Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [97]
"Well," I said lightly to Brigitta. "Now you've an idea what you're in for.”
"Yes." She nodded. "I think I will like it.”
Once they had matters settled, Eamonn and Mairead returned. Although it was growing late, we stayed awake for a time. Eamonn was reluctant to tell the tale of his Skaldic courtship of Brigitta, wanting to save it for Innisclan, but he told her about the tribute we bore for the Lady of the Dalriada, and how Queen Ysandre had wished to escort him home in honor.
In turn, Mairead told us that she had been leading a scouting-party.
"You?" Eamonn scoffed fondly.
She elbowed him. "I'm the oldest after Brennan and you, am I not? Brennan rode north, and I rode south. Some clan-holders have complained about calves being taken. There have been rumors of bears" She shook her head. "But we found no bear sign, only your campfires.”
A shudder ran up my spine.
Bears.
Dorelei glanced at me. "Bears?" she asked cautiously. "Or …?”
"The Old Ones?" Mairead grimaced. "I cannot say. I thought they had no cause to trouble the Dalriada. Mother has long maintained a truce with them. But perhaps we have given them cause. If we have, I do not know what it is. Or perhaps they're merely curious. Or hungry.”
"Old Ones?" Phèdre murmured. Anyone who didn't know her would have thought her sleepy. "I don't know that name.”
"The Old Ones, the Wise Ones." Mairead made a gesture intended to avert bad luck and nodded at Dorelei. "So we call them to avoid giving offense. Some of them play tricks if not given proper respect. How do the Cullach Gorrym call them?”
"We don't," Dorelei said in a tight voice. "If we must speak of them, we call them by name. But it is better if we do not speak of them at all.”
Mairead eyed her. "The Dalriada believe otherwise.”
I cleared my throat. "Kinadius called them bear-witches.”
"Men fear things more than women," Brigitta observed, paying close attention to the conversation. "Like Lucius and the dead.”
"Perhaps, but Lucius was right, my love," Eamonn said. "He had reason to fear the dead. Still, we have made our camp beside Brigid's Well, and I think no harm will come to us here." He yawned. "My friends, it grows late. Imri, why don't you give us a song to fill our heads with pleasant dreams as we take to our beds?”
I set the flute to my lips and played the first thing that came to mind. It wasn't until I was well into it that I realized it was the piper's tune, the one that plagued me. My fingers faltered briefly on the holes, but I kept going. It was a plaintive melody, and yet there was somewhat seductive about it, too. A yearning promise of ease, of bittersweet desire. Around the campfire, my listeners' faces softened, sinking into private reveries.
The sight filled me with unease, so much so that I stopped playing. Eamonn shook his head like a man waking from a nap and gave another mighty yawn. "Dagda Mor! You've gotten good on that thing. Well, bed it is. Come, Mairead, you can share with us.”
I wasn't tired, not at all.
"I'm sorry, Imriel." In the tent Dorelei and I shared, she was heavy-lidded and yawning, too. "I know I promised, but can we speak in the morning? We've been travelling for a long time, and I'm bone-weary.”
"You weren't so tired last night," I reminded her.
"No." She smiled with remembered pleasure, the sort of smile that makes any woman look beautiful. "And I won't be at Innisclan, but tonight I am.”
I gave up. "Sleep well, then.”
"Mmm." Dorelei closed her eyes. "What was that song you played? It was lovely.”
"I don't know," I said. "That's the thing. I keep hearing it in my dreams. That, and a woman's laughter. Only it's not in my dreams, exactly. It's that time just before you fall asleep, when you're not quite