"I nearly made it, too," he said, cramming another hunk of bread in his mouth.
Eamonn was telling the story in Caerdicci, and I'd been translating for Dorelei. "You didn't encounter any …hostility?" I asked delicately at his pause.
He shook his head, mouth full, and Brigitta answered for him. "Once he crossed the border into Skaldia, he told people he was a countryman stolen by the Caerdicci and raised in slavery in Tiberium." She sounded proud. "He could be Skaldi, you know. He almost looks it.”
I translated for Dorelei, who nodded. "They share roots from long ago.”
"I know." I smiled at her. "The ollamh told us at great length.”
She laughed her infectious laugh, breaking to end on a giggle. It had grated on me before, when Sidonie was here. Now I only felt my smile turn a little wistful. I caught Eamonn's gaze on me, shrewd and wondering.
"Anyway," he said, swallowing. "I was caught in a blizzard before I reached the steading. Some of Hallgrim's—Brigitta's father's—thanes found me. And I couldn't very well lie to them. Brigitta had warned them I would come for her.”
Eamonn went on to relate how they'd taken him back to the steading, where he had presented himself as Brigitta's husband. Her father and brother had refused to acknowledge his claim, refused to believe he was a prince of the Dalriada. Her mother had been more circumspect, swayed by political interest and the golden torc he wore about his neck. They'd come to a compromise.
"He agreed to serve as a carl until my father relented," Brigitta told us.
"Dagda Mor!" Eamonn chuckled. "I think he saved the hardest, foulest chores for me. I don't think anyone else did a lick of work that winter, and my hands were cracked and bleeding in a week's time. But it only lasted until the spring.”
Phèdre and Joscelin exchanged a glance, doubtless remembering.
"That's so romantic!" Alais clasped her hands together, eyes bright. "How did you know her father would relent?”
"Oh, I knew." Eamonn smiled at Brigitta. "He has a stubborn daughter and a stubborn wife. Stubborn women will wear a man down every time. Come spring, Hallgrim was minded to let me go and let Brigitta go with me, if only to buy a moment's peace in his household. But then," he added, "her brother Leidolf got angry and challenged me to the holmgang. Do you know it, Joscelin?”
An uncomfortable silence fell.
"Yes," Joscelin said quietly. He met Brigitta's narrowed gaze. "I fought twice in the holmgang. The second time was against Waldemar Selig. He was a very great swordsman.”
"A great man" she said stiffly.
Eamonn made a rumbling sound deep in his chest. "Brigitta…”
"It's all right." Phèdre reached across the table to touch Brigitta's hand. "Child, you're a scholar. 'Tis better to know the reality than the myth, is it not? Waldemar Selig was a great man in some ways. In others, he wasn't. You, too, have set on a course that may better your people's lives, only it is done out of love. I think it is a better way. But having set your course, you must abide by it and accept what comes, including new friends in the shape of old enemies. Surely, you consented to as much when you agreed to wed the son of the Lady of the Dalriada.”
Brigitta looked startled. I wondered if she knew Selig had attempted to skin Phèdre alive on the battlefield. Somehow, I doubted that story was oft-repeated in Skaldia. She said somewhat low in reply to Phèdre which I missed, trying to translate for Dorelei.
"So you defeated Leidolf?" Joscelin asked, prompting Eamonn to continue. "In the holmgang?”
"Me?" He gave a wide-eyed look. "Oh, yes, of course.”
I wasn't fooled by the seemingly artless way in which Eamonn had introduced the matter of Joscelin and Phèdre's past. Eamonn didn't always think matters through to their conclusion, but he was a good deal cannier than he looked. He'd meant to force the issue. With Brigitta quiet and thoughtful beside him, he told the rest of their story.
How they'd departed from her father's steading, leaving his golden torc behind as a pledge of surety for a generous gift to follow on their return to Alba. How they'd been set upon by brigands near the border and robbed. He'd kept his sword and defended Brigitta's honor, but everything else had been lost; horses, supplies, money. For the better part of a week, they'd hovered near starvation, forced to travel on foot and beg.
"Luckily, we found a trade caravan bound for the Caerdicci coast," Eamonn said lightly. "And I was able to take service with them as a mercenary until we reached Giano.”
In the coastal city-state of Giano, they'd found a small fleet of D'Angeline merchant-ships. As it transpired, Eamonn's father, the Royal Admiral Quintilius Rousse, had received the letter his son had entrusted to my keeping, which I had left with the Lady of Marsilikos late last autumn. Although he was an absent father, Quintilius Rousse was a proud one, too. He'd spread word far and wide in the D'Angeline seafaring community that anyone spotting his errant, half-Eiran son was to give all aid possible. Eamonn and Brigitta had sailed aboard a merchant ship to the mouth of the Aviline River, travelling by barge inland to the City of Elua.
"And here we are!" Eamonn concluded, spreading his arms.
I shook my head. "Oh, Prince Barbarus. I wish I'd gone with you.”
He grinned at me. "Well, we might have beaten those damned brigands if you had, Imri. But I'm not sure Hallgrim would have been so accommodating. And besides, you would have missed your own wedding.”
I couldn't tell him that I wished I had, not with Dorelei at my side. And of a surety, I couldn't tell him what had befallen me betwixt my return and my marriage. That would have to wait.
"I've missed you," I said softly.
Eamonn laughed. "Oh, I daresay you've kept busy without me." He winked at Dorelei. "At least I hope so.”
She smiled politely, not understanding. This time, I didn't translate.
Eamonn noticed that, too.
Several days passed before I had the chance to speak with Eamonn in complete privacy. They had truly arrived in the City of Elua with little more than the clothing on their backs, and while they were anxious to continue on to Alba, there was a good deal to be done if they weren't to travel as beggars. Ysandre was gracious in the matter of hospitality and insisted that they allow the Palace couturiers to provide new attire. I made him a gift of monies from my own accounts, which Eamonn accepted reluctantly after I convinced him it was a belated token of congratulations on his nuptials.
For the most part, he and Brigitta were inseparable. I knew she was uneasy in Terre d'Ange, and in truth, I didn't blame her for it. There were a good many people at Court who made it clear they didn't relish hearing a Skaldic accent in the Palace halls.
Eamonn, who had never particularly cared for the D'Angeline Court, did his best to insulate Brigitta with his constant presence, offsetting her scowls with his sunny good nature, much to the perplexity of everyone who encountered them.
"What a peculiar pair they are!" Dorelei mused when we were alone together. "And yet they seem to dote on one another.”
"Prince Barbarus and his shield-maiden," I said. "That's what Lucius used to call them.”
"His mother was a doughty warrior in her youth," she said. "You know, I wish I could talk to her.”
"The Lady Grainne?”
Dorelei shook her head. "Brigitta. It must be a frightening thing to be almost alone in the world so far from home. I understand a little bit. Although at least…" She didn't finish her thought. "Alais is right. It is very romantic.”
"Alais wanted to marry Eamonn when she was thirteen," I informed her.
"She did?" Dorelei smiled. "What a picture! I can see why, though.”
I'd met few women able to resist Eamonn's charm. Well, except mayhap Sidonie. She's a right bitch, Eamonn had said of her after their first meeting. I'd asked her, once, why she didn't like him. She'd given me a perplexed look. I do like him, Imriel. He's just so infernally loud! It was unkind and true, and it had made me laugh.
Elua, but I missed her.
"You know," I said to my wife. "When you told me about your dream, the next morning I thought of Eamonn. I thought mayhap that's what it was about.”
"The snowstorm?”
"Mm-hmm.”
"No." Dorelei was silent a moment. "No, I don't think so.”
"I suppose not, since he's here now." I ran a few strands of her hair through my fingers, fine and straight and black, wishing it were otherwise. "What if you offered to teach Brigitta to speak Cruithne and Eiran, you and Alais? Eamonn's been trying, but he's a dreadful teacher. He gets ahead of himself and she gets muddled.”
She looked at me. "I don't speak Caerdicci.”
"Alais does," I said. "And you might learn some. Anyway, I suspect Brigitta would welcome the kindness. She'd as soon leave on the morrow, but they're staying another week in the hope of hearing from Eamonn's father. 'Tis enough time to make a beginning.”
"Tis a generous thought." Dorelei considered it. "I'll talk to Alais.”
I smiled at her. "Oh, good.”
Truth be told, it was a good idea. Alais took to it with immediate enthusiasm and Brigitta received it with something that very nearly resembled gratitude, well aware that once she reached Alba, she'd be nearly devoid of the ability to communicate. Alais was clever and patient, and I'd no doubt she'd make an excellent teacher. It proved to be true, and Dorelei's gentle guidance an asset in the process.
I was glad, since my motives were selfish.
It gave me a chance to talk with Eamonn.
Once I had it, though, I found myself strangely reluctant. I couldn't help but wonder if that was how my mother had managed to enlist so many allies in her schemes; advancing her own motives by means that pleased them, at least up until the moment she betrayed them or no longer had a use for them. I suspected it was. At least in this, my motive was simple and none too dire. I wanted only a chance to ease my troubled heart by talking to my dearest friend.
And yet…
It would burden him. And then there was the memory of his glad exclamation at the sight of Dorelei, the fond embrace. It was all very much at odds with his opinion of Sidonie, and I wondered if it would be better to keep silent. I didn't mind Mavros speaking ill of her; I was used to it and he'd proved himself a friend to us both in other ways. I didn't know if I could bear it from Eamonn.
We went to Night's Doorstep to revisit our old haunts. In the spring before Eamonn had left for Tiberium, we were wont to spend hours there, drinking and talking. Naamah's Servants plied their trade there, too, serving those who couldn't afford the Night Court. A few familiar faces called out merry greetings and invitations to Eamonn, who merely shook his head and grinned.
There were new faces, too. I wondered how many of them were priests or priestesses in training, planning to take their vows in a year's time. I tried to picture Amarante among them, and found the image at once disturbing and arousing. It made me glad she was in no hurry to leave Sidonie's side. Safe harbor, indeed.
At the Cockerel, there were greetings all around. It was a long time before Eamonn eased himself into a chair opposite me, stretching out his long legs. He took a long pull on a foaming tankard of ale and smacked his lips. "Oh, that's good!" He sighed. "It's good to be here, Imri. I feel like I'm being smothered at the Palace.”
"I know the feeling," I murmured.
"Oh, aye?" Eamonn drank again and eyed me. "Care to tell me why?”
I shrugged. "There's naught to be done about it.”
"Imri, Imri!" He set his tankard down. "We've played this game before in Tiberium. I didn't care for it then, and I don't care for it now. I know you and your brooding and secrecy. So tell me, what new Claudia Fulvia is casting a shadow over your marriage?”
"You know, it's funny." I toyed with the change lying on the table, left over from the purchase of our ale. "I had a similar conversation with Joscelin at this very same table." I smiled. "He said he and Phèdre drew lots, and he lost.”
"Very funny," Eamonn said. "So who is she?”
One of the coins was a silver centime, old and worn. It must have dated back to the early years of Ysandre's reign. I studied her youthful profile. Softened and blurred by time, it still held a resemblance to her eldest daughter. "Eamonn, if I tell you, will you do me the courtesy of trying not to laugh?”
"Of course.”
I balanced the coin on edge and set it spinning with the flick of a finger. "Sidonie.”
Eamonn's jaw dropped. He stared at me, eyes wide. The coin spun, slowed, clattered onto its side. Eamonn closed and opened his mouth a few times, licked his lips and cleared his throat. "You know," he said carefully. "Somehow, that's not nearly as funny as I would have imagined it would be.”
I smiled wryly. "My thanks.”
"How?" he asked. "And why?”
I told him how it had come to pass; the boar hunt last summer, the Longest Night, and the affair that had ensued with all its attendant dangers. Eamonn listened without comment until I was finished. "Does Dorelei know?”
"Yes, and no." I took a gulp of ale. "She knows there's someone. She didn't want to know who.”
