Be With Me, Page 2

  Two

  “IT’S BIG, ISN’T IT DA?”

  Elisud straightened up from setting the fire, smiling at his daughter’s wide eyes as she stared around the roundhouse. In truth it wasn’t the biggest place he’d ever seen, nor even the largest house on this farm, but compared to the roundhouse on the island where Ceri had grown up, then certain sure this seemed big. More so because it was almost empty, than because it was that much larger.

  “Worried you’ll get lost, puffin?”

  Ceri blinked at him, then looked around the bare, round interior of the house and giggled. “How would I get lost, even in here, Da?”

  “Well, I don’t know, puffin. Maybe if you close your eyes and I did this!” Scooping up his daughter, he tossed her onto the large bed tucked against the wall.

  Ceri landed on the wool mattress with a squeal, thrashing against the pile of blankets that toppled over onto her face. “Da!” Fighting her way free, she popped to her feet and scrambled off the bed. “Do it again! It felt like flying!”

  “Go flying often do you, puffin?”

  Ceri just rolled her eyes and tugged on his arm. “Again, Da. Do it again.”

  Chuckling, he scooped her up and obliged, secretly thinking that it wasn’t just their home that was getting bigger. Soon he’d struggle to carry his little girl. Soon she’d be too big to toss playfully around. Perhaps she wouldn’t want him to anymore.

  The thought made him sad, and his sadness made him remember that it wasn’t just him and Ceri moving into this new home. So while his daughter fought with the blankets again, Elisud looked for the other child he’d brought from the island. The one who was the reason he’d come here. Demairo, his nephew, son of Lowena and grandson to the formidable Dama Wynn.

  The boy was standing by the door as if he couldn’t wait to leave already. His face was pale in the grey afternoon light, his curls looking black in the shadows. He showed no signs of hearing his cousin’s playful cries, nor did he notice the cold wind that whipped through the door and blew his hair back from his face. He just stared sightlessly outside, but whatever he saw was a mystery to Elisud.

  Perhaps he didn’t see anything at all. Just as he didn’t speak, or smile, or react to much of anything these days.

  It was too soon, Elisud had to keep reminding himself. Too soon to expect any change, any recovery. The boy had lost everything. He’d been through so much.

  Yet Elisud’s guilt gnawed at him, for not doing more, for not saving Demairo from this heartache. He didn’t regret his decision to leave when he had, not when it had been best for him and Ceri, and especially not when there were so many other things to regret instead. But he should have taken Demairo with them, should have made Lowena leave, should have spoken to Dewydd and made him listen for once.

  Should, should, should. It was too late for any of that now; he couldn’t go back. He could only go forward with this heavy guilt in his heart and his gut, and do whatever he could to make things right for Demairo.

  So Elisud left his daughter fighting the bedclothes, since she was giggling and clearly enjoying herself, and went to stand beside his nephew. “See anything interesting?” he asked, though he didn’t expect an answer.

  Demairo didn’t look up at him, didn’t nod or shake his head, or show any other sign that he’d heard a word that Elisud had said. He just stood and stared, then slowly, he walked down the short passage that helped keep out the cold and the rain, and held up his hand to the outside.

  Elisud followed, eyeing the dark grey sky and holding out his hand too. Light drops feathered against his palm. “Rain,” he muttered.

  Demairo nodded, then before his uncle could stop him, he darted away across the unfamiliar yard.

  “Mairo!” Elisud shouted. “Where are you going?”

  The boy didn’t stop, didn’t answer, he just ran through the light patter of rain towards the hazel bushes that clustered against the far fence. Then he started ripping clothes from the branches.

  Finally understanding what he was about, Elisud ducked his head back inside. “Ceri, come help.” Then he ran after his nephew and grabbed armfuls of linen and wool, just as the rain started pounding down.

  Squealing, Ceri came scampering out of their new home, whining the whole time, but doing as she was told nevertheless. Before long other figures dashed out of different houses and soon everyone was darting back inside again, their arms piled high with everyone else’s washing.

  Unsure what to do with the things he’d gathered, Elisud headed back to the roundhouse Dama Wynn had given him and the children, and dumped the clothing off to one side. Then he pulled two rumpled blankets from the bed and bundled the sodden children up in the wool.

  “Nothing much ever changes, eh, Mairo?” Elisud chuckled, swiping the water from his nephew’s face. For once there was a spark of light in the boy’s eyes and Demairo even smiled a little as he shook his head hard, flicking water from his curls to make Ceri squeak.

  Elisud grinned and rubbed Demairo’s head, before turning to gather Ceri in his arms. She grumbled about him being even wetter than she was, but he just laughed, content that things would be all right. If they had time to adjust, time to heal, time to just be themselves for a bit, then yes, he was certain sure they would be all right again.

  “We can do this,” he said, gathering both children against him, relieved when he felt Demairo actually press his damp head against his shoulder, leaning into him for the first time in days. “We can get through this together.”

  Ceri snuggled against Elisud, as affectionate as always, while a cold hand patted his arm kindly. Demairo might not be speaking right now, but he could still communicate. Elisud hugged his children closer, bending his head over their dark curly heads, and silently vowed to do everything he could to make them happy; both of them, no matter what the cost to himself.

  A polite cough made him jump, bringing his head up sharply, while Demairo jerked out of his hold and Ceri wriggled around to get a better look at the door. A woman stood there, looking awkward and uncertain, twisting her pale hands together.

  It was hard to see her face when she had her back to the light and Elisud was blocking the fire, but her hair glinted with the warm golden shades so many people around here were blessed with. Her dress was dark and plain, wrapping around a slender figure that looked fragile. Elisud stood up, embarrassed to be caught dripping wet and kneeling on the floor.

  “Sorry to intrude,” the woman murmured, her voice husky and low, deeper than he would have expected from such a slender shape. “I’ve come to thank you for helping with the washing, and to ask…” Her eyes searched the shadows. “Ah.” She bent down to collect the discarded clothes, piling them up in her arms. “Thank you.”

  Elisud rushed over to help. “No need. Or you can thank Demairo. He’s the one who noticed the rain first.”

  He smiled down at the woman, surprised to find that she wasn’t much shorter than himself, the top of her head level with his chin – she looked so much smaller. Especially when she studied his face with unsmiling grimness, her eyes dark in the shadows. Then she turned towards Demairo, who was watching them warily from the far side of the fire.

  Elisud frowned, wondering when the boy had grown so skittish. He was about to ask him to come closer, to be polite and let himself be introduced, when the woman nodded at the boy as if such behaviour was expected.

  “Thank you, Demairo,” she said softly.

  “And me.” Tired of being ignored, Ceri unwrapped her blanket from around her head and bounced over to Elisud’s side, grabbing his hand. “Even though it was raining, I went out and helped too.”

  The woman looked down at Ceri’s earnest face and smiled. Elisud had known she would; no one could resist his daughter for long. “Then thank you too,” she said solemnly.

  “Ceri,” the girl piped up. “I’m Ceri.”

  “Thank you, Ceri.” The woman hesitated, while Elisud and his daughter watched her expectantly. Her l
ips twitched and she sighed with defeat. “I’m Briallen.”

  “Because of your hair?” Ceri asked, making Elisud wonder how the girl had learned about primroses, since he was certain sure none had ever grown on the island. “It’s so pretty.”

  Briallen gave a soft chuckle. “Not near as pretty as your hair. I’ve never seen such dark curls. They shine so beautifully.”

  Ceri preened under the praise, as she always did. “Do you live on the farm? Because we’re going to live here too. Da brung us to meet Demairo’s family, and now we’re all staying. Dama Wynn says we’re family so we have to. Are you family?”

  The smile vanished from the woman’s face, returning it to grim blankness. Briallen looked around the dim interior of their new house and gave a short nod. “Yes, I live on the farm.” Then she hugged the clothes to her chest, mumbled an excuse and fled, leaving Elisud with numerous questions clamouring inside his head.

  Ceri gave a sad sigh. “Was it something I said, Da?” she asked, lower lip trembling. “Did I frighten her away?”

  She looked so forlorn, half-wrapped in a blanket, her damp hair all rumpled and messy, that he had to scoop her up, blanket and all. Holding her close, her patted her back and sighed. “No, puffin, I don’t think it was you.”

  Briallen hadn’t looked entirely happy when she first arrived, so Elisud suspected she had other things on her mind than greeting a bunch of strangers. It was true that she’d appeared uncomfortable at Ceri’s questions, but his daughter looked so forlorn he wasn’t about to tell her that.

  The woman intrigued him, though, since she didn’t look anything like Lowena. She looked more like an outsider, like him; someone he could talk too, perhaps? Though how that would be possible when she also lived here, Elisud didn’t quite know. She was probably married to one of Lowena’s brothers.

  The thought made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to think too deeply about why it mattered so much to him. He was here for Demairo, and because Ceri wanted to stay. Ceri liked the woman, so that was enough to make Elisud hope she liked them back. Ceri needed more women in her life, since she’d been so unlucky to lose both her real mother and the aunt who’d mostly raised her. Certain sure, that was why. There was no other reason for it.

  Yet when Ceri snuggled against him and gave a tired yawn, murmuring, “Her hair really was pretty,” Elisud found himself agreeing – and meaning it.

  “I hope we see her again tomorrow,” Ceri sighed.

  “Me too, puffin,” Elisud replied, tucking her gently into the bed and kissing her cheek.

  Then he put all thoughts of women out of his head and turned to where Demairo was watching him across the fire. “Got any food left in your pack, Mairo? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  The boy gave a brief nod and scurried over to their travel packs and started sorting through them. It wasn’t much, Elisud had to admit as he knelt down to tend the fire, building it up to spread some heat into the house, but it was progress. A step forward, no matter how small, and that was good enough for him. Good enough for today. Tomorrow they might take another step, and soon, hopefully, gods and ancestors willing, he might finally get his nephew back.

  Demairo returned to his side with a handful of herbs, a stringy partridge and some old bread in his hands, and Elisud smiled. This wasn’t much either, but good enough for tonight. “All right then, Mairo, let’s see what we can make of this, shall we?” Together, in companionable silence, they got to work.