not have to drag her after me forcibly. "Are you coming?"
There was a sound of hoofbeats beyond the garden wall, galloping up to the main entrance.
Boots crunched on gravel as men dismounted. There had been no way for Sean to return unobserved from his errand.
"Liadan." My sister spoke in a very small voice.
"What?"
"Promise me. Promise me you'll stay in there with me. Promise you'll speak up for me."
I walked straight back and put my arms around her. She was shivering in her light gown, and a tear glinted in one long-lashed, blue eye. "Of course I'll stay, Niamh. Now come on. They'll be waiting for us."
By the time we reached the upstairs room, they were all there. All but Mother. Liam, Conor, Sean, and my father, standing, the four of them, their faces made grimmer by the half-light, for Page 38
only one small lamp burned on the table and outside it was dark. The air was thick with tension.
I could tell they had been talking and had fallen silent as we came in. If there was anything that really frightened me as I stood there beside my sister, it was Conor's face. The expression he wore mirrored that I had seen on his brother's features not long before. Not quite fear perhaps.
More like the memory of fear.
"Shut the door, Liadan." I did as Liam told me, and returned to my sister's side where she stood, head held high, like some tragic princess in an old story. Her hair was a glowing gold in the lamplight. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.
"She's your daughter," my uncle said bluntly. "Perhaps you'd better speak first."
Father stood at the back of the room, his face in shadow. "You know what this is about, Niamh." His voice was level enough.
Niamh said nothing, but I saw her straighten her back, lift her head a little higher.
"I have always expected my children to speak the truth, and I want the truth from you now. We had hoped for a good marriage for you. Perhaps I have allowed you more freedom than some thought wise, freedom to make your own choices. In return, I expected—honesty at least, common sense, some exercise of judgment."
Still she said nothing.
"You had better tell us, and tell us truly. Have you given yourself to this young man? Has he lain with you?"
I felt the tremor that ran through my sister's body and knew it for anger, not fear.
"What if I have?" she snapped.
There was a little silence, and then Liam said grimly, "Answer your father's question."
Niamh's eyes were bright with defiance as she glared back at him.
"What's it to you?" she demanded, voice going up a notch, and she gripped my hand so tight I thought she would break it. "I'm not your daughter and I never have been. I care nothing for your family honor and your stupid alliances. Ciaran is a good man, and he loves me, and that's all that matters. The rest of it
is none of your business, and I won't sully it by laying it bare before a roomful of men! Where's my mother? Why isn't she here?"
Oh, Niamh
. I wrenched my hand from hers and turned away. There was a weight like a cold stone in my heart.
It was Sean who stepped forward, and I had never seen such anger in his eyes or felt in my spirit such an outpouring of rage and grief as I caught from him at that moment. There was no way I could stop him; no way in the world.
"How dare you!" he said, in a voice cold with fury, and he lifted his hand and struck Niamh across her lovely, tear-stained cheek. A red mark appeared instantly on the golden skin. "How dare you ask that?
How dare you expect her to endure this? Have you any idea what your selfish folly will do to her? Don't you know our mother is dying?"
And, incredibly, it was clear that she had not known. All this time, as Sean, and I, and Iubdan, and her brothers had watched Sorcha fail just a little each day, had felt our hearts grow cold as she took one step away from us with each waning of the moon, Niamh, blithe in her own world, had seen nothing at all. She turned as white as parchment, save for the mark on her
There was a sound of hoofbeats beyond the garden wall, galloping up to the main entrance.
Boots crunched on gravel as men dismounted. There had been no way for Sean to return unobserved from his errand.
"Liadan." My sister spoke in a very small voice.
"What?"
"Promise me. Promise me you'll stay in there with me. Promise you'll speak up for me."
I walked straight back and put my arms around her. She was shivering in her light gown, and a tear glinted in one long-lashed, blue eye. "Of course I'll stay, Niamh. Now come on. They'll be waiting for us."
By the time we reached the upstairs room, they were all there. All but Mother. Liam, Conor, Sean, and my father, standing, the four of them, their faces made grimmer by the half-light, for Page 38
only one small lamp burned on the table and outside it was dark. The air was thick with tension.
I could tell they had been talking and had fallen silent as we came in. If there was anything that really frightened me as I stood there beside my sister, it was Conor's face. The expression he wore mirrored that I had seen on his brother's features not long before. Not quite fear perhaps.
More like the memory of fear.
"Shut the door, Liadan." I did as Liam told me, and returned to my sister's side where she stood, head held high, like some tragic princess in an old story. Her hair was a glowing gold in the lamplight. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.
"She's your daughter," my uncle said bluntly. "Perhaps you'd better speak first."
Father stood at the back of the room, his face in shadow. "You know what this is about, Niamh." His voice was level enough.
Niamh said nothing, but I saw her straighten her back, lift her head a little higher.
"I have always expected my children to speak the truth, and I want the truth from you now. We had hoped for a good marriage for you. Perhaps I have allowed you more freedom than some thought wise, freedom to make your own choices. In return, I expected—honesty at least, common sense, some exercise of judgment."
Still she said nothing.
"You had better tell us, and tell us truly. Have you given yourself to this young man? Has he lain with you?"
I felt the tremor that ran through my sister's body and knew it for anger, not fear.
"What if I have?" she snapped.
There was a little silence, and then Liam said grimly, "Answer your father's question."
Niamh's eyes were bright with defiance as she glared back at him.
"What's it to you?" she demanded, voice going up a notch, and she gripped my hand so tight I thought she would break it. "I'm not your daughter and I never have been. I care nothing for your family honor and your stupid alliances. Ciaran is a good man, and he loves me, and that's all that matters. The rest of it
is none of your business, and I won't sully it by laying it bare before a roomful of men! Where's my mother? Why isn't she here?"
Oh, Niamh
. I wrenched my hand from hers and turned away. There was a weight like a cold stone in my heart.
It was Sean who stepped forward, and I had never seen such anger in his eyes or felt in my spirit such an outpouring of rage and grief as I caught from him at that moment. There was no way I could stop him; no way in the world.
"How dare you!" he said, in a voice cold with fury, and he lifted his hand and struck Niamh across her lovely, tear-stained cheek. A red mark appeared instantly on the golden skin. "How dare you ask that?
How dare you expect her to endure this? Have you any idea what your selfish folly will do to her? Don't you know our mother is dying?"
And, incredibly, it was clear that she had not known. All this time, as Sean, and I, and Iubdan, and her brothers had watched Sorcha fail just a little each day, had felt our hearts grow cold as she took one step away from us with each waning of the moon, Niamh, blithe in her own world, had seen nothing at all. She turned as white as parchment, save for the mark on her
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