Dreamer's Pool (23 page)

‘He had no boys, only the girl. Ness. Turned to the bad. We’ll see no more of her.’

I was not quite sure what
turned to the bad
meant. ‘She’s no longer in the district?’

‘Gone off with the travelling folk, that was the story put about at the time,’ said Iobhar. ‘Though it was the wrong season for them to be here. But she had a fellow that was sweet on her, one of the travellers. Maybe he came on his own and fetched her away, who knows?’

‘She helped herself to her dad’s life savings before she went,’ put in someone sourly. ‘A traveller boy would come a long way for that.’

‘So it appears there’s no claimant to the mill,’ I said. ‘But generally, folk would agree that we do need a mill in Silverlake as well as Scannal’s place here, yes? There is enough work for both?’

‘That’s how it’s always been, my lord,’ Scannal said. ‘Two mills and two bakers. Until Ernan died, that is. Branoc’s fussy about his flour; too fussy for me, to tell you the truth. I could do without having to grind his special blends when I’ve got a big order for oaten flour or barley meal on hand. Problem is, nobody will take Ernan’s mill on. Not after what happened.’

‘Crushed to blood and splinters,’ said Deaman the baker. ‘Who’d want to be using that grindstone again?’

As a man, I found myself in perfect agreement. As a prince, I understood the wastefulness of leaving a perfectly good mill to rot away in disuse. ‘We’ll discuss this further at the council, when folk from Silverlake are present. Meanwhile, think about how we might remedy the situation. For instance, we might call Master Oisin or the local wise woman to conduct a cleansing ritual at the mill and set poor Ernan’s spirit to rest. Or, in the shorter term, we might find a way to persuade Branoc to hire his own carter. That would go some way toward ameliorating your problem, Scannal.’

‘Thank you, my lord. I’ve been using that new fellow, Grim, from the healer’s place. Good worker, but he’s not always available to help. Gets a lot of jobs around the district. Strong as an ox.’

‘I have met Grim briefly.’ A man of intimidating proportions and few words. A man of considerable skill. ‘Now, is there anything else you want to discuss before the council?’

Iobhar reached over to top up my ale cup. ‘Nothing serious, my lord. We wouldn’t want to be troubling you with too much just now. We all wish you the best for the future. You and Lady Flidais. Good to see her here. The women will like that.’

‘I hope they will, Iobhar. I imagine it is good for them to be able to raise their concerns with Lady Flidais in relative privacy.’

‘Keep her talking all morning, that’d be my guess, my lord.’

‘As to that,’ I said, ‘I’m hoping to ride to Silverlake, so if you’re sure that’s everything, we’d best be off shortly. Thank you for your hospitality. Iobhar, I think you brew the finest ale in all Dalriada.’

Iobhar grinned broadly. ‘Thank you, my lord. I won’t argue with that.’

I sent Garalt to relieve Fergal and to tell Flidais that we would be riding on soon. Then I excused myself to visit the privy, which was out the back of the ale house, near the stable where travellers’ horses were tended to while their riders partook of Iobhar’s fine brew. The meeting had gone well; my mood was much improved.

I was stepping out from the privy, still adjusting my trousers, when someone grabbed my arm and pulled me into a dark corner of the stables. I drew breath to shout, and a small hand placed itself firmly over my mouth.

‘Hush, Oran, it’s me!’ Flidais, pressing herself up against me, her hands now moving down to undo the fastenings I had just tied up, to slip inside my clothing and attach themselves firmly to my manhood. What in the name of the gods was she doing? This, here, in Iobhar’s stables, in the middle of the day with several folk no further away than the other side of the courtyard, and our own guards likely to be looking for us in moments?

‘Flidais, no!’ I tried to extricate myself, but my back was hard up against the wall, and she was hard up against me. It seemed desire would always overcome common sense; even as I saw the folly in the situation, my manhood made a liar of me. ‘Flidais, stop it! Let go!’

Her agile fingers released their grip. I had barely time to snatch one quick relieved breath when she fell to her knees and I realised she had a weapon in her armoury that was new to me, if not in understanding, then most certainly in practice.

‘Stop it!’ My voice was a strangled gasp. ‘Now, Flidais! Quickly, get up before someone sees us!’ But oh, how clever she was with her mouth; clever enough to stir me to boiling point even at a moment of such high risk. ‘
Flidais!
’

She drew me right to the brink, unwilling as I was. There was, perhaps, a count of ten in it, from the moment she took her mouth away to the moment when Garalt came back into the courtyard to get the horses ready. In that count of ten I remedied the disorder of my clothing, and Flidais stepped out into the light, smoothing down her skirt, her manner relaxed and confident. ‘Apple has been a joy to ride,’ she observed, walking over to give the mare’s nose a stroke. ‘So gentle and calm. She was an excellent choice.’

I gave a kind of grunt in response; I was still in some physical discomfort, though sheer horror was quickly reducing my problem. In truth, I could not believe Flidais had done this. Why take such a foolish risk? It went beyond stupidity. I could hardly think of a less appropriate occasion on which to engage in such an activity. These folk looked to us as their leaders. We were their protectors, their arbiters, their exemplars. How much respect would we have, how much indeed would we merit, if we rutted like animals where anyone might walk past and see us? Worse than that; we were on Iobhar’s premises, as his guests.

I could not say anything with Garalt close by. And now there was Mhairi coming in through a side gate – where had she been? – and Iobhar’s stable lad emerging from the other end of the place. My belly tightened at the possibility that he had been there all along; that he had seen everything. Should this unsavoury tale be spread about, it would cause untold damage to my reputation in the community.

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I said, not quite looking at Flidais. ‘We won’t ride to Silverlake after all; it will be too much for you.’

‘Oh, I can –’

‘Straight home,’ I said to Garalt. ‘We’ll give Fergal time for his ale, then we’ll be off. Silverlake can wait until Donagan is available; we may even beard Branoc in his den.’

‘Yes, my lord. I’ll go in and let Fergal know.’

‘Flidais,’ I said in a murmur, as soon as he was out of earshot, ‘that was entirely unacceptable.’

‘Were you not enjoying it, Oran? You gave every sign that you were.’ Her voice was warm honey, conjuring images of the nights we had shared. ‘You seemed a little out of sorts earlier. Displeased with me. I thought only to make it up to you.’

‘We will discuss this in private,’ I said. ‘At home.’

‘Ah.’ It was a sigh of anticipation; clearly she had not picked up my mood.

I cleared my throat. ‘Were any matters of significance raised by the women? Do they need answers from me before we leave?’

‘Nothing important. Oran, I can ride on to Silverlake –’

‘Don’t argue with me, Flidais. We’re going home, and when we get there I must be quite plain with you, even if what I have to say is not to your liking.’

She hung her head. ‘I’m sorry. I keep getting it wrong.’ She looked up, her big blue eyes suspiciously bright. ‘I only wanted to please you.’

I could have let those melting eyes, that contrite stance, that sweet voice win me over; not so long ago, I would have been swayed by them. But my mind was on the years ahead, all the years of our life together. The life I had wished on myself through my stubborn belief that dreams come true, if only a man waits long enough. ‘As I said, we’ll discuss this later. If you want the truth, Flidais, after this I cannot trust you to visit Silverlake with me. Or indeed anywhere.’

But by the time we reached home again, Flidais had been stricken by one of her headaches and told me she must retire to rest.

‘I’ll send for the wise woman,’ I said. ‘These headaches have gone on too long. Mistress Blackthorn will surely have a remedy. Everyone speaks well of her skills.’

‘No!’ Flidais spoke sharply, then put a hand to her brow as if the effort had made the pain worse. ‘I don’t want her. All I need is to lie down for a while.’

‘But –’

‘Really, Oran. I should be well by supper time. There is no need to trouble the wise woman, or indeed anyone.’

I let her go, wishing I had taken Mother’s advice and allowed one of the court physicians to stay on here when the rest of the royal party returned to Cahercorcan. Had Flidais been beset by these headaches before she came to Winterfalls? I should ask her women, perhaps; but that might convey the message that I doubted her.

‘Is all well, Oran?’

I was started out of my reverie by the dry voice of Aunt Sochla, who had come into the entry hall with a panting Bramble at her heels. The little dog greeted me with whimpers of delight, and I had no choice but to gather her up and hold her close. She quivered with joy, stretching up to plant kisses on my cheek.

‘Oran?’ My aunt was regarding me with an expression very like one of my mother’s: it suggested an uncomfortable level of understanding. ‘I thought you were riding to Silverlake this morning. That was what Flidais told me earlier.’

‘We came back early. Flidais has a headache; she has gone off to rest.’

Aunt Sochla did not reply, simply continued to stare at me. ‘Unfortunate,’ she observed.

I glanced around the entry hall and found it empty for now of listening ears. ‘Aunt,’ I said. ‘May I ask you a favour?’

‘You can always ask, Oran. I may not say yes, of course.’

Bramble was settling now, warm in my arms. Her fur was silky smooth under my fingers. ‘Could you have a quiet word with Flidais’s women about these headaches, without disturbing Flidais herself? It would be useful to know how long she’s been afflicted by them, and whether a physician was attending her back at Cloud Hill.’

Aunt Sochla gave a crooked smile. It made her into a witch from an old story, a person neither good nor bad, but certainly dangerous. ‘Are not those questions you could ask her yourself?’

‘Flidais is reluctant to discuss the matter with me. She brushes off my concerns.’

‘Mm-hm. Very well, I can try, though your lady keeps her women on a tight rein. One thing I do know. Until the day of the drowning, Lady Flidais was devoted to Bramble, and Bramble to her. Deirdre told me, and she’s the most reliable of the handmaids. And that really does surprise me. I’ve never seen a dog change its allegiance in such a way. Even those that have been quite cruelly treated retain their loyalty. A dog’s devotion to its owner goes deep; they are far more forgiving than we are. Anything else I should be asking, while I’m at it?’

I had no answer for her. My mind was full of questions, but all of them were impossible. Why did the Flidais of the letters not match the Flidais who had come to Winterfalls? What my aunt had just said about Bramble only emphasised that. Flidais
had
loved her little dog. In that, at least, the letters had been true. I had put the differences in my lady’s character down to a scribe penning the missives in her name. But the more I considered that, the less likely it seemed. Such a blatant pretence would surely not have been sanctioned by a chieftain of Cadhan’s status. And even if he had not known, the letters had rung so true – what scribe could have responded so perfectly to my own missives? Besides, that last letter had been written, not at Cloud Hill, but at Muadan’s stronghold in Ulaid, when Flidais’s party broke their journey there. It stretched credibility that Muadan’s scribe, too, was able to capture that delicate tone.

I had heard an old tale once, in which a serving woman tricked her mistress into changing places with her, and kept the lady from telling the truth by threatening those she loved. But that could not have happened here, for Flidais had brought her own entourage with her, folk who had known her a long time, and besides, the portrait her father had sent to mine was the perfect image of the woman who had come to Winterfalls to be my bride. And yet, something was wrong. I knew it in my heart.

‘Nothing, Aunt Sochla,’ I said. ‘Just ask about the headaches. Oh, and another favour.’

She waited.

‘Might Bramble stay with me for a little while? I won’t allow her to get on the bed or do anything else you’d disapprove of, naturally.’

‘If I am strict, Oran, it is for the dog’s own good. Of course, take her awhile. Send your man to bring her back when you’ve had enough. That’s if he’s still here.’ She turned to go.

‘Wait! What do you mean, if he’s still here?’

‘The word was, he was packing up ready to leave. So I was told not long after you headed off this morning.’

‘Leave? Leave for where?’

She lifted her brows at me, her eyes shrewd. ‘How would I know, Oran? Perhaps to visit his parents. Perhaps elsewhere. I’m not privy to the business of your entire household.’ After a moment, as I gazed at her in shocked incomprehension, she added more gently, ‘A good friend, young Donagan; he has been since the two of you were lads. You’d best go and find him. Here, give me the dog.’

‘I’ll take her with me.’ Still carrying Bramble, I headed for the men’s quarters, hoping beyond hope that my aunt was wrong. I could see, at least, if Donagan’s belongings were still there.

The men’s quarters were deserted, save for a lone figure with a pack on his back, heading out the far door.

‘Donagan! Wait!’

For a moment I thought my friend was going to ignore me. I thought he would walk away without a word. But he turned and stood there in the open doorway. He held his quiet as I walked down the long chamber to halt a few paces from him.

I could order him to stay, of course. Put on the princely voice and demand that he remain where he was needed. Keep playing whatever the unfortunate game was that had made us enemies so quickly. Probably lose my best friend in all the world as a result.

I set Bramble down on the floor. ‘Donagan,’ I said, ‘if I’ve offended you, I’m sorry. Aunt Sochla told me you were going away, and I see that may be true. Please don’t leave. I need you.’