‘We might make a brief stop,’ said Sean, halting his horse in a small clearing. There was a stream, with ferns growing by a pool, and light filtered through from above, giving the moss-cloaked tree trunks an eerie green glow. The tall elms wore mantles of ivy. ‘I’ll help you down, Fainne.’
I could not suppress a groan of pain when my feet touched the ground, and cramps seized my body.
‘Not used to riding,’ Sean observed, gathering up pieces of wood to make a fire. ‘You should have told us.’
I rubbed my sore back, then lowered myself with some difficulty onto the saddle blanket provided. I was indeed weary; but I would not drop my guard, not with that man gazing at me with his bottomless grey eyes.
Sean had rapidly stacked a neat pile of fallen branches. Being lord of Sevenwaters did not seem to have stopped him from acquiring practical skills. The dogs flopped down, long tongues hanging pink from their great open mouths.
‘Wood’s a bit damp,’ Sean observed, glancing at Conor. ‘Want to light it for me?’
I looked at the druid, and he looked at me, his pale features impassive.
‘Why don’t you light it, Fainne?’ he said without emphasis.
I knew at that moment that, whatever I might have to do to outwit this man, I was never going to be able to lie to him. I could not plead girlish ignorance or attempt some kind of bluff. This was a test, and there was only one way to pass it. I raised my hand and pointed a finger at the pile of small logs and twiggy kindling. The fire flared, and caught, and began to burn, steady and hot.
‘Thank you,’ said Sean, lifting his brows. ‘Your father taught you a few things, then.’
‘One or two,’ I replied cautiously, warming my hands at the blaze. ‘Small tricks, no more.’
Conor sat down on a large flat rock, on the far side of the fire. The flames showed me his face strangely shadowed, his pallor accentuated. The eyes, now, were sharply focused on me.
‘You know that Ciarán followed the druid way for many years,’ he observed. ‘Followed it with rare promise and great aptitude.’
I nodded, clenching my teeth in anger. It was all very well for him to say that; he had encouraged my father and lied to him, letting him believe he could become one of the wise ones, when all along he must have known his student was the son of a sorceress. It had been a cruel thing to do.
‘You say your father has taught you a few tricks. What of Ciarán himself? How does he live his life? Does he still exercise those skills he possessed in such abundance?’
Why would you care? I thought savagely. But I formed my answer with caution. ‘We live a very simple life, a solitary life. He searches for knowledge. He practises his craft. He employs it only rarely. That is his choice.’
Conor was silent for a while. Then he asked, ‘Why has he sent you back?’
Sean glanced at him, frowning slightly.
‘A reasonable question.’ Conor’s tone was mild. ‘Why now? Why would he choose to bring up a daughter on his own, and send her away after – what is it – fifteen, sixteen years?’
‘Perhaps he thinks Fainne has a better chance of a good marriage, of some reasonable prospects, if she lives here with the family for a while,’ Sean said. ‘That’s only practical. She has a birthright, like all the other children of Sevenwaters, for all –’ he stopped himself abruptly.
‘Fainne?’ Conor was not going to let his question go unanswered.
‘We thought it was time.’ This seemed to me a good answer. It was true; and it gave nothing away.
‘So it appears,’ said Conor, and that was the end of it for now. He did not ask, time for what?
All too soon we were back on our horses and riding forward again.
‘It’s a little awkward, Fainne,’ Sean said after a while. ‘I must be blunt with you, and you may not like this. To reveal your father’s identity to our kinsmen and allies and to the community of Sevenwaters would create a difficulty. It would be extremely awkward for this stage of our negotiations. But I’ve no wish to lie about it.’
‘Lie?’ My astonishment was quite genuine. ‘Why would you need to lie?’
He gave a grim smile. ‘Because even now, all these years later, folk still do not know the truth. Not the whole truth. That Niamh became disturbed in her mind, that she fled to the south and was later widowed, that they do know. Within our own household, a little more, maybe. But it’s thought, generally, that she retired to a Christian convent and later died there. The sudden appearance of a daughter must somehow be explained, for anyone who knew my sister must recognise you instantly as her child.’
I felt Conor’s eyes on me, brooding and intent, though I was looking away.
‘Why not tell the truth? My parents loved each other. I know they were unwed; but that is not such great cause for shame. It’s not as if I were a boy, and out to claim lands or leadership.’
Sean looked at Conor. Conor said nothing.
‘Fainne,’ Sean seemed to be choosing his words with care, ‘did your father ever explain to you why he could not wed your mother?’
I held my anger in check. ‘He does not willingly speak of her. I know their union was forbidden by blood. I know that my father left the forest, and the wise ones, when he discovered the truth about his own parentage. Later, he found her again, and that was how I came to be. But it was too late for them.’
There was a little silence.
‘Yes,’ said Sean. ‘Dan Walker brought us news of my sister’s death, though as ever he told only what Ciarán had bid him tell, no more. It’s a long time ago. You must hardly remember her.’
I tightened my lips and did not reply.
‘I’m sorry, Fainne,’ Sean said, slowing his horse to a walk as we traversed a gushing stream on its way down the hillside. ‘Sorry you did not have the chance to know her. For all her faults, my sister was a lovely girl, full of life and beauty. She’d have been proud of you.’
You think so? Then why did she leave us on our own? Why did she choose that way? ‘Maybe,’ I said.
‘To the matter in question,’ Sean went on. ‘It’s a little awkward. Your mother was wed to a chieftain of the Uí Néill, a very powerful clan with two warring factions. In recent years we have been called upon to assist the leader of the northern branch in his venture against the Norsemen, and this has taken a toll on our resources and our energies for a long time. Eventually Aed Finnliath triumphed. The invaders have been swept clean from the shores of Ulster, and the peace sealed by a marriage between Aed Finnliath’s daughter and a noble of the Finn-ghaill. Our support of this venture was essential not only for our own security, but to rebuild our ties with the Uí Néill of Tirconnell, which were set back by the failure of your mother’s marriage. This has taken patience and diplomacy of the highest order, in addition to the diversion of our forces from the venture most dear to our hearts. The northern Uí Néill are seated this day at our council table at Sevenwaters while we formulate a strategy for our own enterprise. This will be the most important campaign of our lives. Your arrival presents a difficulty. The husband we so carefully chose for Niamh proved a cruel man, and it was to escape him she fled from a place of apparent safety, all those years ago. That fact is not known outside our family. We let folk know that she was alive; it was generally believed that she had developed a sickness of the mind, and had retreated to a house of prayer. Her husband died soon after; there was no need to speak of what he had done. Only a handful of people knew she went to join your father. Myself; my sister and her husband. My uncles. That is all. Even my wife does not know the full story. That Niamh left Fionn Uí Néill for another man, that she bore a child by a partner forbidden to her, these things