be troubled. She spent a lot of time with Irial during those dark years after Emer’s death. Losing him broke her heart. I suppose she fears she may lose Anluan if this comes to war.”
“What is her story? She’s never talked to me about what her life was . . . before.”
“Nor to me, Caitrin. Muirne doesn’t talk much to anyone, except him.”
“Rioghan? Eichri? What do you know about her?”
Eichri ran a finger around the rim of his goblet, frowning. “We’re used to her always being about, but she keeps herself apart. She did tell me her story once. Nothing especially interesting. Born and brought up in one of the settlements, betrothed to a miller, died of a winter ague before they could be wed. Sad little tale. Don’t know what happened to the fellow.”
“Olcan, what about you?” I asked. He was finishing up the last of the pie, one bite for himself, one bite slipped to Fianchu, who was waiting just behind him, small eyes following every mouthful from platter to lips. “You’ve been here longer than anyone.”
“Never gave her much thought, to tell you the truth. She looks after Anluan, makes sure he’s not too much alone.That has to be a good thing. And as Magnus said, she did the same for his father.”
I felt a creeping sensation, a sudden inexplicable unease. “And for Conan before him?” I asked.
“She was around the place then, I seem to recall. It’s a long while ago, Caitrin.”
“One thing’s certain,” Magnus said. “She doesn’t much care for you.”
Rioghan sighed. “Nobody can criticize the girl for that. She wants what she can’t have: another life, a real one. In that she’s no different from me or from Eichri here. She’s hostile to you, Caitrin, because you’re what she can never be: a real woman. She fears you, with your rosy cheeks and red lips, your tumbling dark hair, your . . . well, you get my drift. Anluan will never look at her the way he looks at you.”
These words hung in silence for the space of three breaths. I did not know what to say in this roomful of men.
“Don’t let it trouble you,” said Magnus.“Muirne has her little oddities, but she’s a good soul underneath.”
“Mm,” I said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It troubled me that Muirne remained hostile to what Anluan was doing, but I did feel some sympathy for her.To die on the threshold of marriage was particularly sad.
“I’m going to bed now,” I said. “Poor Gearrog has been on guard for hours. May I have Fianchu again tonight, Olcan?”
The dog was up as soon as I spoke his name, ready to accompany me.
“Of course. Sleep well, Caitrin.”
Although he had seemed weary to death, Anluan’s lamps burned long into the night. I stood on the gallery in the moonlight, looking across the garden towards that faint glow and wishing I could break all the rules. He should not be by himself in that bare chamber with only Nechtan’s grimoires for company. I sighed, hugging my shawl around my shoulders. It seemed so simple, the idea of going down the stairs, running across the garden, tapping on his door, telling him I was lonely, cold, worried. Suggesting . . . what, exactly? If a young woman were to act in such a way, a man would put only one interpretation on it. Of course I would not go into his bedchamber at night, alone.The very idea was outrageous.
My body felt strange tonight, different. I was not so naive as to be ignorant of what it meant, even though such feelings were new to me. I had known, when Anluan put his arms around me for comfort earlier today, that a profound change had happened in me since I had come to Whistling Tor. It wasn’t only the relief of finding safe haven, the pride of doing a job well, the pleasure of good companionship, the delight of respect and friendship. I had learned how it felt to want more than the sweet touch of hand to cheek or lips to palm, more than a kiss, more than an embrace. I was starting to discover that it is not only the mind that understands love, but also the body.
I started violently. I had been transfixed by that voice, a voice that must have come from my own mind, for the gallery held only me, the ghost child now standing very close to me with the doll in her arms, and Fianchu waiting patiently by the bedchamber door for me to go back in so he could settle to guard the entry. If someone had been standing by me, taunting me as I stared down towards Anluan’s lonely lamp, that presence was nowhere to be seen.
“She’s cold because you got out of bed,” I said, taking the girl’s chilly hand and leading her back into my chamber.“Let’s tuck you in, shall we?”
I stayed long awake on my pallet, a candle flickering beside me, while the girl lay with eyes obediently shut and the big dog at her back. Fianchu could never warm her, but perhaps his body helped her remember how good that had once felt. As for me, I breathed every breath with Anluan; in my imagination I fitted the curves of my body to the straight, strong planes of his. I imagined his hands on my flesh, his fingers tangled in my hair. I touched the irregularities of his features tenderly, exploring that surprising landscape with wonder and delight. I felt our two hearts pressed close together, two drums keeping time to the same haunting melody. My body was full of unanswered pleas.
I blew out the candle before the sky began to lighten. In the dark, my body aching with need, I remembered Nechtan’s desire for his young assistant, his cruel dismissal of his wife, the pride and the obsessive fear that had overridden all. “It’s not true,” I whispered, as if the owner of that disembodied voice could hear me.“I’m not like him.What I feel is not selfish desire, it’s quite different from that, it’s . . .”
Fianchu stirred. He would be up at first light, wanting to be let out into the garden. The little voice of the ghost girl came in the semi-dark. “You sad, Catty?”
I had told her my name, but this was the first time she had attempted it. “No, not sad.” It was hard to say just what I felt. There was too much stirring in me, yet there was only one image before my closed eyes, and that was
