Heir to Sevenwaters (7 page)

“Cathal found these big trees,” Eilis said. “He’s a really good climber. We couldn’t have got up without him helping. Coll said if we went right to the top we’d be able to see the whole forest of Sevenwaters, and maybe even the sea. But I didn’t get to the top. Cathal said we’d gone high enough, and he made me climb down.”

A shower of twigs and other debris rained on us; up there, someone had slipped. Now I could make out Coll’s face, jaw set grimly, skin pasty white, and I could hear Cathal’s voice, low and steady, but not the words.

“Then he did one sensible thing, at least,” I told my sister. “But you made a big mistake. It’s much too high for you. If you’d fallen, you would have—”
You would have been killed.
“You would have broken your arm or your leg. As it is, you’re all over scratches. What will Mother say when she sees you?”

There was a cracking, sliding sound overhead and I winced, grabbing Eilis and pulling her aside. A smallish branch crashed to the ground where she had been standing, cutting off her protest half spoken. The three of us looked up. Coll and Cathal were both standing on the same bough, perhaps thirty feet above us.

“Of course,” Cathal was saying, “the oaks where I come from are far taller than these—we cut our teeth on them as children. I could climb this in my sleep. But the top’s too high for Eilis. She
is
a girl, after all, and younger than you, or so I hear. You’re not to do this on your own, understand?”

The fact that Coll did not answer proved how frightened he was. I watched the two of them make a cautious descent toward the lowest branch. For all my anger, I was forced to admit to myself that Cathal was handling things well. At every stage he positioned his own body to provide the greatest support and safety for the younger climber, and his tone was calculated to calm the frightened boy. They reached the lowest branch. As I pondered what I would say to each of them, Cathal spoke briefly to Coll, then suddenly launched himself off the bough as if entirely heedless of the distance to the ground. My heart had time to lurch in fright before he landed with a flourish right beside me, then turned and reached up his arms.

“I’ll catch you,” he called with complete confidence. “Come on, you can do it!”

Whey-faced and visibly shaking, Coll jumped. Cathal and Aidan caught him, cushioning the worst of the impact.

“No harm done,” said Cathal lightly.

“Are you hurt, Coll?” I inquired, ignoring Cathal completely. “Show me your hands.”

They were badly abraded on the palms and would need salving. His trousers and shirt were both torn.

“We won’t mention this to Mother,” I said to the two children. “No point in worrying her now you’re safely down. The two of you are to come straight back with me and get into clean clothing, and no arguments about it. You know perfectly well that we’re all supposed to gather in the hall this afternoon.” I glanced at Aidan. “Johnny did say something about your playing for us. This episode put that right out of my mind.” I could feel Cathal’s gaze on me. “As for you,” I said, not looking at him, “your role in this escapade has been less than responsible. Don’t try anything like this again.” I held back further words, furious, undisciplined words.

Aidan spoke before his friend could respond. “We’ll be on our best behavior, Clodagh, you can be sure of that. I hope you’ll help me with the music.”

“I might,” I said with a diffidence that was mostly feigned.

Cathal spoke up at last. “Gods preserve us,” he said, “
two
harps!”

“Back to the house, Eilis,” I snapped. “Right now. You too, Coll. Everyone’s waiting for us.”

“Race you,” Cathal said, and was off like a hare. After a moment’s startled pause the two children set off in hot pursuit.

“I see no need for us to run,” Aidan said. “If we go more slowly, we can discuss what to play. Do you know
Mac Dara’s Lament
?”

“What’s wrong with that man?” I muttered as the others vanished into the trees on the other side of the clearing.

“Mac Dara?” Aidan’s brows went up.

“Not him. Cathal. I know he’s your friend, but there’s something about him that’s . . . peculiar.” I could hardly tell him what Cathal had said to me last night, since it had amounted to a warning about Aidan himself. I was not sure if Aidan was supposed to be too good for me or whether it was the other way around. That was irrelevant, anyway, since I planned to take no notice of Cathal’s warnings. I doubted very much that Aidan would appreciate his friend’s efforts to select which girls he might or might not dance with.

“Did he say something to upset you last night?” Aidan asked, suddenly serious.

“No,” I said hastily. “A minor misunderstanding, that was all.”

“Cathal doesn’t want to be here,” Aidan said. “He’s ill at ease in chieftains’ halls. Edgy. He means no harm by it.”

I found that hard to believe. Eilis’s explanation for the tree-climbing episode had been plausible from her point of view. But surely no responsible young man would have taken the two children out into the forest alone, when they were clearly meant to be somewhere else, and encouraged them to do something so risky. What if Coll had been meant to fall, and my arrival with Aidan had spoiled the plan? What if someone else, an accomplice, a gray-cloaked stranger, had been waiting to spirit my little sister away?

“We should walk as quickly as we can,” I said, glancing from side to side under the trees and picking up my pace. I shouldn’t have let the children run after Cathal. I should have insisted on keeping them in sight all the way back.

“The children will be quite safe, Clodagh.” Aidan’s expression was quizzical. “There’s no need to worry.”

“How is it the two of you are friends?” I asked him. “You’re so different.”

“We were raised together. We’ve become used to each other.”

“You are foster brothers?” I could not recall Aidan making any mention of Cathal during his last visit here.

“Not exactly. He grew up in my father’s household; we were born within days of each other. His mother was a local woman of humble origins. Father took Cathal in. We became friends and shared an education. When I decided to try my luck at Inis Eala Cathal came with me, thus ensuring I would not shine in feats of arms. On the island he’s considered second only to Johnny. He was supposed to come to Sevenwaters with us last year, but somehow he argued his way out of it.”

“Well, he can certainly climb,” I conceded.

“He can do many things, including beat me in a fight, but that doesn’t trouble me. I’m happy enough that I earned a place as one of Johnny’s personal guards. I won’t stay at Inis Eala permanently. I plan to return home in a couple of years, settle down, make a different sort of life for myself. My older brother will inherit Whiteshore. But it’s a big holding; there’s a place there for me.”

He wouldn’t have bothered to tell me all this, surely, if he were not seriously interested in me. “Is Whiteshore right on the coast?” I asked, feeling both pleased and awkward.

“It’s on a hilltop looking out over the western ocean. It can be bleak in the wintertime; the wind is like a whiplash. You’d enjoy the summers, Clodagh. Walking on the sand, collecting shells, exploring the rock pools. Seals come in to lie on the shore there, and it’s a resting place for many birds. I wish you could see it. Of course, your home has its own kind of beauty.”

“Yours sounds lovely. So I suppose you know lots of sea songs?”

He smiled. “A few. Most of them are too colorful for Lord Sean’s family gathering. What about some reels to follow our lament? Which ones do you know?”

By the time we emerged from the forest I was in a far better frame of mind. We found Eilis and Coll balancing along the top of the dry-stone wall, led by Cathal. Eilis had her skirt tucked up into her belt. I shepherded the children up to the house, leaving the two men to their own devices.

I sent Coll off to tidy himself up and took Eilis to her chamber so I could make sure she looked presentable before Mother saw her. Sibeal was there changing her shoes, and I left her in charge while I went to my own chamber next door. The embroidered gown I had worn for the hand-fasting was no longer fit for company, so I found myself a plainer one of a color somewhere between blue and gray, with discreet flower motifs on the undersleeves. I brushed out my hair and replaited it. I put on clean slippers. Then I fetched my harp and went downstairs.

After the bustle of recent days, the hall seemed quiet this afternoon. Low sunlight slanted in through the narrow glazed windows, bringing out notes of vivid color on the wall hangings. These tapestries held much of our family history. There was one Mother had made in the early days of her marriage, showing the tower on a green ground that was her own family symbol, and beside it the blue torcs of Sevenwaters on white. Deirdre and I had spent a whole winter making a piece of our own, which now took pride of place opposite the hearth. We had fashioned the image of a girl walking beside a lake, with six swans in the distance. My grandfather had been especially fond of this one, since the girl pictured had been his much-loved wife. My own favorite was a little tapestry made by my father’s older sister, who had died before I was born. This was filled from corner to corner with exuberant images of birds and butterflies, and I could not look at it without my spirits lifting. When she was young, Aunt Niamh must have been a happy person.

Now that our guests had departed, the hall was a place of family once more. Mother was sitting with Muirrin, the two of them busy catching up on their news. After letting Mother know the children were back and would be down soon, I went to join the men, who were deep in discussion before the hearth. Father was still in the black and silver he had worn for the ritual. He looked quite imposing; every bit a chieftain. With him were Conor, Johnny and Gareth, while others stood close by—my cousin’s men counted as family insiders while they were at Sevenwaters. I recognized lanky, fair-haired Mikka and a man called Sigurd, both of them from far northern lands. Johnny’s band included all sorts, as had indeed the more unusual company his father had led, the mercenary troop that had originally inspired the venture at Inis Eala.

Johnny and Gareth made room for me between them. “We were discussing the nonappearance of the northern chieftains for the hand-fasting, Clodagh,” Johnny said. “And what to do about Eoin of Lough Gall.”

So much for quiet reflection over a cup of mead. I knew Eoin was the most influential of the northern Uí Néill and the most likely to interpret Deirdre’s marriage to a southerner as an insult to his own faction. Father had long remained neutral in the Uí Néill disputes, a wise position since Sevenwaters was situated right in the middle of their territories.

“It’s unfortunate,” Father said, “that I was unable to send a personal emissary to break the news to Eoin. Ideally he’d have been told of the marriage well in advance, in private, with appropriate reassurances of amity between us and the northern Uí Néill. Eoin’s a touchy man at the best of times. He’ll be mightily displeased to find this news waiting for him on his return from his lengthy journey. And in his absence, it seems the usually more amenable Naithi and Colman have made a statement for him by staying away.”

“You sent word to Eoin’s wife, I take it?” Conor asked.

“A brief message, yes. It’s awkward; it would have been best to let Eoin know before any of the other northern chieftains, since he’s central to their alliance, but he’s been gone some months now on his trading venture, and things developed rather more rapidly than anyone expected. I sent the same message to all of them.”

“When is Eoin due back?” asked Gareth.

“Within a month or two, I’ve heard,” Father said.

Gareth and Johnny exchanged a glance. “We need a man up there,” Johnny said, “ready to get word to us as soon as Eoin’s boat makes landfall. The last time another chieftain slighted Eoin, he was on the doorstep soon after with several of his kinsmen and fifty men-at-arms, demanding an apology. Such a dispute can soon flare into war, and we all know the northern Uí Néill don’t go out of their way to avoid conflict. Whatever position Eoin takes on this, the others are sure to follow his lead.”

“You should be ready to call a council, Sean,” said Conor. “Sooner rather than later, I believe. Get all parties together, spell out your position, make it clear Sevenwaters wants only peace and cooperation with both branches of the Uí Néill. Ideally you’d put an invitation in Eoin’s hand as he steps ashore, so to speak. Johnny’s quite right; this could become serious.”

There was a silence, in which the issue of the impending birth of Mother’s baby loomed large.

“You’re both right, of course,” said Father. “In fact I already have an informant at Lough Gall, ready to send me immediate word of Eoin’s return. But I’m not prepared to hold a council until Midsummer at the earliest.” He did not need to elaborate. The wedding had been too much for Mother; a major council at Sevenwaters, with another influx of guests, was unthinkable until well after her confinement. And Father would not travel away from home with her health so fragile.

“We should set aside such weighty matters for another time,” Conor said as my younger sisters came into the hall with Coll close behind. “Clodagh, I see you’ve brought your harp—will you give us a tune or two?”

“By all means let’s have some music,” Johnny said. “If Aidan plays too, perhaps we’ll succeed in coaxing the Fair Folk out for a visit.” Both Aidan and Cathal had entered the hall while we were talking, but neither had joined the discussion.

“The Fair Folk wouldn’t come out just to hear someone play the harp, Johnny,” said Eilis. “Their music is so beautiful it makes people forget everything about their human lives and wander away into the forest. It’s lovely enough to charm birds down from the trees and make rainbows appear in the sky. Folk like that would hardly come out of the forest to hear
Clodagh
play.” She rolled her eyes at me and got a penetrating look from Mother.

“Just as well,” I said, thinking Eilis had a cheek to make jokes about me after her recent escapade. I found a low seat, set the harp on my knee and began to check the tuning. “The current audience is quite big enough for me. I’m out of practice.”