing, Beltaine drew closer. And with it, the preparations for their journey north to the tribal council that Calgacus had called.

Far up the valley of the ancestors, past the crooked standing stones, Rhiann sought for Linnet at her favourite copse of hazel and oak, a reliable source of sorrel and other herbs coming into full leaf.

‘You used to say my eyes were the colour of bluebells,’ Rhiann said, coming up behind Linnet in a dell of the flowers, their cups touched by the gold of dawn.

Her aunt straightened, herb-knife gleaming in her hand, breath misting the air. ‘They haven’t changed. I can still see you sitting here with your little, fat hands, squishing blue flowers against your nose.’