“It’s more of a decree than a request,” I said quietly, wishing with all my heart that I was not the one who had to tell him this, for a glance had shown me the gist of the thing.“Lord Stephen intends to establish himself on your land, with his stronghold here on the Tor. He states that all surrounding territory as far as the borders of Whiteshore and Silverlake is to become Norman land, under his rule. He claims he has the authority to do so as a knight of the English king.” Although we were not quite touching, I felt Anluan’s whole body tighten. I heard his breathing change.“Then he says he’s going to be considerate and give you a choice. He can take your holdings any time he wants. However, he’s allowing you the opportunity to discuss the matter with him and reach a mutual agreement, which will spare your land and your people the rigours of armed conflict with its inevitable damage and loss. He believes you will see the wisdom of attending a meeting for this purpose. His chief councillor, with an appropriate escort, will return here on the eve of next full moon to hold this meeting.” Next full moon. By my count, that was around twenty-one days from now. “Then his signature: Stephen de Courcy.” The message was an insult. His lordship wasn’t even planning to attend the meeting in person. Mutual agreement? What chieftain in his right mind would agree to this? “What will you do?” I asked, my throat tight.
The candle shook in Anluan’s hand; wax dripped onto the parchment. “Do?” he echoed bitterly. “Do? I suppose I will do just what my people expect of me, Caitrin: absolutely nothing.”
“But—” I began, shocked.
“Don’t say it!” It was a furious snarl, and I took a step backwards, my heart thumping.“Don’t tell me I can work a miracle here if only I have hope! You saw those men down the hill—you saw their weapons, their armor, their good horses, the discipline that kept them waiting as dusk drew close and Tomas no doubt regaled them with tales of demons and wraiths. Stephen de Courcy will have a hundred, two hundred such soldiers at his disposal, perhaps more. I have none. He could give me twenty-one days or ten times that: it would make no difference.This is the end for Whistling Tor.”
“Oh, so this is all my fault? It’s my doing that this poxy foreign lord decides to ride in and take my land for his own? You expect me to pluck solutions from midair, I suppose?” A charged silence as he glared at me, the candle-holder clutched in his white-knuckled fist. My heart knocked in my chest. When a small, chilly hand crept into mine I almost leaped out of my skin.
Anluan looked down at the ghost child, who now stood pressed against my skirt, her thistledown head tucked against my side. His eyes rose to examine my face. “You’re afraid of me,” he said, blue eyes wide. “Caitrin, I’d never hurt you. Surely you know that.”
I swallowed.There was plenty I wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come.
The chieftain of Whistling Tor looked down at his boots. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m not ... I can’t ...”
I found my voice. “People won’t blame you for what’s happened with Lord Stephen,” I said. “And I don’t blame you. But you’ll be judged on what you do next. The Norman messenger said this was a household of few retainers, as if that were something to be sneered at.You are lucky in your retainers, Anluan. They love and trust you. Maybe the next step is to ask their advice.”
“You make it sound so easy.” In his voice I heard the child who had lost his parents all too soon; the boy who had shouldered an impossible burden at nine years old.
I took a step towards him and laid my hand on his arm. He did not shrug me off, though I felt him start at my touch. “Please don’t give up,” I said. “Please let us help you.”
“Would you number yourself amongst these loyal retainers, Caitrin?” He would not look at me.
“If you’ll have me,” I whispered.
“I don’t see the point in discussing this,” Anluan said a little later. The household was gathered as usual around the supper table, but nobody was eating the meal Magnus had hastily prepared.“Even if I were not burdened with the host, too much time has passed since the chieftain of Whistling Tor had the trust of his region and his people. To win that back could take years. I have twenty-one days. It is possible the folk of my settlements would prefer Norman rule to the way things are.”
“Bollocks,” said Rioghan. “Didn’t you notice Tomas and his friends down there, shivering in their boots at the sight of me, yet holding their ground? Those folk may not have a high opinion of you, Anluan, but they know you’re the same kind as they are. No Connacht man wants a bunch of mail-shirted foreigners lording it over him.”
