CHAPTER NINETEEN

Whereas the front of the palace at Forrais faced a cliff, the back courtyard stretched out upon the flat top of the mountain, encompassing a scattering of buildings and a grassy field within its high stone walls. It was the grassy area they sought now, where a handful of men trained with swords and staffs. A long line of archery targets stood against the weathered outer wall.

Aine and Lia paused at the edge, watching as a dozen guardsmen drew and fired with precision. Clan Tamhais had always been known for their archers, and Aine could see why. Before they’d seen more than a few volleys, a man strode in their direction.

Aine’s stomach fluttered. She’d always been slightly uneasy around the master of the guard. Perhaps it was because he’d been an unyielding, unsmiling tutor throughout her cursory training. Or perhaps it was that particular edge of steel in him that all men bred to warfare seemed to possess. He strode toward her and then pulled up short in a precise bow.

“Lady Aine, welcome back to Forrais.”

Aine studied him as he straightened. The only nod to the passage of time was a bit more gray in his dark hair, the slight deepening of lines in his face. She had no more idea of his age now than she’d ever had as a child.

“Thank you, Master Diocail.” She couldn’t utter the expected words that it was good to be back. She would prefer to be almost anywhere but here.

“Are you here to train, my lady? I remember that you were once quite accomplished with a bow.”

“I fear you’ve embellished my skill beyond reality, sir.”

He did not smile. “I do not embellish, my lady. It might do you good to have a bow in your hands once more.”

He was serious. Aine tipped her head. “Perhaps you’re right. Another day, though. Today I just wished to greet those who are responsible for the workings of Forrais.”

“I am at your service.” Diocail gave another bow, deeper this time. When he straightened, the corners of his mouth tilted up. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow.”

The captain nodded sharply. “Excuse me, my lady. I must get back to my men.” Then he strode back toward the archery range, calling instructions as he went.

Lia stared at the man, her lips parted as if interrupted mid-sentence. “He smiled at you.”

“That was a smile?”

“The closest Master Diocail gets.” Lia turned a searching gaze on her. “You really don’t see it.”

“See what?”

The maid shook her head. “Perhaps I’m imagining things. Come, my lady. It’s nearly time for dinner.”

Aine watched the captain for several moments before following Lia. What had she missed in that exchange? And why did it seem as if everyone knew far more about her than she herself did?

She still took her dinner in her room alone, not yet ready to face the scrutiny of Macha’s lords and ladies. Yet as she sat down to her meal, the thoughts that had surfaced earlier in the day came back with troubling persistence. Guaire wanted her to find a sense of purpose to take her mind off Conor. What else did she know how to do besides heal?

When the maid came to remove her tray, Aine tasked her with finding writing materials. Lia quickly returned with two wax tablets and a stylus, and Aine settled at the desk to make a list of things she would need to get started. She then found Master Guaire in the kitchen and handed the tablet to him without a word.

His eyebrows lifted. “So it’s back to healing, I see?”

“What have I forgotten?”

“You’ll need a work room, certainly.”

“I thought I might use my mother’s chamber.” Aine held her breath. Servant or not, Guaire had final authority of the keep.

“I think Lady Ailís’s chamber would do nicely,” he said finally. “You’ll be needing a workbench and shelving, I imagine?”

“Will that be a problem?”

“Not for me. It may take me a week or two to lay hands on these materials, but it will be done. You’ll need to speak with Master Diocail about an escort to gather herbs on your own.”

She did indeed need to see Diocail, though she had no idea if he would provide her an escort. They were, after all, his men. Though she was a member of the household and well within her rights to request such a thing, Aine also knew that demanding her rights as daughter of the clan would cause more trouble with Macha than she wanted. Covert action was her best option, at least while she was setting up her work space. Once she began seeing patients, it would be impossible to hide her activities and the extra attention they brought.

It remained to be seen what Macha would do about it.

Aine barely knew Master Diocail, but something told her that if she were going to request a favor from him, she’d need to give him something in return.

The next morning, she rose, dressed in the green wool, and strapped on the leather bracers Lia had procured for her. Her stomach erupted into butterflies, despite the fact she needn’t make a great showing, merely a passable one —enough of an effort to elicit more than a handful of words from the taciturn captain.

She went straight to the armory. Diocail wasn’t present, but one of the watch captains was. She gave him a friendly smile. “Might I trouble you for some help, sir?”

He straightened from the blade he was honing and swept a hasty bow her direction. “My lady? I’m at your service. How can I assist you?”

“I need a bow. Naturally, a long bow isn’t going to be suitable.”

“That’s no problem. We’ve lightweight bows for the boys to use until they’re strong enough for a war bow. Begging your pardon, my lady.”

“Not necessary. Might you find me one and a quiver as well?”

He gave a quick nod and disappeared into one of the back rooms, then returned a moment later with an unstrung short bow and a cloth quiver. She took them with a smile, which made the young captain flush, then asked, “I don’t suppose you know where Master Diocail is?”

“I’ll fetch him, my lady. You can go to the range if you like.”

That had been easy. Almost too easy. She’d have thought, given Macha’s attitude toward her, the members of the keep would be more reticent, but they’d been positively eager to help. Was the chieftain disliked by others that much? Was helping Aine a small rebellion on their part?

The archery range was deserted this morning, though the sounds of wood and metal drifted from some other point in the courtyard. Sword training today, then. Just as well, assuming the watch captain followed through on his promise of fetching Master Diocail. She found a spot at the center of the firing line and braced one end of the bow at her feet while she bent the yew and attached the other end of the string.

Aine planted several arrows into the ground in front of her, then settled into a comfortable stance and nocked one. She sighted down the arrow’s shaft and let it fly.

It bounced off the target and fell into the grass.

“You’re drawing with your arm, not your back,” a male voice said behind her. “Try again.”

Aine glanced over her shoulder to where Diocail stood a dozen paces away, arms crossed over his chest. He gave her a nod, an invitation to continue. She turned back to the target and concentrated on drawing the bow properly.

This time the arrow traveled straight, striking the target within the painted red ring.

She shot a satisfied glance Diocail’s way. The slightest hint of a smile touched his lips. “You always did have a talent with a bow. Your father’s daughter indeed.”

Aine returned the smile and went back to her practice, each time improving her accuracy, even though her arms and back immediately began to ache from the exertion. Too bad Conor wasn’t here to see her. When she’d told him she was a fair archer, he’d barely been able to keep from laughing. Then again, he hadn’t yet grown into manhood or his fighting skills. She’d comforted him by telling him that not everyone was cut out to be a warrior, yet that was exactly what he had made of himself. Had he not been quite so determined to prove her wrong, she wouldn’t be alive today.

But he might be.

“My lady?” Diocail’s quiet voice caught her attention.

Aine realized that tears were rolling down her face. She swiped them away impatiently.

“That’s enough for today, my lady.”

“No.” Aine sniffed and dried her face with her sleeve. “It’s better that I stay busy.”

The captain cast a look over his shoulder, and his expression changed. “It looks like you have a visitor.”

Aine followed Diocail’s gaze. Lord Uallas stood a respectful distance off, a bow and quiver over his shoulder and a curious smile on his face.

“What does he want?” Aine muttered.

“Probably wants to compliment you on your . . . skills.” Diocail’s sour tone made him sound like a father faced with his daughter’s unwanted suitor.

“Well, he can wait until I’m done.” Aine marched toward the targets and yanked her arrows out of the straw target. Lord Uallas must have somehow taken this as an invitation, because he ambled to where she had been standing. She struggled not to stomp back toward him. The last thing she wanted to do was banter with a young lord who wanted something she could not give.

But she was still a lady, so she put on a noncommittal smile and gave him a nod. “Lord Uallas.”

“Lady Aine.” He bowed deeply and found her gaze with his own when he rose. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered.”

“Recovered?”

“Lady Macha said that you were indisposed. But I’m guessing that was just an excuse. Forgive me for bringing up subjects best left alone.”

“It’s fine, Lord Uallas.” She gave him the best smile she could manage and planted the arrows back in the earth, save one. That she fitted to the bow and aimed.

The arrow bounced off the target onto the grass below. She sighed. The island lord’s presence wasn’t exactly helping her concentration.

“May I?” He gestured to the target.

She glanced back at Diocail, who simply scowled. Aine sighed and braced herself for some sort of “lesson,” but Uallas merely took one of the arrows, nocked it, and fired at the target. It struck low and to the left. Rather than make excuses, he took another and tried again.

So he wasn’t going to force conversation. Aine let out her held breath and retrieved another arrow. Without the tension, she hit her mark, dead center.

“Impressive,” Uallas murmured.

“Thank you.”

After a few more minutes of shooting in silence, they exhausted the arrows, and Uallas went to retrieve them. When he returned, he stuck them into the ground. His eyes once more sought Aine’s face.

“You don’t like Forrais much.”

“I grew up here.” Aine’s heart throbbed in her throat. Had Macha sent him to get some information out of her? Or to convince her to leave?

“I don’t much care for it either.” Uallas plucked an arrow from the ground.

“Then why are you here?”

“Obligation. It is tradition that the lord of Eilean Buidhe bring tribute to his clan lord every five years.”

“And this is the fifth year.”

“Actually, it’s the sixth.” He turned away and raised the bow again. “My wife died last year. Even Lady Macha would not go against the traditions of mourning.”

Despite herself, a pang of sympathy struck Aine. “I’m sorry. That must have been difficult.”

“It was. We had been married only three years.”

“Children?”

“One. A son.” He gave a bare smile. “At least she lived to see him draw his first breath. But not long after.”

“I’m sorry.” Aine had attended enough births to know that even with a skilled midwife or physician, things sometimes went wrong. One never knew when a loved one would be snatched away. Aine’s vision went blurry before she realized the tears were back.

Uallas lowered his weapon. “I hope your husband is alive, Lady Aine. I will pray to Comdiu for it.”

He bowed, just as deep but more sober. Without another word, he took his quiver and walked back across the yard toward the keep.

“What did he want?” Diocail stepped up beside her, the edge still present in his voice.

Aine followed the red-haired lord with her eyes. “I don’t know.” She turned to the captain. “But I’m glad you’re still here. There’s a favor I wish to ask of you.”