AILIG MAC FALAN sat across the table from Erea, his face strained, eyes gleaming.
“I’m sorry, lass.” His low voice had a rasp to it. “Not a day goes by when I don’t think of Olwen … of what I did to her.”
He and Erea sat at the chieftain’s table, but they were not alone. Tad sat at Erea’s side, and the chief, his wife, and Tad’s uncle Bevan had taken seats farther down the table—within earshot, but far enough away to give Ailig and Erea a little space.
There was no privacy, not in this hall where a sea of sleeping bodies carpeted the floor around the great hearth, in which the Mid-Winter Fire log now smoldered.
For once though, Erea did not want privacy. She had no wish to be alone with this stranger—and was glad of Tad’s silent, steadying presence by her side.
“Did you know my mother was with child when she left here?” she asked finally.
Now that the shock—and relief—at learning Fortrenn was not her father had subsided, anger had filled the void. She had not come with Tad to Dun Grianan with the intention of searching for her father. After what her mother had suffered, she’d wanted nothing to do with the man. And yet here he was before her, struggling to control his emotions as he apologized.
Erea clenched her jaw. His apology had arrived too late anyway. It was her mother who had needed to hear it.
Ailig shook his head. “No. I hadn’t any idea … I …” His voice trailed off here, and his gaze dropped to his hands, which were clenched around an untouched cup of ale.
Watching the man who was supposed to be her father, Erea found herself searching his face, as if looking for something in it that would make her warm to him.
He had a worn, tired face that would have once been handsome. Thin white scars crisscrossed over one cheek, although he had grown a beard to mask them. The serpent tattoo that curled down his right forearm was impossible to miss, however. Thick dark hair threaded with grey fell to his broad shoulders. He was a big man, even taller than Fortrenn and Tad, although of a stockier build. His eyes were easily his most striking feature—a vibrant dark blue.
So this is the man my mother gave her heart to?
“Ailig.” Tad’s uncle spoke up. Bevan was frowning. “Start at the beginning. The lass deserves to know the whole story.” This declaration drew a snort of derision from the chief, but Bevan ignored his brother, his attention upon Ailig unwavering. “Go on.”
Ailig drew in a deep breath and shifted his gaze back to Erea. “You’re so much like her,” he murmured. “When you entered the hall earlier, I thought I’d seen a ghost.” He broke off there and took a fortifying gulp of ale. “Olwen and I grew up together. She was orphaned as a child so my parents took care of her. We were close, even as bairns, yet I’d already been promised to another. As soon as I was of age, I wed my betrothed—my parents saw to it—for they realized that my heart belonged to another.”
Ailig broke off here, and he spared Tad a rueful glance. “I should have stood up to my father like you did … but I lacked the spine.”
His attention returned to Erea. She stared back, waiting for him to continue. So far she had not heard anything that made her like him any better.
“Olwen was different to other women,” he continued after a lengthy pause. “She was free-spirited and wild. She learned to be a healer but also showed skill as a bandruí too. Our fort’s seer had recently died, and she hoped to take the woman’s place.”
Grief constricted Erea’s chest at this news. She imagined what her mother would have been like as a girl, practicing her gifts of healing and far-sight in the village. She thought such abilities were treasured by folk—but obviously not in Dun Grianan.
“My betrothed was Fortrenn’s sister,” Ailig said, his voice changing as he shifted his focus away from Olwen. “She was a proud, vindictive woman who resented the bond Olwen and I shared.”
“Careful.” Fortrenn’s warning echoed down the table. “You will not speak ill of my sister … especially now she’s no longer here to speak up for herself.”
Ailig cast the chief a hard look, his jaw tightening. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know of her character,” he shot back. “Bradana hated Olwen … and it was her who started the rumors.”
A chill feathered across Erea’s skin. Finally, she was on the cusp of learning the truth about her mother’s exile. The mood at the table had changed; a tension now hung in the air. Beside Erea, Tad wore a frown, his gaze wary as it flicked back and forth between Fortrenn and Ailig. Fortrenn’s face was thunderous, his wife looked nervous, and Bevan wore a weary, resigned expression.
“What rumors?” Erea asked.
Ailig dragged a hand over his face. “Bradana and I were never happy together. She had not long given birth to our first bairn, a son, when we began to argue constantly. During that time, Olwen and I became even closer, and our relationship changed.” Ailig broke off, swallowing. “We became lovers.”
A long silence stretched out before Ailig ventured on. He stared down at his cup, a look of self-loathing upon his face. “We tried to hide our love, but in a fort this size it was impossible. When word of us reached Bradana, she never challenged me over it—instead, she mounted a campaign against Olwen. A sickness raged through the fort that winter. It claimed the lives of five bairns—my son’s included. Bradana was a clever woman—she used her grief as a weapon. She spread tales of Olwen being an evil sorceress who had cast a spell over Dun Grianan.”
Ailig broke off here, his gaze shifting back to Fortrenn. The chieftain was glaring at him, arms crossed defensively over his broad chest.
“She used you too.” Ailig said, his gaze unwavering as he stared the chief down. “Your daughter died of that sickness and Bradana preyed upon your grief. You wanted someone to blame for wee Fenella’s death. Your sister gave your rage a focus … Olwen.”
“The witch was to blame,” Fortrenn growled back. “You were just too besotted to care … she killed your first born son, but you didn’t want to see the truth.”
“The truth is that a sickness killed my son,” Ailig shot back. “I held my tongue all those years ago. A craven dog, I let you cast the woman I loved from the fort, let you turn everyone against her—but no more. There was no dark spell that raged through the broch that winter, just lies, blame, and hate.”
Ailig turned his attention back to Erea. Breathing shallowly, she held his gaze. Her heart pounded in her ears. She had known her mother was innocent, but Ailig’s story made her feel queasy.
She felt as if the world had just tilted, as if she was teetering on the edge of a precipice. She wanted to get to her feet and run, yet her limbs would not obey.
“I never spoke up,” Ailig continued quietly. “I let them cast Olwen out, and for a while I grieved … and then I told myself it was for the best.” His mouth twisted as he said those words. “But I’ve paid for my cowardice … many times over. Bradana bore me three more sons in the years that followed, but none survived past their first year. Bradana would have blamed Olwen for that too, if your mother had been here. Instead, it was my fault: I had brought ill-luck upon our family. Bradana herself died giving birth to the last bairn. My lingering memory of my wife is her cursing me with her last breath.”
Silence followed his words. Erea was sure many of the folk stretched out beneath the dais had heard every word and were now only feigning sleep. Heart pounding, she let her gaze shift to the three figures seated farther down the table.
“Did you know any of this?” she asked Tad, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I had no idea …” he replied, his tone subdued. “I would never have thought my aunt capable of that.”
“If she was angry with Ailig, she had the right,” Fortrenn cut in. “He made a fool of her.”
“So you don’t deny what she did?” Ailig challenged.
“I do!” Fortrenn roared back, slamming one heavy fist on the table. The noise woke all those who were not already awake. Folk sat up, blinking like sleepy owls, their gazes swiveling to the scene now playing out upon the dais at the far end.
“Fortrenn.” Tad’s mother, Colene, spoke up for the first time. Her pretty grey eyes were wide, frightened. “Please, don’t—”
“Silence, woman!” Fortrenn did not bother to look his wife’s way. Instead, his gaze was fixed upon Ailig. “Listen to you … even now that woman has a spell over you.” Fortrenn leaned forward, lip curling. “My sister could have done much better than you, but since our parents organized the match, she was forced to go through with it.” The chieftain’s gaze, hard with anger, swiveled to Erea. “Your mother ruined lives. She had to go.”
Erea stared back at Fortrenn, hating him in that moment. He knew the truth, she could see it in his eyes, yet he clung to the tale he wanted to believe. Her poor mother had never stood a chance against such prejudice.
“Fortrenn,” Colene interrupted once more, reaching out this time to put a cautioning hand upon his forearm. “Stop … please. You can’t—“
“Still your tongue.” Fortrenn rounded on his wife. “I’ve already warned you.”
“No, I won’t!” In an instant Tad’s mother transformed from a timid, soft-spoken creature, into a stiff-backed, outraged woman. Her face was bloodless, her gaze glittered. “You’re a blind fool, Fortrenn mac Nyle.” Her voice was shrill yet powerful. “I knew what your sister was—only, you refused to see her true nature. She caused endless trouble while she was alive … and even now, ten years buried, we aren’t allowed to speak the truth about her. I held my tongue then, but I won’t now. Open your eyes!”
Fortrenn gazed at her a moment, but as shock faded, anger kindled in his eyes.
Fear pricked within Erea, making her feel light-headed. She tensed, awaiting the moment the chieftain would lash out at his wife.
Perhaps sensing this, Tad’s uncle stepped in. Since forcing Ailig to speak openly earlier, Bevan had held his tongue. He broke his silence now. “Colene’s right,” he rumbled turning to Fortrenn. “We all stood back and let you cast Olwen out. It was far easier to blame those deaths on sorcery and not on the will of The Reaper. Olwen was causing a rift inside the broch—you just wanted rid of her, and Fenella’s tragic death was just the excuse you needed.”
Fortrenn glared back. “So the pair of you finally unite against me,” he snarled. “I always wondered when it would happen.”
Bevan did not reply, for the words were deliberately inflammatory. Instead, he steadily held the chieftain’s gaze. Watching them, it dawned on Erea that this meeting between her and Ailig had uncovered things that had long festered within this broch, things that had nothing to do with Olwen. It was a boil that needed to be lanced.
“Let the past lie, Fortrenn,” Colene said softly. The fire had gone out of her voice, yet her face still held an iron-hard determination. “None of this will ever bring our daughter back.”
Fortrenn shifted in his carven chair and met his wife’s eye. They stared at each other for a long moment, and Erea saw the tension in his broad shoulders slacken. “Fenella was my light,” he said, his voice suddenly rough, “my fairy lass. The world turned grey without her.”
Erea heaved in a deep breath. Her thoughts were in turmoil, and her belly had clenched in a hard ball. She glanced over at Tad and saw the shock and simmering anger in his eyes. Silently, she reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently.
Tad swallowed. “You were right,” he murmured, his voice a growl. “I’m so sorry for the ignorance of folk … we were all so happy to blame your mother.”
Erea swallowed and favored him with a brittle smile. “Aye … but the truth has now been freed. My mother’s name has been cleared.”
“Will you ever forgive me, lass?” Ailig’s softly spoken question made Erea shift her gaze to where the warrior still sat opposite her. Like everyone else at the table, he looked on the verge of tears. “I understand if you hate me … I deserve it.”
Erea blinked and reached up, brushing at the tears that now trickled down her cheeks. She wanted to snarl at this man, rage at him for his cowardice. Instead, she asked him a question. “After your wife died, you could have sought my mother out … you knew where to find her. Why didn’t you?”
He gave a sad smile. “I thought she’d hate me. After what I did to Olwen … after what I let my wife do. I didn’t deserve her.”
Erea held his gaze. Ailig’s weakness had disgusted her. How could he have let everyone turn on her mother like that? Yet staring into his eyes, still reeling after the conversation she had just observed, Erea felt something unexpectedly shift in her.
If there was a lesson to be learned from this tale, it was that things should not be hidden. Lies should not be allowed to take root and become the truth. Hatred was a venom, and she would not let it poison her life as it had the lives of so many others.
She had a choice to make. She could curse Ailig mac Falan, and continue the spiral of resentment that had led them all to this point—or she could attempt to understand him. Forgiveness might come later—if at all—but she would gain nothing by hating him.
She would only ultimately harm herself.
Silence stretched out a while longer, before Erea finally replied. “It’s Mid-Winter Fire Eve.” Her voice, although soft, carried in the stillness. “The Hag is looking down, watching over us all. It’s a night of new beginnings.” She watched a tear trickle down Ailig’s face. The pain in his eyes made her chest constrict. No, she could not hate him, despite what he had done. Instead, Erea reached out, placing a hand on his forearm. “Maybe we can start afresh … father?”
Ailig favored her with a soft smile. “I’d like that, lass.”