Juliet Marillier - Heart's Blood

For a little, the two of them simply stared at me.Then Cillian looked at his mother, raising his brows. “That’s not true, is it?” he said. “It can’t be.”

“Of course it isn’t.” Ita had folded her arms and set her jaw in a manner that was all too familiar to me. “Delusions, that’s what it is, brought about by these adventures Caitrin’s been having among God knows what kind of disreputable folk. Caitrin, you need rest; you need peace and quiet, my dear. I’ll have someone get your bedchamber ready . . .”

I saw it in her eyes, a realization that the comfortable world she had created for herself and her son was about to collapse, and the determination to stop me before I could make it happen. She’d rendered me powerless before; all she’d needed to do was lie.

“Oh, dear, what are we to do with you girls?” Ita’s voice was suddenly dripping honey as she came over to us, putting one hand on my shoulder and one on Maraid’s. “Let Maraid go, Caitrin.You’re upsetting her. Come, my dear, let’s get you off to your chamber—”

“Take your hand off me, Ita.” My voice was cold and calm; I had not realized I had such power in me.“I’m not finished yet.” I looked at Cillian, who was rolling up his sleeves. Perhaps he planned to move me forcibly if I would not obey his mother’s wishes and retreat into seclusion. “By all means challenge me under the law—that’s your entitlement. You should be aware that Maraid and I intend to follow due legal process to ensure we get our rights.”

“What are you talking about, foolish girl?” Ita’s tone had a new edge. “Legal process, entitlements . . .You’re not in your right mind and haven’t been since the day your father died. Indeed, even before that I always believed you somewhat . . . flighty. As for more recent times, the wild stories Cillian brought home from the west made it quite plain that you’d never be capable of living a normal life again.”

“Old ruin full of freaks and monsters,” Cillian rumbled. “Never seen anything like it. Nobody could stay long in a place like that without running mad.You’ve got even less wit than your sister, Caitrin.At least she saw the sense in coming home.”

I saw Maraid flinch.

“How dare you!” I could have struck him for his thoughtless cruelty. I put my arm around my sister’s shoulders.“Maraid came back here because she lost her beloved husband. She came because she and her child had nowhere else to go. And now that I’m here, we’re going to make this house into a proper home again, not the travesty it’s become since you moved in and took what was rightly ours. Now listen to me, and listen well.You will be out of this house before dusk.The two of you will not show your faces to me or to my sister ever again.”

A wrenching sob from Maraid; it made my heart sick to hear her.

“Where’s the baby, Maraid?” I asked quietly, my hand on her shoulder. “Is she safe?”

My sister nodded. “She’s in the bedchamber with Fianait.” Fianait had been an indispensable member of our household when Father was alive. A sturdy, good-natured girl, she had done everything from killing and plucking chickens to polishing fine silverware. Ita had dismissed her. If Fianait had come back, it meant Maraid had not been entirely friendless.“Caitrin, is this really true?” my sister said now. “I can’t believe it . . .”

“Nor should you.” Ita was struggling for calm now. “As I said, it’s a pack of nonsense. When did Caitrin ever become an expert in legal matters? Cillian, I think Caitrin may be a danger to herself. You’d best help her to her chamber . . .”

Cillian moved towards me, arms outstretched. Memory welled up in me; sudden panic held me motionless, a rabbit under the fox’s stare.

Maraid rose to her feet. “Don’t you dare lay your hands on my sister,” she said, and though her voice was faint, her courage blazed in her eyes. As she slipped her arm through mine, I remembered that I had a plan, and that I had friends, and that I was not the same woman who had fled this house a season ago.

“I’m not here alone,” I said quietly. “I referred to a physician. He’s waiting just outside. As for the legal situation, I think you’ll find I have the backing of the administrator for the district. His name is Colum, and you can expect a visit from him very soon. I want you packed up and ready to leave within an hour, Ita, and Cillian with you. If anyone sets a hand on me, or on Maraid, or on the child or Fianait, that will be added to the charges you already face. Think carefully before you resort to physical violence. Colum knows all about what Cillian did to me, both here and at Whistling Tor.”

“This is outrageous!” Ita had gone pale. “A—a conspiracy! How dare you circulate foul lies about my son, how dare you poison folk’s minds . . . Don’t think you can get away with this, Caitrin.We have witnesses, reliable folk who will support us—”

Cillian had not understood quite as well as his mother had.“You can’t order us out of the house!” he shouted. “We live here! It’s ours by right!” He reached for me again.

“Aengus!” I called. “You can come in now!”

The wrestling champion of Stony Ford was quick for such a big man. He appeared, all sweet smile and bulging muscles, and behind him came Brendan in his physician’s robe, looking as if he wouldn’t mind a sparring match himself. Cillian took a step backwards. His hands fell to his sides.

“Shall I throw him out?” inquired Aengus.

I felt a profound desire to say yes, but that would be to reduce myself to Cillian’s level. “Not yet,” I said. “My kinsfolk need a little time to pack up their things and arrange a lift back to their home settlement. A little time, not a lot. I want the packing supervised; they’re to take only their personal belongings. We don’t know yet the full extent of what Father left, but if there’s a store of silver or anything else of value in the house, these people must not be given the opportunity to take it with them.”

“This is ridiculous!” spat Ita. “You can’t forbid me to take my own things—”

A discreet knock at the door.

“That will be the lawman, Colum,” I said. “I think he may have some bailiffs with him. No doubt he’ll be wanting a word with you both before you go. I can’t be sure when the hearing will be, but I am quite certain Colum will expect all of Father’s goods to remain in the keeping of Maraid and myself until due legal process has been carried out. Brendan, will you let him in, please?”

“I feel so hopeless, Caitrin,” my sister said.“I’ve tried to be brave, for Etain’s sake, but sometimes . . .” She sighed, as if her thoughts were too sad to be put into words.

“Tell me, Maraid.”

The two of us were at the kitchen table alone. It was night.An oil lamp hung from a hook; beyond the circle of warm light, the chamber seemed full of shadows. Maraid had made an effort at suppertime, appearing with her hair combed and her face washed, but she was not herself.

The lawman, Colum, and his bailiffs had seen Ita and Cillian off the premises after stern words. My kinsfolk would be subject to the full force of the law. Colum had been working on our behalf since Donal’s letter first reached him, and he had news for me: there were indeed funds available to us, silver carefully set away for the purpose of providing for Maraid and me on our father’s death.There was no need for me to earn a living, at least not right away. There would be time to set our house in order; time to come to terms with our losses.

I had offered the hospitality of the house to Brendan, Fidelma and Aengus. After a happy reunion, Fianait had helped me prepare beds while Fidelma cooked supper. Now our guests were all abed; it had been a long day. I had seen the look on Fidelma’s face as she watched my sister push her food around her platter, eating almost nothing. I had noticed Brendan scrutinizing little Etain. Even to my inexpert gaze, my niece looked scrawny and pallid.

“I can’t tell you,” Maraid said now. “You’ll despise me, Caitrin.”

“I won’t,” I told her.“I’m your sister and I’m here to help make things better. Ita and Cillian are gone. We have the house; we have resources, Maraid. We have our self-respect. Those things can’t bring Shea back, I know. But . . .” I stopped myself. I knew all too well how it felt, that empty, blank hopelessness. “You need to tell someone,” I said. “Please, Maraid.”

“Etain,” she whispered. “Sometimes I don’t even like her very much, Caitrin. Sometimes I wish she wasn’t here. She cries all the time, as if she hates me. I’m no good as a mother. I should never have had a child.”

Silently I cursed Ita, for her influence was written all over this.

“Is that all?” I asked.

Maraid turned bleak eyes on me. “Isn’t it enough?”

“I’m not shocked.” But I was, just a little. Etain was so small and innocent, so fragile. “Maraid, you should let Brendan examine you in the morning.You look ill, not just sad and tired, but . . . to be honest, you look half-starved. And although I don’t know much about these things, people do say that if you’re nursing an infant you should eat more than usual, not less. Etain doesn’t hate you.A little baby isn’t capable of hate. She’s probably just hungry.”

“Ita said I should stop trying to feed her. She said goat’s milk would be better. But I do want to nurse her, Caitrin. I always thought I’d be a good mother. I don’t want to be a failure.”

“Well, then.” My attempt at brisk confidence fell something short. Maraid was crying and so was I. “Let’s make a sisters’ pact right now.” I headed for the pantry, where I filled a small bowl with suppertime leftovers—a little pease pudding, a scoop of soft cheese, a handful of dried plums.

“What are you doing, Caitrin?”

I set the bowl before her, then poured two cups of ale. “This is the agreement. You eat, and while you’re eating—I mean properly, not just playing with your food—I’ll tell you a story. Tomorrow, the same, but I’ll tell some of the story each time you feed Etain too.” Fianait had taken the baby away to settle her for the night. I would enlist Fianait’s help in the morning.

“A story? What story?” Maraid eyed the little meal without enthusiasm.

“An exciting one about a girl who runs away from home and goes to . . .You’ll have to start eating to find out where.”

“All right.” She picked up a single dried plum; I did not speak until she put it in her mouth and began to chew. A fleeting smile crossed her face. “You never used to be so bossy, Caitrin.What happened to you?”

“This girl,” I said, holding my ale cup between my hands, “had been very frightened; so frightened that she had lost sight of what was real and what wasn’t. So frightened that people thought she was out of her wits. She felt all alone in the world; she thought everyone she loved had deserted her.Then one day, out of the blue, she found the courage to flee. She ran, she walked, she took rides, she slept under hedges and in the shelter of haystacks, until the day a carter dropped her off in the middle of nowhere and drove away without a word.”

Intent on the story, my sister had stopped eating. I waited, eyes on the bowl.

“Bully,” Maraid said, getting up to fetch herself a spoon. “And then what?”

I told her how the girl had met two friendly strangers who had vanished when they were most needed; how she had prayed her way into a fortified village; how she had raced off up a hill in pursuit of a man named Magnus, and had been helped by a gnomelike person and a giant hound.