I heard the gentle footsteps of a man walking through darkness to find me. I turned, recognizing Jourdain at once, the starlight catching the silver in his hair. He must have read my thoughts, or read my face with ease.
He drew me to his side so we could admire the stars together. And then, so quietly I almost didn’t hear, he said, “Let’s go home, Brienna.”
THIRTY-THREE
FIELDS OF COROGAN
Lord MacQuinn’s Territory, Castle Fionn
Three days later, I rested in the dappled shade of a lonely oak, the dust of travel still clinging to my breeches and shirt, Nessie panting at my side. The surrounding fields had just been harvested, the air smelling of candied earth, the grass golden from the songs the men had chanted while their sickles had swung.
Jourdain’s—MacQuinn’s—castle sat in the heart of the meadow, the shadows of the mountains only touching the roof early morning and late evening. It was built of white stone, a modest holding, not as grand or large as some of the others, like Damhan. But the walls were seasoned with fire and stories, with friendship and loyalty.
Steadfastness.
And the rightful lord had finally come home.
I had watched as his people greeted him, as they gathered about him in the courtyard, which was strewn with wildflowers and herbs and ribbons. And it had taken me by surprise, the longing for Valenia in that moment. It might have been the ribbons, the colors of passion tangled over the cobblestones. Or it might have been the wine they brought us, which I knew came from a bottle that had crossed the channel.
I had chosen to walk the fields and found this tree not long after the introductions were made and I became known as MacQuinn’s daughter. I was content to watch the sun continue her arc across the sky, weaving long tendrils of grass together as I reflected on all that had come to pass, a faithful dog at my side.
“I think you should pick the eastern chamber,” Luc declared. I glanced up to see him walking toward me. “It’s spacious and has bookshelves. And a beautiful view of the sunrise.”
I smiled as he sat beside me, ignoring Nessie’s protective growl. It was difficult to think about which room I should pick when there was still so much to come . . . Isolde’s coronation, Lannon’s trial, trying to mend a world that had continued to spin beneath tyranny. I wondered how the coming days would gather, how they would feel as I tried to settle into my new life.
“Although,” Luc said, flicking a beetle from his sleeve, “I have a feeling you won’t remain at this castle for long.”
I shot him a curious glance. He was ready for it, cocking his brow at me with that arrogant, brotherly confidence.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” I countered.
“You know what I mean, Sister. Shall I give him a hard time?”
“I have no inkling as to what you speak of.” I plucked another blade of grass and twisted it, feeling Luc’s gaze on me.
“It doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “The old legends claim that nearly all of the Maevan lords fall hard.”
“Hmm?”
Luc sighed, plucking a clover. “I suppose I shall have to challenge him to a spar. Yes, that is the best way to handle this.”
I shoved him in the arm and said, “I think you have counted your eggs before they hatch, dear brother.”
But the smile he gave me told me otherwise. “I hear Aodhan Morgane is an expert sword master. I should probably practice.”
“All right, enough.” I laughed and nudged him again.
I had not seen Cartier since three days ago in the hall, which already felt like a year. But he was a lord now. He had his people, his lands to restore. I told myself I would not see him until Lannon’s trial, which would come the end of next week. And even so, we would be consumed with the task.
Before Luc could tease me anymore, a group of children ran through the field, searching for him.
“Lord Lucas!” one of the little girls cried excitedly when she spotted him in the shade of the oak. “We found you a lute! It’s in the hall.”
“Oh, excellent!” My brother rose, brushing stray clover buds from his clothes. “Care to join us for some music, Brienna?”
Music made me think of Merei, which made my chest feel far too small for my heart. Yet I smiled and said, “Go on without me, brother. I shall be along shortly.”
He hesitated; I think he was about to ask me again when the little girl boldly grabbed his sleeve and tugged on him, giggling.
“Last one to the courtyard has to eat a rotten egg,” Luc challenged, and the children squealed in delight as they tore across the field, as he chased them all the way to the courtyard.
I waited until I saw that he was, indeed, the last one to the courtyard—I would have loved to see Luc eat a rotten egg—but my heart was still restless. I rose and began to walk toward a copse of trees that grew along the river, Nessie trotting at my side as we followed the silver thread of water, eventually coming to a mossy bank.
I sat in a patch of sun and dipped my fingers to the rapids, trying to identify why I felt a shade of sadness, when I heard his soft tread behind me.
“This was where I married my wife.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Jourdain leaning against a river birch, quietly regarding me.
“No grand celebration?” I asked, and he moved forward, sitting beside me on the moss with a slight grunt, as if his joints were sore.
“No grand celebration,” he said, propping his elbow on his knee. “I married Sive in secret by handfasting, on this riverbank by the light of the moon. Her father didn’t particularly care for me, and she was his one and only daughter. That is why we married in secret.” He smiled as he reminisced, staring into the distance as if his Sive were standing on the other side of the river.
“What was she like? Your wife?” I asked gently.
Jourdain looked down to the water, and then to me. “She was graceful. Passionate. Just. Faithful. You remind me of her.”
My throat tightened as I glanced to the moss. All this time, I worried he would look at me and see Allenach. And yet he looked at me as if I truly were his daughter, as if I had inherited his wife’s attributes and character.
“She would have loved you, Brienna,” he whispered.
The wind rustled the branches above us; golden leaves drifted loose and free, eventually caught by the river to be carried away downstream. I wiped a few tears from my eyes, thinking he would not notice, but not much escapes a father.
“I miss Valenia too,” Jourdain said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t think that I would. But I find myself longing for those vineyards, for that politeness, for a perfectly tailored silk doublet. I even miss those eels upon sops.”
I laughed, and a few more tears escaped me. Eels upon sops was disgusting.