Son of the Shadows (51 page)

"I'm sorry," said Father abruptly. "You've spoken very plainly, and I respect that. I was too harsh, perhaps. But this has caused us great pain. I did not expect that from you, Liadan."

"I'm sorry too, Father." I wanted to give him a hug, to say, it will be all right, but something in his eyes told me no, not yet. "I had two lives to protect, and both are still at risk."

"I can hardly believe that you would choose such a man."

"Do you find it hard to believe that I would choose the son of your friend John?"

"John was not an outlaw. John was not a killer for hire."

"You have been forthright in your catalog of the Painted Man's faults, Father. Yet he in turn describes you as the cause, by your relinquishment of your responsibilities at Harrowfield, of his failure to be an adequate partner for your daughter."

Father had no reply to this.

"Red."

"What is it, Jenny?"

"This is what you must do next. You must go back, back home."

Father simply looked at her.

"You mean, back to Harrowfield?" I asked the question he would not ask.

Mother nodded. She was still looking at my father, holding him with her gaze.

•

unhappy young man."

Father stood up, turning his back on all of us. "So you think my time here is finished, is that it?

That once—that when—that after this, there is no place for a Briton here at Sevenwaters? I suppose I can understand that. I suppose I may come to understand it."

Finbar, who had stayed so still and kept so silent, save for the voice of the mind, was quick enough now.

In an instant, it seemed, he was by my mother's bedside and speaking aloud.

"Would you use your words to hurt Sorcha, tonight of all nights?" he asked. "Do not speak rashly, out of your own pain. She gives you this mission to ensure you do not lose yourself when she is gone." My uncle, it was clear, was not afraid of plain speaking. "She bids you go, for your daughter's sake and for your grandchild's. Seek out the truth and bring it home for them. There
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are wounds to be healed here, and some of them are your own."

"And . . . ," Sorcha spoke very softly, and my father was forced to turn back to hear her. I had never before seen him at such an extreme of distress, and it was hard to hold back my tears, for my tale had dealt a blow to a man already in deep pain. "And . . . you should see your brother.

You will need to tell

Simon that I am gone. He should know. Red. . . ."

He came to kneel by her again, and she reached up a hand to brush his cheek. He put his own fingers over hers and held them there.

"Promise me," she whispered, "promise me you'll do it and come back here safe."

He gave a stiff nod.

"Say it."

"I promise."

She sighed. "It's late, Liadan, you should be sleeping. Is Sean here yet?"

"I don't know, Mother. Shall I go and see?"

"Here," she said, "you'd better take your son. He might miss you." Her fingers moved gently against the

baby's small ear, his soft hair, and then I took Johnny up in my arms, and I saw in Sorcha's eyes that she knew it was the last time she would touch him.

"Liadan, have you told Sean about this?"

"No, Mother. But he guessed. Part of it at least. He has kept faith; he has not told Liam or Fionn or

Eamonn. He has not even told Aisling."

"I dislike secrets. I detest lies," my father said heavily. "We should have made all plain from the start. But it's clear this is one truth that must remain concealed for some time longer. What of Conor? Does he know any of this?"

"The only way you will get an answer to that question is to ask him," said Finbar. "And even then you may not find out what you want to know."

"Then I suppose it must remain unanswered until I return from Harrowfield," my father said.

"Thus one lie begets another, and we cease to trust."

"We ceased to trust when Niamh was wed to the Ui Neill and sent away," I responded sharply.

"This tale began a long time ago."

"Longer than that," said Finbar quietly. "Oh, far longer."

I did not think I would be able to sleep. Probably none of us would sleep, except Johnny, whose infant dreams were untroubled by the shadow of parting. I carried my child along to the great hall, but it was his father I spoke to, in my mind.

I need you. I want you here. Tour arms around me, your body warm against mine, to keep away the sadness. Would it make a difference if you could hear their words?

If you could hear them say, "He has fulfilled his purpose," would you fight to keep us then? Or would you be afraid of what such a struggle might reveal? Perhaps you would simply turn your back and walk away

.

Then, entering the hall, I put a sharp curb on my thoughts. Sean was there, apparently but newly arrived after a hard ride into the night, for he was somewhat travel stained, and I sensed his deep weariness.

"Liadan! I was just coming. How is our mother?"

For an instant I wondered why he spoke aloud and so formally, and then I saw that Aisling was with him, unfastening her cloak, rubbing her back, her face white with exhaustion. I moved forward, masking my surprise.

"Aisling, you must be very tired. Here, sit down, let me fetch you wine—"

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My words, and my feet, came to an abrupt halt.

"I suppose you did not expect us, Liadan," said Eamonn, as he stepped out of the shadows by the window. "I regret the inconvenience."

"Oh." I was gaping stupidly, caught quite unprepared. "No—I—"

"I have been in the north," Sean put in smoothly. For all his weariness, he read me well, and quickly. "I

came back by Sidhe Dubh. Aisling and Eamonn were anxious to pay their respects, knowing the gravity of Mother's illness. And now I must go to her."

"She's been asking for you. She will be very happy that you have come home in time. I'll go with you—"

"No, don't trouble yourself. You should sit and rest; you look worn out. Why not put the boy down and take a cup of wine yourself?"

"I—" There was no polite way to refuse my brother's sensible suggestion. What I did not expect was that

Sean would take Aisling's hand and lead her away with him, leaving me alone with Eamonn.

Whatever men had accompanied them on their ride must have already retired to the kitchens and thence to a well-earned rest. The two of us were on our own, save for the sleeping child. I could think of many things

I would rather be doing than talking to Eamonn at that precise moment. But he was a guest; I had no choice.

"You do look very tired, Liadan," he said gravely. "Come, sit here."

I laid Johnny down on cushions before the fire, and I sat. It was Eamonn who filled two cups from the wine jug and put one in my hand. He stood beside my chair, looking down at the still form of my son.

"So this is your child. He seems—healthy. And, after all, a son cannot choose his father."

An icy trickle of fear went down my spine. What did he mean?

"Thank you," I muttered. "He is small, but strong."

"I hope to have a word with your mother, before—I hope to speak with her in the morning.

And your father. If there is time."

I nodded, my throat tight.

"I wish to make my apologies in person, to express my regrets, about— what happened to your sister.

There is no way I can make amends; I acknowledge that. But I hope at least to let them know I will continue to pursue the matter to an appropriate conclusion."

"Eamonn . . ."

"What is it, Liadan?"

"It may be better simply to express your sympathy on their loss and leave it at that. My father is in some distress, and my mother is very weak. They have come to terms with Niamh's—accident. This is not the right time for vows of vengeance. It is not a time for anger."

"Anytime is the right time until I remove that scum from the face of the earth," said Eamonn tightly.

I did not want to hear him. Dark visions hovered close. Could it be that he knew this was Bran's child?

How could he know? I did not want to be drawn into talk of dangerous things. Besides, it was the middle of the night, and I was too tired to be sure of keeping my thoughts, or my words, under firm enough control for this. But I did not want to sleep, in case Mother needed me. I moved from my chair to sit on the cushions laid on the floor before the hearth. Here I could put my hand on my son's small body and feel his warmth. Here I could stare into the flames and dream, for there are times when dreams are safer than the real world.

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Eamonn was watching me intently. I felt it, even though my eyes were turned away.

"I would have come earlier," he said quietly, "come to see your parents; come to speak to you. I have been—away. A fruitless search, as it turned out. The man is difficult to follow, evasive and clever. All the same, he would be a fool to underestimate me. My network of informants is wide.

The news they bring me can be astonishing at times, astonishing and—unpalatable." He glanced at the sleeping child, frowning.

"In time I will find this outlaw. Every man has his weakness. It is simply a matter of discovering it and using it to trap him. I will find him, and he will pay in kind for his acts of savagery. He will make full and bloody reparation for what he has stolen and abased. Make no doubt of it."

I said nothing, simply stroked my son's back and took another mouthful of the wine. The last time I had been weary and had shared strong drink with a man, there had been far-reaching consequences. I must make no sign that I understood Eamonn's thinly veiled hints.

"I'm sorry, Liadan," he said, "I did not come here to speak of this."

"I know that, Eamonn. You came here to pay your respects to my mother."

There was a pause.

"Not exactly. I was due to visit you at about this time. It lacks but a few days to Beltaine."

My heart went cold. I said nothing.

"Surely you have not forgotten?"

"I—no, Eamonn; I do not forget so easily. I had thought that matter concluded the last time we spoke of it, before you rode to Tara. Surely there can be no more to be said between us on the subject?"

Eamonn was walking up and down now, as he seemed to do when he was trying to find the right words.

"Was that what you thought? You imagined I would put it all behind me, perhaps return from the south betrothed to some kinswoman of the high king? You think me weak, then, that I would give up so easily?"

I stared up at him. "I don't know what you mean," I said slowly. It sounded as if he meant—but no, that could not be so. Johnny heaved an infant sigh and settled back to sleep.

Eamonn ceased pacing and knelt down beside me, rather awkwardly. A lock of hair was falling across his eyes again, and I resisted the urge to brush it back for him.

"I don't want another wife, Liadan, I only want you—with or without your child. I want no other."

"Don't—" I started.

"No," said Eamonn firmly. "Hear me out. You have stayed here to nurse your mother, and that is admirable. You chose to bear your child alone. That showed courage. You will be the best of mothers, of that I am sure. Why you protect with your silence the man who fathered him, I cannot understand. It is shame, perhaps, that stops your tongue. That matters little now. He will be brought to account. But, forgive me, I hear your mother is slipping away fast and has little time left in this world. Niamh is gone.

Sean and Aisling will soon be wed, and a new family will come into being in this household. You will be lonely and vulnerable, Liadan. You should not become the unwed sister, the household drudge living her life through others. Already you wear yourself out, trying to do everything.

You need a good man to care for you, to protect and watch over you. You need a home of your own, a place where you can see your own small family grow. Marry me and all that is yours."

It was some time before I was able to speak. "How can you—how could you make such an offer, when

I have a child by another man? How could you take responsibility for—for a—"

"It is unfortunate the child is a boy. Had you had a daughter, I might have brought her up as my own.

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Your son cannot inherit, of course. But there would be a place for him in my household. As I said, a boy does not choose his father. I might make something of him." He regarded the sleeping Johnny, frowning.

"It would be an—interesting challenge." The look in his eyes frightened me.

"People would say you were crazy to make such a choice," I managed, struggling to find the words to answer. "You could have your pick of suitable young women. You must forget me and move on. You should have done so as soon as I told you."

He was sitting quite close to me now, on the floor before the fire. Eamonn had always observed the formalities. He preferred to do things the right way. But this, this had gone far beyond all rules. So he had lowered himself to sit by me and Johnny, and his brown eyes had a look in them that was close to desperation.

"When I see you thus," his voice was not much more than a whisper, "with the firelight on your hair and your hand so soft on the little one, I know there is only one choice for me. I will speak as plain as I can, and I must hope my words do not offend you. I want you in my house, waiting to put your arms around me when I come home weary from battle. I want you in my bed. I want you as my wife, my lover, and my companion. I want you to bear my ch-children. I would not fear growing old if you were by my side.

There is no other woman in the world that I will have. What you have done, your error, we can—we can put that behind us. I offer you protection, security, my wealth, and my name. I offer legitimacy for your son. Don't refuse me, Liadan."

I tried to form suitable words in my head, but none would come.

"You hesitate. I will, of course, seek your father's approval again. But I do not think he will object under the circumstances."