Heart's Blood

“I’ll be far happier if you have some brawn to back you up, Caitrin,” Donal said. “Aengus can drive the cart and help to procure lodgings on the way. Make sure he’s there when you first confront your kinsfolk.You should go to see Colum as soon as you arrive in Market Cross, and before you make any attempt to go to the family home. He should have received my letter and read it, but of course he won’t know you are on your way. We cannot be sure what reception your kinsfolk will give you.”

“I’m frightened for Maraid. Cillian may be cruel to her. And the baby—anything could happen—”

“And you would rather be off right now, yes, I understand that,” Donal said. “But you do need the rest of today to prepare, Caitrin. Brendan can write his report on your state of health and take it with him, to produce if anyone should query your capacity to make your own decisions.You and I need to sit down and discuss inheritance law.You must be able to set out your argument clearly. These kinsfolk may attempt to convince you that they were within their rights when they took over your father’s house.”

“But—”

“You don’t go into battle without preparing your weapons. Believe me, not to take this time would be a grave error. Maraid has managed without you thus far; one more day can make little difference.”

I knew he was speaking sense, though my mind and body were gripped by the urge to act. Maraid must not be hurt as I had been. I could not let it happen.

“We’d best put in an appearance out there,” Fidelma said,“just to reassure Maeve.”

I came abruptly back to the here and now.The wedding day; Maeve; the house full of guests. “Donal, I can’t expect you to do this today. And how can I ask Fidelma and Brendan to leave so soon? Poor Maeve. I’ve spoiled everything.”

“Not at all,” said Donal. “Maeve knows how things are likely to be from now on. It’s my great good fortune that she’s taken me on in spite of that. As for these two, if they didn’t want to go with you they’d say so, believe me.”

“Nonetheless,” put in Fidelma, “we should all go out and join in the festivities, if only for a little. And you, Donal, might reassure your wife that you’ll set aside only an hour or so before supper to explain these legal matters to Caitrin. Maeve will want you to be present for supper, and for dancing afterwards.You mustn’t disappoint her.”

The lawman gave his leprechaun grin. “You’re a paragon of practicality and tact, Fidelma. I quite understand why my brother wed you. And I won’t disappoint Maeve in any way at all, I trust.” He became suddenly serious. “Caitrin, you’ve had bad news and you’ve a great deal to think about. I imagine you’ll be wanting quiet and solitude.”

“All in good time,” Fidelma said. “Some food and drink first, I think, and you might have a little word with Maeve yourself, Caitrin. She may well understand what being a lawman’s wife means, but there’s a limit to the tolerance even of a saint.”

We were three days on the road. Two nights we spent in the houses of folk known to Donal. Aengus soon proved his worth, smoothing the way for us with his quietly insistent manner. What that did not achieve, his intimidating bulk did. Fidelma and Brendan kept me company without asking too many questions. I could not sleep.As the miles passed, I thought of the house at Market Cross, and the long time of darkness I had spent there seemed to outweigh the happy years that had gone before. I should be brave. I had a guard. I had friends. I had a doctor who would vouch for my competence and a lawyer whom I could call upon for help. But Cillian had hurt me, and his shadow was a long one. When I thought of Ita, I remembered weeping before her, pleading with her, and I heard her saying, My son would not punish you unless you deserved it, ungrateful girl. At night, when weariness finally overtook me, my dreams were full of dark wells and rending claws. I woke exhausted, wondering if I were not, after all, the same fearful woman who had fled Market Cross a season ago.

I was still rationing myself to one page of Anluan’s book each morning. On the day when we expected to reach Market Cross, I read these lines:

Can a split quill write fair script?

Can a blunt axe cut wood for the fire?

Can a cripple please a lady?

That shocked me so much I broke my self-imposed rule and turned to the next page. There, so familiar I thought I could remember every word of the conversation Anluan and I had shared that morning, was a scrap cut from the parchment sheet on which he’d first attempted the new method of writing. Caitrin, it read. Caitrin. Caitrin. Tears stung my eyes. I wanted to turn another page, and another, to devour the whole book, for it seemed a feast after famine. But I did not. It was too precious to squander thus; I would savor each morsel in turn.

A cripple. I had never thought of him in that way, except perhaps on that very first day when he had lurched across the garden and frightened me. I could swear that none of his household even saw the disability anymore. “You would please me,” I murmured, remembering the mirror of might-have-been, the rise of my body, the thrust of his, the power and rhythm of it. “I know you would.” But perhaps that was foolish. Muirne had more or less told me Anluan was incapable of the act of love. How she had learned this, I could not imagine, but I was becoming convinced this was his main reason for sending me away so abruptly. I could not doubt his feelings for me, not after reading this book with its tenderness, its passion, its confusion.

With a sigh I put the book away and began to dress. Aengus had said that if we started off straight after breakfast we would reach Market Cross in the afternoon, all being well. As I took off my nightrobe and donned shift, stockings and gown, I tried to imagine what might happen when I walked in through the door of my childhood home. I did not like any of the variations my mind showed me. I won’t be afraid of them, I won’t, I told myself, but the churning feeling did not leave my belly. Sheer panic was not far away, the kind of fear that would send me fleeing inside myself. This is foolish.You must help Maraid.And you don’t have to do this alone. But perhaps I did have to do it on my own, or I would never conquer the terror that lurked deep inside me, threatening to cripple me when I most needed to be strong and whole.

One step at a time. If I looked neat and tidy, I might feel a little more in control. I would plait my hair and pin it up, then tie on a scarf. At least that would keep out the dust of the journey.

There was no mirror in the chamber where I was lodged. I reached into my bag and took out the little old one I had brought from Whistling Tor, propping it on a shelf. I laid the hairpins ready beside it, then put my hair into a single long braid. When I was ready to coil it atop my head, I glanced into the mirror. My heart leapt.There he was, standing in his bedchamber, clad in warrior’s garments, a leather breast-piece, wrist and arm braces. He was staring down at something held in one long-fingered hand, something small and glinting—a fragment, a shard of glass?

“Anluan,” I whispered, but he could not hear me. As I stared, not daring to move lest I cause the image to vanish, he turned the item one way then another, as if changing the angle of it might make a difference, and I saw that it was a jagged piece of mirror. It caught the light from his lamp, now shining like a star, now, when he turned