Henry ducked his head down to press a kiss into my hair. “I presume he spoke of the inevitable death sentence for murder.”
“Too late for that now,” Tom said. “Once his mind was set to right, Cate and I went to speak with some of the other tenants about Cailleach’s wretch and what they may have seen last night.” He gave a derisive snort. “Damn pack of fools. Not a one would own up to ever seeing the girl or even being awake during Henry’s encounter with the hounds, as though just acknowledging their presence would bring bad luck. We had given up on getting any information from a woman who lived across the lane when the next thing we know, the man’s thrown himself out of an upper story window, tied to a short rope.” The blacksmith snapped his fingers, making me jump. “The fall nearly ripped his head clear off.”
“Good gracious!” I cried. “Why would he do that?”
Cate didn’t hesitate to explain. “Because the poor man couldn’t bear to live a moment longer after what happened to his niece.” Bitterness underscored her otherwise calm voice. “Deri may have split his mind in two, but she did nothing to suppress the memories or the subsequent guilt. Under the circumstances, no one can fault him for acting so rashly. I, on the other hand, carry the lion’s share of blame.”
“He murdered a child,” Henry reminded her. “Like it or not, he was a dead man before you stepped foot in the room.”
Cate released an exasperated breath. “His hanging today isn’t what troubles me. It’s that I could have saved them both months ago if I’d only bothered to look inside his head just once during the many visits I made to Jenny. But it never occurred to me that a man who by all accounts had been a loving uncle could have been turned mad by a twelve year old girl.” She sniffed in an unusual display of emotion. “You would think that after 1500 years, I’d have learned enough to not be so easily fooled. Instead, I allowed myself to be blinded by hatred and refused even an ounce of compassion to the one who needed it the most.” Her voice broke on the last words, and she clamped her mouth tight to keep from crying.
Tom took her hand in his and pressed it gently. “You can’t blame yourself, Caitria. Cailleach’s descendants don’t have the power to cause that sort of madness. The girl must be carrying more than the old hag’s blood.” He looked at me. “Did she give any hints of her parentage?”
“All stuff and nonsense,” I snorted. “She’s under the delusion that King Bres has locked her mother away beneath the trees, and that she has been sent to fetch the key from me.” I gave a small laugh. “That girl’s completely insane. You should have heard how she referred to herself with ‘little Deri’ this and ‘poor Deri’ that. Whatever madness she caused must have leaked from her own brain.” I started to laugh again, when I saw the look exchanged between Cate and Tom.
Henry stirred beside me. “Is there another Bres besides your first sire?”
“Not to my knowledge,” I said nervously. Only one Irish king had gone by that name, and he had married Brigid more than three thousand years ago.
Cate and Tom continued to look at each other. “It doesn’t make any sense,” Cate said at last. “That story is just a myth.”
Tom let out a slow breath. “According to most folks the Tuatha Dé never existed, which would make us myths as well. Could be there’s some truth in it after all.”
“Then Carman would be dead,” Cate persisted. “And incapable of sending a young girl to fetch a key. I tell you, Tom, no matter how you look at it, the chit’s story doesn’t line up. She must be insane like Selah said.”
“Think about it, Cate, the girl goes by Deri. Does that remind you of anything?”
Cate thought for a moment, her mouth moving silently over the word. Her eyes grew suddenly round. “It can’t be!”
Tom nodded. “An English nickname for our Gaelic Adare.”
“áth Dara,” Cate said, breaking the name apart as I had done days ago with Chubais. “Ford of the Oak.”
“Aye, if her name be true, the girl came from the oak grove.”
I hung on every word, hearing everything, but understanding nothing. My grip tightened on Henry’s knee.
He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you could share the story. Then we can decide together what is real or not.”
This drew them from their private conversation. “Forgive us,” Cate said. “It seems so absurd, I can hardly believe it to be true. Carman is thought to have lived during the time of King Bres. Some say she was a goddess of black magic, others that she was a powerful witch from Athens who invaded Ireland with her three sons.”
These last words brought a curt, mirthless laugh from Tom. “Her progeny were named Dub, Dother and Dian.”