Be With Me, Page 3

  Three

  ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER long line of chores. Briallen felt out of sorts as she gathered with the other women around the quern stones. The farm was a hive of activity, as it was every morning, with the men tramping off to work in the fields, while children scampered about underfoot tackling their own tasks. There was a cackle as one of the chickens took exception to its nest being raided, while small voices crowed over the egg count.

  Briallen did her best to ignore it all, tucking back a wisp of her hair before bending to the grindstone again. Ia poured more grain into the depression of the quern and Briallen set to work, taking her temper out on the harmless wheat, crushing it to fine powder.

  She hadn’t slept well the night before, her mind haunted with visions of dark-haired babies and laughing little boys. The secret life hidden inside her churned like the stone in her hand, reminding her that it was there, making her swallow several times in her dry throat.

  Not now, she thought to her precious secret. She couldn’t afford to run off and be ill now. With so many women around it was hard keeping her condition secret, but so far she’d managed. It couldn’t last much longer, though; Ia was ever watchful over her charges, while Rosen was nosy and spiteful. Briallen really didn’t want them to know about the baby, not before she’d decided what to do.

  If the family found out they might force her to stay, wanting to raise Mewan’s child as one of their own. Then again, they might do the opposite. Briallen couldn’t be sure, and until she knew what she wanted to do herself, she’d rather no one knew.

  An image from one of her dreams flashed before her eyes again. A tiny baby boy, with a tangle of dark hair. Briallen pushed up from the quern stone, rubbing her arm across her forehead. She was sweating in the early morning sun, partly from the work, but mostly from the nausea roiling inside her. Then there was the confusion. A dark-haired babe? Impossible when Briallen’s hair was as pale as flax and Mewan had been almost as fair, with only the slightest hint of red.

  “What do I do?” a familiar voice piped up, and Briallen glanced back over her shoulder.

  Ceri, the new girl living in Briallen’s old home. Whose curls looked black in the morning sun.

  “Gods and ancestors,” Briallen whispered in shocked realisation, turning sharply away. The movement was too fast for her tender stomach and she fled to the nearest bushes to empty her stomach by their roots. There wasn’t much in there, since she’d been unable to face breakfast that morning, but her body still tried anyway.

  No. Surely not. Briallen shook her head as she hunched over, trying to dislodge her miserable thoughts. She’d barely seen the new man’s face the night before, hadn’t wanted to see him. True, Ceri was a charming little thing, and Demairo’s silent sadness certain sure pulled at her heartstrings, but Briallen was pregnant with her dead husband’s child. Her life was in tatters. She had some truly tough decisions looming before her. She didn’t have time for any man, even one with charming children.

  Her stomach tightened again and she bent double once more, thinking unhappy thoughts towards the life growing in her belly. Why did it have to take root now? Why not before when she’d had everything? Why did it have to come now when she had nothing, and wanted nothing except to be left in peace?

  “Here.” A soft hand touched Briallen’s back, before a wooden cup appeared beside her face.

  Startled, Briallen straightened, almost head-butting the woman behind her. A fearful glance over her shoulder quickly reassured her, though: Sewena, just Sewena. Briallen took the cup with a grateful murmur.

  “I told Ia you were complaining of stomach cramps yesterday and might have eaten something you shouldn’t while out foraging,” her youngest sister-by-marriage murmured.

  Briallen sipped the water, sighing as the cool, clean taste seemed to settle her stomach at last. “Rosen?”

  “Is too busy berating Talwynn for not keeping the other children in line,” Sewena replied, eyes narrowing with a smile.

  “Did anyone else see?” she forced herself to ask.

  Sewena shook her head, tenderly tucking Briallen’s hair back from her face. “You’ll have to tell them sometime, Bria. They have a right to know.”

  The words pinched on a sore spot inside Briallen’s chest, but she didn’t lash out like she wanted to. This was Sewena, Mewan’s favourite sister. She’d always been nice to Briallen, always made her feel welcome and helped protect her from Rosen’s spite. She took Briallen’s side whenever Dama Wynn interfered in the women’s work, and helped deflect Ia’s attention whenever Briallen didn’t feel up to the scrutiny. Briallen liked Sewena; sometimes it felt like she was her only friend.

  Until Sewena spoiled it by saying something that reminded Briallen that she was one of the family, one of the farm. Sewena belonged here. Briallen didn’t, and she didn’t owe any of these people one tiny thing. Briallen worked hard, she’d earned her place, she paid her way. There was no debt owed here.

  A hesitant hand brushed against Briallen’s midriff. “This child is the last piece of Mewan left in the world,” Sewena whispered, voice wobbling with emotion. “Won’t you let us share it?”

  The touch set off a fresh wave of flutters in Briallen’s belly and she sipped desperately at the water, forcing herself to stay upright and her stomach to remain settled. “This child is mine,” she said between gritted teeth.

  “Of course.” Sewena stepped back, disappointment clear on her face. “But you won’t be able to hide it forever, Briallen. You’ll be showing soon, if I’m counting correctly. You need to be prepared for when the others find out.” Shaking her head, she walked back to the quern stones and the morning’s work.

  Briallen watched her go, hand clenched so tightly around the wooden cup that her fingers turned bloodless. “Not forever,” she whispered. “Just long enough.” Long enough to decide whether to stay or leave. Long enough to make up her mind. Long enough to choose.

  Turning her back on the farm, she stared into the trees beyond the hazel thicket and let her hand rest on her belly, on the small but hard curve growing there. She was closer to showing than Sewena thought; she didn’t have much time left for thinking.

  Feelings churned in her gut that had nothing to do with sickness. “Blight you, Mewan,” she hissed, throwing the remains of her water on the ground. “Blight you for leaving me in this mess. You always were good at dodging your responsibilities.”

  “Briallen!” Rosen’s strident voice called. “What are you doing over there? We’ve work yet to do here this morning, you know.”

  Oh, Briallen knew. She knew very well. Clenching the cup firmly in one hand, she walked back to the others, feeling almost certain that she would leave this place. Just as soon as she saw her chance. There was nothing for her here. Only work.

  “THERE’S WORK ENOUGH for everyone, and more besides. I’m certain sure we’ll find something or other for you to do.”

  Sira Wynn was a weathered man who’d clearly spent more of his life outdoors than in. Once he must have been tall and hearty, but age was clearly catching up with him, thinning down his muscles and adding a stoop to his shoulders.

  His grey-green eyes were kind, but tired, the skin of his face worn leathery dark by sun, wind and rain. His hands were broad from a life of toil, his nails and skin embedded with a permanent layer of the soil he clearly loved to work.

  Where Dama Wynn was strident and direct, Sira Wynn was soft-spoken, almost distant. Elisud couldn’t understand how two such different people had managed to stay married for so long, not to mention raise so many children to adulthood. Until he realised that they rarely saw each other, except to eat and sleep.

  “Kensa will see you right,” the old man murmured vaguely, slapping a hand against Elisud’s shoulder and stroking a gentle hand over Demairo’s curls. That same hand slid down beneath the boy’s chin and lifted it to face him.

  Man and boy blinked at each other for a quiet moment, then Sira Wynn sighed. “Your mother’s ey
es, certain sure.” Squeezing Demairo’s shoulder, he turned away and ambled into the nearest field, where crops were growing fast and strong, and two children were crawling between the rows, picking off slugs and snails and anything else that shouldn’t be there.

  Elisud watched him leave and remained standing between two field gates, feeling useless and stupid. This wasn’t his world. He was a fisherman. Had been born and raised to it on the coast, had been happy with his lot. True, the weather was often treacherous and his catch wasn’t always the best, but he’d loved it.

  The sea had always been his one constant, even after his wife died and he left his rougher, more northern coasts to join his brother in the south. On the island he’d lived entirely surrounded by the sea for the first time, seizing every chance to get out in a boat and fish, sail or simply watch life rippling around him, blessed by Great Domnu’s bounty.

  That was all gone now. The boat, the island, his brother, that life. Now he was miles inland, with two children to feed, planted on a farm without the first clue about crops, livestock or harvests. He felt utterly lost.

  A cold hand slid into his and squeezed. Elisud looked down into those grey-green eyes that Sira Wynn had so rightly said were like Lowena’s. But even at her saddest and most defeated Lowena had had more spark in her gaze than Demairo had now.

  Yet that look, empty as it was, along with the squeeze on his hand, reminded Elisud exactly why he was here. For Demairo. And Ceri. It didn’t matter what he wanted, what he felt, he had to make this work for the children. So he tightened his grip on Demairo’s hand and looked around the nearby fields. Dama Wynn had introduced him to her oldest son that morning; all Elisud had to do was find him again.

  “Can you see your Uncle Kensa anywhere, Mairo?” he asked the boy by his side, not really expecting an answer.

  To his surprise, Demairo tugged on his hand. When Elisud looked down, the boy turned towards the woods that bordered this part of the farm. He took two steps, stopped and looked back at Elisud, before setting off again.

  Frowning, Elisud gazed along the path that wound beneath the trees. Dim, shadowy figures flitted between the trunks and a hound barked. Clearly someone was at work in there and, since Elisud hadn’t spotted Kensa out in the fields, he followed his nephew into the woods. If nothing else they would need to gather fuel for their evening fire.

  “Ah, Elisud, there you are!” a cheerful voice called out as they approached. “How are your foraging skills? Dama wants mushrooms tonight, so mushrooms are what she’s going to get. Right, boys?”

  Kensa’s two eldest sons agreed, eyeing their new cousin curiously to see what he would do. Demairo did nothing, just stared at the ground. He was still holding Elisud’s hand, but more likely because he’d forgotten about the contact than because he was shy.

  Kensa also stared at his new nephew, but his expression was one of sorrow and regret. Then he shook his head, shedding his sombre mood, and slapped his two boys on the shoulder. “Why don’t you take your Uncle Elisud out that way and teach him about mushrooms, while Dem and I search in this direction? Kitto, make sure Clem doesn’t eat anything he shouldn’t.”

  The boys chorused in cheerful agreement, while Elisud crouched down and drew Demairo’s gaze to him. “All right with you, Mairo?”

  Grey-green eyes blinked at him, then Demairo gave a slow nod. Even more slowly he uncurled his fingers from Elisud’s and patted his hand in silent reassurance.

  Elisud’s gave a lop-sided smile, silently reflecting that his nephew was likely to have an easier day than he was. “Come find me if you need me, all right?”

  Demairo nodded again – an unprecedented two responses in a row – and walked over to join his new uncle. He didn’t look up at Kensa or take his hand, but he didn’t look back at Elisud either.

  Elisud exchanged a rueful smile with the other man on and waved him on. With three young boys of his own, Kensa could be trusted to handle Demairo – hopefully. Elisud had no doubt he’d soon have enough on his own hands to be worrying about them anyway.

  Turning to the two farm boys, he raised his eyebrows. “So what’s this I hear about mushrooms?”

  “I’ll show you!” the younger of the lads, Clemmo – a sprightly, red-haired stripling around Demairo’s age – grabbed his hand and started tugging him along.

  His older brother, Kitto – pure blond and about two dignified years older – rolled his eyes and sighed. “Don’t listen to him, Uncle Elisud, unless you want to poison Dama Wynn.”

  “Tempting,” Elisud murmured, thinking of the bossy older woman who’d all but bullied him into staying on the farm, when he’d intended to take Ceri and move on the day before. “But probably not a good idea so soon after arriving.”

  That made the boys giggle. “You’re funny,” Clemmo said.

  Elisud smiled. “I try my best. Now, mushrooms?”

  Kitto grabbed his other hand and both boys dragged him into a reluctant jog. “Come on, I know just the place!”

  BY THE TIME enough flour had been ground for the day’s bread, Briallen’s arms felt weak and watery. Since it was a daily chore, she should have known better than to push so hard, but she’d felt angry and confused and frustrated.

  How had her life become so unravelled? One moment it was running along as smoothly as yarn on a spindle, the next her thread had snapped and everything was spinning out of control, turning lax, loose and tangled.

  “You make a lot of bread here.”

  Briallen looked up from rubbing her sore arms and found the new girl, Ceri, standing beside her, dark eyes wide. So pretty, so confident. Briallen wondered how it must feel to be so certain in life. Ceri’s father clearly loved his daughter very much, and wasn’t afraid to show her.

  Briallen felt a twinge of envy, but hid it by rubbing her arm again. “Certain sure we do. We have a lot of people to feed.”

  Ceri nodded as she looked around at the other women, each one with at least two children clustered around them. The collective chatter made Briallen’s head ache.

  “I’ve never seen so many people before,” Ceri murmured, sounding almost shy. Until she looked at Briallen again and grinned. “I’m making lots of new friends!”

  Even in her tired, worried state, Briallen couldn’t resist the child’s enthusiasm. “That’s good,” she said, smiling back. “You like your new cousins then?”

  Dark curls bounced as Ceri nodded. “I was scared of Talwynn at first, ‘cause I heard her telling Melwynn off and I thought she’d be mean, but she’s really nice!”

  Briallen smiled again, wondering if ever a child had been more misnamed than Melwynn. Rosen’s daughter might have been named honey after her hair, but she was far from sweet. “Talwynn is always fair. So long as you do as you’re told, and don’t make unnecessary trouble, she’ll be nice to you.”

  Ceri nodded again, sending her curls bouncing. “I know. She showed me how to gather the chicken eggs and set me and Mihal working together. We found ever so many, much more than Melwynn and Tekka. They were really angry when Dama Wynn gave us a honey cake as a reward.” The little girl grinned in remembrance. “It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted!”

  Her enthusiasm was so endearing, but Briallen couldn’t help worrying that Ceri was clearly making enemies already. “You should be careful not to offend your cousins too badly,” she warned, glancing at Rosen.

  Sure enough, Tekka and Melwynn were tugging on their mother’s arm even now, voicing their complaints, and there was little Senara was stamping her feet and crying about the treat she didn’t get. Rosen looked at Ceri, eyes narrowing unpleasantly on the little dark head. It made Briallen want to wrap her arms around the girl and gather her close, protecting her from all harm.

  The thought surprised her. Though she’d grown fond of most of her nieces and nephews over the year she’d lived on the farm, she’d never felt particularly protective of any of them, not even the youngest babes. Yet there was something different about Ceri, perhap
s it was her lack of a mother, or the fact that she was so obviously new and strange around here, it might even have been her bright confidence which seemed destined to be dented in the near future, but Briallen’s heart went out to the girl.

  “Just be careful of your Aunt Rosen and her girls, please.”

  Ceri looked up at her, an unexpected solemnity in those dark eyes. “I don’t mind them being nasty to me. Talwynn says they’re nasty to everyone.”

  Unable to resist, Briallen stroked a hand over those shining curls and cupped Ceri’s cheek. “I just don’t want them to hurt you, that’s all.”

  Ceri shrugged. “They won’t. They think they’re being mean, but they’re nothing like my Uncle Dewi.”

  The matter-of-factness of her reply pinched at Briallen’s heart. “You’ll have to warn your other cousin too.”

  Ceri’s dark eyes narrowed and her mouth thinned to an angry line. “If they say one mean thing to Mairo, I’ll… I’ll set my Da on them!” She stamped her foot for emphasis, as if this really was the worst thing she could think of.

  Briallen fought back a smile and gave an agreeing nod. “You do that.”

  “No one’s allowed to be mean to Mairo. He’s had enough meanness already.”

  This time Briallen didn’t just want to gather Ceri into her arms, but Demairo as well. These poor children. She didn’t know the first thing about them, but already it sounded like they’d had enough hardships to last a lifetime. Briallen could feel them both stealing into her heart, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. What’s worse, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  Folding her arms tight across her middle, to stop herself from hugging the girl, Briallen smiled. “He’s lucky to have you.”

  Surprisingly Ceri shook her head. “No,” she told Briallen seriously. “We’re lucky to have him. He’s the best cousin in the world.”

  “Ceri!” Sewena’s call made them both jump, breaking the quiet confidence they’d been sharing. The young woman smiled and held out her hand to the little girl. “It’s time to practise your spinning. Why don’t you come and show Dama Wynn and me how well your Aunt Lowena taught you?”

  Ceri glanced at Briallen, clearly hesitating. Then she wrinkled her nose. “Do I have to fetch my spindle?”

  Sewena smiled. “If you have your own, yes, please. I’d like to see it.”

  Ceri heaved a heavy sigh. “All right.” Then she looked at Briallen again. “Are you coming too?”

  Right now Briallen felt as if her whole life was spinning, but whether the yarn was twining together or unravelling fast around her feet, she was no longer sure. Seeing the expectant expression on Ceri’s face, though, she gave a wry smile. “Certain sure I am.” All the women on the farm spent every spare moment spinning, or so it often felt.

  “Yay,” Ceri cheered and dashed off into the house where Briallen used to live. For the first time Briallen didn’t really mind.

  Sewena watched the child go with a soft chuckle. “Looks like you’ve made a friend there.”

  Briallen smiled as Ceri re-emerged, spindle in hand. “Looks like I have.” And for the first time in two moons, she’d finally found something to feel happy about.