He glanced sidelong at his wife. “What are your thoughts, Mugain?”
Mugain gave him a bare shrug and a rueful half-smile.
Chapter Twelve
Clíodhna’s family accepted her and welcomed her into their home, albeit reluctantly. She promised to help care for the children and the housework, an offer which Mugain accepted. Clíodhna finally remembered where she’d known Mugain; Donn had been hoping to wed her so many winters ago. Donn had pursued his life with the Christians rather than take Mugain to wife. Instead, she’d married Donn’s youngest brother. She must be at least twelve winters older than her son, but at least she’d given him several children.
It took a while longer for the children to grow comfortable around her. The eldest, a tall young man named Éanna on the cusp of manhood, with broad shoulders and dirty blond hair, gave her only sullen looks and sidelong glances. It would take a while for him to lose his suspicions.
The middle child, Niall, seemed biddable enough, though he grew quiet when she came near. He had his mother’s red locks, and aged perhaps two or three winters older than his younger brother, Fingin.
The youngest child remained the shy one, with dark wavy hair so similar to Adhna’s. He seemed a poorly grown eight winters old, thin and pale. He fished with his father but exhibited little confidence in the activity.
Clíodhna, used to be in charge of her own household and then being Queen in Faerie, chafed at being the good-mother, a tolerated presence, barely heeded nor honored. Her own son turned out to be the worst offender, berating her for exercising her own freedoms.
That first morning, she rose before the dawn, as she had during her mortal life. After so much time in Faerie, she had looked forward to greeting the sun and basking in the warmth and beauty of the sunrise. She climbed her favorite hill and sat cross-legged on grass wet with morning dew. After drawing in a deep breath, with tendrils of earth power, she thrilled as the familiar energy flowed through her body. In and out she breathed, drawing in the power and releasing it, centering her soul to her spot on the mortal land.
The first rays of sun burst through the low layers of clouds on the horizon, bathing the sky in deep peach and violet. As the light chased twilight into the dark recesses of shadow, the power bathed her soul.
She tipped her face back to relish in the light, closing her eyes. The bees buzzed around her and a sparrow alighted on her arm as the golden dawn broke across the hilltops.
“You haven’t forgotten how.”
With a knowing grin, she opened her eyes and turned to Adhna. “It’s not something the body forgets.”
He sat behind her, wrapping his legs around her and hugging her back to his chest. She rocked back against him, secure in his embrace.
“How did your meeting with your family go? I presume, since you stayed the night, that they accepted your return.”
“For the most part. They have some doubts, but they’ll come around.”
He squeezed her once. “Would you like me to stay?”
“Not if you wish to return. I think I will be well enough for now. The youngest grandson, Fingin, seems to be a kind lad. I would like to get to know him better before I return to Faerie.”
“Very well. I’ll support Cerul and Gabha in their co-Regency. I’ll return when I can.”
Her back turned cold in the dawn chill when he left. Clíodhna hugged herself. She’d made the right decision, sending him away. Especially with Odhrán possibly in the village.
The thought of Odhrán warmed her further, counteracting the morning chill. She rose, unwilling to remain here any longer. After having spent far too much time away from her family, she meant to get to know them now. She had work to do.
Clíodhna wiped her hands off on her léine and ran down the hill, eager to see her family. She’d prepare a welcome breakfast for them and start the day right.
If she’d expected her family to be sleeping when she returned, she was disappointed. In fact, they’d not woken, they’d left.
After cursing at herself for missing them, she reasoned they must have gone into the village. Perhaps they were also followers of the Christ and would be at the monk’s morning service. Etromma and Donn had both evidently attached their lives to this new religion. She’d better be part of it as well, for appearances’ sake, if she wished them to accept her. Perhaps she would run into Odhrán.
Clíodhna walked down the path toward the village. When she got to the abbey, she stared at the empty chapel building in confusion. Then she heard singing and remembered the monks had been building a new place for their services. While walking through the garden, full and lush with the summer’s growth, she found the grand new hall. The rounded arches soared high into the sky with worked stone.
Many voices chanted in a measured rhythm, but she didn’t understand the words. They must sing in that Roman language. The doorway stood open and welcoming, but she paused. Her heart beat faster. What if Odhrán stood inside and didn’t want to see her? What if the Abbot banished her again? What if no one recognized her?
She tamped down on her doubts, got control of her panicked breath, and strode forward with far more confidence than she possessed.
Clíodhna had expected the interior to look dark and crowded, like the chapel. Instead, the tall open windows in the arches let in the morning light, illuminating the people standing below and making the dust motes glitter. The space filled with song, an almost physical force which embraced her as she entered. A few heads turned when she came in, but most concentrated
