Be With Me, Page 5

  Five

  “AND THAT’S HOW you spent your time on the island, was it, Elisud? Fishing?”

  Ia’s voice was the first thing to greet Briallen when she walked out of Dama Wynn’s home that evening, having just put her spindle and yarn away for the day.

  “Mostly,” agreed a warm, gentle voice. “I helped Dewydd with the planting and the harvest, but the rest of the farming tasks were his to do.”

  Briallen’s feet paused as she looked at the newcomer. Last night he’d been largely in shadow, thanks to the fire at his back, but tonight he faced the flames over which Ia’s was stirring the pot. The red-gold glow stroked a firm face a little past the kindness of youth. His skin was weathered by a life outdoors, but likewise warmed by a hint of the sun. His eyes were dark in the dancing shadows, matching the rich shade of his curly hair. He made Briallen’s breath catch and her heart jump.

  Because he was an unfamiliar man, she scolded herself, tucking her hair behind her ears and moving away from the door before Dama Wynn could stomp out behind her and make a scene. Yet as she made her way around the cook fire to where Talwynn and the other young farm girls were breaking up enough bread for everyone, Briallen couldn’t help stealing further glances at the mysterious Elisud.

  Unlike her recently departed Mewan, Elisud was older than her by a good few years, and his body was broad and strong from a life of work. Where her husband had been lean like the hunter he was, Elisud was solid and reassuring. There had always been a hint of wild restlessness in her husband that Briallen wasn’t certain could ever be tamed, but this Elisud was calm, peaceful, at ease within himself. It drew her, but not as Mewan had.

  Once she’d been almost awed by her husband and his vibrant liveliness. Just being near him had been exciting, as if anything could happen. She had wanted that passion for herself, had thought she’d got that when they married. But time and the ancestors had clearly had other plans for him.

  This Elisud was so different – perhaps that’s why she couldn’t stop looking at him. The way he lifted his arm to wrap around Ceri’s shoulders when his little girl dashed over to him made Briallen want to cry. Seeing him squeeze his daughter and kiss her on the forehead with such open affection set off a deep ache in Briallen’s heart. Gods and ancestors, how she wished she could be Ceri right now. To stand there with a strong, supportive arm snug around her, keeping her safe, so she could lay down her head and give up all the cares in her world.

  “We need more eggs.”

  Briallen blinked at the harsh voice interrupting her thoughts and frowned at Rosen. “Eggs?”

  “Yes,” the older woman snapped. “Get Talwynn to tell you where she put the rest. I’ve only got five here.”

  Wondering what had put her in a worse temper than usual, Briallen sighed and looked around for Talwynn. Finding her now helping her mother by the fire, Briallen finally allowed herself to draw closer to Elisud again.

  He was talking, his voice rolling over the words in a soothing way. “Lowena was just teaching my Ceri to spin, wasn’t she, puffin?” Elisud looked down at the child tucked beneath his arm, chuckling when she wrinkled her nose. “Or trying to, at least.”

  “And what of the livestock?” Ia asked, nudging Talwynn to hand her some herbs, sprinkling them into the pot over the fire. “Did Dewydd take care of them too?”

  “Oh no, we left the sheep to Demairo. No one could handle them better than him.”

  The clear pride in the man’s voice sent another pang through Briallen. What must it be like to grow up surrounded by such approval? Did the children have any idea how lucky they were? Pretty Ceri seemed so cheerful and secure in her father’s affection, that Briallen doubted the little girl understood her fortune. Young Demairo, however… She looked around for the boy and found him sitting at the edge of the light, far away from his cousins, with only one of Kensa’s old hounds for company.

  “Briallen, the eggs!” Rosen’s shrill voice once again shook her from her thoughts. Shaking her head, Briallen caught Talwynn’s attention long enough to discover that the eggs were precisely where they always were – in a basket inside Dama Wynn’s house.

  “Shall I fetch them for you, Aunt Bria?” Talwynn asked, since Rosen was busy scolding someone else for the moment.

  “No, I’ll get them,” Briallen assured her with a smile. It would be the work of a moment to slip into the house, find the eggs and return, but walking away from that warm voice was almost painful. What was it about this man?

  Scowling, Briallen stomped inside the house, muttered a greeting to Sira Wynn, who was toasting his feet by the hearth fire, grabbed the eggs and marched out again. She almost collided with Dama Wynn in the doorway.

  “Wisht, and where are you off to in such a rush, mowes?” the indomitable old woman demanded.

  Briallen’s mouth twisted into a wry grimace. Only Dama Wynn could call a grown woman girl and get away with it. “Rosen needs more eggs.”

  Dama Wynn’s sharp old eyes flicked down to the basket and up to Briallen’s face again. “Certain sure my Rosen needs something, but I don’t think eggs will cover it. Tempting though it would be to crack some on her and see.”

  There wasn’t a hint of a smile on that aging face or a glint of humour in those keen eyes, so Briallen bit back her own smile. Dama Wynn was a brusque, fierce old woman, but this wasn’t the first time Briallen had suspected her of having a wicked sense of humour. Pointing that out, though, was a sure fire way to end up with the worst chores on the farm. Instead she bowed her head, mumbled some nonsense and rushed over to Rosen – who was calling her name again.

  “Well, finally. I was thinking I’d have to go shake fresh ones out of the chickens myself! Now go take them to Sewena.”

  Briallen barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Of course Rosen wasn’t taking part in the cooking. Just as she couldn’t go looking for the eggs herself, or fetch fresh ones from the hens. Such things were too much like work.

  “What’s bitten her rump?” Sewena muttered as Briallen put the basket down by her feet. “She’s worse than a badger with a mouthful of wasps.”

  Gwennik, Ors’ oldest daughter, giggled. “Elowen and Mihal pushed Senara in the river this afternoon. She came home dripping wet and snivelling. Aunt Rosen was furious. The others have been hiding in Da’s forge ever since.”

  Briallen couldn’t help but chuckle, while Sewena bit back her own smile to say, “Why did they do that? You children all know the river is dangerous.”

  Gwennik ducked her head, pulling on a strand of her fiery red hair. “I know, but the three of them were supposed to be watching the sheep and Senara wasn’t doing her share. When the others tried to make her she said something rude about Aunt Ia, and, and then she s-said something m-mean about M-mam.”

  “Then a dunking was too good for her,” Sewena sighed, gathering the visibly upset girl into her arms.

  Briallen watched them together and wondered why she hadn’t reached out first. Gwennik’s face had gone from red at the slight reprimand to white with distress, her eyes shining with tears. As well they might, since Gwennik’s mother had died shortly after giving birth to Elowen, leaving the two girls and their older brother to their father’s care. Even six years on, the loss was still keenly felt around the farm, yet Briallen hadn’t reached out.

  “There now,” Sewena soothed, rocking the girl in her arms and stroking her hair. “You know better than to listen to anything they have to say.” They being Rosen’s four daughters, even little Eseld, who despite being barely two years old was already behaving just as badly as her older siblings. “Besides, Mihal and Elowen soon sorted her out.”

  Watching the two of them comfort each other, Briallen stepped back, in mind and body. Much though she liked Gwennik and most of the children on the farm, she simply could not bring herself to reach out, to exchange the cuddles and affectionate touches that everyone else did so easily. She didn’t think she’d always been like that, but whenever she trie
d to remember a time before Mewan died, she couldn’t remember ever being different.

  When had she changed? When had she withdrawn into herself to the point where she could no longer remember the last time she’d held someone, anyone close? And yet, as she turned in search of a distraction, her eyes fell on the new boy once more and again she felt the need to go to him, to get past the distance in his eyes and take away his sadness.

  Her hands flexed by her sides, kneading the empty air, and suddenly the world felt like it was shrinking, squeezing the air from her chest, making the firelight waver before her eyes.

  “Briallen?” a voice murmured from far off. “Are you well?”

  “F-fine,” she stammered, staggering away, somewhere, anywhere, heading for the shadows where the light didn’t pulse and she might be able to breathe.

  “Briallen!” the voice was sharp, but even as she turned to respond her legs turned to water and everything stopped. She fell into darkness.

  “BRIALLEN!”

  The sharp cry broke through Elisud’s conversation with Ia and he turned just in time to see a woman fall to the ground.

  For a moment no one moved, they all just stared at the pale hair fanned out across the ground.

  Then a sharp movement broke the spell. Elisud looked at Demairo. He was standing up, eyes wide, hands bunched at his sides; Briallen had fallen right in front of him.

  Cursing under his breath, Elisud gently shifted Ceri aside and strode across the farmyard. Others were moving now, crowding around Briallen and calling her name, shaking her, asking if she was all right. Ignoring them, Elisud dropped to his knees before his nephew instead, taking his face in his hands and forcing those wide eyes to meet his.

  “Mairo,” he said firmly over the confused babble. “Look at me, Mairo. Look at me!”

  Grey-green eyes blinked and refocused, staring straight at Elisud for the first time in days. The boy’s lips moved, but there was no sound. He stopped, swallowed and tried again. Elisud had to lean in close to hear him.

  “Help,” he whispered, voice cracked and broken from distress and disuse.

  Elisud wrapped Demairo in his arms, hugging him hard against his chest. “I will,” he promised. “Just tell me what to do, Mairo. Tell me how to help.”

  Demairo shook his head hard against Elisud’s chest and tried again. “H-help… her. Help her. Please.”

  Surprised, Elisud pulled back, but those pale eyes were full of entreaty. “All right,” he said. “But you have to help too.”

  The boy nodded and Elisud’s lips twisted in a wry smile as he turned to push through the babbling crowd, fussing like a flock of useless chickens around Briallen’s slumped form. “Give her air,” he ordered, stooping to slip his hands beneath the woman’s sprawled limbs.

  Bracing himself against her weight, he lifted and almost stumbled with surprise at how light she was. Considering she wasn’t that much shorter than Elisud himself, this woman was clearly in need of a few good meals. She hung limp in his arms, head falling back over his arm, her golden hair trailing almost to the ground.

  A firm hand wrapped around his upper arm, squeezing to get his attention. “Bring her inside,” Dama Wynn ordered, snapping at everyone else to move since that’s all they were good for. With Demairo on one side and a silent Ceri on the other, Elisud followed Dama Wynn into the biggest roundhouse on the farm.

  Inside, a large fire roared in the central hearth, while several beds were tucked away around the walls. The rest of the space was filled with weaving looms, general farm clutter and Sira Wynn snoring, slumped over on his seat.

  At their entrance the old man roused with a snuffling snort. “What now?” he demanded groggily.

  “Nothing to worry yourself about, old man. Sleep on while we do the real work,” Dama Wynn grumbled, stumping past him and pointing to one of the smaller beds. “That’s hers. Lay her down and let’s take a look at her.”

  Elisud did as he was told, stepping back to join the children, who both pressed against his side until he put his arms around them.

  “Is she… is she d-dead?” Ceri asked, hushed and frightened.

  “Fainted,” Dama Wynn corrected.

  “She was unwell this morning,” Sewena said, rushing into the house and over to Briallen’s bedside. “I don’t remember seeing her eat anything all day.”

  “Light-headed fool,” Dama Wynn tutted. “No wonder she fainted then. This is no time for her to be fasting.”

  The two women shared a knowing glance that left Elisud completely in the dark, then Dama Wynn covered Briallen with a blanket. “Well, there’s nothing to be done until she wakes. Best leave her be now.” Ordering Sewena to sit beside the silent woman, Dama Wynn shooed Elisud and the children towards the door.

  “Will she be all right?” Ceri asked, looking back over her shoulder as they were herded back outside.

  “Certain sure. Once she wakes and eats something, she’ll be as right as you by tomorrow.”

  “Promise?” she whispered, biting her trembling bottom lip.

  Even stern Dama Wynn was not immune to Ceri’s big brown eyes, and she gave a small smile. “Promise,” she said, voice verging on warm. “Now, if my old nose doesn’t deceive me, and it rarely does, I think those mushrooms are ready. Why don’t we go ask your Aunt Ia to give us some?”

  “Yes, please,” Ceri murmured, but clung to her father’s hand as they made their way over to the cook fire where most of the family had gathered to gossip.

  Elisud followed, since he had no choice, but the moment Dama Wynn’s back was turned Demairo slipped out of his uncle’s hold and darted back inside the house. Elisud let him go. If Demairo was taking an interest in his surroundings once more, who was he to stop him?

  Besides, Briallen could do with a few more people looking after her. So he said nothing, just took his share of the evening meal and watched with amusement as Ceri tried to decided if she liked mushrooms or not.

  BRIALLEN OPENED HER eyes and frowned at the pale beams overhead. Her head pulsed with pain, making her squint as she tried to remember how she’d got here. The last thing she recalled was watching Sewena and Gwennik, then she turned, and then… and then… Nothing.

  Shutting her eyes again, she sighed and rubbed her forehead. The bed shifted and her eyes snapped open. She wasn’t alone; the new boy, Demairo, was sitting by her side. He glanced at her before looking swiftly away. Taking a deep breath, he looked at her again, pale eyes exploring her face, his expression anxious. Dim firelight flickered between them, made up mostly of shadows, but Briallen could see he was worried.

  “Hello,” she whispered.

  He swallowed, his lips moving softly, but no words came out. Huffing with frustration, he hopped off the bed. Briallen was sad to see him go and struggled to sit up, wanting to call him back, not wanting him to leave so soon. Before she could sort herself out, however, he returned, a bowl in his hands. He offered it to her, then pulled at the bedding behind her back, helping to make her more comfortable.

  “Thank you.”

  He gave her the ghost of a smile, then pointed at the food. Briallen’s stomach snarled in agreement, making her chuckle. “You don’t have to tell me twice,” she assured him, digging in.

  The venison was a little tough from having been dried and stored, but the mushroom broth that went with it was warm and soothing. A hint of herbs and other delicate flavours showed Ia’s hand in the cooking, and suddenly Briallen was ravenous. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this hungry. First had come Mewan’s death, then the babe had done its absolute best to make sure she never kept a mouthful down without a fight. Tonight, though, the life in her belly was silent, allowing her to eat her fill.

  She cleaned her bowl with a regretful sigh, scooping up every last drop with her spoon and wishing she could have had more. That thought had barely passed through her head before Demairo was offering her a second bowl.

  “Gods and ancestors, what good deed sent you to
me?” she laughed, swapping bowls and digging in. The boy smiled shyly, ducking his head.

  It made Briallen pause, setting the bowl on her lap so she could reach out and stroke his gleaming curls. Demairo froze at her touch, and inwardly Briallen marvelled at her own daring. She was rarely affectionate, but now, here in this dark house with more shadows than light, she dared to stroke the boy’s soft hair, wanting to thank him when words were not enough.

  Her hand trailed through the tangled curls, her fingers sinking into their softness and down, until they reached his shoulder and her touch slipped away. They both sighed at the same time, making Briallen realise she’d been holding her breath. As he had.

  Demairo gave a soft shudder and looked at her, pale eyes glinting with unshed tears.

  “I’m sorry,” Briallen whispered, not for touching him, but for whatever memory had caused him so much pain.

  With a jerky nod, he hugged the empty bowl against his chest and skittered out of reach. Then he pointed at the still full bowl on her lap.

  She smiled and lifted her spoon again. Her stomach gurgled greedily, but though Briallen was still hungry, she no longer savoured her meal as much as before. Instead she watched as Demairo shifted from foot to foot and glanced towards the door.

  “You don’t have to stay,” she assured him softly. “I would never try to cage a bleydhik.”

  His head tilted at a curious angle, not needing any words to ask his question.

  “Little wolf,” she explained, smiling as she realised just how well that name suited him. “You are like a little wolf to me. Barely tame, longing to escape.”

  His feet stilled and he no longer glanced at the door. Head still tilted, he seemed to think about her words for a moment, then nodded with another shy smile. He pointed at the bowl again.

  Pleased at this small sign of progress, Briallen set about her meal once more, eyes down, but every other one of her senses was focused on the boy beside her. And when, as she seemed to ignore him, he drew cautiously closer again, she fought down a smile. The moment he sat back on the bed beside her, made her want to grin. But she didn’t, because her bleydhik was trusting her and she didn’t want to frighten him away again.

  So she finished her bowl instead and let him take it from her hands, while an enormous yawn swept over her. Exhaustion pounced as if all it had been waiting for was the end of her meal. “Thank you, Bleydhik,” she muttered, smiling as he pushed at the bedding piled at her back, flattening them out so she could lie down. “You’re very good at this.”

  He just pulled the blankets over her shoulders and watched her worriedly.

  “It’s all right,” she promised. “I’m only tired.” And her back ached, along with the dull throb that continued in her head, but she didn’t think he needed to know that. “I just need to sleep. I’ll be well by morning.”

  Though he looked doubtful, he didn’t protest, just picked up the rope of her braid from where it dangled off the bed and carefully laid it over her shoulder.

  “Good night, Bleydhik,” she whispered, eyelids drooping against her will. As she drifted towards sleep she thought she heard the smallest whisper wishing her a good night in return, but she was so tired that it could have been the fire for all she knew.