The chieftain of The Eagle and his wife rode back into Dun Ringill two days later. The defensive perimeter at Kil had been built and Galan had sent his men on to the next village while he returned home with his wife. He would join his men again soon enough—but for now it was time for Galan and Tea to bring news of their reconciliation home.
A feathery mist crept in from Loch Slapin this morning, curling around the fort’s stone bulk like smoke. The air was damp, reminding Tea that although spring was now not far away, winter still held The Winged Isle in its grip.
They rode in through the outer perimeter, and up through the collection of roundhouses. Ruith was there, scattering grain for her fowl. Upon spotting Tea, a wide smile split the bandruí’s face. She waved to them.
“Ruith will be insufferable over this, you know?” Galan told Tea as he waved back at the seer.
Tea looked away from Ruith and met his eye. “Why?”
Galan gave her a pained look. “Ruith cast the bones a few days ago, and saw the marks of The Eagle and The Wolf side-by-side with The Cauldron beneath them. She tried to tell me all was not lost, but I wouldn’t hear it.”
“Your bandruí is a wise woman,” Tea replied with a grin. “I’d advise you to listen to her in future.”
Galan smiled back. “I intend to.”
They rode up to the fort and dismounted in front of the entrance. Cal and Deri, who had been overseeing Dun Ringill in Galan’s absence, came out to greet them, as did Eithni.
Tea hugged her sister tightly, noticing that she did not feel as fragile as she had when Tea had arrived at Dun Ardtreck. She was still slender as a reed but Tea no longer felt as if hugging her would snap her. Eithni’s face was starting to fill out and the color was returning to her cheeks.
Eithni’s eyes glittered as she drew back from Tea. Her gaze flicked from her sister to Galan and a smile of pure, unselfish joy spread across her face.
“I was beginning to worry,” Eithni admitted, breathless from her run down the steps and across the yard to meet them. Shyly, she dropped her gaze before Galan, and Tea realized that this was one of the few times her sister had addressed him directly. “I’m so glad you have reconciled,” she murmured. “Tea was miserable without you.”
“That’s enough,” Tea cut in. The last thing she needed was Eithni to embarrass her. “Galan knows the story—there’s no need to repeat it.”
She glanced at Galan to see he was smiling. “Tea tells me you had a part to play in her returning to Dun Ringill,” he said. “I thank you for that.”
Tea watched her sister blush. She did not blame her; Galan had that effect on women.
“Eithni wishes to stay here with us,” Tea said, hooking her arm protectively through her sister’s. “I’d like her to, as well.”
“I won’t be a burden,” Eithni assured him, slightly nervous under the chieftain’s penetrating gaze. “I’m a hard worker.”
“She’s a gifted healer,” Tea added.
Galan’s smile widened. “Even if she was not, she would still be welcome here, Tea. She’s your kin.” He turned his attention back to Eithni. “You may have one of the alcoves inside the fort—or I can have a dwelling built for you in the village if you prefer.”
Tea watched a smile illuminate her sister’s face. “I would love a home of my own.”
Galan nodded. “Then you shall have one.”
That evening, Galan and Tea hosted a great feast. Barrels of ale, mead and wine were opened and the folk of Dun Ringill feasted on roast venison. Husband and wife sat together at the chieftain’s table and dined off the same platter, feeding each other slivers of meat and morsels of bread. They drank sloe wine from the same cup.
It was a significant meal, a re-creation of their handfasting feast all those months ago. That occasion had been tense and marred by decades of feuding—while this one was joyous and marked the beginning of a new life for them both.
Tea ate slowly, savoring the flavor of the roast venison. She had not been able to eat venison or drink sloe wine since her handfasting without being reminded of that evening, and the night that followed. For a long while she had wanted no memory of it, yet now things had changed.
When the oat-cakes, dripping in honey, were brought to the table, the feasters surrounding them cheered. One or two of the men hooted and called-out lewd comments.
“They’ve got good memories,” Tea muttered, staring down at the cake on the platter before them. She had forgotten that a good many of the warriors here had been at their handfasting.
“Aye—and if you keep blushing they’re not likely to let you forget it,” Galan teased.
Tea glanced up to see him grinning at her, not remotely embarrassed by the cat-calling and hooting that echoed around the feasting hall. At the end of the chieftain’s table, Eithni had gone pink in the face, while next to her Ruith wore a knowing smile.
Tea looked back at Galan and raised an eyebrow. “What do you suggest we do now?” she asked.
Her stomach fluttered at the smoldering look he gave her in answer. Galan then broke off a piece of seed cake and fed it to her.
Ignoring the cheering that now shook the rafters, Tea chewed slowly before she smiled back at Galan. “Well then, let’s give the crowd what they want.”
She reached out and caught his wrist, stopping his hand before he could lower it. Then she licked the honey from his fingers.
Initially, they had done this for show—to entertain the feasters—but as soon as Galan’s smile faded, Tea knew they were no longer acting. They had gone full-circle; only now things would be different.
This night would be a new start—a union untainted by blood feud.
Galan rose to his feet, bringing Tea with him. Then he scooped her into his arms. The revelers roared their approval, their cheers shaking the broch to its foundations. Ignoring them all, The Eagle chief turned his back on the feasting hall and carried his wife away to their alcove.
The End
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