Night fell over the Minginish Peninsula of The Winged Isle. Mist had rolled in just before dusk, settling softly over the craggy cliffs around Dun Ardtreck. The broch perched, cold and silent over the empty fort and the clusters of round houses and huts that carpeted the slopes below.
Indoors, the mood was no less somber.
Galan and his warriors sat at the chieftain’s table with Tea and Eithni, listening in silence as Tea recounted what had happened here. Ashen-faced servants moved around them, bringing ewers of wine and bowls of turnip and barley pottage to the table.
Galan listened intently, the pottage he had just eaten churning in his belly as Tea spoke of Forcus’s treachery. He had not realized that Tea and Forcus had once been lovers. If Tea had told him earlier, he might have felt a stab of jealousy. But there was no time for that now; Tea’s tale made everything else fade into the background—and when she finished an uncomfortable hush settled.
Next to Galan, Ru shifted on the bench, casting his chief a pained look. None of them knew what to say. Sometimes, the best answer was merely silence.
Galan looked down at his barely touched cup of ale, considering everything that Tea had told him. Forcus had deserved a worse end than the one he had received for all he had done. He had raped and murdered Tea’s mother, raped her sister and slain her brother. Galan now understood the rage he had seen on her face as she killed the warrior, and the grief that had consumed her afterward.
Mingled with shock, however, he felt a strange sense of relief.
His father was innocent.
Self-reproach swiftly followed on the heels of his relief when he realized that Tea’s discovery was far worse for her than the belief that Muin mac Uerd had murdered Fina. It had been easier to believe The Eagle chieftain, an enemy of their tribe, had done it. Knowing that one of their own, a man who her father and brother had trusted implicitly—and her former lover—had turned on them was much harder to accept.
Galan glanced up, his gaze resting on Tea’s face. She did not look at him—in fact, she had barely met his eye since his arrival here. He knew she was avoiding him deliberately, and that they would need to speak in private soon. Still, he had been waiting till he knew what had happened here, so that he could start to make sense of the events of the past few days.
“I’m sorry, Tea,” he said finally, his gaze flicking between her and Eithni. “For you both.”
Tea’s sister sat hunched under a thick fur mantle, her small, thin body trembling. Galan clenched his jaw at the sight of her shock and distress; he could see that Forcus had damaged her. He remembered seeing Tea’s sister at the handfasting, but he did not recall her being so timid. Ever since his arrival, Eithni had cringed away from him and his warriors. He had seen the fear in her eyes.
Tea nodded, still not meeting his eye. The bowl of turnip pottage before her had started to grow cold. “So now you know,” she said, her voice toneless, her dark blue eyes empty. “Your father was not to blame after all.”
Galan deliberately held his tongue here. It would not be wise to answer her. Despite her pale, shocked appearance, rage still pulsed within Tea. She was looking for an excuse to explode, to lash out, and he did not blame her. Tea’s anger would need to be released, just not here in front of her sister and his men.
Tea wrapped a fur cloak around her shoulders, drawing the heavy warmth close, and left the broch. Behind her, a carpet of figures lay sleeping on furs around the fire pit, yet she could not sleep.
Leaving the broch, she crossed the yard. Galan’s warriors had lit two peat braziers, illuminating the misty darkness. The outlines of Eagle men and women keeping watch moved in the shadows, but Tea ignored them.
Instead she climbed the stairs to the stacked-stone outer wall of the fort. The air smelt of brine and was heavy with moisture. Around her, the thick mist pressed in, tendrils drifting like smoke across the slick stone.
Tea barely noticed any of it; her thoughts had turned inward. She stared out into the night and tried to control the seething rage and grief that still cramped her belly. Weeping had brought little relief—her tears had burned away now leaving an aching hollow in the center of her chest.
Forcus had destroyed her family.
She wished she could have killed him ten times over for his crime, yet that would not be enough. Vengeance would not give her Loc or her mother back—or have mended her father’s broken heart.
Tea inhaled deeply and turned her face to the sky. A light misty rain had started to fall. It settled on her skin in a cool balm. Somewhere beyond that porridge-like fog there would be a full moon tonight.
“The Mother give me strength,” she murmured. Tea’s life had never been an easy one, but she had never been tested as much as now.
The scrape of a footstep on stone alerted her that she was no longer alone.
Tea’s eyes snapped open, and she turned to see a man’s shadowy outline mount the steps behind her. Galan approached.
Drawing her mantle tighter around her, she waited for him. The faint glow of the braziers was behind him, casting his face into darkness, but she sensed his purpose. She had known he would seek her out so that they could speak alone.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” he greeted her quietly, his voice a low rumble. The sound of it caressed Tea, causing the tension in her shoulders to ease slightly. Her reaction to him made anger stir in her already knotted belly. She cursed her body’s response to this man; he had always been able to work magic upon her.
“No,” she replied before turning her attention back to the darkness beyond. The mist was so thick she could not even see the fires of the settlement below. The crash and hiss of waves on the rocks beneath the fort reached her; a sound she would forever associate with this place. The sound of her childhood. “Is the fort secure?” she asked finally.
“Aye. Those we didn’t kill, threw down their arms when they saw the fight was lost. I’ve left some men in the village as well so we’ll have some warning if more of Forcus’s warriors return.”
They lapsed into silence then and stood for a while upon the wall, listening to the night. Eventually, the silence stretched out so long that Tea inclined her head toward him. Was he ever going to speak?
“I wronged you, Tea,” he said finally, “and I’m sorry for it.”
Here it was—the barrier that now lay between them like a great mountain.
“It took so little for you to turn against me,” Tea replied, glad that the darkness hid both of their faces. She did not want to see the contrition on his face, or for him to see the pain on hers. She inhaled deeply, forcing down her fury. She would not lose control, even though she felt like raging at him. “When you heard about the raiders you were only too ready to think the worst of me, and of Loc.”
“You’re right to be angry,” he replied, speaking slowly as he considered his answer. “There is no excuse I can make.” He paused here, and although they stood at least three feet apart, Tea sensed his tension, the intensity of the emotions he held in check.
She watched him in the darkness, and saw him reach up and drag a hand through his unbound hair. It was a gesture she had come to know well; one he only made when upset.
“I used to look down on my father for his blind pursuit of vengeance,” he admitted finally. “I saw his behavior as weak, narrow-sighted. When he died and I took his place I told myself I would be different—fair-minded and wise—that I would not make his mistakes. I would rule with my head, not my gut.” He broke off here, the intensity of his gaze pinning Tea to the spot, even in the darkness. “That was my arrogance, my mistake. When it comes down to it, we’re all animals, we all act on instinct when threatened. For all my high words and lofty ideals, the moment I felt my people were threatened I let instinct take over.”
Tea listened quietly. She knew how proud Galan was—to admit his failings to her was hard for him, but it did not change what had been done.
“I understand that,” she replied, “but the fact remains that you turned on me. How do I know you won’t do so again?”
Her words sounded flat and harsh in the damp, dark stillness. Galan stepped closer to her. “I won’t.”
She shook her head, her throat closing as her anger bubbled up. “You think you can bend me to your will,” she ground the words out between clenched teeth, “but your words come too late.”
He reached out, his hand clamping down over her arm, his grip firm and strong. “You’re my wife, Tea. I’d drown the world in blood and then set it alight to make you happy. Don’t you understand?”
She stared up at him, her pulse thundering in her ears. “I’m no longer yours, Galan. Go back to Dun Ringill with your warriors—I’m staying here. My people need me now, more than ever.”
His grip on her arm tightened. She could feel the panic in him, the turmoil churning just beyond that cool, contained shield he wore. She was close to breaking it down.
“When I return home, I’m taking you with me,” he growled. “I didn’t come here to face your brother’s killer—I came here for you.”
She tore her arm from his grip, hurting herself in the process. She did not care; the pain only galvanized her. “It was a wasted trip.”
Tea brushed past him and ran down the steps into the yard below. Her heart was pounding now, for she expected him to follow her, to catch her so he could plead, cajole and argue with her.
But he did not.
Tea ran to the stables, past the line of ponies that dozed in the stalls. She recognized Faileas and the other ponies of Dun Ringill but kept going until she reached the stall at the far end where her bad-tempered dun mare stood. The pony snorted as Tea entered the stall, but for once did not flatten her ears back or try to bite her.
Tea would not have cared if the pony had. Gasping for breath, for it now felt as if the night was closing in on her, she sank against the mare’s fury neck, burying her face in its mane. She had thought she had exhausted the well of tears inside her, but it appeared she had not.
Not caring who heard her, Tea wept.