slightly. Aidan maneuvered his mount forward so he was beside me; Doran fell back to ride with Sibeal.
“Clodagh?”
I glanced across at Aidan. Was he going to launch into his explanation already? For a moment I wondered if the disappearance of the children, followed by Cathal, had all been part of a grand plan leading to this moment.
“Yes?” I asked coolly, though all of a sudden my heart was racing.
“I know you don’t want to listen to this,” Aidan said awkwardly. “You’ve put me off time after time. It saddens me that you won’t even play music with me anymore. I don’t believe I deserve that. I’m not a liar, Clodagh. Please let me explain to you.”
“Very well,” I said, hoping Sibeal and Doran were not close enough to overhear. I would not turn my head to look; that would be too obvious.
Aidan cleared his throat. “I’ve practiced this in my head every day since Cathal told you about Rathnait, the girl at Whiteshore,” he said. “But it’s not going to come out right, I know it. Clodagh, Rathnait is only twelve years old. My father and her father made an arrangement years ago that she and I would eventually wed and so strengthen the tie between their adjoining holdings. Rathnait is a shy child, years away from being ready to marry. I’ve never been able to view her as a prospective bride. She’s the little girl next door, playing with her dolls, running about the garden with her terrier, hiding behind her mother whenever the family visited Whiteshore. I’m a grown man, Clodagh. In autumn I’ll be one-and-twenty. I’m a warrior. I’ve killed men, I’ve weathered battles, I’ve traveled far from home and witnessed strange and terrible events. When I sing love songs, I put a grown man’s passion into them, not the dreams of a child.”
“But you’re still betrothed to her,” I said as we rounded a bend in the track and came in sight of a gushing waterfall between young oaks. In truth I felt considerable sympathy for him, especially in the light of how upset he had been earlier, in the stables. “Your father and her father expect you to marry. Maybe she’s only twelve, but little girls do grow up. In four years or so she’ll be ready for a husband and children and her own household.” Even as I said this, I recognized that most men would prefer to be married well before the age of five-and-twenty. Such were the risks to a young warrior in battle that men like Aidan generally preferred to sire children early. The single status of Johnny, who was two-and-twenty, a leader of men and a chieftain’s heir, was considered unusual.
“It’s true, that is the arrangement our fathers planned,” Aidan said. “But nothing’s signed and sealed. The fact is, my father could extricate me from the agreement easily. Especially if the bride I suggested had better prospects than Rathnait’s.”
I turned a questioning gaze on him and he blushed scarlet. “Prospects?” I queried.
“Gods aid me,” said Aidan, “this is like wading through a bog with lead boots on. All my skills with words seem to have deserted me. If I could put it into a song, Clodagh, I would express myself a great deal less awkwardly.”
I suppressed a smile. “No songs are necessary,” I said. “Just explain clearly what you mean. And hurry. I can’t see any sign of Cathal or the children and I’m getting worried.”
“My father would require me to marry a girl whose birth was equal to, or higher than, my own—the daughter of a chieftain at least,” he said. “He plays no part in the territorial struggles of this region: Whiteshore is too far west for that. But he would make an excellent ally for a chieftain of Ulaid, whether it be Lord Sean or another. He has considerable influence in Connacht, and the leaders there play their parts in the councils of the High King. In his turn, Father would welcome an ally in the east, someone in the mainstream of political affairs. Were I to present Father with the
“Clodagh?”
I glanced across at Aidan. Was he going to launch into his explanation already? For a moment I wondered if the disappearance of the children, followed by Cathal, had all been part of a grand plan leading to this moment.
“Yes?” I asked coolly, though all of a sudden my heart was racing.
“I know you don’t want to listen to this,” Aidan said awkwardly. “You’ve put me off time after time. It saddens me that you won’t even play music with me anymore. I don’t believe I deserve that. I’m not a liar, Clodagh. Please let me explain to you.”
“Very well,” I said, hoping Sibeal and Doran were not close enough to overhear. I would not turn my head to look; that would be too obvious.
Aidan cleared his throat. “I’ve practiced this in my head every day since Cathal told you about Rathnait, the girl at Whiteshore,” he said. “But it’s not going to come out right, I know it. Clodagh, Rathnait is only twelve years old. My father and her father made an arrangement years ago that she and I would eventually wed and so strengthen the tie between their adjoining holdings. Rathnait is a shy child, years away from being ready to marry. I’ve never been able to view her as a prospective bride. She’s the little girl next door, playing with her dolls, running about the garden with her terrier, hiding behind her mother whenever the family visited Whiteshore. I’m a grown man, Clodagh. In autumn I’ll be one-and-twenty. I’m a warrior. I’ve killed men, I’ve weathered battles, I’ve traveled far from home and witnessed strange and terrible events. When I sing love songs, I put a grown man’s passion into them, not the dreams of a child.”
“But you’re still betrothed to her,” I said as we rounded a bend in the track and came in sight of a gushing waterfall between young oaks. In truth I felt considerable sympathy for him, especially in the light of how upset he had been earlier, in the stables. “Your father and her father expect you to marry. Maybe she’s only twelve, but little girls do grow up. In four years or so she’ll be ready for a husband and children and her own household.” Even as I said this, I recognized that most men would prefer to be married well before the age of five-and-twenty. Such were the risks to a young warrior in battle that men like Aidan generally preferred to sire children early. The single status of Johnny, who was two-and-twenty, a leader of men and a chieftain’s heir, was considered unusual.
“It’s true, that is the arrangement our fathers planned,” Aidan said. “But nothing’s signed and sealed. The fact is, my father could extricate me from the agreement easily. Especially if the bride I suggested had better prospects than Rathnait’s.”
I turned a questioning gaze on him and he blushed scarlet. “Prospects?” I queried.
“Gods aid me,” said Aidan, “this is like wading through a bog with lead boots on. All my skills with words seem to have deserted me. If I could put it into a song, Clodagh, I would express myself a great deal less awkwardly.”
I suppressed a smile. “No songs are necessary,” I said. “Just explain clearly what you mean. And hurry. I can’t see any sign of Cathal or the children and I’m getting worried.”
“My father would require me to marry a girl whose birth was equal to, or higher than, my own—the daughter of a chieftain at least,” he said. “He plays no part in the territorial struggles of this region: Whiteshore is too far west for that. But he would make an excellent ally for a chieftain of Ulaid, whether it be Lord Sean or another. He has considerable influence in Connacht, and the leaders there play their parts in the councils of the High King. In his turn, Father would welcome an ally in the east, someone in the mainstream of political affairs. Were I to present Father with the
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