Anne Kelleher - Silver's Lure

“Catrione, dear?” Baeve approached and met Catrione’s eyes with uncharacteristic softness.

“What is it, Baeve?” asked Niona.

“Yes?” Catrione replied, controlling her urge to elbow Niona aside.

But Baeve ignored Niona entirely. “My dear.” She looked directly at Catrione. “About Bog.”

“Bog.” She’d nearly forgotten him. She bit her lip to keep the sob that rose in her throat from escaping as she remembered his limp body lying on the hearth rug.

“You told Sora that Deirdre was waiting for you?” When Catrione nodded, Baeve continued, “She’d time, then—”

“Time to do what,” interrupted Niona.

But again Baeve ignored her and spoke softly, gently, to Catrione. “It seems his neck was broken, child. Someone killed him.”

Niona made a horrified sound, and Catrione covered her face with both hands. “Are you saying Deirdre killed him?” Niona asked.

Catrione’s mind reeled. “We…we don’t know for sure Deirdre killed Bog,” she heard herself say weakly.

At that Niona rounded on her. “Come now, Catrione. We all know you love Deirdre, but you have to face facts. Who else was in your room? Who else would have reason to do such a thing?”

The possibility that Deirdre, once her best friend and confidante, was capable of killing an animal that would never have harmed her sickened Catrione. But Deirdre never showed any compunction about killing anything if it needed to be done. She was as capable of squashing a moth in the woolens as she was wringing a hen’s neck for dinner. Catrione saw Deirdre’s strong hands wrapped around a squawking chicken’s throat and deliberately squelched the memory. Even if she were capable, that doesn’t mean she did it.

“I don’t think it was Deirdre who killed Bog,” Baeve said softly.

“Then who do you think it was?” Niona cocked her head.

“I think that thing inside her has some kind of hold,” Baeve answered.

Niona’s brows shot up. “You mean you think it’s the child?” She made a little noise of derision, but Baeve wouldn’t be cowed.

“I’ve been catching babies here for over forty years, Sister Niona, and this is the most unnatural thing I’ve ever seen in all my time. I’ve had babies go past their dates—oh, long past, a month or more. But they die, they don’t survive. And their mothers are sickened, but they don’t start to look anything like that thing that Deirdre’s become.” She looked at Catrione. “I asked Sora to check the Mem’brances—”

“Those old barks are half crumbled to pieces—” began Niona.

Catrione cut her off. “Sister, make sure there’s someone in the kitchen at all times. There are lots of places to hide.”

Niona shut her mouth with an audible snap and marched away, back straight, shoulders rigid.

“Have patience,” murmured Baeve, then jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the men. “What’s this about?”

“They’re from my father—he wants all of us to leave the Grove and go to Eaven Avellach.”

“Well, now. We can hardly do that, until we find Deirdre.” She patted Catrione’s arm.

“What do you think Sora will find in the Mem’brances? Anything of use?”

Baeve shrugged. “I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. With our luck today, I’m half-afraid we’ll find the very one we need long crumbled into dust. But anything is worth a try, isn’t it?”

“It’s worth a try if it helps us find Deirdre.”

“We’ll find her. You’ll see.”

And what if we don’t? a cautionary voice whispered in a corner of Catrione’s mind, sending a shiver of fear through her. Don’t be ridiculous, Catrione told herself immediately. Of course we’ll find her. We have to find her. She can’t possibly have gone very far.

Hardhaven village, Far Nearing

Cwynn paused before Argael’s door, hand raised to knock. The rain had eased, but the wind was still blowing hard off the ocean. The windows were shuttered, the door was firmly closed. White smoke belched in fitful drifts from the chimney. He imagined everyone inside was sleeping by this time, for this was the kind of weather that even in summer, drove most to bed. His children, Duir and Duirmuid, were surely sleeping by now. At least, he supposed they’d be asleep. In the two years since their birth, he’d never shared a roof with them at night.

He drew a deep breath and was about to turn away when the door opened abruptly. Argael herself stepped through the door, buckets in hand, an apron tied around her waist, a shawl wrapped over her shoulders. She gasped and stifled a cry as she nearly collided with him. “Cwynn daRuadan. Great Mother, is that you?”

“I-I’m sorry, Argael.” Cwynn stepped back awkwardly, into Eoch. The mare whickered and stamped her displeasure.

“What’re you doing here?” Argael was a broad-boned woman, her face pale in the grayish light. Wisps of the iron gray hair that had once been as dark as her daughter’s, peeked out from under her linen nightcap. “Is everything all right up at the keep? Is your grandfather—?”

“He’s fine.” Cwynn hesitated. “It’s me. I’m off—Leaving, me and Eoch—”

“Where’re you going?” Argael set her buckets down and raised her chin. She was nearly as tall as Cwynn and she’d never lost that aura of being bigger than he was despite his greater size.

He glanced over his shoulder. He should’ve slept in his boat, then left without saying anything, for he couldn’t tell Argael anything but the truth. “I’m going to Ardagh.”

“And you’re leaving in the middle of the night?” For a moment she looked at him as if she didn’t believe him, and then she jerked her head toward the door. “Come inside.” When he’d followed her into the small house, she kicked the door shut and set the buckets on the floor, then regarded him with crossed arms and narrowed eyes. “Now. Tell me what this is all about?”

“Gran-da gave me this.” He pulled the disc from beneath his shirt, where it nestled warmly against his skin. He lifted the heavy leather cord over his head and let it dangle before her, standing silent while she examined it.

“This is yours?”

“That’s what Gran-da said.”

Argael raised her eyebrows and regarded him with a penetrating look in her faded blue eyes. “Your mother’s line?” When he nodded, she sighed. “That explains a lot, I suppose.” She handed it back to him.

“Like what?”

She shrugged. “Like why Ariene can’t keep her hands off you come Beltane every year. Some part of her recognizes something in you even if you don’t see it in yourself. You’re a prince of the land, Cwynn. Your roots are in people who married the land itself. There’s a lot of druid blood in your line.” She fell silent, as if thinking, and then said, “But why’re you leaving now? It looks to storm all night.”

“Gran-da didn’t think it was safe for me to stay.” He hesitated, then said, “Shane, you know.”

“Ah.” She drew a deep breath, then wiped her hands on her apron. “The boys are sleeping in the loft. You’re welcome to join them as long as you take the edge.” Her face softened. “I never much cared for Shane, either.” She nodded to the dark passageway that led to the back of the house. “I’ll be back in a trice—I just want water for the night.” She nodded at the barrels set out to catch the rain, then looked at him appraisingly. “Have you had your supper yet?”

It surprised him to realize the answer was no. He shook his head and she snorted softly.

“No wonder you’re forever drifting off—it’s that druid blood that’s all through your mother’s side.” She picked up her buckets. “Go on back and have a seat. Ariene got a mess of clams this morning—there’s chowder in the pot.”