A fluttering gripped Kaetha’s stomach as they walked past the familiar oaks and birches of the woods near Feodail. She chewed her bottom lip, trying to imagine how she would feel when she saw Gwyn and what she would say to her.
“God blind me, you grew up here?” said Donnan as the hall came into view through the trees. “That place is bigger than Kaernock Hall! Murdo would be apoplectic if he saw it.” He laughed, gawping at Kaetha.
She ran her eyes over the hall. Now so used to the small house in Braddon, she understood how imposing a sight it might be, the building presiding over the village of Feodail with the majesty of an eagle eyeing a flock of sparrows.
She stood motionless, gripping a branch as she looked upon her old home. It was here that she had lived a lie, deceived by her aunt that she was only their ward, unrelated to the Trylenn family. It was in this place that she had discovered the bitter truth, that she was secretly the object of her family’s shame. Yet, despite all this, realised that she had missed the place. Seeing it was like looking upon an old, familiar face and brought back happy, carefree memories too. It had been a place of laughter and song. But that time had long passed, never to return.
“Mairi,” said Tam, a note of urgency in his voice. “Are you unwell?”
Mairi’s brows were knitted in pain and she clutched her stomach. She sighed. “I’m fine,” she said. “Indigestion I suppose. It’s passed now.”
“All that rich food you’ve been eating, I should think,” said Donnan. “All these days of pheasant pie, fried salmon, suckling pig roasted with Shamlakahn spices—”
Kaetha laughed. “And all those honey cakes and custards and fruit pastries.”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Donnan, “I’m just desperate for a scrap of damp bread and squashed cheese. Maybe even a mushy, bruised apple.”
Before they emerged from the wood, they halted. A man rode up to the hall, Stroud took his white horse to the stables whilst he went indoors with a confident, proprietorial stride that was not like that of a guest. The others looked at Kaetha and she shrugged. She didn’t recognise him. A sickening apprehension stole over her. She feared that Gwyn might no longer live there.
“Kaetha?”
She turned, relieved, expecting to see Gwyn but the woman before her was not like the woman she’d left behind. Kaetha was speechless. It was her aunt but not. As a butterfly is not the caterpillar it once was. Gone was the fiercely adhered to Dalrathan style. Hide leggings and a short tunic replaced the demure, ankle-length gown. Hair that used to be neatly tied back and covered now tumbled freely over her shoulders, greyer and wirier than she’d remembered. The tattoos emblazoning her arms were bared rather than shamefully concealed, their Edonian symbols echoed in her jewellery and clothing, even in blue woad painting on her face. She looked even more Edonian than Morwena had ever done.
Gwyn looked as shocked as Kaetha felt, her eyes glittering with tears. She flung her arms around Kaetha. “It is you.”
“Hello,” said Kaetha, not knowing what else to say.
Gwyn stroked her hair. “I knew you’d come back.” She held her face in her hands, just for a moment. “I knew it.”
“This is Donnan and Mairi,” she said. “She’s Aedan’s wife. And this is Tam.”
“My home is yours,” said Gwyn, “such as it is.” Her gaze lingered longest on Tam. “We have much to acquaint one another with.”
Mairi fell to her knees then, letting out a stifled groan. Gwyn swept over to her. “Come,” she said, helping her up. “Tam, help me with her.”
“What’s the matter, Mairi?” asked Kaetha.
“Poor thing,” said Gwyn. “She must be exhausted. Come. We’ll take her to my hearthside.”
Kaetha just stood there. Why was her aunt not heading towards the hall?
“Kaetha?” prompted Donnan.
Gwyn guided them through the wood, their path descending into a trench. A mound loomed ahead. “You two wait out here,” said Gwyn, as she and Tam took Mairi through an entrance into the mound, partly concealed by branches. Gwyn drew back a hanging for them to pass through and Kaetha glimpsed firelight before the curtain swung back again.
“What do you think’s wrong with her?” asked Donnan.
“I don’t know.”
Kaetha paced until her legs grew tired. Then she sat, chewing her lip and peeling the bark from a stick. She got up when Gwyn reappeared. “What’s the matter with her?”
“She’ll be alright. She’s resting now and Tam is watching over her. Come.” She ushered them both along a winding path. “We have much to talk about.”
“Please, Gwyn, just tell us what’s wrong with her. I thought she was only tired. Have I made her ill, bringing her all this way? Can’t we just see how she is?”
“Not now. She’s asleep. Truth be told, I gave her a cadalus potion.”
“Cadalus? Why?”
“She would have kept herself awake with her sorrow. But she really needs rest.” “What sorrow? You mean about Pa?”
Gwyn hesitated. “I’m afraid she lost the bairn.”
“The bairn?” asked Kaetha, thinking of Mairi’s dog in Braddon. How would Gwyn know about the dog?
“You did know she was with child?”
Kaetha froze, feeling as if the air had been punched out of her lungs. Donnan looked equally dumbfounded and his face drained of colour.
“So . . . she carried this secret alone?” asked Gwyn.
“I didn’t know. I didn’t pay attention. I should have realised.” Kaetha shook her head. “Will she be alright?”
“Physically, aye, she seems strong. Emotionally,” she shrugged, “you know her better than I do. But it’s hit her hard. I could see in her eyes how much she wants to be a mother.”
They sat
