“And,” she paused, edging closer to the warmth of the fire, “and how was it that you met Morwena?”
He laughed nervously. “Well, I might as well have been captured for questioning.”
“Did your trade bring you to Ciadrath?”
“It did. I happened to be there when King Alran was looking to purchase fine jewels for his queen’s birthday and I was lucky enough to be invited to show the best of my wares at the citadel. I sold a finely wrought gold necklace, inlaid with pearls.”
“And Morwena was there, at the citadel?”
“Aye. I saw her in the library, pouring over an old tome.”
“But, surely she couldn’t read then, could she? She and Gwyn had lessons with me when our tutor came to Feodail Hall.”
“She only knew a few letters. ‘There’s a T’ she would say with such pride, pointing it out to me on the page before her, ‘look, there’s a K’.” His memory came with a smile and he gazed into the air for some moments.
“But why was she in the library if she couldn’t read properly?”
“She was drawn to it, she’d said. The Edonians had nothing like it. They carved pictures into stone but they didn’t write words.”
“Their songs and histories are all remembered by the Wise Ones and learnt by rote,” said Kaetha.
“Aye. Well, she got me to read to her, which I did, before a servant came and told me that my presence was no longer required at the citadel.”
“But you planned to see her again?”
He hesitated. “Not as such. But she found me when I was loading my ship. She’d brought a scroll, she said, and wanted me to read to her.” He twisted a loose thread from his cuff. “We saw much of each other in the weeks that followed. I was very fond of her.” He seemed to run out of words and the silence grew thick between them.
“But you left?”
He was looking at the ground and didn’t reply. Then he got up. “I’ll gather some more firewood before it gets dark.”
He was still quiet when he returned and, after a while, they settled down for the night.
In time, night swallowed everything but the small patch of light around the fire and the stars between the branches overhead.
“I’m sorry you lost your ship,” she said.
“Thank you, lass.” He sighed. “I may never see her again but I’ll get a new ship some day.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“And at least I have these. We have these.”
“What?” she asked.
“Put out your hand.” She felt the warmth of his callused hand holding hers. “Here,” he said. “Open it.”
She felt smooth leather and rough string and recognised it as the pouch he wore around his neck. “But I can’t see—”
“Hold them up to the firelight.”
She emptied the pouch and felt three balls the size of hazelnuts roll into her palm, each perfectly round and smooth as Morwena’s polished amber beads. Holding one up, the firelight glinted on it like sunset on water. The cat sniffed at it, then sloped off, disappointed.
“They rob the stars of their shine,” she said.
He laughed. “I had four. They were worth more than the rest of the cargo I carried but I’d give them up in a heartbeat if I could get The Storm Petrel back.”
“Where’s the other one?”
“I gave one to Abel Mercier when he got me safely ashore. It was worth more than the horse and bag of coins he gave me in Ciadrath,” he shrugged, “but then he did save me life.” “Aedan, here you are,” she said, handing back the pearls. She started as the crashing of water filled her mind and she saw, as from a fragment of a dream, the Citadel of Ciadrath high on the cliff, receding into the distance. Then, in candlelight, she saw Morwena thrust something into her hand, only, when she looked down, the hand was not hers but a man’s, Aedan’s hand. In it was a silver chain – a bracelet perhaps. Morwena had her back to Aedan now. ‘Just leave. Now,’ came her voice, brimming with bitterness.
“You could . . .” Aedan began.
The vision ended as she became aware of her surroundings again. “What?”
“If you like, you could call me ‘Pa’.”
She was quiet for some moments. “Goodnight . . . Pa,” she said softly, wondering what sort of person her Pa really was. Despite her weariness, it took her a long time to fall asleep that night.
EIGHT
A New Household
The next day’s riding took them from forest to moorland, following the River Leap. Aedan’s face brightened. “Can you smell it, Kaetha?”
“Smell what?”
“The sea.”
She caught the faintest scent of salt on the air, though it was nearly dusk by the time a stretch of silver came into view, shimmering beyond the town. Kaetha’s heart leapt at the sight, the feeling of coming home taking her by surprise.
Braddon’s palisade surrounded clustered shoals of buildings like a wooden net. A tall, stone kirk and monastery buildings on the eastern side, dwarfed the timber framed, wattle and daub buildings of the town. They wound through the town, stopping at a house on Curing Street. Aedan peered in through a downstairs window before helping Kaetha dismount.
“I apologise in advance. I can’t tell what state it’s in.” He took the horses around to a stable at the back of the property, leaving Kaetha waiting by the front door, her bag on her back and the cat in her arms.
A bobbing light drew closer and she realised that he must have found a lantern in the stables. He felt above the door post, retrieving a large,
