WID AND HIS men left at dawn the following day.
Donnel and Eithni were awake to see them off, both wrapped in the fur cloaks The Wolf warriors had brought them. The ponies stamped and jangled their bits in the early dawn, keen to be away.
Eithni drew her cloak close; there was a definite nip in the air this morning. She stepped forward to say goodbye to her cousin as he finished tying the last of the packs to his saddle.
“I’m so glad you visited us, Wid,” she said softly. “When you see Tea again, tell her I am well … tell her not to worry.”
The Wolf chieftain turned to her, his green eyes shadowing. “You can tell her yourself,” he replied. “Come with us.”
She shook her head, not wanting to have the same argument with him as two days earlier. “I’m staying here. Tell Tea it’s my choice.”
He nodded, although she could see from the flexing of his jaw that he wanted to say more.
Wordlessly, Wid stepped close to Eithni and wrapped her in a fierce hug. “Go well, cousin,” he murmured into her hair.
“And you.” Eithni stepped back, her eyes misting.
Wid moved across to Donnel then, and the two men faced each other for a heartbeat before embracing like brothers. When Wid stepped back, his youthful face was more serious than Eithni had ever seen it.
“I shall say this only once, Donnel, for I know you don’t want to hear it. Pride has killed many a man … has turned the days of his life to dust and ruined any chance of happiness. I see that might happen to you. You have the chance to put things right … only you’ll have to humble yourself to do it.”
Wid broke off here, yet Donnel did not answer. To Eithni his face looked carved from granite in the grey morning light. She was pleased her cousin had spoken although she could see his advice had fallen upon deaf ears. She had already encountered Donnel’s stubbornness.
“Your fate is in your hands,” Wid said after a long pause. “Don’t wait till it’s too late.”
After Wid and his men had departed, the last of the ponies’ long tails disappearing into the trees, Donnel turned to Eithni. Feeling his gaze boring into her, Eithni tore her attention from the west and met his eye. She knew from the tenseness of his jaw and the hardness of his eyes that he was angry.
“Wid said you refused to go with him. Is that true?”
“Aye,” Eithni replied, holding his gaze. “It was my choice to make … wasn’t it?”
She watched him clench his jaw. “Winter is coming. Despite the supplies that Wid has left us, despite that I spend every day out hunting and you spend every waking moment storing food, it won’t be enough. You know that. You can’t stay here with me.”
Eithni folded her arms over her breasts, drawing herself up to face him squarely. “It has to be enough,” she countered. “There are only two of us to feed. I’ll not leave you here on your own.”
His mouth twisted. “I’m not a bairn. I can take care of myself. It’s you I’m concerned about.”
Irritation flared within Eithni. “I’m tougher than I look, and I’ll not abandon you. Wid respected my decision. Why can’t you?”
He glared at her, clearly infuriated by her defiance. Yet Eithni held firm. She would not be sent away.
Donnel stepped back from her. “Very well,” he replied, his voice hard and cold. “Be it on your head then.”
Eithni watched him stalk off, his back stiff with anger, before her gaze shifted west to where her kin had ridden away. It had been difficult to say goodbye to Wid and the other Wolf warriors, but her place was here.
Donnel would just have to accept that.
Eithni knew the moment she opened the door to the store hut that something was wrong. The sweet smell of rotting meat wafted out, hitting her in the face.
Eithni drew back, her bile rising at the stench. “Gods … no!”
“What is it?”
Donnel asked from behind her. He was crouched next to the fire pit, attempting to light the damp wood. It had rained overnight; the deluge had leaked through the turf roof of the hut in places. A heavy cloak of drizzle hung over the wooded valley this morning, bringing with it a damp cold that made Eithni’s limbs ache.
Eithni turned, her body tensing as she met his gaze. “The meat has gone off.”
“What?” He rose to his feet, his expression thunderous. “All of it?”
“I’m not sure.”
Together they hauled out the haunches of venison and boar that hung inside the store house and inspected them in the watery morning light.
It was not good. Over half the meat they had stored was rotting; some of it crawling with maggots.
Eithni looked down at a haunch of venison that was writhing with the little white worms. She swallowed, forcing down a wave of nausea. “How has this happened?”
“Damp has gotten into the store,” Donnel replied, his voice flat and bleak. “We mustn’t have sealed it properly.”
Eithni did not look his way as they carried away the ruined meat and rehung that which could be salvaged. She knew what he was going to say.
Ever since Wid’s departure over ten days earlier, relations between her and Donnel had been awkward. They spent most days apart, and whereas in the past she had looked forward to their mornings and evenings together, there was a growing tension between them.
After disposing of the rotting meat, they sat down next to the fire. Neither of them had much appetite after their discovery, so they merely broke their fasts with some weak broth. Eithni perched on a damp rock, her fur mantle around her shoulders, her fingers curled around the earthen cup she had made.
For the first time since coming to this valley, despair welled up within her. She actually felt like weeping over the ruined food, yet she did not. The tears would be weapons Donnel could use against her. She had to remain strong, stoic.
“Eithni,” he said finally, his voice gentle. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, she complied. He was watching her, those storm-grey eyes troubled. “You know what this means?”
Eithni clenched her jaw, stubbornness rising within her. “You’re wrong. There’s still enough for the winter if we’re careful. It’s still another moon till Gateway.”
She watched him sigh and rake a hand through his hair—it was a gesture she had come to know well. It warned her his patience was thinning.
“Come winter, food will be very scarce,” he replied. “The deer will move to lower ground, and there will be little for you to forage in the forest. We risk starvation. Wid won’t be at hand with supplies of oatcakes and boiled eggs to fill our bellies. He risked much coming here … if Galan ever found out it could jeopardize their relationship.”
She stared at him, hating him for his logic. She wanted to argue with him, deny his words, yet she knew in her heart he was right.
“What will we do?” she asked finally. “We can’t go back to Dun Ringill.”
“I can’t … but you can.”
She shook her head, stubbornness rising once more. “No. I won’t leave you.”
Donnel watched her steadily. “We’re not traveling down this road again. This isn’t about what either of us want … it’s about survival. I’ll not keep us out here in the wild without food.”
Eithni heaved in a deep breath. “I can see that … but Dun Ringill isn’t an option. Maybe we can go to Dun Ardtreck. Wid would happily take us in for the winter if we asked.”
His features tensed and a muscle bunched in his jaw. “Doing that could easily sour relations between The Eagle and The Wolf,” he pointed out. “I’ve already caused a rift with The Boar … I’ll not worsen the situation further.”
“We don’t have to make a decision right away,” Eithni replied. “The cold won’t settle in properly until after Gateway. Let’s see if we can replenish our stores before then.”
He gave her a rueful look. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”
She shook her head. Their gazes held, and she smiled. “A healer never does.”
Donnel walked through the dense stand of spruce, a bow slung over one shoulder and a quiver of arrows on his back. The sun warmed him, but the muscles in his shoulders and neck were tense.
He was in a bleak mood. After discovering half their meat store had gone off that morning, the day had not improved. He had been out hunting all afternoon, and the light was now starting to fade. He had not managed to catch anything; it was as if the forest creatures sensed his mood from afar and fled before he reached them.
Donnel paused, glancing around. This is hopeless.
Of course, it did not help that he was distracted. He kept thinking about their ruined food stores and the fact that he would soon need to make a decision about what to do over the winter.
Donnel exhaled loudly and glanced up at the darkening sky.
The way things were going, there was no way he and Eithni could remain in this valley over the winter. Snow often lay deep and heavy for many moons. He would not be able to hunt regularly, and Eithni would not be able to forage for food under a thick crust of snow. That was why their stores were so important.
Donnel turned on his heel and headed for home. His belly rumbled, and he wondered what Eithni was preparing for supper. It took him a while to reach their hut, for his hunting trips now took him far afield. As such, the light had almost faded when he caught the scent of woodsmoke and the aroma of roasting meat.
Donnel found himself smiling. Roast grouse.
Despite everything—despite the worries that would not let his mind rest—there was something about his life here in this forgotten valley with Eithni that he loved. It was easy to believe the rest of the world did not exist.
Things had not been easy, and Donnel was sure he had not been pleasant company at times. Yet he had come to enjoy the simplicity, the routine, of their days. He liked waking in the morning to the musical sound of Eithni’s humming outdoors, as she roused the fire pit and went about her first chores of the day. He enjoyed sitting by the fire inside the hut in the evenings, watching her sew and mend clothing while he whittled utensils out of wood. Living with Eithni was like living with a warm summer’s breeze. Her presence in his life brought sunlight into what would have otherwise have been very bleak days indeed.
He returned to the hut to find Eithni sitting on a rock near the fire, drying her hair. She had clearly just finished bathing in the stream, and as he approached, Donnel found himself imagining her standing knee-deep in the clear water, the last of the evening’s sun kissing her naked skin as she bathed. He imagined her nipples, pebble-hard in the cold air; and the nest of hair between her thighs. Would it be walnut brown like that on her head?
His body’s response was swift and violent.
Gods … what’s wrong with me?
He unslung his quiver and held it in front of him so that Eithni would not see the sudden bulge in his breeches. He had to stop these thoughts. His body did not seem to know the difference between what was real and what was not. One of these days he was going to embarrass himself.
“Evening.” Donnel sat down on a rock opposite, making sure to keep the quiver of arrows on his lap.
Eithni favored him with a warm smile and flicked her wet hair back off her shoulders. “Welcome home … how was your afternoon?”
“Long. Nothing … again.”
Her smile faded. However, she did not reply, and Donnel was grateful. There was no point going over what they had already discussed at length this morning. They would have to make a decision about what to do over the coming winter—but it would not be tonight.
To warm the mood, he forced a smile, his gaze going to the small bird that roasted over the coals. “You caught a grouse … well done.”
Her smile returned, and pride lit in those warm hazel eyes. “Aye … I finally learned how to use that sling-shot you made me.”