CHAPTER 14
LOST ON THE WIND

And so I was carried along, aimless as thistle fluff. I remember only snatches of the days following my mother’s death, for they rolled past like thick gray fog. I could not bear to think about what had happened, and so I could not think about anything at all. And Cathbad must have thought I needed this respite, for he plied me with brews that wrapped me in blurry warmth and made me sleep for hours on end.

It was Roisin who coaxed me back to myself. She tended me like a baby when I could do nothing on my own, and gradually her easy talk while she spooned soup into me or brushed my hair began to reach me. I remember my first painful awakening. Roisin was describing a litter of pups that had been born to a young man she had taken a liking to. “So funny they are, with their big milk bellies and crybaby complaints and the way they burrow and squirm to get the best teat. He says he will give me my pick of them, and I have set my heart on one with a coal black coat and a long white blaze up his muzzle.”

That stirred something in me. I straightened in my chair, forced my eyes to focus until I found Roisin’s brown eyes, bright with sympathy, fixed on my own.

“Where is Fintan?” I asked.

“It is a fine young woman you have become, Luaine, and I want you to know I will help you in any way that I can.”

The king’s heavy hand covered mine protectively. I tried hard to follow Conchobor’s words. My mind was clearer now, and I had stopped taking Cathbad’s numbing drinks, but I still found it so hard to sustain a train of thought—especially if it had to do with my life or future. I could not seem to believe in a future.

“My thanks, Sire. I am grateful for your concern.” My mouth spoke the required words, while my thoughts looped away. The king had asked to see me in his private hall, and Roisin had fussed over my hair and dress as if I was off to a feast.

“Roisin, really. He will just be giving his condolences.”

“He is the king,” she insisted stubbornly. “And you will need him on your side.”

There it was—the future again. What was I to do, once I had done hiding in my chamber in Emain Macha? My father had no brothers, no sons, to share ownership of his lands. His own father, Sualtim, was dead. So Muirthemne and Dun Dealgan itself were mine. But could I maintain them? I was ready to run a household, no doubt, but Dun Dealgan was a border outpost. How could a fourteen-year-old girl command a garrison army?

“Don’t be silly,” Roisin had chided. “Look at you. You are young and lovely, noble of birth, wealthy, educated. You are the daughter of the first man and woman of Ulster. You will have your pick of fine champions eager to share your marriage bed and defend your lands.”

I supposed she was right. I didn’t know, exactly, how to look for a husband, and could not summon much enthusiasm at the prospect. Perhaps in time my path would be plainer.

“Your father, my sister’s son, was very dear to me, and I feel I owe it to him to ensure his child has every protection.” Conchobor’s deep voice droned on. He was stroking my hand, and he had pulled his chair close to mine. I could feel the heat of his leg against my own. I had never been so close to the king, and I saw now the age behind his fine jewels and fabrics. His cheeks were traced with purple veins, his fingernails thickened and yellow. His teeth would not be long in his head from the look of them. I nodded politely.

“You are very kind.”

“You have considerable holdings, you know, Luaine. Lands. The fort itself. Herds, and your father’s bondsmen and his warriors. It’s a heavy responsibility for a young girl. And you are vulnerable, in your grief and your youth. The greedy, the unscrupulous—all will have an eye to your wealth. I fear you may find yourself under attack all too soon.”

This was more than condolences. I told myself to take hold of my thoughts, to pay attention. After all, this was Conchobor’s concern as well. If Muirthemne fell, it would be territory lost to Ulster.

“I understand, Sire. I have had these thoughts myself,” I replied. I glanced at his face, found him nodding enthusiastically. He could help me, I realized, by taking on the role my family might have played. He was my family, after all. I took a deep breath. “I have been advised,” I said cautiously, “to marry a man who can take over the defense of the Muirthemne plain.” I had dreamed, of course, of a great love match. The dream, buried under layers of grief as it was, fluttered in protest. But my mother’s passion had ended in ashes. I wrapped myself in indifference, and the gossamer wings stilled.

The king’s thick fingers tightened over mine, and he smiled at me approvingly. “That was my exact thought, Luaine. A match that will secure your lands and guarantee you the safety and comfort you deserve.” He would help, then. Hope, or maybe just relief, rose within me. With the king himself to consider potential suitors and negotiate on my behalf, life began to seem possible. Conchobor’s voice rumbled on, something about my fine looks and noble upbringing, but my thoughts had turned again to my mother’s fall, the way her skirts had billowed up in the wind and the first terrifying spurt of blood from her neck...

“...So you see, you need have no more worries. You have the love and protection of the king now and will want for nothing. Emain Macha has been too long without a queen.”

Lugh help me, what had he said? My mind scrambled to reconstruct the stream of words while I gawped at him like a fool.

“That’s right, my dear.” Did I imagine it? The smile was gentle and indulgent, but a cutting edge of will held it in place. “I will wed you myself. I care that much for your welfare. You shall be my queen.”

I cast my eyes down, coloring in confusion, as he underlined his claim by sliding his arm behind my waist, pulling me close, and pressing his lips into the hollow of my neck.

“The sooner, the better, I think,” he said briskly. “No sense in leaving matters unsettled.”

He was King, he was telling me. He would wed whom—and when—he would.

“Well?” Roisin was not about to let me sink back into my fog.

“I am to wed the king,” I said weakly.

There was a long silence, and I knew without looking that Roisin was struggling to master her dismay. King or not, he would not have been her choice. Nor mine, not that it made any difference.

Bless her, she did not repeat the obvious: that Conchobor was four times my own age, that I had had no chance to mourn my parents or recover from their loss, that I might prefer to stay in my own home. Instead she found the only words left to say.

“You will be queen, Luaine—queen of all Ulster! First among all the women!” She came over to me and took my hands and kissed them, her face solemn now. “Be happy, my lady. You deserve it.”

I managed a smile—a little shaky, but genuine. And then I saw, as if in a waking dream, Roisin’s sharp features blur into bruised violet eyes and corn silk hair. Just for a moment, Deirdriu’s pale face floated before me. I watched it fade into shadow—and I burst into tears.

My parents were hardly a week in the ground when I found myself sitting beside King Conchobor, in the place where I had first seen Deirdriu, at my betrothal feast.

Everything was happening so fast, I could not keep up with my own life. I had been moved into a large luxurious room and surrounded by a flurry of women armed with fabric samples and jewelry, taking my measurements, buffing my nails, scenting my bathwater. Messengers had been sent to Dun Dealgan, telling my father’s men they were now in direct service to the king and to hold the territory in readiness for a new warlord. And in the midst of this confusion came a visit from Cathbad himself.

He took me away from the bustle, to his own quiet dark house. Fintan was there, and I was stricken to think how I had ignored him these long days.

“Fintan is fine,” Cathbad said quietly. “It is you I am concerned with.”

He left me alone to visit with Fin, and slowly the silence and privacy seeped down into my soul and loosened the great knot of grief I had locked away there. I found myself weeping, my tears dripping and beading up on Fintan’s feathers, and I did not try to stay them but let them pour freely until at last the great rushing sobs quieted and then stilled. It was the first time I was able to truly feel what had happened to me, and the tears brought release and healing and the return of my own strength.

I don’t know how long Cathbad left me there, in the one place in all of Emain Macha sure to be free from intrusion. When he returned, he took my face in his hands and stared down into my eyes.

“Better,” he nodded.

“I should think they would look worse,” I ventured.

“Red as a drunkard’s,” he agreed. “But better for all that.”

He sat down beside me, the dark penetrating gaze searching me still as I stroked Fintan and tried not to squirm.

“And now I must ask you something, Luaine, for Conchobor has asked me to announce your betrothal and to set the bride-price on your behalf. And while I serve the king, I serve the gods and the law also. And so I would know: do you agree to this match?”

I had never really asked myself the question. Now, in the quiet place Cathbad had made for me, I searched for my own will.

I had no love for the king. I could not imagine the king’s marriage bed would be a shared pleasure. So there was regret there, that I would not have a man I could delight in, when I had never even lain with a boy my own age.

But I had known enough real tragedy to realize that this was no tragedy. I was not Deirdriu, pining for her true love. My father had served the king, and Conchobor had been generous and loyal in return. He offered me a place of honor before the women of Ulster. My sons would be high princes. My daughters would stand tall in the eyes of our people.

I did not pretend to myself that I could refuse the offer. The choice was in my own heart: to submit unwillingly or to take my place as a true queen.

“Yes,” I told Cathbad, “I agree to the match.”