problems than it would solve.”
Aine smiled. She’d come to like these men, especially Pepin with his lilting accent and flirtatious charm. His endearment aside, he seemed to look on Aine with the distant affection of an uncle or older cousin. She couldn’t help thinking they were good men, despite their chosen profession.
“We should be reaching Forrais tomorrow,” Taran continued. “Prepare yourself. You may not be welcomed as warmly as your position demands. Concentrate on making allies among the household. Spread word of your return as quickly as possible. The more who know of your existence, the safer you are. You do have status as your father’s daughter, and as Macha’s heir.”
“Macha’s heir? What do you mean? I have two uncles still.”
Now it was Taran’s turn to look surprised. “You didn’t know? They died of the summer fever last year. Did no one send word to Seare?”
“They may have, but I’ve been on the battlefield for the past two years. The message must not have been passed along to me. Or perhaps we were so consumed with war that no one thought to convey the information.” What exactly did this mean for her? By the law of Aronan succession, she was next in line for clan leadership after Macha. Which left . . .
“Macha’s sons,” she murmured. “Should I die, all my property will pass to Macha’s family for dozens of years. Longer if they have children.”
“You see the danger,” Taran said softly.
The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. It had been about control of the clan and its wealth all along. Had her father not married Lady Ailís and had an heir, the succession would have passed to Macha and then directly to her sons, if only she managed to outlive her younger brothers. No wonder Macha had despised Aine and her mother. She must have had this planned since Alsandair’s first wife died childless.
Had Aine known any of this before, she might have had a chance to plan a strategy. She had no experience in the level of politics and scheming into which she was about to be thrown.
They reached the outskirts of Forrais’s village by noon the next day. After Seare’s decidedly rural bent, the activity of this small town took Aine aback. Smoke from the foundries and blacksmith shops stung her eyes, melding in her nostrils with the mellower scent of hay and livestock.
Further in, where the freestanding structures became more closely packed around the central lane, the scent of fresh-baked bread and roasting meat joined in. She wrinkled her nose against the faint undercurrent of sewage and rotting vegetables. More people meant more smell, and here in the crowded quarter beneath the great hill that housed the fortress, nearly half of the folk under Macha’s responsibility lived and worked together.
The main road took them to the base of that hill, where the group reined in abruptly.
“This is where we leave you, my lady,” Taran said.
Aine nodded, resisting the urge to ask them to stay. They had done enough for her already, far more than she had dared hope. “I thank you for your help, all of you. You did not need to bring me all this way, at no benefit to yourselves.”
To her surprise, Taran looked moved. “May Comdiu bless you, my lady.”
Her heart squeezed at his serious tone. She bowed her head in respect and then turned to Pepin.
The Merovian reined his horse near and bent over her hand. “Bless you, Lady Aine.”
“Thank you, Pepin.”
To her surprise, Sigurd dismounted and moved to her side. He engulfed her hand in his two large ones. “If things were different, my lady, it would be an honor to serve you.”
“The honor would be mine, I think.”
She couldn’t help feeling that something more should be said, but there was nothing else to express. She gave a nod and cued her horse up the winding road that led to the fortress.
She didn’t expect the sense of loss nor the surge of panic she felt at once again being alone. So much for
Aine smiled. She’d come to like these men, especially Pepin with his lilting accent and flirtatious charm. His endearment aside, he seemed to look on Aine with the distant affection of an uncle or older cousin. She couldn’t help thinking they were good men, despite their chosen profession.
“We should be reaching Forrais tomorrow,” Taran continued. “Prepare yourself. You may not be welcomed as warmly as your position demands. Concentrate on making allies among the household. Spread word of your return as quickly as possible. The more who know of your existence, the safer you are. You do have status as your father’s daughter, and as Macha’s heir.”
“Macha’s heir? What do you mean? I have two uncles still.”
Now it was Taran’s turn to look surprised. “You didn’t know? They died of the summer fever last year. Did no one send word to Seare?”
“They may have, but I’ve been on the battlefield for the past two years. The message must not have been passed along to me. Or perhaps we were so consumed with war that no one thought to convey the information.” What exactly did this mean for her? By the law of Aronan succession, she was next in line for clan leadership after Macha. Which left . . .
“Macha’s sons,” she murmured. “Should I die, all my property will pass to Macha’s family for dozens of years. Longer if they have children.”
“You see the danger,” Taran said softly.
The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. It had been about control of the clan and its wealth all along. Had her father not married Lady Ailís and had an heir, the succession would have passed to Macha and then directly to her sons, if only she managed to outlive her younger brothers. No wonder Macha had despised Aine and her mother. She must have had this planned since Alsandair’s first wife died childless.
Had Aine known any of this before, she might have had a chance to plan a strategy. She had no experience in the level of politics and scheming into which she was about to be thrown.
They reached the outskirts of Forrais’s village by noon the next day. After Seare’s decidedly rural bent, the activity of this small town took Aine aback. Smoke from the foundries and blacksmith shops stung her eyes, melding in her nostrils with the mellower scent of hay and livestock.
Further in, where the freestanding structures became more closely packed around the central lane, the scent of fresh-baked bread and roasting meat joined in. She wrinkled her nose against the faint undercurrent of sewage and rotting vegetables. More people meant more smell, and here in the crowded quarter beneath the great hill that housed the fortress, nearly half of the folk under Macha’s responsibility lived and worked together.
The main road took them to the base of that hill, where the group reined in abruptly.
“This is where we leave you, my lady,” Taran said.
Aine nodded, resisting the urge to ask them to stay. They had done enough for her already, far more than she had dared hope. “I thank you for your help, all of you. You did not need to bring me all this way, at no benefit to yourselves.”
To her surprise, Taran looked moved. “May Comdiu bless you, my lady.”
Her heart squeezed at his serious tone. She bowed her head in respect and then turned to Pepin.
The Merovian reined his horse near and bent over her hand. “Bless you, Lady Aine.”
“Thank you, Pepin.”
To her surprise, Sigurd dismounted and moved to her side. He engulfed her hand in his two large ones. “If things were different, my lady, it would be an honor to serve you.”
“The honor would be mine, I think.”
She couldn’t help feeling that something more should be said, but there was nothing else to express. She gave a nod and cued her horse up the winding road that led to the fortress.
She didn’t expect the sense of loss nor the surge of panic she felt at once again being alone. So much for
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