“Never gave her much thought, to tell you the truth. She looks after Anluan, makes sure he’s not too much alone.That has to be a good thing. And as Magnus said, she did the same for his father.”
I felt a creeping sensation, a sudden inexplicable unease. “And for Conan before him?” I asked.
“She was around the place then, I seem to recall. It’s a long while ago, Caitrin.”
“One thing’s certain,” Magnus said. “She doesn’t much care for you.”
Rioghan sighed. “Nobody can criticize the girl for that. She wants what she can’t have: another life, a real one. In that she’s no different from me or from Eichri here. She’s hostile to you, Caitrin, because you’re what she can never be: a real woman. She fears you, with your rosy cheeks and red lips, your tumbling dark hair, your . . . well, you get my drift. Anluan will never look at her the way he looks at you.”
These words hung in silence for the space of three breaths. I did not know what to say in this roomful of men.
“Don’t let it trouble you,” said Magnus.“Muirne has her little oddities, but she’s a good soul underneath.”
“Mm,” I said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It troubled me that Muirne remained hostile to what Anluan was doing, but I did feel some sympathy for her.To die on the threshold of marriage was particularly sad.
“I’m going to bed now,” I said. “Poor Gearróg has been on guard for hours. May I have Fianchu again tonight, Olcan?”
The dog was up as soon as I spoke his name, ready to accompany me.
“Of course. Sleep well, Caitrin.”
Although he had seemed weary to death, Anluan’s lamps burned long into the night. I stood on the gallery in the moonlight, looking across the garden towards that faint glow and wishing I could break all the rules. He should not be by himself in that bare chamber with only Nechtan’s grimoires for company. I sighed, hugging my shawl around my shoulders. It seemed so simple, the idea of going down the stairs, running across the garden, tapping on his door, telling him I was lonely, cold, worried. Suggesting . . . what, exactly? If a young woman were to act in such a way, a man would put only one interpretation on it. Of course I would not go into his bedchamber at night, alone.The very idea was outrageous.
My body felt strange tonight, different. I was not so naive as to be ignorant of what it meant, even though such feelings were new to me. I had known, when Anluan put his arms around me for comfort earlier today, that a profound change had happened in me since I had come to Whistling Tor. It wasn’t only the relief of finding safe haven, the pride of doing a job well, the pleasure of good companionship, the delight of respect and friendship. I had learned how it felt to want more than the sweet touch of hand to cheek or lips to palm, more than a kiss, more than an embrace. I was starting to discover that it is not only the mind that understands love, but also the body.
I started violently. I had been transfixed by that voice, a voice that must have come from my own mind, for the gallery held only me, the ghost child now standing very close to me with the doll in her arms, and Fianchu waiting patiently by the bedchamber door for me to go back in so he could settle to guard the entry. If someone had been standing by me, taunting me as I stared down towards Anluan’s lonely lamp, that presence was nowhere to be seen.
“She’s cold because you got out of bed,” I said, taking the girl’s chilly hand and leading her back into my chamber.“Let’s tuck you in, shall we?”
