THE RAIN CLEARED as they rode back into Dun Ringill. A crowd awaited them, for news of Donnel and Eithni’s return had spread throughout the fort, and everyone was anxious to see the chief and his brother make peace.
Ruith was among the crowd, full of nervous excitement as she studied the faces of the riders who rode through the gate of the outer wall. She had cast the bones many times ever since they had returned from The Gathering but, strangely, they had not given her answers. Each time she had cast the bones and peered down at the symbols carved upon them, she had felt more confused.
Sometimes they spoke of harmony, other times of death and treachery.
It had boded ill as if the gods themselves had no idea what the future held.
However, when her gaze alighted upon Eithni, seated behind Donnel as they followed Tarl and Lucrezia through the gate, the knot of worry in the pit of her belly eased. Her practiced eye could see at a glance that something monumental had shifted in both of them.
Donnel was smiling again; the hard lines that had turned his handsome face savage were gone. Eithni was radiant: her skin glowing and her unbound walnut-colored hair flying in the wind. That reticence—that reserve—the girl had brought with her from Dun Ardtreck was gone. It was a woman, confident and at ease with herself, that returned home.
Ruith smiled and let the tension that had plagued her ever since returning from The Gathering seep from her. Then she turned, following the riders and the crowd of excited folk up the path back to the broch.
Donnel drained the last of the ale from his cup and pushed himself back from the table. After three huge bowls of boar stew and great slabs of buttered bread, he was now full.
“Where are you going?” Lucrezia, who sat to his right, asked. “We’ve still got plum and apple pudding. I made it myself.”
“I can’t eat another mouthful,” Donnel replied with a groan, rubbing his belly. “Please save me some.”
Next to Lucrezia, Tarl’s gaze narrowed. “Hold up … how about a game of knucklebones and another cup of ale?”
Donnel shook his head. “Later … there’s something I need to do first.”
Donnel turned to Eithni, who was seated to his left. “Will you come with me?”
Gaze curious, Eithni nodded before rising to her feet.
Leaving the others to their pudding, the pair of them left the broch, descended the steps to the stable yard, and made their way toward the stone arch leading into the village. Above them the last of the mist had lifted. The sun was warm on their faces.
“Where are we going?” Eithni asked, linking her arm through his.
“To make a visit long overdue.”
Her face softened in understanding. “To see Talor?”
“Aye—it’s time, don’t you think?”
Truthfully Donnel knew he had left this moment far too long. He did not like to think back on how he had shunned his son, for it filled him with shame. Luana would have been furious to see him behave so, but he had been so filled with hate at the world for taking her away from him that he had not cared.
He did now.
He was also nervous and a little embarrassed. Mael had taken his son in and was raising him along with her daughter as her own. The woman had her own grief to deal with; she had recently lost her husband and was now bringing two children up without assistance.
Donnel could not let things go on as they had been.
They crossed the village, making their way past clumps of low stone roundhouses built into the ground. Smoke rose from the roofs of many as the inhabitants were indoors having their noon meal—the largest meal of the day.
Mael’s dwelling was not far from where her old house had once stood. The roundhouse Maphan had built for her was no more—and in its place was a vegetable plot filled with turnips, kale, and onions.
Mael’s new roundhouse was smaller than the one she and her husband had shared. However, one glance at the neat rows of herbs, the clay pots of flowers, and the skins drying outdoors on racks, and Donnel could tell this was Mael’s home. She had always been an industrious woman.
They found her feeding the children turnip and onion pottage inside the smoky interior. Talor gnawed on a piece of bread while Ailene had succeeded in getting food all over her chubby face.
Donnel’s heart swelled at the sight of them.
Mael rose to her feet, a wide smile of welcome splitting her tired face. She was thinner than Donnel remembered, her blue eyes hollowed with grief. However, that smile had true warmth in it.
“Donnel! Eithni!”
Donnel stepped forward and embraced Mael before moving aside so that Eithni could greet her.
“How are you?” Eithni shifted back from Mael, her gaze searching her face.
Mael’s smile faded just a little. “Well enough.” She stepped back, motioning to Talor and Ailene. “The children are thriving as you can see.”
Donnel’s gaze returned to Talor. The lad, who was now approaching his second winter, stared steadily back at him with wide blue eyes.
Luana’s eyes.
Donnel had not spent much time gazing at his own reflection, having only glimpsed it occasionally in the still surface of the lake or the polished curve of a shield, yet he knew the lad looked a lot like him: the same thick black hair and the same shaped face and nose.
“Do you know who this is, Talor?” Mael asked gently.
The boy shook his head, his gaze still fixed upon Donnel.
Donnel’s chest constricted at the knowledge his boy did not recognize him, and yet he deserved no better. He had done his best to ignore Talor’s existence.
Moving forward, Donnel hunkered down before Talor so their gazes were level. “I’m your da.”
Talor’s bright blue eyes widened. “My da?”
“Aye, lad.”
“Remember, Talor. I said your father was a great warrior?” Mael interceded. Donnel could hear the tension in her voice, the embarrassment. She likely worried that Donnel would think she had never spoken of him to the boy.
Talor nodded, his face growing serious. His gaze took Donnel in, studying him from the crown of his head to the tips of his boots. By the time the lad had finished his inspection, he wore a stunned expression. Donnel had to remind himself that Talor was still very young. He was only just starting to form short sentences, only just beginning to become aware of the world beyond the roundhouse he shared with his cousin and aunt.
A lump rose in Donnel’s throat. It was not too late. Talor was not old enough to be angry and hurt by his rejection. They could start again.
He smiled at Talor. “How about a hug for your da then?” he asked, surprised that he was suddenly nervous. What if the boy did not want to go near him?
Talor did hesitate a moment before casting a glance in Mael’s direction.
“It’s fine,” Mael replied gently. “Your da has just gotten back from a long and difficult journey. He’d like a hug.”
Talor put down his piece of bread and tottered over to Donnel. The lad’s warm, firm body collided with Donnel’s, nearly knocking him onto his backside. Even small, the lad had strength to him. Talor’s arms encircled his neck. Donnel wrapped his own arms about his son and drew him into a hug.
He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears prick his eyelids. He could not believe he had denied himself this, cut himself off from his own flesh and blood. His grief and rage had truly blown him off course, but he had found his way home.
Eithni wiped away a tear as she watched Donnel hug his son. Next to her Mael was also weeping. Wordlessly Eithni reached out and put an arm around her friend’s shoulders. Mael’s thinness shocked her; the woman had always been slightly built, but now she felt as if she would snap. She made Eithni feel as if her own lean frame was well-padded.
Finally, Donnel released Talor from his hug and sat the lad back down to finish his meal.
Mael saw Donnel and Eithni outside, leaving the children within so that the three adults could speak privately.
“I’m glad you came today,” Mael said huskily. “Talor needs his father.”
“I’m sorry I waited so long,” Donnel replied, a rasp in his voice.
Mael met Donnel’s gaze. “I was happy to take Talor in. He’s a sweet-natured lad and good company for Ailene.” She broke off here, her blue eyes shadowing. “However, ever since I lost Maphan, I have found it difficult to cope …”
“We will help you,” Eithni said, stepping closer to Mael. “Whatever you need. You know you aren’t alone.”
Mael nodded, attempting a wobbly smile. Eithni’s heart hurt to watch her. Mael had always been so strong, so serene. Losing her husband had changed her. It should not have surprised Eithni, for she knew what grief did to people. She remembered how her father had transformed after her mother died and the fury that had consumed Donnel after losing Luana. They all dealt with it in different ways.
“I don’t know how to be a father,” Donnel said, casting his gaze back at the shadowed interior of the roundhouse where Talor and Ailene were still eating. “What if I make a mess of it? What if he grows up hating me?”
Mael huffed, wiping away the last of her tears. “None of us know what we’re doing … you just make it up as you go along.”
“You will be a great father,” Eithni added, meaning every word. “Talor is a lucky boy indeed.”
They left Mael to finish her noon meal and begin her afternoon chores, and began the walk back to the broch. However, half-way there, Eithni steered Donnel toward the outer wall—toward her hut. She had not been to visit it since their return, for there had not been time. Yet she wished to see it now.
Her dwelling looked as if Eithni had never been away. Even the garden out front was neat; someone had been tending to it.
She and Donnel walked down the path and let themselves in. The interior was exactly how she had left it over two moons earlier: her dried herbs, and pestle and mortar, still sitting on her work table. Her sleeping furs sat neatly folded in a corner, and the iron griddle where she cooked her morning oatcakes still hung over the fire.
Eithni turned to Donnel, studying his face in the light filtering in from the open doorway. “How I’ve missed this place.”
His mouth quirked. “Would you prefer us to live here then?”
She inclined her head. “Don’t you want to live inside the broch? You have your own alcove.”
He snorted. “It’s tiny … Tarl and Lucrezia sleep in my old alcove, but I’ve no wish to have it back. The broch’s too noisy anyway. I’ve gotten used to having space of my own. I’d like to live here.”
Eithni glanced around her. The interior of her humble dwelling suddenly seemed shabby and cramped. “Are you sure it’s not too small?” she asked.
“Possibly,” he admitted with a smile, “but I can extend it to give us some more space.” His smile faded then, and he stepped forward. “Would you mind if Talor came to live with us?”
He looked so worried; as if the request was unreasonable, and she would deny him. Eithni moved close, reaching up to stroke his cheek.
“Of course he can,” she replied softly, warmth flooding through her. “I don’t mind at all.”