Keeper Of The Light (11 page)

Rioghan held up one hand and smiled. “I cannot. At least, not at this moment. Though I am glad to see you looking so well.”

Sabha gave her a small, tight smile, then closed her eyes. “I would not say that I am well, though I am better. I walk, and breathe, and even eat occasionally. And I would like very much to speak with you, if you can find a moment for me.”

Rioghan nodded. “Of course I will. But first I have a favor to ask of you.”

A short time later, Rioghan and Sabha walked together toward one of the largest of the round houses, Scath and Cogar trotting quietly after them. Sabha stopped before the house, and stepped back to let Rioghan walk to the door.

“Please come to me before you leave,” Sabha said again. “Ah, I know! Leave your bag at my house, and then you will have to come ’round again to fetch it.” She took the heavy bag and then, giving her friend a kiss on the cheek, walked back to her own home and left Rioghan alone to face this great one.

With only a little hesitation, still aware of the many eyes upon her, Rioghan knocked softly on the wooden door. Her dogs sat down close on either side of her and waited.

There was no response. Feeling heat spreading across her face, Rioghan looked down and knocked again, a little harder this time.

After a long while, she heard a few small noises inside the dwelling, as though someone was walking across the rushes and perhaps toppling a plate or cup on the stone hearth along the way. Finally the door opened and Donaill stared down at her, blinking in the new light of the morning.

“Rioghan?” The man pushed his long, light brown hair back from his face, letting it fall in disarray past his shoulders. He tried to straighten the dark wool tunic he wore—the only thing he wore, she realized with a start. “Why have you come? Is something wrong?”

Turning away, Rioghan answered him quickly. “I wish to speak to you, if I may.”

“Why, of course, of course! I did not know that you were here! Please come in.”

He stepped back to allow her inside, but she remained turned away. “Thank you, but I will wait here for you, if you do not mind.”

Donaill seemed to have regained his composure now, after the surprise of finding her on his doorstep, and stood straight and even made her a small bow. “As you wish, my lady. I will not be long.” Then, with a smile, he closed the door again.

Rioghan closed her eyes. It was difficult to think, even to breathe. She could still feel the curious stares of the people upon her as they whispered and laughed at the sight of the strange and mysterious midwife standing outside the house of the king’s champion, as though she had nothing better to do.

Even her two dogs seemed to be grinning at her as they yawned and stretched lazily in the faint warmth of the wintertime sun. “You don’t have to laugh, you know,” she scolded. “I am here on serious business.”

Scath yawned again, this time with a little whine as she did, and then rolled on her back in the cool, soft grass. “Thank you for your support,” Rioghan said to her, but could not help smiling.

The door of the house opened once again. Rioghan whirled around to look.

“Ah, my lady, I am so glad that you were kind enough to wait for me. Please, will you walk with me?”

Donaill closed the door tight and then walked the few steps to stand right in front of her. He was properly dressed now in a red-and-gold wool tunic and black woolen trousers, with his heavy red cloak fastened by a round gold brooch and thrown back over his shoulder. She looked up at him and started to speak, but the words caught in her throat, and she suddenly felt very vulnerable, very much exposed.

“‘What is it?” he asked gently.

It was so strange to stand out here alone with him, visible to all these many people in this busy and bustling place, as though she were just another person who lived here in Cahir Cullen. Always she had preferred the comfort and security of shadows, of darkness, of seclusion, of Sion; but now she felt as alone and unprotected and as careless as a doe who stood alone in an open field in the glaring light of midday.

He reached down and took her hand, tucking it beneath his arm as he turned and led her away. “We will go inside and talk, just you and I. And since I am sure you have not eaten yet today, we will sit down to a good meal and I will listen for as long as you like.”

She nodded, and though she walked so close to him that her side was pressed up against his, she felt no need to pull away. His strength, his height, and his broad shoulders shielded her from the outside world in the same way that the stone walls of Sion shielded her. Rioghan began to feel better just walking close beside him, feeling the solid strength in his arms and listening to the faint creak of his black leather sword belt as he walked, and catching a glimpse of his long, light brown hair, tied back with a black leather cord, falling across his shoulders.

“Here we are,” he said, stopping as the shadow of a building fell across them. Rioghan looked up, startled. She had almost forgotten why she was here, and told herself that she had most certainly not come here to walk arm in arm with Donaill across the lawn of Cahir Cullen. She withdrew her arm and stepped away from him, folding her hands and drawing a deep breath.

Then she looked up—and again felt like a brazen doe out alone in the clearing. She and Donaill stood in front of another round building with the same white clay walls and steep straw roof bleached gray by sunlight and rain, but this one was perhaps four times as large as even Donaill’s large house.

Even from this distance Rioghan could hear, through the very tall pair of doors that stood open, the voices of servants working to prepare food, and the conversation and laughter of the highborn women who gathered here each day to talk and gossip as they worked. It helped them to pass the time as they spun wool into yarn, or wove it into cloth at the looms, or cut and stitched the new cloth into tunics and gowns and long, rectangular cloaks.

This was the great hall, the primary gathering place for the men and women of the fortress. This was where King Bran and his warriors and his druids might hold court, and where the feasts and celebrations were held. And most of the women preferred to go there each day to work at their tasks, so they could enjoy one another’s company instead of staying alone in their homes. The great hall was virtually always full of people, even if it was only the servants sleeping there at night in the thick warm straw on the floor.

Donaill started to go inside, but Rioghan remained rooted to the spot. “My lady?” he asked, turning to look at her. “Do you not want to go in? I thought you wanted to have a talk with me.”

“I do,” she whispered, raising her chin, “but I see that there is little privacy here.”

He laughed again. “I see. So there is too much privacy inside my house, and too little inside the hall! Well, then…” He paused, looking around, and then he smiled at her again. “Wait here. I think I know exactly what we require.”

Chapter Eight

A short time later, Donaill carried a broad wooden plate covered with a square of linen, and Rioghan held two flat wooden cups filled with cold, fresh water. Donaill walked all the way to the back of Cahir Cullen until they stood just beneath the high, curving, grass-covered earthen wall, at a spot where a few large, flat stones lay scattered on the ground.

“Will this do?” he asked, nodding toward the stones. “It is not closed away like my house, nor is it trafficked with people like the hall. A few may see us here, but they have no reason to approach. Will you sit in this place with me?”

She smiled, and then walked to the nearest of the flat stones and sat down on it, still holding the cups filled with, water. “I thank you. It is perfect.”

He sat down too, and set the wooden plate down between them.

“Please, Lady Rioghan, go ahead and eat, and we will talk when you are ready. I should never have asked you what you wanted when first I saw you this day, as though you were merely a servant or a messenger. I should have seen to your comfort first, offering you food and rest as an honored guest is due, before asking questions. For that I apologize, and I ask you to share this with me now, and then talk to me about whatever you like when you are ready.”

Rioghan began to relax. The high, thick walls of Cahir Cullen towered over her on one side, and on the other the scattered houses obscured them from the sight of most of the others. Yet soft winter sunlight and cold air surrounded them, and the two dogs stretched out on the grass between her and the rest of Cahir Cullen. Rioghan smiled at Donaill. “Thank you,” she said, and reached down to uncover her wooden plate.

The servants in the hall had heaped it with whatever was at hand, which turned out to be fresh, hot flatbread made with good oats, butter so pale it was almost white from the thin winter milk of the hay-fed cows, a little of the honey saved from the last gathering in the fall, a heap of sliced dried apples boiled in milk, and hard-pressed curds of cheese.

They ate in quiet companionship for a time. Donaill sat back and allowed her to have the first selection at everything, as though she were the most high-ranking of visitors. She glanced at him from time to time, at first still feeling somewhat vulnerable with his gleaming blue eyes gazing down and his ever-present smile always on her.

Yet as she took another piece of oatbread and covered it with hot apples and cool honey, her attention was caught by the ordinary sights and sounds of the morning here at Cahir Cullen. Though she had been here many times and knew the daily life and many of the people, she had always moved among them as a shadow in the background. It had been necessary for her to focus only on whatever birth or injury or tragedy had brought her there in the first place. But now she could sit and watch the people as they went about their normal lives, and she was surprised at what marvelous entertainment it was.

A group of young children raced around the nearest house with slim, long-legged dogs at their heels, chasing an older boy who raised his little wooden sword and shouted out at them as he ran. Rioghan could not help but laugh at the sight of a fat little black-and-white lapdog tearing after them, trying desperately to keep up. Rioghan’s own dogs raised their heads as the wild and noisy group rushed by, but not one of the children spared a glance for the king’s champion sitting on the rocks or the strange small woman in black who sat across from him.

The children disappeared behind the house, but then came running back again, as though they had gone around and abruptly reversed direction. And then Rioghan smiled behind her hand, hastily swallowing her bite of apples and honey, as she saw the reason why.

Lumbering after the children, shaking her horns at them, was a small black cow with a calf at heel. They were a pair of escapees in search of a few blades of green winter grass, caught now between the shouting, sword-waving children in front of them and the two determined men behind holding wooden pitchforks and coils of rope. The two men began to close in—but just as they dashed around the house, both of them slipped on the damp earth and fell hard on their backsides, sliding in the mud with their feet flying up.

The children scattered, the dogs barked, and the cow shook her horns again and trotted around another house with her little calf bucking and playing behind her. In their wild dash, the children raced past the rocks where Rioghan sat, and one of them tumbled nearly at her feet. As the boy righted himself, he looked up and grinned at her, reaching for his wooden sword, and she realized that his face was very familiar. He was the image of Bevin, who must be his mother.

The children ran away and disappeared once more behind the house. In a moment Rioghan heard a loud bawl from the cow and caught a glimpse of her between the homes, shaking her head and trotting very swiftly as her two masters dragged her back to her pen with ropes caught up in her horns. Behind her the little black calf leaped and played, keeping just one step ahead of the happy mob of children and the boy with the wooden sword.

Rioghan laughed and laughed, even as she kept her hand up to her face, and realized that Donaill’s deep laughter joined her own. “I’ve told those men it’s the children who let that cow and calf loose almost daily, just to enjoy the excitement of the chase, but I don’t think they believed me! Perhaps they will after today.”

And Rioghan laughed until she could eat no more for laughing. She set aside her cup and reached down to pat her anxious dogs, even as Donaill grinned at her.

Finally his face grew serious. He said: “So tell me, Rioghan, what brings you to Cahir Cullen today? And if you say it was only to see those men try to catch that cow and calf, I will be happy, for they must chase her nearly every day, and so I shall see you often!”

“It would almost be worth the walk to see such a funny thing each morning,” she said, catching her breath. “And to see the children. The oldest boy, the one who fell at my feet—I feel certain that I must have helped to bring him into the world. He is the image of his mother.”

“And no doubt you were there for several of the others, too,” Donaill agreed, watching as the children again ran by. He turned and gazed down at Rioghan. “Would you not like to live here at Cahir Cullen, at least during the cold, dark winter months? You could see these children every day and have the companionship of their mothers…and not have to travel so far when they need your help.”

He clasped his hands together in front of him and leaned forward on the rock. “I would even free those animals myself each morning, if it meant that I would see you here laughing every day.”