CHAPTER THIRTEEN

After all she had been through, Aine had thought she knew the depths to which humans could sink: their propensity to be fooled by lies, how easily they could be seduced by darkness. Even on the battlefield, her life had been easily divided into black and white, right and wrong, friend and foe. Now, riding north to the fortification of a family member who would be far happier if Aine had turned up dead, protected by mercenaries who fought and killed for money rather than honor, she wondered if she hadn’t gotten it all wrong.

Seare had once seemed hopelessly backward, rough. Aron, despite its clan organization only loosely governed by a king, had always seemed very civilized and modern. Even its dislike of magic, while inconvenient, meant that few people fell prey to the superstitions of the less-enlightened world. But when the mere existence of Aine’s gifts put her life in danger, she had to wonder if her homeland weren’t the one clinging to its outdated superstitions.

“What are my options?” Aine asked Taran on her second day with the mercenaries.

“I was wondering when you might ask that.” He reined his horse beside her, his eyes still scanning his surroundings. “I’m not sure you have any, besides returning to Forrais. Should you fall into another clan’s hands, they will use you against your clan as bait, bargain, or punishment. As long as Macha does not learn about your gift, you have the strength of clan law and your extensive holdings to protect you in Forrais.”

“What do you know of those holdings? And why didn’t they revert to Lady Macha when she took clan leadership?”

“Those that belonged to the clan did. But your father was a wealthy man in his own right. You would have to speak to Macha’s exchequer to learn the full extent of his estates.”

“You’re well informed for the lord of a midland clan. Maolain has shifted allegiances a dozen times in the last two hundred years, hasn’t it?”

Taran chuckled. “Your father was one of the few men I truly respected in the north, Lady Aine. I might have even liked him, as much as you can like a man such as him.”

“What do you mean?”

Taran shifted his position on the horse’s back, the upward cast of his eyes telling her he was considering his words. “He was hard. Unyielding. Expected things to be done his way without question. Yet he was also fair and honorable, and he put his tenants’ well-being before his own. Not many lords would be roused in the middle of the night to help fight a barn fire or arrange subsistence for a family who had lost the head of their household. The people on his land both feared and respected him. I daresay some might have even loved him.”

It was no less than she’d ever expected from Alsandair Mac Tamhais, but it was the first time she had heard it from the mouth of someone with nothing to gain. “And Lady Macha?”

“She is your father’s sister, but I fear she lacks his more altruistic qualities. Lady Aine, you must be prepared that she will not take your reclaiming your birthright well. She has benefited from the rents and taxes on your lands. That means thousands of tenanted acres of farm and pastureland, not to mention the livestock and the hives.”

“What would you do?”

“What I would do and what you should do are two entirely different things. Your best hope is to rely on clan law. Give Macha a chance to do the proper thing. She will not want to risk losing the support of the clansmen by taking your rightful inheritance. But she might take some convincing.”

“And exactly whose sort of convincing would that be?” Aine asked with an arch of her eyebrow.

Pepin laughed behind them. “My dear, as much as I would love to serve you, our sort of convincing would cause more problems than it would solve.”

Aine smiled. She’d come to like these men, especially Pepin with his lilting accent and flirtatious charm. His endearment aside, he seemed to look on Aine with the distant affection of an uncle or older cousin. She couldn’t help thinking they were good men, despite their chosen profession.

“We should be reaching Forrais tomorrow,” Taran continued. “Prepare yourself. You may not be welcomed as warmly as your position demands. Concentrate on making allies among the household. Spread word of your return as quickly as possible. The more who know of your existence, the safer you are. You do have status as your father’s daughter, and as Macha’s heir.”

“Macha’s heir? What do you mean? I have two uncles still.”

Now it was Taran’s turn to look surprised. “You didn’t know? They died of the summer fever last year. Did no one send word to Seare?”

“They may have, but I’ve been on the battlefield for the past two years. The message must not have been passed along to me. Or perhaps we were so consumed with war that no one thought to convey the information.” What exactly did this mean for her? By the law of Aronan succession, she was next in line for clan leadership after Macha. Which left . . .

“Macha’s sons,” she murmured. “Should I die, all my property will pass to Macha’s family for dozens of years. Longer if they have children.”

“You see the danger,” Taran said softly.

The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. It had been about control of the clan and its wealth all along. Had her father not married Lady Ailís and had an heir, the succession would have passed to Macha and then directly to her sons, if only she managed to outlive her younger brothers. No wonder Macha had despised Aine and her mother. She must have had this planned since Alsandair’s first wife died childless.

Had Aine known any of this before, she might have had a chance to plan a strategy. She had no experience in the level of politics and scheming into which she was about to be thrown.

They reached the outskirts of Forrais’s village by noon the next day. After Seare’s decidedly rural bent, the activity of this small town took Aine aback. Smoke from the foundries and blacksmith shops stung her eyes, melding in her nostrils with the mellower scent of hay and livestock.

Further in, where the freestanding structures became more closely packed around the central lane, the scent of fresh-baked bread and roasting meat joined in. She wrinkled her nose against the faint undercurrent of sewage and rotting vegetables. More people meant more smell, and here in the crowded quarter beneath the great hill that housed the fortress, nearly half of the folk under Macha’s responsibility lived and worked together.

The main road took them to the base of that hill, where the group reined in abruptly.

“This is where we leave you, my lady,” Taran said.

Aine nodded, resisting the urge to ask them to stay. They had done enough for her already, far more than she had dared hope. “I thank you for your help, all of you. You did not need to bring me all this way, at no benefit to yourselves.”

To her surprise, Taran looked moved. “May Comdiu bless you, my lady.”

Her heart squeezed at his serious tone. She bowed her head in respect and then turned to Pepin.

The Merovian reined his horse near and bent over her hand. “Bless you, Lady Aine.”

“Thank you, Pepin.”

To her surprise, Sigurd dismounted and moved to her side. He engulfed her hand in his two large ones. “If things were different, my lady, it would be an honor to serve you.”

“The honor would be mine, I think.”

She couldn’t help feeling that something more should be said, but there was nothing else to express. She gave a nod and cued her horse up the winding road that led to the fortress.

She didn’t expect the sense of loss nor the surge of panic she felt at once again being alone. So much for her independence. She’d needed rescuing so badly that Comdiu had sent her mercenaries —men she’d normally think to be protected from, not by.

Guilt crashed over her. She had been so focused on herself and her situation that she’d never acknowledged the miracle Comdiu had wrought on her behalf. She was worth twenty silver pennies to them, and instead they had delivered her safely to her aunt’s household.

Tears pricked her eyes. Thank you, Comdiu. Once more, You are gracious where I am undeserving.

And yet, even her gratitude couldn’t push back the surge of pain at the thought of those who should be with her now: Ruarc, Lorcan, Conor.

Automatically she wrapped her fingers around the ivory charm, blinking back tears. She and Conor were supposed to be making this trip together, and now she didn’t know if he was even alive. Once, he had heard her through the magic of the charm. If she concentrated hard enough, would he again?

I’m alive, love. Are you out there somewhere? I can’t believe Comdiu would save me and not you.

As she approached the gates, she dropped the charm beneath her bodice again and forced her trembling hands to be still. She had to be strong. Macha possessed the feral brutality of a she-wolf: any sign of weakness and she would lunge for the throat. Aine’s only hope was to present herself as strong, hard, demanding —someone of whom Macha couldn’t take advantage.

A pair of heavily armed guards looked her over suspiciously at the fortress gates. One stepped forward and took hold of her horse’s bridle. “State your business.”

Aine tried for an imperious tone. “Inform Lady Macha that her niece, Lady Aine Nic Tamhais, has returned to Forrais.”

The guard threw his head back and laughed. “And I’m the chieftain herself. Be gone with you, girl. We’ve no need for your cruel jests.”

So he needed convincing. Aine swept back the hood of her cloak and stared the guard straight in the eye, her chin lifted. It took every bit of her courage to make her voice strong and haughty. “I am who I say. I would like an audience with my aunt —now. Send a boy to fetch her and see me to the hall.”

“I don’t know who you are, miss, but Lady Aine was killed in Seare. Your swindle is ill-timed. Go peacefully before we’re forced to remove you.”

So Taran had been right. Macha had wasted no time declaring her dead, and it would take more than the word of a disheveled little girl to change the guard’s mind. She sighed and slid from her horse.

The guard laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. It would have been laughable had the threat not been so real.

“I am Lady Aine. Call the Mac Tamhais herself and find out.”

The man’s stony expression faded slightly. He glanced at his fellow guard.

“Lady Macha will confirm my identity. Please. Would you rather be the man that returned a lost daughter to the clan or the man who turned her away at the gate?”

Perhaps it was her accent or her manner of speech, too refined for a commoner, or perhaps he could just see the weariness that threatened to engulf her with each passing second. Either way, the resistance slid from his expression. “My apologies, my lady. Welcome back.”

“Thank you, sir. Your name?”

“Cé, my lady. Bain will take you to the keep.”

“Very well, Cé. Thank you.”

Aine took the gelding’s reins and fell in beside her escort. Bain’s pinched frown said he wouldn’t be as easily persuaded by her explanation as Cé. She needed to convince a few of the fortress’s guards of her identity if word were to spread quickly among the clansmen.

“I’ve been gone for nearly four years,” she said. “Is Diocail still in charge of the guard here?”

“Aye, he is.”

“And Guaire is still the steward?”

A bit of the defensiveness melted from Bain’s posture. “Aye. But Síle is no longer the head cook. She retired last year.”

“There was never a cook named Síle here. Our head cook was Sim. And he certainly wasn’t old enough to retire. I did have a nursemaid named Síle for a few years, however.”

The guard stopped abruptly. “You are she.”

“Aye, I am she.” Aine smiled up at him. “I don’t blame you for your doubt, Bain. You only wish to protect your chief. I respect your loyalty.”

Bain looked embarrassed. He took the reins from her and handed them to a boy who appeared at their side. Then he led her up the stairs to the front doors of the keep. The two men on guard immediately opened the doors for her.

Just before she stepped through, Bain gripped her arm. “We served your father faithfully, my lady. Be wary.”

He gave her a sharp nod, spoke a quiet word to a servant, and left her to face the hall alone.