Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [174]
"There." He pointed.
It was an oak tree, flakes of dry bark rubbed off to expose the pale, reddish new layer beneath. I looked closely. There was coarse brown hair snagged in the rough grooves.
"Bear sign," I murmured.
Urist nodded. "There's another one, too, with claw marks. Do you want to see it?”
"One's enough," I said. "How did you find it?”
"Marec the Thatcher spotted it," he said. "Hunting squirrels, I reckon. I didn't ask." He shrugged. "Could be natural.”
"And it could be one of them" I said. "Post extra sentries on the woods' edge, and give Marec the reward you promised. Tell him you'll double it if he spots an actual bear. Preferably of the ordinary den-dwelling, cub-rearing sort.”
Urist gave another nod. "And if it's not?”
I checked my bindings. They were firm. "Let's hope it is.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
I was loath to tell Dorelei about the bear sign. She was so near to her term with the babe, I hated to trouble her; and in truth, she'd grown unwontedly moody and irritable in recent days. I didn't blame her. She did indeed look ready to burst, her feet were swollen, and her back ached somewhat fierce.
I did, though. I'd had a bellyful of keeping secrets from people I cared about in Tiberium, and I reckoned I owed her honesty.
And in the end, it didn't matter.
When Morwen of the Maghuin Dhonn appeared, she did it openly.
It was late in the afternoon, and I was sitting in the sunlit salon with Dorelei, keeping her company while her mother and the other women embroidered and chattered. Work around Clunderry had resumed after the long, idle months of winter—the cattle had been driven to the farther pastures, and fields were being plowed and manured in preparation for next month's sowing—but I'd decided to forgo working alongside my people in favor of spending time with my wife.
We were trying to settle on a name for the babe. We'd agreed it should bear an Alban name, but Dorelei thought it should be a name not wholly unfamiliar to the D'Angeline tongue, and I agreed.
"By all rights, if it's a boy, it should be named after your father," Breidaia observed.
Dorelei and I exchanged a glance. "I loved him and miss him, Mother, but Gartnach doesn't fall smoothly from D'Angeline lips," she said. "Anyway, what if it's a girl?”
It was at that moment we heard the clamor; running feet and a horn blowing. Kinadius burst into the salon, wild-eyed. "Bear-witch!”
I leapt to my feet. "Where?”
He pointed in the general direction of the woods. "She just…she just walked right out of the woods. That woman, the one with the pale eyes." His throat worked as he swallowed. "Urist is there, dozens of us with weapons drawn, and the ollamh, and …and Lady Alais." He licked his lips. "She wants to speak to you, my lord.”
"Alais?" I asked stupidly.
Kinadius shook his head. "The bear-witch," he whispered. "Says she's come to offer a bargain.”
I drew a sharp breath. Dorelei levered herself to her feet with difficulty. Her face had turned white, but it was set and determined. "I'm going with you.”
"The hell you are," I said.
Her eyes flashed. "The hell I am!”
"Fine." I turned to Kinadius. "Get the rest of the garrison.”
He obeyed without a word. It was an imposing delegation that turned out to confront Morwen. If I hadn't been in a grim mind-set, I might have felt foolish. Morwen stood calmly at the edge of the woods, a few feet behind the carved stone marker that indicated it was taisgaidh land. She appeared small and harmless, clad in a coarse brown dress, her feet bare and grimy, but her mist-pale eyes didn't blink between the tattooed claw marks on her face, and Urist and his lads held her at bay, hunting bows drawn. Firdha was there, looking disturbed, and Alais beside her. The wolfhound Celeste was growling softly deep in her throat.
Morwen ignored them all, ignored