At the sound of his name, his wandering eyes snapped to her gaze, and she remembered him. With hesitant steps, he approached her.
Etromma, still cautious, refused to relinquish her bow, but Donn put down the pot and came to help Clíodhna to her feet. When Oisinne came close, they shared an awkward embrace before his pong made her gag.
She held him at arms-length, both out of concern and to keep nausea at bay. “Oisinne, where have you been? We thought you’d died moons ago!”
He cocked his head but didn’t answer. His gaze darted from place to place within the cave, nervous and flighty like a hummingbird.
“The first thing we need to do is get you a bath. Come, there’s a stream in the back of the cavern. Let’s dunk you in.”
Ishc the nuckelavee fled upstream into the darkness.
* * *
Clíodhna got Oisinne washed and into clean clothes, but she couldn’t coax any details of his disappearance from him. His eyes often darted to the dark corners of the cave, but nothing lurked in the shadows.
He might have been taken by the Faeries. All the old tales told of people disappearing and then coming home, confused about time and place. This described Oisinne precisely. He hummed or rocked at odd times or stared into space. Several times, especially out in the forest, he’d startled into a violent spasm, as if something had hit him. Yet nothing had.
Regardless of where he’d been, she felt relieved he’d returned. While she cherished her freedom, she also treasured the safety of her family. With a man in the house, she’d be less subject to the prejudice which had threatened them in the last few moons.
They ran out of meat. Adhna hadn’t visited in a while with more supplies. It might be awkward to get help from her Fae lover, now that her husband had returned. Perhaps they should go home. Perhaps with a husband, Patraic might not feel so threatened by her independence. Clíodhna contemplated how she’d broach the subject to Oisinne as they ate their supper.
The rain drummed in a steady rhythm. The small family watched as rivulets described artistic spirals and swirls in the trodden dirt outside, reminiscent of artwork on ancient stones, curvilinear and complex.
How her life had changed in the last few moons, like those curved lines. Doubling back, crossing, braiding, and twisting in a single line, yet full of complexity, beauty, and confusion. The pattern maintained balance and symmetry. While she’d lost much, she’d also gained much, with her newfound talent for magic, the knowledge of her Fae blood, and now the return of her husband.
Oisinne swung between violent madness and quiet peace. Occasional snippets of conversation with actual sense peeked through now and then, and Clíodhna treasured these few windows into her past marriage.
She leaned her back into him as they sat around the small fire. Oisinne shifted to put his arm around her, like when they courted. “Are you comfortable, husband?”
“I am.”
Pressing her hand on her still-flat stomach, Clíodhna grasped at a bare memory of Adhna’s love, but pushed it away. Oisinne squeezed her shoulder and smiled. Sure, his smile seemed tentative and confused, but that should change with time.
He rarely started conversations but might answer when spoken to. One-word answers were better than growls or grunts, she supposed. Someday, she might even get her laughing, story-teller husband back again.
A brief flash of Odhrán’s infectious laugh intruded in her daydreams. She shook it away. That part of her life had finished. He’d gone to his new post long since, and she might never see him again. Her body tingled at the memory of that last night and their passionate lovemaking.
Oisinne rubbed her arms and squeezed her shoulders. The caress wandered up to her neck, where he traced a single finger along her cheek line. He hummed with no tune as he touched her. Clíodhna closed her eyes in pleasure. She’d forgotten how considerate a lover he’d been. Not as gentle as Adhna, but maybe he could erase her longing for Odhrán and Adhna both.
His voice rumbled against her. “Etromma, Clíodhna tells me we’re short of meat. When the rain lets up, can you go hunting? It’s been a long time since I shot the bow, but I trust you’ve kept practice?”
Startled, their daughter nodded. Donn exchanged a glance with his sister and then looked at Aileran. “I could take Aileran down to the river. He likes to watch the fish when they jump.”
Oisinne chuckled. “A grand idea, son.”
This conversation contained more words than he’d yet said since his return. Perhaps his recovery would come more quickly than she’d thought. His hand traveled down her spine and to her waist, kneading the muscles of her back. Clíodhna groaned and leaned forward. He took the invitation and rubbed all along the length of her spine, pressing hard into her muscles. She let out a small moan of pleasure.
Etromma stood, grabbing her cloak. “The rain’s lightened. I’ll go now.”
Clíodhna sat up. “Etromma! You’ll get your bowstring wet!”
Her daughter gave her a cocky grin. “I’ll keep it dry while I’m tracking. My cloak is oiled well enough.”
Donn stood, glancing in the direction his sister went. “I should check the traps I laid yesterday.”
He, too, disappeared into the now misty day. The rain had eased, but not stopped.
Oisinne whispered. “It seems we’ve raised wise children.”
She turned to face him, cross-legged on the cave floor. “They are at least considerate and observant.”
“As I said.” He put a finger on her lips and leaned in. Clíodhna surrendered to his kiss, though his lips
