outright?”
“It did. He never attached himself to a particular patron, though there were many who would have liked his exclusive services.We worked independently. That was what Father preferred. It gave us more control.”
“And the unpleasant Cillian and his mother are not close kin? What is the connection, exactly?”
This was more than a small question or two. “Ita is a distant cousin of Father’s. But she said that because Cillian was the only male kinsman, he had control of Father’s property.There wasn’t much. Really just the house. And the tools and materials in the workroom. She sold most of those.”
Rioghan turned his dark eyes on me. He clasped his long hands together, elbows on knees. “This Ita lied to you, Caitrin,” he said.
“About Father’s assets? How can you know that?”
“Where the assets are concerned, I cannot be certain, but I think it likely a skilled craftsman such as your father would possess far greater resources than you suggest, unless he was a heavy drinker, a lover of games of chance, or had some other vice on which to squander his earnings.”
If I’d had the energy I would have laughed at this. “None of those. Father was a clean-living, hard-working man. Even if he’d wanted to do those things, he never had time.”
Rioghan nodded. “I thought as much. You would not speak of him with such love and pride if he were anything else. Now let me tell you a fact or two. There is an established law on inheritance, and it still holds in all parts of Erin not under Norman rule. If a man has no sons, his daughters inherit, at the very least, a lifetime share in his estate.Your father’s house, his land and all the chattels within should be yours and your sister’s, in equal share. A distant cousin has no claim on your family home, Caitrin, nor on the tools of your father’s craft, nor on stock or furniture or anything else your father owned.The fact that Cillian is a man makes no difference.”
So Ita had told me barefaced lies. This would once have been a stunning revelation, for the news held out the wonderful gift of independence, an entitlement to go on living in the house where we had once been the happiest of families. Perhaps, in time, I might have established myself as a scribe in my own right, earning a good living. Some part of my mind knew it was welcome news, but that life seemed so distant now. I tried to imagine myself returning to Market Cross to present the facts to Ita. I tried to picture her and Cillian being removed from the house they had taken under false pretenses. But all I could see was Anluan’s fist striking forward, and shards of glass flying through the air in that underground chamber. All I could hear was Muirne’s precise little voice saying:
“Caitrin?”
I glanced over at Rioghan. He deserved a better response from me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s hard for me to concentrate, I feel so weak still. It’s a pity I didn’t know this before. But it doesn’t matter now, since I don’t intend to go back to Market Cross.”
He did not reply at first, and there was something awkward in the silence. Then he said,“I’m tiring you; I should let you rest.Think about this, at least.When such a wrong has taken place, it seems to me one should try to see justice done.What about your sister, who has also been deprived of her entitlement and is, I presume, unaware of that? Wouldn’t you confront these wrongdoers for her sake, if not for your own?”
Suddenly I felt so weary I couldn’t lift my head from the pillow. A tear rolled down my cheek and I hadn’t the strength to wipe it away. “Some time. Maybe,” I murmured, but I knew I would never go back. Not for Maraid. Not for anything.
I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.The daylight faded; Eichri came and replaced Rioghan. Magnus came to the door with a tray of supper for me and left it in the chamber to go cold. Eichri departed and was replaced by Olcan. Fianchu settled on the floor. Beneath lowered lids I watched the ghost child creep over to curl up beside the massive hound. Outside, it was night.
At some point there was a quiet conversation out on the gallery: Olcan and Magnus discussing whether Fianchu would provide adequate security for me overnight.A belated fit of propriety had come over them, it seemed. They were still trying to decide which of them would spend the night outside my door when a deeper voice spoke.
“I’ll stay up here.You both need your sleep.”
Anluan. My heart gave a wrenching leap and subsided, thumping painfully. He had come back at last. The maelstrom of feelings surged in me again.
“What about you?” I heard Magnus protest, not steward to chieftain but father to son. “You need rest far more than either of us. Besides, this isn’t your job.”
“No arguments, Magnus. Is Caitrin awake? Has she eaten supper?”
“She’s been sleeping since before I brought her tray up. Upset, I think, as well as hurt. Anluan, this is not . . .” Magnus hesitated.
“Not proper? Not correct according to the rules of that world out there, the one we don’t live in?” I hated it when Anluan used that sharp, antagonistic voice. That he would address the loyal Magnus thus was terribly wrong.
“It might seem improper to Caitrin, lad,” said Magnus quietly. “She didn’t grow up at Whistling Tor.”
“Magnus,” Anluan said, “you can go.”
With my eyes shut, I heard two sets of footsteps retreating, Magnus’s long stride, Olcan’s steady pace, and then silence save for the slight whistle of Fianchu’s breathing.The door closed.Anluan moved about the chamber for a little; I could not tell what he was doing. Eventually he drew the stool up to the bedside and sat down. In the silence that followed I counted my heartbeats and wondered what he was thinking. After what seemed a very long time, he took my hand, lifted it to his lips, then set it down again. I heard him let out a long breath, like a sigh.
I opened my eyes and looked up into his. Summer lake blue; I could drown in that color.There was a difference in his face, as if the day’s events had stripped away a layer. He looked a new man. He had been strong at the council. Now he seemed . . .formidable. Before, we had spoken easily, like close friends. Now the gap between us yawned wide and deep, and in it lay the splintered vision of what could never be. I could think of nothing at all to say.
“You’re awake.” His voice cracked on the simple statement. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Water. Let me get you some water, Caitrin.”
