deposited me in the courtyard and took himself off to the stables to tend to the horse, for this was a task the boys always did themselves. It was good to be home at last. I longed to slip away quietly to my own quarters, or to the kitchen – some hot water, a fire and dry clothes were all I really wanted right then, and time on my own. But the doors were flung open and in an instant there I was in the great hall, my cloak dripping onto the floor and my boots leaving a trail of mud prints, and though my father was there, all I could see was her, the bride, the lady Oonagh.
She was fair. Cormack had been right. Her hair was a curtain of dark fire, and her skin the white of new milk. It was the eyes that gave her away. When she glanced at my father, all merry sweetness, they were innocent and loving. But gaze right into their mulberry depths, as I did, and you would quail at what you saw there. Their message to me was plain: I am here now. There can be no place for you.
Her voice tinkled like bells. ‘Your daughter, Colum? Oh, how sweet! And what is your name, my dear?’ I stared at her mutely as the steam began to rise from my clothing.
‘Sorcha, you are not fit to be seen!’ said Father curtly, and in fact he was right. ‘You shame me, appearing before your mother in such a state of dishevelment. Be off, tidy yourself, and then return here. You do me no credit.’
I looked at him. Mother?
The lady Oonagh broke the awkward silence with a peal of laughter. ‘Oh, nonsense, Colum, you are too hard on the child! See, you have hurt her feelings! Come, my dear, let us take off this wet cloak, and you must warm yourself by the fire. Where on earth have you been? Colum, I cannot believe you let her go off by herself like this – she could catch her death of cold. That’s better, little one – why, you’re shivering. Later we’ll have a talk, just you and me – I have brought some pretty things with me, and it will be such fun picking out something lovely for you to wear at the wedding feast. Green, I think. I fear your wardrobe has been sadly neglected.’ She ran an appraising eye over my homespun gown, my well-worn overtunic which bore many old stains: tincture of elderberry, rosemary oil. And blood.
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words refused to form themselves, and instead I felt a great weariness overwhelm me. My mouth stretched into a huge yawn and my legs turned to jelly under me.
‘Sorcha!’ Father reprimanded. ‘This is too much! Can you not –’ But she overruled him again, all solicitude.
‘My poor girl, what have you been up to?’ Her arm around me was an icy fetter. ‘Come now, you must rest – time enough for talk later. Your brother can see you to your room, for you are dead on your feet – Diarmid, my dear?’
And it was only then I realised my second brother had been there all the time, in the shadows behind the lady Oonagh’s chair. He came forward, eager to assist, his dimples showing as he gave her a sidelong look, then took my arm to escort me away. She glanced at him under her lashes.
Diarmid babbled on at me all the way to my bedchamber. How wonderful she was, how vibrant and youthful, how amazing it was that such a beauteous creature had agreed to marry Father who was, after all, getting on in years and not so virile any more.
‘Perhaps wealth and power had something to do with it.’ I ventured to interrupt the flow of my brother’s words.
‘Now, now, Sorcha,’ Diarmid chided me as we made our way up the broad stone steps. ‘Do I detect a note of jealousy here? You weren’t happy about Liam’s betrothal, I recall. Perhaps you prefer to be the only lady of the house, is that it?’
I turned on him angrily. ‘Do you know me so little? At least Eilis is – is harmless. This woman is dangerous; I don’t know why she is here, but she will destroy our family if we let her. You are beguiled by her, as Father is. You don’t see her – you see some sort of – of ideal, a phantom.’
Diarmid laughed at me. ‘What would you know? You’re only a child. And besides, you have barely met her. She’s a wonderful woman, little sister. Perhaps now she is here, you can learn to grow up a lady.’
I stared at him, deeply wounded by his words. Already the pattern of our existence was beginning to break up around me. We had teased one another endlessly, had joked and quarrelled as brothers and sisters do. But we had never been cruel to one another. The fact that he couldn’t see it just made it worse. And I could not talk to him, for he no longer heard me. We reached my room, and Diarmid was quickly gone, all eagerness to attend again on his new-found goddess.
I dismissed the serving woman who was hovering, and undressed myself. A fire had been lit, and I sat before it with a blanket around me and stared into the flames. Despite my exhaustion, sleep was slow to come, for my mind was crowded with thoughts and images. Perhaps I was being foolish, maybe she was just a well meaning gentlewoman who had fallen for our father’s so-called charms. But something felt wrong. I thought of what Cormack had said. Conor doesn’t like her. I had seen the message in the lady Oonagh’s eyes, for all her honeyed words to me. There was something deeply unsettling about Diarmid’s fawning admiration, and my father’s readiness to be overruled by his lady. And the way servants were scurrying about nervously, as if afraid of taking a wrong step.
And what of Simon? It was still afternoon; he would be waiting alone for Father Brien’s return. No teller of tales to fill his silent day, to blot out his visions. No friend to banter with, not even the loyal dog, unquestioning companion in the darkest times. I imagined him watching as the sun moved overhead and down below the trees, waiting for the sound of cartwheels up the track. At least he would not be alone after nightfall.
Finally I lay down and slept. The fire burned away to embers, but my candle flickered on, so that when I woke suddenly some time later, the room was alive with shadows. For a few moments I was back in the cave, and I jumped up wide-eyed, ready to confront the nightmare. But this time there was no screaming; the stone walls were heavily silent, the unicorn and owl on my single tapestry moved slightly in the draught. I lay down again, but Simon was in my thoughts, perhaps even then wrestling with his demons, and I told an old story, silently in my head, until I fell asleep once more.
It was to be many nights before I broke this pattern: the abrupt waking, the pounding heart, the slow realisation of where I was and the overwhelming sense that I had abandoned him. I never slept more than a brief span without waking, and my tiredness added to my confusion and distress by day. For Liam had been right. Changes were afoot, whether we wished them or not.
I disliked most the change in Diarmid, who had fallen well and truly under the lady Oonagh’s spell. He would hear no ill of her, and danced attendance on her all day long, or at least, as long as she would let him. It was impossible to carry on a sensible conversation with him. He was, I said to Finbar, like one mazed by the little folk. ‘No,’ said Finbar, ‘not that; but close enough. This is more like the enchantment that comes over a man when he sees the queen under the hill, and yearns for her, though he can never have her without she wills it. She can keep a man dangling this way for a long time, till his face loses its youth and his step its quickness.’
‘I have heard such tales,’ I said. ‘She would spit him out like a piece of apple skin, the moment he lost his flavour.’
Cormack and Padriac avoided problems by keeping out of her way. When asked after, one would be always out riding, or at target practice, and the other busy in the barn or out in the fields somewhere. Finbar gave no excuses for his absence. He simply wasn’t there. Lady Oonagh did have a tendency to summon us whenever it suited her, and though her manner was unfailingly cordial and sweet, it was made quite clear that disobedience was frowned upon. Father enforced this rule for her, as indeed he seemed to follow her every bidding. With him, though, she trod more carefully than with hapless, smiling Diarmid. Whatever he was, Lord Colum was not a weak man, and after all, they were not married yet.
There were but a few days left until the wedding. Seamus Redbeard and his daughter were coming; I overheard Liam changing the sleeping arrangements to place Eilis and her waiting woman as far as possible from the lady Oonagh’s chamber. Instead of looking pleased that he’d be seeing his betrothed again so soon, my eldest brother was grim and silent. He made several attempts to speak to Father