Chapter 19 #4
She swallowed hard. "That wee life fought me every step of the journey. What little food I ate I could not keep down. The constant jostling on the horse bruised me, battered the babe inside me. I miscarried the little one a day's ride from Glenfluirse. A little boy."
Grief washed over Aniera's features. Caitlin grieved with her, tears dampening her own cheeks.
After a moment, Aniera went on. "I buried him beneath a bank of elderflowers, healing flowers that could bloom as my babe never would. By the time Keefe and I crawled into Glenfluirse, it was over. Ronan was dead."
Too late—were there any more tragic words? And yet someone else had been waiting at the fortress, too, grieving and confused and helpless.
"What of Niall?"
"I begged a word with Conn. Asked for my son. Aye, and to take the body of my husband back to the land he loved."
Caitlin's heart broke at the image of Aniera begging mercy from the man who had executed her beloved.
"Conn was... kind." The word seemed to choke her.
"He had me bathed, gave me a new robe. Fed Keefe and me.
Then he sent for me. He grieved over Ronan's death as I did.
But there was no doubt Ronan had killed Lorcan.
Conn was a chieftain. Sometimes chieftains were forced to make terrible choices.
Justice was a brutal master. Because of the love he once bore Ronan, he asked me to let him protect us from those angry enough to take vengeance on all of Ronan's blood. He asked for my son."
"Your son?" Caitlin cried. "How could you let him—"
Aniera shrugged, hopeless. "What could I do?
A lone woman in a land of strangers? I had no family nearby, strong enough to help me claim my child.
I had no proof Ronan was innocent, except for the certainty in my heart.
All Glenfluirse was lauding Conn's great mercy in making Niall his foster son.
I asked to see my son one last time, waited for him, but Niall never came.
Conn said I was part of his old life. A shame to him.
The boy had suffered much, Conn insisted.
I was dead to Niall because of his shame. "
"I do not believe it!" Caitlin protested. "If only Niall had come to you—"
"But he did not. I carried back to Glenfluirse my husband's body, my empty womb, and the knowledge that my son despised me.
That was when the madness came, filling those empty places where Ronan, Niall, and the new babe had been, brewing visions and voices.
They lured me toward the cliff edges and high arrow slits, urging me to fling myself off, join Ronan and wee Lorcan wherever their spirits wandered, but I could not bear to leave Fiona.
So I stayed with her, the only way I could, with half a heart and pretty dreams to hold the madness at bay. "
"I am so... so sorry," Caitlin grieved, knowing words were not enough.
"If I could wish you one thing, asthore, it would not be happiness, though I hope it will be yours. Nay, not even love, glad as I am that you hold my son's heart. I would wish you no regrets."
Caitlin opened her arms to the older woman, and Aniera leaned against her breast. Sobs ages old poured from Aniera, a flood of healing tears raining forth.
Regrets? Caitlin had only one. She had let her beloved, her bold warrior, ride into danger without her.
She had scarce dried the last of Aniera's tears when she heard odd, dragging footsteps.
Fiona burst from the underbrush, her shoulder wedged beneath the arm of a scrawny, dirt-encrusted youth.
Vicious scratches scored his face, and a hunted light flickered in eyes all but obscured by a ragged fall of straw-colored hair.
Caitlin sprang to her feet, Aniera scarce a heartbeat behind. "Who is this? What is wrong? Fiona?"
"Found him under a blackberry hedge, hiding like a wounded deer. Mad with some kind of fever." Fiona raised fear-glazed eyes to Caitlin's. "He keeps calling Niall's name."
"You brought him here? In spite of fever, in spite of danger?" Caitlin asked.
Fiona's voice broke on a sob. "I would have dragged the devil himself to Daire if he could help my brother!"
Caitlin nodded, her own eyes filling with tears.
She hastened over to help Fiona with her charge.
It seemed forever before the three women got the lad into a bed.
Caitlin smoothed a cool cloth scented with wild rose over the boy's badly scratched face.
She looked up at Fiona. "He looks like a beast run to ground. What could have happened to him?"
"I know precious little. He carried a message for Niall. Was trying to find him."
Caitlin bent over the lad, stroking back a lock of his hair. "You are safe now. I pray you, tell us your name."
The lad looked up at her with helpless, fear-filled eyes. "Owaine."
"You were searching for Niall. I... am his lady. You may trust me. I love him more than life."
The boy grasped at her leine with shaking fingers. "Tell him..."
Caitlin leaned forward, straining, desperate.
"What, Owaine? Tell him what?"
"In... danger..."
Caitlin gripped the boy's hand fiercely. "Who is in danger? You or Niall? What kind of danger? I beg of you, you must tell me."
The lad fought valiantly, his ashen lips struggling to form words, his throat convulsing as he forced out sounds.
But exhaustion, pain, and exposure proved to be too much for him.
His eyes fluttered shut. Caitlin cried out in denial, rushed about the bed in a flurry of cool cloths, desperate urgings, and pleading shakes, but nothing would wake him.
Seeing her efforts futile, Caitlin surrendered at last. Sinking down on a bench, she raised her eyes to where Aniera and Fiona stood across the bed box, terror stark on their faces.
"Is he... dead?" Fiona queried, ice pale.
"Not yet."
"Do you think he will..." Fiona shuddered, then burst in outrage. "After I dragged him halfway across Ireland, he does this? Who knows what illness he might carry! He might be a thief, a murderer—"
"But he was searching for Niall," Aniera reminded her. "Why? What do you think..."
"We will not know until he awakens. All we can be certain of is this: Niall must be in danger."
"Because of what? Who?" Aniera asked. "The boy said nothing—"
"Do not be fools!" Fiona cried. "It has to be Conn, the traitorous cur! I tried to warn Niall, but would he listen? Nay! Not one of you would!"
Aniera's face crumpled with unspeakable fears, Caitlin sensed. For if it was true, that evil lurked where Aniera had seen compassion, how could Niall’s mother forgive herself for her blindness?
"You cannot know it is Conn for certain," Aniera cried. "We cannot even begin to guess what this poor boy is trying to tell us. We will just have to wait—"
"Wait?" Caitlin cried. "How can I wait here, helpless, while Niall is threatened? Nay. I have to reach Glenfluirse with all haste. Warn him that something is wrong."
"How do you mean to do that? By traveling on foot?" Fiona scoffed. "By the time you reached Glenfluirse, this boy would have sprouted a beard. And whatever he is trying to warn of will already have happened."
Aniera plucked at the coverlet. "What if the boy awakens? If he can speak at last and tell us whatever is locked away inside him now? You will already be gone!"
"I have seen others sick in this way, brought to the healing sisters at the abbey. They can linger thus for weeks." Caitlin's voice dropped low. "Some never awaken at all. I cannot risk waiting a moment more."
Aniera fretted her lower lip. "But if he tells us why he was searching for Niall, if he gives some sort of warning—"
"Then Fiona will come after me, carry the message to Glenfluirse," Caitlin cut in, certain the girl would get through even if hell itself barred the way.
"I swear I will," Fiona vowed, her eyes glowing fierce as her warrior brother's.
Caitlin clung to that strength, the will that had kept Daire alive when things were most bleak, the instinct for survival that flowed through Fiona's blood as intensely as Niall's own.
"Then I have only one more favor to ask of you, my sister. A skill sadly neglected in my lessons at the abbey. One you have already proved apt at."
Caitlin clutched Fiona's hands tight, bracing herself with the strength, the feral protectiveness, that made her love this intrepid girl. "Teach me how to steal a horse."