Beneath the Forsaken City (11 page)

A knock roused Aine from a sound sleep.
She pushed herself up onto one elbow on the freshly stuffed mattress, blinking grit from her bleary eyes. In the dark room, lit by only a single candle, she couldn’t tell if it were day or night.

“Lady Aine?” a muffled voice called from behind the door, followed by a more insistent knock.

Aine cleared her throat. “Enter.”

The door swung inward, revealing Lia’s nervous face. She may have been timid, but she was efficient. Not only had Aine’s room been thoroughly cleaned under Master Guaire’s direction, but Lia had also had a tray of food waiting when Aine returned.

“Lady Ailís’s trunks have arrived.”

Aine swung her legs off the bed and fixed her dress. “Send them in.”

Two men, the same ones who had cleaned her room, half-carried and half-dragged the first chest inside and then darted back out for another.

“There are more, but Master Guaire thought you would want to start with these.”

Aine smiled her thanks to Lia and positioned herself in front of the door. “What are your names?”

Surprise flashed over the face of the younger servant, pink creeping up his neck. “I’m Tamlane, my lady. This is Fingal.”

“You were the ones who cleaned my chamber?” At Tamlane’s nod, she flashed another smile. “Then thank you both for being so quick and thorough.”

“Aye, my lady,” Fingal said. They gave her quick bows and hurried out the door.

“You’ve made two new admirers, my lady.” Lia flushed. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.”

What kind of place had Lisdara become when mere common courtesy elicited this kind of response? “If you would call for a bath, I’d like to look through these and then prepare for supper.”

“Of course, my lady.” A hasty curtsy and Lia was out the door as quickly as the two men.

As soon as the door closed, Aine lifted the lid of the first chest. A wool blanket lay tucked around the top. She removed it and drew in a breath.

Her mother’s gowns. Lady Ailís had never dressed as opulently as some of the other ladies at court
 
—she was Seareann, after all
 
—but her elegance and beauty had inspired songs. Even those lords who had scoffed at Lord Alsandair’s choice to wed the foreign queen had been won over by her grace.

Aine would do well to remind Macha’s court of that resemblance.

She sorted through day gowns and riding habits until she touched a swath of midnight-blue watered silk. She withdrew a beautifully simple gown, followed by its underdress of light-blue linen and smiled. If she were to face Macha’s court, she should do it in her husband’s colors.

After a moment’s hesitation, Aine removed her stained dress
and slid the silk over her head. The laces tied up the back, but she could tell the bodice would fit. The hem, however, puddled on the floor around her.

A knock preceded Lia into the room. “Oh, my lady, that’s . . . it’s lovely.”

Aine smiled. “Do you know how to baste a hem, Lia?”

“Of course, my lady. Let me find a needle and thread.”

Boys came and went with steaming water while Lia retrieved sewing supplies. The girl knelt before Aine and began pinning up the bottom of the dress with steel pins. Aine let her work in silence before she asked, “How many people know I’ve returned?”

“Why, everyone, my lady. It’s difficult to keep such news a secret.”

“How long ago did Lady Macha have me declared dead?”

Lia yelped as she jabbed herself with a pin. She thrust her bleeding finger into her mouth. “I really shouldn’t speak of such things.”

Aine gentled her tone. Macha had thought she was doing Aine a disservice by assigning a lower servant as a lady’s maid, but she’d only given her an avenue to the girl’s loyalty. “Lia, what were you doing before I arrived?”

Lia dropped her gaze. “I was a chambermaid. I cleaned the hearths and laid the fires.”

“Would you like to continue serving me?”

“Of course, my lady!” Lia’s eyes widened. “Unless, of course, you wish someone older, more experienced.”

“No, Lia, I would like you to continue. But you must be honest. I promise that anything you say to me will be held in confidence.”

Lia paused as if considering, and then she nodded. “As soon as word came of Lisdara’s fall, she put about that you were dead.”

“But it’s barely been a fortnight!”

“Indeed, my lady. But I couldn’t tell you why.”

“That’s all right. What else have you heard? Surely there’s been talk.”

The first light of mischief touched Lia’s eyes. “Granddad says word has already spread among the guardsmen. There are many who claim to remember you.”

Aine grinned. “Perfect. Who is your grandfather?”

“Master Guaire, of course. But that doesn’t mean I receive any special treatment.” Lia put aside the sewing basket and pushed to her feet. “There. I’ve got the length right. Shall I sew while you bathe?”

“Please.”

Moments later, Aine was up to her elbows in warm water. Nothing had ever felt so luxurious. She’d never really been able to get the stiff salt feel from her hair, even after washing in the stream on the way to Forrais. She scrubbed it clean with a cake of herbal soap, focusing on the mundane details of her toilette to avoid thinking of what was to come.

“There. It’s not perfect, my lady, but it’s near enough that no one will notice.” Lia held up the newly shortened dress to check her work and then laid it carefully on the bed. She helped Aine from the tub and wrapped her in a length of clean linen before leading her to a chair by the brazier.

“You’ve done this before,” Aine said.

“My mother served Lady Macha for a time. She made sure I understood the duties of a maid so I might better my station.”

Aine nodded. How strange to think of an entire family serving one clan their whole lives, from grandfather to granddaughter. True, life as a servant at Forrais was far easier than life as a crofter or baker or almost any sort of craftsman. But to have so few options . . .

How is that any different than your life? What options do you have? What real freedom do you possess to follow your own path?

But it
was
different, because Aine had the means to do what she wished. She simply lacked the courage.

“My lady?”

Aine glanced up and realized the girl was waiting with a comb in her hand. “I’m sorry, Lia. Go ahead.”

The girl combed the damp length of Aine’s hair and then arranged it in a swirl of braids atop her head, woven with an embroidered blue ribbon. It was style befitting a married woman, not a maiden. Was that Lia’s idea? Exactly how much did the inhabitants of Forrais know about what came before?

When Lia handed her the brass mirror, Aine nodded in satisfaction. She looked nothing like the travel-stained slip of a girl who had wandered in that morning. She was a chieftain’s heir, a queen’s daughter.

A warrior’s wife.

Inspiration struck. “Lia, would you send for your grandfather? I need one more thing.”

Aine stood before the doorway leading into the great hall, fingering the new addition to her wardrobe.

“That was good thinking,” a man’s voice said at her shoulder.

Aine spun, her heart pounding, her hand flying to her throat. The speaker smiled and stepped back, then swept into a low bow.

“Forgive me, Lady Aine. I did not mean to startle you. I am Uallas, lord of Eilean Buidhe. Welcome home.”

Under another circumstance, Aine might have found Lord Uallas handsome. Well built, with red hair and a trim beard, he somehow managed to avoid the ruddy, boyish look so many men of his coloring seemed never to lose. His green eyes twinkled,
a sign of perpetual good humor. Aye, she would think him attractive if not for the impulse to compare every man she met to Conor.

“Thank you, my lord,” she managed at last. “Welcome to Forrais. You are far from home.”

“Not as far as you.”

His eyes drifted to her waist, where her other hand still rested. “Your mother’s, I take it?”

Aine released the bejeweled, silver-chased dagger. The weapon had been a wedding gift from her father to her mother, a tradition that dated back to the days when men would marry their sweethearts on the eve of battle. They would leave weapons behind to keep their wives safe and to mark them as a protected member of their clan. Gradually, the gifts became more and more ornate, until the daggers were as much a symbol of status as they were of the marriage bargain.

As a warrior’s wife, it was Aine’s right to wear one, even if her husband had not given it. And it would remind the entire assemblage of her heritage. Macha wouldn’t be as eager to push her to the margins with such a reminder.

And somehow, Uallas knew it.

His eyes found hers again. “Perhaps it is improper, considering I’m a stranger here, but may I escort you to your table?” He held out his hand, his gaze unwavering.

Aine automatically put her hand in his, and a pang struck her to her core. It was too familiar: his words, the situation. Conor had done the same thing his second night in Lisdara, despite the fact he too had been a stranger in her brother’s hall. The fingers of loss tightened around her lungs, squeezing the breath from her chest. The edges of her vision grew murky.

“Lady Aine?”

She sucked in a breath, and her view expanded once more. “Thank you, Lord Uallas. You are very kind.” Aine straightened
herself to her full, unimpressive height and strode into the hall, wishing with every step that it were Conor walking beside her.

To her relief, the space was barely even half-full. Only a handful of nobles remained at court, the rest of them overseeing harvest and late planting on their lands. Platters of food already sat at the long tables, and the tap of knives and spoons against wooden trenchers punctuated the drone of voices. She hadn’t realized until this moment how much she missed the ever-present music at Lisdara.

Lady Macha sat at one such long table, undistinguished from the rest except by its position at the front of the hall. A handsome gray-haired man sat beside her: her husband, Aenghus. The youngest child in a family of nine, he’d given up his distant claim to his own clan’s leadership to handfast with Macha. Their two sons, older than Aine, sat at the table adjacent to their parents’. She felt their eyes, as hard and dark as their mother’s, on her as she entered.

Macha’s eyebrows rose when she saw her on Lord Uallas’s arm. She gestured for Aine to join her in the empty seat to her left. Lord Uallas bowed to both Aine and the chieftain and then found his own seat at the next table.

“Impressive. You’ve been here a day and already you’ve caught Lord Uallas’s attention. You do not waste time.”

“We met in the corridor. He offered to escort me.”

The little smile that curled on Macha’s lips said she clearly didn’t believe her. She gestured to the platter before them. “Eat. Seareanns may like to take emaciated waifs to wife, but Aronans need strong stock to breed sons.”

Aine’s shoulders slumped until she saw Uallas’s questioning look from across the room. Somehow, it gave her a boost of confidence. She straightened in her chair and helped herself to a joint of meat from the platter and then several small potatoes.

“I appreciate your concern, Aunt. But I’ve no need of suitors, considering I already have a husband.”

Lady Macha choked on her food, coughing into her hand before she swallowed the offending piece down with a long pull of wine from her goblet. “I must be mistaken. I thought you said you have a husband.”

Aine hid her own smile in her cup. It had to be a sin to enjoy her aunt’s discomfiture so much, but the chieftain had done nothing but try to keep her off balance since she’d arrived that morning. It was much too pleasurable to turn the tables.

“Aye. I married Conor Mac Nir when I left Seare.”

“Then where is he?”

“I don’t know. We were separated in the storm. I expect he’s making his way here at this very moment. I do hope you will offer him a less suspicious welcome than you gave me. He is the sole reason I’m alive.”

She took Macha’s slack-jawed expression as permission to elaborate and told her the story of how she’d been betrayed by one of King Calhoun’s lords, captured by the Red Druid at the fortress in Tigh, and then rescued by Conor. When she got to her attack on the road, she paused.