Vorna sighed. She did not relish the prospect of the long ride to Old Oaks.
Connavar was feeling content as he guided his piebald pony up through the hills, on the swifter route back to Old Oaks. The mares were coming into heat, and he felt sure his stallions would sire fine colts. It was now a question of patience. Arbon, Parax, and Tae’s cousin, Legat, were tending the three herds, and it would be a further eleven months before the first foals arrived. And almost another two years before the new horses would be fully ready for war training. In the meantime Conn had sent merchants south across the water to buy Gath mounts and bring them back.
Guiding his pony out into the open Conn enjoyed the warmth of the spring sun on his back. It felt good to be alive today, especially with the prospect of a ride with Tae out to the lake Ruathain had spoken of. He had told her he would be back soon after noon, and, with this new route Arbon had described, he should make it with time to spare.
As he rode he considered the coming Lything. Many of the chieftains had promised him allegiance. This was largely based, he knew, on his fame. His deeds, few though they were in his own eyes, had created a legend among his people. And legends, he now realized, were handy tools in the pursuit of power. Of the fifty-six chieftains and lesser lairds eligible to vote, Conn believed he had won over at least thirty. And so far no-one else had declared a strong interest in the role of laird.
Conn urged the pony up a slope and along the crest. At the edge of the trees to his right was a group of huts, and beyond them a shallow bowl of grassland, still dotted with clumps of old snow.
Around two hundred of the Long Laird’s famous black and white cattle were grazing there. Conn paused and stared at them. Soon they would be his, and he felt he should make himself known to the herders who lived here. Glancing at the sky he believed he had time for a short visit, and swung the pony round.
As he approached the first hut a woman walked out. Conn’s breath caught in his throat, as the sun shone on her golden hair.
It was Arian.
He felt his mouth go dry, his heart beginning to race. She looked up and saw him, and a wide smile made her face all the more beautiful. The pony continued to walk until it was almost upon her. Conn tugged on the reins.
‘You are looking very fine, Conn,’ said Arian.
‘As are you,’ he managed to say. ‘Who lives here?’
‘Casta and I, and three other families.’
‘Where is Casta? I would like to speak with him.’
‘Two of the boys are tending the cattle. Casta and the other men have gone down to Old Oaks for supplies. Will you step down for a moment? We have a little cider left.’
Conn slid from the saddle and followed her into the small hut. There was a rough-made bed of pine against the southern wall, a bench table with seating for four. A threadbare cowhide rug was spread before the small hearth, its surface pitted with cinder burns. Arian poured him a cup of cider, and as she passed it to him their hands touched. Conn felt himself blushing.
‘Are you happy now, Conn?’ she asked him.
‘Aye. And you?’
She smiled and moved to the fire, half kneeling, half bending, to add logs to the blaze. Conn gazed at her, remembering their times together and the enormous love he had felt. He had thought her vanished from his feelings, but knew now that this was not so. He loved Tae with all of his heart, but his body trembled at the closeness of Arian. He tried to quell the arousal she inspired in him. ‘I must go,’ he said, backing towards the door.
She moved closer – so close he could smell her hair.
‘I am very sorry for the hurt I caused you,’ she said. ‘I have thought of little else ever since.’