“Your story made me think, that was all. Uncomfortable thoughts. I’ve wanted so much to be brave, and I can’t always manage it.”
“Dear lady,” Rioghan murmured. “Nobody at Whistling Tor means you any harm, you must believe that. Your presence is like a sweet fresh breeze blowing through this weary old place.”
This made me smile. “Rioghan?”
“Yes, Caitrin?”
“You have a new lord now. Breacán is gone. I know Anluan isn’t a king or a warrior. Perhaps he has some disadvantages. Some flaws. But he is worthy of your loyalty.”
“He has it,” Rioghan said. “Don’t doubt that.”
As I went back to my chamber, I realized this was true. Anluan’s tight circle of retainers had all chosen to share their damaged lord’s lonely existence on the hill. Magnus had been a warrior. He could have left when Irial died. Instead, he had stayed to help his friend’s son grow to be a man. At some stage, perhaps loyalty had become love. Whatever it was, it had endured some sorry times. I recalled the lines I had read in Irial’s notebook after supper, by lantern light.
One touch, that is all I ask. One touch; one embrace. Reach out to me, beloved. Where are you? The ninety-first day.
Day two hundred and sixty. Winter. In the garden the birch twigs glitter with frost. My heart will see no spring.
I had not been long at work the next morning when Anluan came into the library, moving to stand by the window and gaze out into the garden. “Magnus said I must apologize,” he said abruptly.
I was too surprised to respond.
“He says I misjudged you. If I did, I am sorry.” His tone was all sharp edges.
I drew a deep breath. “You were so angry,” I said. “It frightened me, and when I’m frightened I find it hard to speak properly. I didn’t mean any insult to you last night when I spoke of writing.” I chose my words carefully. “I’m a scribe. I’ve worked very hard to learn my craft over the years. I consider a page of script one of the finest things a person could wager.And I would never mock a man for the fact that his writing was a little irregular. Besides, that could be remedied.”
“Huh!” Anluan turned on his heel and stalked away across the library. “You think a bunch of old rags can be made into a silken robe? A worm-eaten apple into a glossy, perfect fruit? Impossible. Why do you imagine I’ve employed you?”
I took a deep breath and then another.“As an apology, that was somewhat lacking,” I said, forcing myself to challenge him. “I doubt Magnus would be very impressed by it. If you don’t like the way you write, learn to do it better. I could teach you. It would require concentration, calm, and regular practice. I suppose you might find that difficult, but once you mastered the technique, I believe it would come quite naturally.”
A lengthy silence; he was standing by the far wall, half in shadow, and I could not read his expression. No doubt an explosion of some kind was imminent. My body was tight as a bowstring, waiting for it.
“Again you judge me,” he said quietly.
“Not so harshly as you judge yourself. With . . .” I had ventured into far deeper waters than I’d intended. At this point, going on might be safer than going back. “With courage and hope, we can conquer our fears and do what we once believed impossible. I know that’s true.”
“Courage. Hope.” His voice was shaking, and not entirely from anger. “Easy for you to say such words, with your background of family, of comfort, of warmth and rightness.You understand nothing.”
This was too much.“That’s not fair!” I lashed out, springing to my feet. “You can’t know how much I’ve longed for those things, family and . . . and safety and . . . If I still had that, why in God’s name would I be here?” I turned my back on him, wrapping my arms around myself and wishing I could unsay the words. I willed him to go away.
After some time, he said, “So you stay in my house, not out of a desire to help, but because what lies behind you is worse than the chaos you find here.”
“I didn’t come here just for payment or a place to stay. I love my craft more than anything in the world; it’s all I have left. I do want to help you. I wrote that in the sample piece and I was telling the truth.”
He said nothing, and when I risked a glance, he was simply standing there, watching me. It seemed to me that a wrong word would set him in flight.
“If you had time, I could teach you to write more evenly, and in a way that would not hurt your hand and arm.You could practice a little each day.”And when he did not respond, I added,“If you worked with me in the library, I would be able to ask your advice on the documents. It would help me very much if you were here to answer a question or two.”
