Betraying Season (34 page)

Late that evening Pen was propped in bed, reading Lady Keating’s ancestress’s book, when there was a knock on her door.

Drat.
It couldn’t be Doireann, could it? “Come in,” she called, hiding the book under the bedclothes and snatching another off the nightstand, just in case.

“Ah, still awake. Very good.” Lady Keating came in, holding a candle. She wore a lovely dressing gown of pale green quilted satin, and her black hair hung unbound on her shoulders, like a girl’s. It made her look like Doireann, but there was an indefinable authority in her face that Doireann lacked.

“Might we talk for a few moments?” she asked, shutting the door behind her and gliding to the bed.

“Of course.” Pen put down the Scott novel she’d grabbed and pulled out the grimoire. “I was reading this, but I put it away in case you were Doireann.”

“Clever girl.” Lady Keating blew out her candle and set it on Pen’s nightstand, then seated herself on the edge of the bed. The folds of
her dressing gown shimmered around her. “As a matter of fact, it is of Doireann that I would like to speak.”

“Oh?” Pen sat up a little straighter against her pillows.

Lady Keating sighed, then sighed again. “I’m not quite sure how to begin, save by saying she is a great disappointment to me. A very great disappointment. You might have noticed a certain coolness between us over the last few days?”

“Well, now that you mention it . . .”

Lady Keating chuckled. “You are thinking that
coolness
is putting it mildly.”

“Um, the word
glacier
had come to mind.” Pen grinned but only outwardly. Did she really want to know about the latest quarrel between them?

“I think you will scarcely blame me when you know why. Three nights ago—”

Pen swallowed. Three nights ago had been when Niall appeared at her window.

“Three nights ago, when I went to speak with my daughter, I was shocked to discover . . . well, I won’t trouble you with the details . . . but three nights ago I discovered Doireann entertaining a—a friend in her room. A male one. He had followed us from Cork, it seems.”

“Oh!” Pen didn’t have to pretend to blush. That cloaked figure she’d seen in the rose garden—perhaps Niall hadn’t been lying when he denied that it had been him. But who had it been?

“Oh, indeed,” Lady Keating agreed grimly. “Furthermore, it seems that this wasn’t the first time. When pressed, Doireann confessed that she believes herself to be with child.”

“Good God!” Pen knew her mouth was hanging open, but
she couldn’t help it. “Will she . . . does she plan on . . . can they be married?”

“I certainly hope so. As soon as we return to the city, I shall be calling on the young man’s father, you may be assured of that.” Lady Keating closed her eyes.

Pen leaned forward and reached for her hand. “No wonder you’ve been unhappy. What a dreadful shock for you.” It was a miracle that she hadn’t been stomping up and down the halls of Bandry Court, screaming in rage. Thank heavens she hadn’t come to speak to Pen after seeing Doireann, or she might have found her with Niall—but certainly not in the same position Doireann had been in with her clandestine visitor. She shivered inwardly.

“Unhappy.” Lady Keating laughed a short, harsh laugh. “I have rebounded between anger, sadness, disbelief . . . but most of all, disappointment.”

“I can see why.”

“Thank you, my dear, but until you are a mother yourself you cannot know the full extent of my wretchedness. But it is deeper than even that. Doireann is my daughter, but she is—was—also my heiress as
Banmhaor Bande.
Do you think the Goddess would accept as one of her ladies someone who cannot restrain her own appetites? Who could so casually give herself away for a moment of fleeting pleasure, without thought for the consequences?” She looked away.

Pen looked away too as a thought struck her. Doireann must have known of her mother’s position and her own status as heiress, and what jeopardizing it might mean. What if she—well, could she be in love with whoever Lady Keating had found her with? That would make her almost seem human. She took a deep breath. “Perhaps Doireann and this young man—”

“I believe that you loved Niall,” Lady Keating interrupted her quietly. “But that does not mean that you were willing to let him seduce you. You rule your passions—they do not rule you.”

What could she say to that? But Lady Keating did not seem to require a response.

“Penelope,” she said, her face somber, “I have a proposition to lay before you. I have spent almost every waking hour these last few days—and believe me, sleep has been so elusive that those hours are numerous—mulling this over. Please hear me out before you say anything, and remember that I have spent much thought on it.”

A vague, nameless feeling of excitement began to tickle the back of Pen’s mind. “Yes?”

“I have watched you over these last many weeks and been more impressed with each passing day. But my good opinion of you has changed to awe since we’ve been at Bandry Court and have worked together in magic. Your dedication, your strength—your sheer, raw talent . . . I have never seen another witch of your capabilities. My own daughter was never your equal. If only Niall had not been such a worthless rogue, for then I could have welcomed you as my daughter too. You don’t know how disappointed I was when he—well, it would seem that I was destined to be disappointed in both my children. I shall always love them and do my duty by them, but . . .” She stroked Pen’s hand, which still lay in hers, her lips compressed into a thin line.

“I’m so sorry,” Pen whispered. She hadn’t thought about that. What an awful few weeks it must have been for her—first Niall and now Doireann.

“Yes, I am too.” She looked up with a tight, brave smile. “Or at
least I was. After our work the other morning, you were kind enough to say that you regarded me as almost a mother. That was balm to my spirits, but it also made me think. Penelope, I should like to make you my daughter by making you my heiress. When I am gone, I want you to take my place as
Banmhaor Bande
.”

Pen did not leap out of bed and shriek, or even allow herself to visibly start. But Lady Keating’s words took her breath away. Did she really think that highly of her? So highly that she thought the Goddess herself would accept her as her own? Her shock must have shown in her face, for Lady Keating laughed.

“My dear! Is this such a surprise?”

“Well, yes!” Pen blurted out. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

Lady Keating’s face sobered. “I would never joke about such a matter.”

“Then you’re speaking hypothetically.” Yes, that had to be it. There was no other explanation. “Oh, I agree, it would be amazing if you could—”

“I was neither joking nor speaking hypothetically, my dear. Of anyone I know, you are the most worthy of serving her after me. Now, listen to me before you say yes. You have come far on the Goddess’s path, but you will have to continue to work hard as we have done here, which may mean forgoing the pleasures of a social life or indeed the promise of love. You will have to dedicate yourself to her . . . and she can sometimes be a difficult, even demanding mistress. She may ask you to do things that you do not like, or that you fear, and you must do them willingly and trust her—not just a little, but completely.

“But if you do—if you give her your complete trust—she will
reward you beyond imagining. You will be powerful as few have been before you. Even the Carrighars and your governess will only be able to guess at your abilities.”

Pen’s breath caught in her throat again. To be so powerful a
bean draoi
that even the Carrighars and Ally—even
Persy
—would seem like dabblers compared to her? She would finally feel like she deserved the queen’s trust and regard, and could wear her DASH order instead of hiding it away in shame. And she would know the Goddess as few others ever were able to.

“There is a chance,” Lady Keating continued, “if the
draiocht
to help Niall is successful, that he might reform enough to—”

“No.” Pen was surprised by her own decisiveness. “I won’t do this hoping to fix Niall. I want to do this for me, and for the Goddess, and for you. Do you know what it means to me, knowing that you think I’m worthy and capable of being what you are?”

“My dear child, are you sure—”

“My sister is married, and my brother will be too when he is grown. I don’t have to take that path if I don’t want to. I want to stay here with you and follow the Goddess.” She held very tight to Lady Keating’s hand. This was it. This was what she wanted, and if she had to give up other dreams to get this one . . . well, life was like that. She would get over her dreams of a perfect, loving marriage with Niall. It wasn’t like what Persy had with Lochinvar, because it was just that, a dream. A phantom with no substance. But to be the Goddess’s servant and companion—
that
was real.

Lady Keating regarded her in silence for a moment, then smiled. “Then it will be so. Tomorrow night we will do both the
draiocht
and your dedication to the Goddess’s service.”

Pen’s happiness clouded slightly. “What about Doireann? Will you tell her that she no longer—that I—”

Lady Keating rose. “Leave her to me. She will have to accept my decision. Now it is time for sleep. Tomorrow will be a very busy day.” She leaned over Pen, adjusting pillows and tucking her in, then kissed her brow. “Sleep well, my daughter.”

Clad only in a thin, white linen shift, Pen stood in the evening-dim entrance hall of Bandry Court with Lady Keating, waiting for Doireann to come down so they could walk out to the hill together. The stone floor of the hall was chill on Pen’s bare feet, but she was past caring. Her excitement seemed to be enough to keep her warm right now.

Lady Keating wore a plain black robe, its hood hanging down her back. Her dark hair also fell unbound over her shoulders, and her pale face and restless green eyes were startling in the midst of all that blackness. The lamp on the sideboard near her, the only light in the room, cast eerie shadows over her narrow features. Tonight she would be the Crone; in this light, it seemed an appropriate role for her.

The door that led to the kitchens opened and Mrs. Tohill, the housekeeper, came in bearing a small tray on which was a pair of goblets. At Lady Keating’s nod, she set it down on a sideboard, curtsied, and vanished back to the kitchens as quietly as she had appeared.

“Come, Penelope.” Lady Keating had picked up the two goblets.
Now Pen saw that they were different, one made of silver and the other of gilt. She took the silver one that Lady Keating held out to her and peered into it questioningly.

“A little something to fortify you,” Lady Keating said. “Drink, my dear.” She lifted her own goblet and drank.

Something bracing would be helpful right now—Pen had spent the entire day feeling as if she were going to jump out of her skin with excitement. Not that it had been a particularly busy or bustling one; in fact, Pen had been alone for most of today, barely even seeing any servants about. Lady Keating had made a brief appearance at breakfast and suggested she spend her time before they left for the hill in rest and meditation.

“We will probably be up all night, and it is not at all unlikely that you will meet the Goddess herself this evening,” she had explained. “She will want to look over her new acolyte. While it is a wonderful experience, it can also be an exhausting one, in all senses. Use today to prepare yourself however you see fit. I will be completing my preparations for this evening.”

For the
draiocht.
Pen shivered and tried not to think of Niall. He was probably back in Cork by now, wreaking havoc among the young ladies of the town. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Thank you, but no. Believe me, you are helping more than you can know.” Lady Keating had patted her shoulder and glided from the room.

Other things, small but noticeable, had added to the sense of difference and anticipation in the air. Instead of the hearty breakfast and elegant luncheon that Cook usually produced, all meals today had consisted of grains and eggs, prepared simply and washed down with cool water instead of tea and coffee or wine. Dinner was
not served that evening; instead, Lady Keating had brought Pen to her own room, where a steaming tub waited, and directed her to bathe and wash herself thoroughly. There had been something in the water—salt and some crushed herbs—that made her skin tingle and glow . . . or was that just excitement again? Lady Keating had also given her a small flagon of scented oil to rub on her skin, and the plain shift that she wore now.

The silver goblet contained something cool and sweet. Pen sipped, then drank more deeply. “Mmm, it’s lovely. What is it?”

“Mead, brewed from honey raised on my lands. Do you like it?”

Pen drank again. Cool and sweet, but heady too. Corkwobble would have approved. “From your lands here, or in
An Saol Eile
?”

Lady Keating laughed. “Clever girl! A little of both. I thought it an appropriate drink for tonight, since we will shortly have feet in both lands. To you, my new daughter.” She raised her goblet in salute to Pen, then drained it.