Dreamer's Pool (42 page)

34

~GRIM~

C
ottage is looking good. I make some fancy bits for the roof, creatures and the like. Old folk say they’re lucky. Can’t hurt, anyway. Owl at the forest end, cow at the field end, others along the ridge: fox, hare, hedgehog, squirrel. Hedgehog takes longest, lots of straw prickles to thread in. I’m putting the last of the creatures up when one of the lads from the brewery, Pátraic, arrives to give me a hand.

‘Fine morning,’ he calls. ‘What do you want doing?’

I tie off the ends of the straw, fixing the hedgehog in place, then climb down my ladder. ‘Need a hand with some inside work. Couple of beds, work table for Blackthorn, shelf or two. Timber’s all cut to size, pegs shaped, just need to put them together. Your friend coming today?’

‘He’s got a job for Iobhar. Busy all day.’

We get started on the work. Pátraic’s a talker. By the time we’re done with the first bed, I know all about who’s been coming in and out of Iobhar’s brewery and what they’ve been saying since last time I saw him. The lad’s job, when he’s not here helping me, is keeping an eye on folk’s horses while they’re drinking their ale or haggling with Iobhar over how many coppers he’s charging for his goods.

We get started on the second bed, which is mine, though I don’t tell Pátraic that. If he bothered to look, which he doesn’t, he could work it out from the carving I’ve done along the side. Blackthorn twigs on one bed, with thorns and blossoms. Fierce-looking hounds on the other. Joke, that. Heard folk call me her guard dog more than once.

Morning’s passing. Rain’s holding off for now. Thought Blackthorn might come over today, gather herbs, stay for a chat. Be good to talk; it’s been a while. Want to tell her what Donagan said, ask her if she’s found out anything. But she doesn’t turn up. Called away to someone sick, maybe, or busy in the house.

Second bed’s all done. Looks fine. We stop for a bite to eat. Brid’s given me supplies, and Pátraic’s brought a crock of ale. We sit out on the step, looking over the garden, and behind that, the fields between Dreamer’s Wood and Winterfalls. Clouds are filling up the sky; I can feel the damp in the air.

‘What’s it like, working in the prince’s house?’ Pátraic asks through a mouthful of bread and mutton. ‘Are the folk there friendly?’

Not sure how to answer this. ‘Some,’ I say. ‘Had a few problems, but it’s sorted now. He seems a good fellow. Prince Oran, I mean. His people like him.’

‘What about her?’ asks Pátraic. He means Lady Flidais. Feels wrong to be talking about her. Disrespectful. I’m about to tell him so when I see the look on his face. He’s looking as if he’s got a secret to share, the kind of secret the Winterfalls men-at-arms would be sniggering about over their ale. Don’t want to hear it, but if it’s about Lady Flidais, I have to let him talk.

‘Haven’t seen much of her,’ I say. ‘Been on night duty. Seems a nice lady. Why?’

‘Nice lady, you think? You’d be surprised.’

‘I would?’

He leans closer, drops his voice to a whisper. ‘Saw ’em in the stables at the brewery, up against a wall, him and her, at it like ferrets. Or not ferrets, maybe, but you catch my drift. She was on her knees, giving him a suck, going at him as if she knew what she was doing. Funny thing was, it was her wanting it, not the prince. He was arguing with her, trying to push her away. Stupid, eh? What man in his right mind would turn that down?’

I’m too shocked to say anything, so I just sit there pretending to eat.

‘Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’ Pátraic goes on. ‘About the prince, I mean. Maybe he’s one of those men that like other fellows. There’s that serving man of his, Donagan, always hanging about.’

Has to be a mistake. That’s my first thought. Lady Flidais? Young, high-born and betrothed to the king’s heir? Hardly. Even if she fancied a bit of that, she’d never be so foolish as to do it in a stable yard where anyone could – and did – see them. ‘Have you told anyone else?’ I ask.

‘Not a soul. Been tempted, once or twice. Wondered if I was imagining things at the time. But I wasn’t. I heard him say,
Stop it, Flidais!
’

This is something Blackthorn needs to know. So I need to think fast and ask the right questions. ‘Bit of a surprise,’ I say. ‘When was this? Didn’t think Lady Flidais rode out much.’

‘A while back. After they were betrothed. The prince was in the village to have a drink with the fellows and talk about the next council. He brought Lady Flidais with him.’

‘Mm. Might be best if you don’t tell anyone else. Seeing as the lady has to live here, I mean. Might make some folk think badly of her. Or of him.’

‘Mm-hm. More ale?’

‘Nah, better get to work on that table.’

We finish the table, then Pátraic has to go back to the brewery. Still no sign of Blackthorn. I wonder if I should go to the prince’s place and find her, tell her the snippets I’ve heard. They don’t add up to much. Though when I think about it, Pátraic’s unlikely tale fits with what Donagan said about the prince not being worldly-wise. What doesn’t make sense is Flidais doing what he says he saw her doing. A lady who was going to be queen one day wouldn’t act like that, out in the open. Would she? The prince did tell us she wasn’t the woman he was expecting. He wouldn’t have been expecting her to do
that
. There’s a time and place for these things, and it’s not in the stable yard of a brewery, before you’re even properly wed.

So, head over to the prince’s now? Could be a waste of time. Blackthorn might still be out doing whatever she went out to do. If it’s a childbed, it could take all day and some of the night. If it’s on one of the faraway farms, just getting there and back would take a while. And I’ve got work to finish here.

I’m yawning. If I don’t catch some sleep I’ll be good for nothing. There’s enough of the day left for me to lie down in the outhouse for a bit, then finish the shelves and get back to Winterfalls before dusk. Plenty of time.

Got a pallet in the outhouse with a bedroll all ready. Sleep in there most afternoons. It’s pretty dark even by day, and at first when I go in I don’t spot anything different. Then I go to lie down and there it is: Blackthorn’s red kerchief, neatly folded and sitting right in the place where I’d be laying my head. My heart gives a big thump. She’s been here already. Been and gone long ago. She didn’t have a rest and leave her kerchief by accident. Not set out the way it is. The red kerchief says one thing loud and clear:
Goodbye.

For a bit I can’t think straight. Don’t know whether to scream or curse or cry or go rushing off in all directions. Have to make myself breathe, slow down, try to work out the puzzle the way she would. No time to think about why she’d up and go like this, when we’re just getting settled and there’s a job on hand. What I need to think about is where. I stuff the kerchief in my pouch and head outside. Black Crow save me, what if she had a horse? She could be miles away by now. Left Winterfalls forever. Broken her promise to Conmael. There’s only one place she’ll be headed for, winter or no winter. Laois. She’s gone to face up to Mathuin. And if she doesn’t want to be found, there’ll be no finding her.

I throw my head back and bellow like a wounded bull. ‘Conmael, you bastard! Why in the name of the gods didn’t you stop her?’

Last thing I’m expecting is an answer. But here he is, come from nowhere, standing right next to me all wrapped up in his big swirly cloak. On his own. Not sure if that’s good or bad.

‘Why did I not stop her?’ he asks, in a way that says I’m far too stupid to talk to the likes of him. ‘Surely you know by now that Blackthorn is her own woman. If she wants to go, she’ll go. If she wants to throw her life away, that’s precisely what she’ll do.’

I want to grab the fellow and shake him up and down a few times, even though all he’s done is say what I was thinking myself. But there’s nobody else to help me, so I hold back. Count up to five in my head. ‘If you thought that,’ I say, ‘why did you get her out of Mathuin’s lockup?’

He laughs. I want to kill him. ‘You’re wasting time, Grim,’ he says. ‘You’ll never win a battle of wits with me. If you want her back, go after her.’

‘You planning to help or just stand about watching? I don’t know where she went.’

‘That way.’ Conmael points southward. His fingers are long and pale, with silver rings on them.

I want to ask him how he knows, and whether he saw her, and when, but he’ll only say I’m wasting time. ‘She went early,’ I say. ‘And she’s good at covering her tracks. Doubt I’d find her.’

‘What, giving up before you’ve even begun?’ His brows lift in scorn. ‘And you the devoted hound who guards her every step? She’d be disappointed in you.’

‘If you won’t help,’ I growl, ‘then I’ll be on my way.’

‘Did I say I would not help? I don’t recall that. What help do you require?’

I hate the mongrel. Always thought his kind weren’t trustworthy, and he’s done nothing to change my mind. But the day’s slipping away and so is Blackthorn, so I swallow my pride, what there is of it. ‘A horse,’ I say. ‘Strong enough to carry her and me. And if you know how far she’s gone, tell me.’

Happens just like in an old tale. Conmael clicks his fingers, and there’s a horse in the garden. Storm, one of Scannal’s draught horses, with a blanket saddle and a riding harness on.

‘Miller mightn’t be well pleased,’ I say, but I’m already slinging my bag on my back, getting ready to mount and go.

‘She might be far south by now,’ said Conmael. ‘Or not. If I were you I’d take the track toward Silverlake.’

I frown at him. ‘That’s not south, it’s east.’

‘All the same. That is where I would go first.’

I give him a straight look. I’m scared of the fellow, but I speak out anyway. ‘Why don’t you go?’

He smiles, thin-lipped. ‘Oh, she won’t listen to
me
.’

Can’t even start to work that out. ‘You sure you want what’s best for Blackthorn?’ I ask. Could be he’s tricking me, sending me on a wild goose chase, making sure I don’t catch up with her, even on Storm.

‘If I did not,’ says Conmael, ‘she would be dead, and you would still be in Mathuin’s lockup. Now go.’

35

~BLACKTHORN~

S
outh. Mathuin. Justice.
The words were in my mind when I passed by our cottage and thought of Grim, and how I had not told him I was going. I left the red kerchief and kept on walking. I muttered the same words when I reached the crossroads: one track going south toward Laois and my enemy, the other branching off east toward Silverlake. Ness was still there; her recovery had been slow. I chose the southern path and walked on.
South. Mathuin. Justice.

I made good progress. The morning was not far advanced when I came up through a beech wood and stopped to drink from my water skin. I hadn’t brought much. Most of my healer’s supplies were still in the prince’s house. My bag contained a change of clothing, the water skin, a couple of bannocks I’d grabbed from the kitchen on the way out. My notebook, which could not be left behind for idle eyes to read. My good knife, my flint, a supply of dry tinder. Rolled on top, a blanket from the prince’s household. I felt no guilt in taking it. With luck, I’d be far on my way before anyone realised I wasn’t coming back.

Sooner or later Conmael would catch up with me, ask me why I’d broken my word. Perhaps make good his threat to throw me back in Mathuin’s lockup, though I wondered, now, if he would really do that. Supercilious meddler that he was, he did appear to have my welfare at heart. The mood I was in, I hardly cared anyway. His instructions were impossible. Use my talents for good and say yes to any request for help; that had made a sort of sense when he’d first set it all out. But when one of the folk who’d asked for help would not stand up against the man who’d betrayed her trust – indeed, planned to marry him – and the other was that very man, courteous and charming on the outside, a cold-hearted abuser of women underneath, how could I do as Conmael wished? I could not help Flidais if she was not prepared to help herself. As for Oran, he was a lying rat, and I’d rather walk on hot coals than do a thing more for him.

I’d promised myself I wouldn’t look back. But as I hitched my bag onto my shoulders again, I caught a glimpse of the view. This hill overlooked grazing fields, and beyond them, a mile or two to the north-east, lay an expanse of water, grey under the overcast sky, with a settlement straggling along its edge. Silverlake, where we’d confronted Branoc in his bakery. Silverlake, where Ness was still lodging with the family who’d taken her in. Where Emer, who might be a fine healer one day, still stayed by her friend’s side.

South. Mathuin. Justice
, I told myself, wanting to turn away, wanting to head on south, but hesitating all the same. Mathuin was an abuser of women, whose callous, unthinking assaults had left a trail of broken lives behind him. Branoc’s crime was the same, and even if he’d had only one victim, her hurt was no less for that. I was going south to make Mathuin face up to his ill deeds. A grand mission, far grander than sorting out a lying prince’s tangled betrothal. But I owed it to Ness to visit her one last time before I left, to acknowledge her strength, to offer her . . . what? Wise advice? There wasn’t much wisdom in me right now. I was full up with Mathuin and my anger. But I could at least sit down with Ness and listen. Silverlake was just over there, not far at all. There would be time.

I found a way down the hill between the birches and headed across the fields. I’d call in and see Ness briefly, have a word or two with Emer, and be on my way again. There was only one person likely to come after me and I’d made sure I had a good start on him. Besides, he’d be expecting me to go on south. Grim would be all right, I told myself. He had work at Winterfalls. He had friends; folk liked him. He could live in the cottage. He’d be better off without me.

I hoped Ness would be a little better today. Her body had healed quickly, with the resilience of the young. But last time I’d been here, she’d still been waking in the night, screaming. She’d still, sometimes, been wetting her bed like an infant. And although she’d talked to me, and talked openly, about what had happened to her, it had seemed to me part of her was absent, as if she had left something forever in that dark place of her captivity.

I came in to Silverlake. At Mór’s house, where Ness was staying, there was nobody about. I knocked on the door, then entered, as was my custom. ‘Anyone home? It’s Blackthorn.’

‘Through here!’ Ness called from the inner chamber. The door to that room stood ajar, and light spilled from within. I walked through and stopped short. Ness was sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, with a shawl around her shoulders all patterned with birds and flowers. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright, and over her dark hair she wore the red kerchief that was almost, but not quite, twin to mine. On a stool by the bedside, holding her hand, sat a long-legged young man, dark-haired, thin and rather solemn looking, clad in a working man’s clothing brightened by a vivid blue neckerchief. As I came in the youth rose to his feet, but kept Ness’s hand in his.

‘Mistress Blackthorn, how good to see you!’ Ness said. Her smile lit up her face; she seemed transformed. ‘This is Abhan. His folk are camped on the other side of the lake, not far away. They came in last night.’

‘Mistress Blackthorn,’ said Abhan, ‘it’s an honour to meet you. What you did for my girl – I can’t thank you enough.’

He was all courtesy. Just like Prince Oran. Men were full of lies. I managed a nod.

‘We’re going to be married,’ said Ness. ‘As soon as we can. We’ll be travelling south when Abhan’s folk move on. I’ll miss you, Mistress Blackthorn. And Emer. But we’ll be back next autumn with the horses.’

Too fast; this was happening much too fast. ‘Where is Emer?’ I asked, with cold disquiet running through me.

‘Didn’t you see her? She’s helping Mór bring in some sheets. It’s going to rain later.’

So Emer was not far away; this was less improper than it had seemed at first. That didn’t mean I liked the fellow turning up here and, within a day, persuading this frail and damaged girl not only to marry him but to leave everything behind and head off with the travellers. Thanks to her father’s silver, Ness was a wealthy woman now. A good catch for a lad like this, even after what had been done to her.

Abhan was watching me, his expression as grave as if he could read my thoughts. ‘Mistress Blackthorn,’ he said, ‘might I speak with you alone?’

‘By all means. We’ll step outside a moment.’ Ness’s smile had faded. I owed her an explanation. ‘You have no kinsfolk,’ I said. ‘You’ve been through a dark time, Ness, very dark. You and Abhan – you’re young, both of you. Since your father cannot talk to him about this, I will do it. I need to make sure you’ll be properly looked after and well provided for. To put it bluntly, I need to be convinced your decisions are your own, and not those of a man who would exploit you.’

‘Mistress Blackthorn!’ exclaimed Ness. ‘How can you say that? Abhan is my sweetheart; he has been since I was young. I love him. He loves me. My father gave us his blessing; he only asked us to wait. Abhan wants only what is best for me.’

‘Then you have nothing to be concerned about,’ I said, ‘if he and I take a little walk and I ask him a few questions.’

It was darker outside; the clouds were building. I’d best be on my way soon. ‘Come, we’ll walk,’ I said, and the young man fell into step beside me, moderating his long strides. Once we were away from the house, I said, ‘I don’t have much time. Which is regrettable, since we’re talking about the rest of that young woman’s life. First tell me this: how do you propose to look after Ness, provide a safe home, keep a roof over her head and food on the table, and ensure she need not work herself half to death just to make ends meet?’ I made no mention of Ness’s inheritance.

‘I’m eighteen years old, Mistress Blackthorn. A man grown. I have my own cart, bought from my earnings in the horse trading business, and my own pair of cart horses. Tinker and Treasure, they’re called. I travel with my whole family: Mam, my brothers and sisters, my aunties and uncles and cousins. We follow the same pattern every year. Spend spring and summer in the south, come north in the autumn. I know my trade; I make good sales and my dealings are always fair. I can provide for Ness.’ When I said nothing, he went on, ‘I know Ness has funds of her own now. But she won’t be needing those for the everyday. What we thought . . .’ He hesitated.

‘Go on.’ I could not find fault with anything he’d said so far. I hoped this odd feeling I had was not disappointment.

‘The prince . . . Emer told me what he said at the council, when that fellow, the wretch who hurt Ness, was brought to account.’ Abhan’s voice was uneven; his jaw tightened. ‘She said the prince was very fair. She said that he was kind to her, and that he told the folk they should have seen earlier that something was wrong. She said he spoke well of Ness. What we thought, Ness and I, was that we would go to Winterfalls for his next council and ask to talk to him in private. Get his advice about Ness’s payment. We want to put it away safe somewhere.’

‘For what purpose?’

‘In case she changes her mind,’ he said simply. ‘Not about marrying me; she says she’ll never do that. But if she doesn’t take to the travelling life. It’s not for everyone, Mistress Blackthorn. Some folk can’t be happy without a nest, same place to rest their head every night. And though Ness says she’ll be fine as long as I’m there, she hasn’t tried it yet. If she’s not content with it, we’ll use some of her money to buy a place and settle. I can turn my hand to a few things. I’d find work.’

‘Really? Is it not just as hard for a travelling man to settle in one place as it is for a girl like Ness to take to life on the road?’

We had reached a wall that marked off the bottom of Mór’s garden. Beyond lay a field with sheep grazing. Abhan stopped walking and faced me, his eyes as clear as the water of a pool in springtime. ‘I’d give my life for her, Mistress Blackthorn, I swear it. Settling down, going to work as a farrier or groom, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But Ness says she’ll be fine on the road. She likes my mam and my sisters, and she says going south will make it easier to put what’s happened behind her.’

I could not argue with this. He sounded, and looked, both utterly sincere and remarkably practical. I could not make myself believe he was lying. As for seeking advice from Prince Oran, a man who really did know how to lie, it was quite true that the prince had spoken with fairness, wisdom and courage at the council; he had supported both Emer and Ness all along. On balance, I had no reason to think he would give bad counsel on the matter of Ness’s funds.

But that was only half of it. ‘Ness has met your family?’ I asked, heading into the more difficult part carefully.

‘Yes, Mistress Blackthorn. They came over to visit her today, Mam and the two youngest. My eldest sister’s tending to my grandmother, who’s unwell. But, of course, they all know Ness from before.’

‘Before?’

‘She and I – we’ve been sweethearts awhile. Ness always came over to visit when we were in the district. Her and Emer. Mam loves the two of them; said she wished we could take them both back south with us.’

‘How long will you be staying in Dalriada this time, Abhan?’

‘We’d want to be gone by next half-moon, or the roads will be all mud. I have some business to do first, and of course Ness and I must be married before we go.’

Now came the crux of the matter. ‘You know she’s been badly hurt. You know that man imprisoned her, abused her, took her by force, left her with scars both of the body and of the mind. Deep scars, Abhan.’

‘I know.’ His gaze remained steady and sure.

‘I’m not sure you can know, not fully. You’re young.’

‘I’ve been head of my family since my Da died three years since, Mistress Blackthorn. I’m a man. Ness has talked to me about what that fellow did to her. She’s told me the story. And we’ve spoken about getting wed, and what it would mean.’ He paused to draw a long breath. ‘I made her a promise. Said we wouldn’t do anything until she was ready. Just lie in each other’s arms, nothing more.’

‘You have good intentions, Abhan. What if you can’t keep yourself under control?’

‘I can, Mistress Blackthorn. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be a fit man to marry Ness. I can wait. I can give her as long as she needs.’

We started back toward the house. I could see Mór and Emer now, going inside with a big basket of linen.

‘You don’t believe me,’ Abhan said.

‘I believe you mean what you say. I’m not so sure about your ability to carry it out. What if Ness is never ready for the two of you to lie together as husband and wife? What if she cannot bear your children?’

‘She means everything to me, Mistress Blackthorn. I want her to be happy. I want her to feel safe. I never want her to be afraid again. Ness is a strong girl; a brave girl. She wouldn’t have got through this otherwise. Between us, we’ll make a good life. It may not be the life some folk would choose, but we’ll be content.’ After a little, he added, ‘You don’t know me. I understand you’d be doubtful. You could have a word with Mam. She’d love to meet you. Ness and Emer told her all about you. It’s not far, just over the other side of the lake. We were going to walk over anyway, me and Ness and Emer.’

‘Isn’t that a bit far for Ness?’

‘She says not. She and Emer have been going out every day. Emer says fresh air and exercise are good for Ness. Will you come?’

He was a charming young man. So was Prince Oran. They said all the right things, the two of them. Gave folk no reason to doubt them. Who was to say Abhan might not, on his wedding night or even earlier, take it into his head to act just as Oran had toward Flidais?

‘I’ll be honest with you, Mistress Blackthorn. There’s another reason I’d like you to visit the camp. My grandmother is poorly. This cough has settled on her chest and she can’t shake it off. And she’s old. Remembers the wise woman who lived at Dreamer’s Wood before you. Holly, was that her name?’

A pox on it. Now I’d have to go with him. Not because of my vow to Conmael, which I’d broken already, in intention if not in deeds. But because, despite everything, I wanted to hear that story, the one about Dreamer’s Pool and the pigs, and this old woman might know it. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘but it needs to be quick; I’ve other things to do with my day, what’s left of it.’ Nobody would look for me in a travellers’ camp. I’d keep this as short as I could, and head off straight afterwards.