As it did so the figure of Taliesen appeared beside them. The old man stumbled and fell to his knees as the crofter leapt to his feet, his knife snaking into his hand. ‘No!’ shouted Caswallon. ‘He is the druid I told you of.’
Taliesen tried to stand, failed, and sat glumly on the ground. ‘I think the journey almost killed me,’ he grumbled. As Caswallon helped him to his feet, the little sorcerer sighed. ‘You have no idea of the energy I have expended to arrive here. Who is this?’
‘I am Cei,’ said the crofter.
‘I must see the child,’ said Taliesen, shaking himself free of Caswallon’s support and moving off to the cabin.
Cei approached Caswallon. ‘You were wrong. I did not think you mad. Yesterday an old man came to us as we were mourning the death of our babe. He told us he would come, and that he would bring us joy – and sorrow.’
This man, he was bald and wearing grey robes?” Cei nodded. Both men returned to the cabin, to find Taliesen kneeling beside the crib where the baby was sleeping. When Caswallon and Cei looked closely they saw that the child’s silver hair was now corn-gold.
Taliesen stood and turned towards the crofter. ‘Enemies will come after this babe,’ he said. ‘Be warned. I have changed the colour of her hair. As I have told your wife, you must raise her as your own; no one must know how she came here. Your wife says the death of your child is not known among your friends in the clan. Keep it that way.’
‘Who is she?’ asked Cei. ‘Why is she in danger?’
‘She is your daughter. You need know no more than that – save that she is of the blood royal,’ said Taliesen. ‘Now we must go.’
Lennox added fuel to the fire and the flames leapt and twisted. He wasn’t cold, he merely wanted to see the child’s face in sleep. Her thumb had slipped from her open mouth and she was breathing evenly. Lennox carefully hitched her into the crook of his right arm, stretching his back.
Gaelen yawned and stretched, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Seeing Lennox still awake, he moved round the fire to join him. ‘How is she?”
‘She is all right now. She says her father was eaten by wolves… and her sister.’
‘It’s unlikely,’ said Gaelen. ‘She would not have escaped a pack. A dream, do you think?’
‘I don’t know. She said the wolves were as big as me.’
‘Wolves attack at night and they move fast. A child that small might think them over-large?’
‘I agree, Gaelen, but she’s clan; her father was clan. How could he
be surprised by wolves? It makes no sense. I can’t remember a clansman ever being killed by a pack. Wolves don’t attack men. I’ve never heard of such a thing.’
‘Perhaps he had no fire, or had been forced to flee without weapons. Perhaps the wolves were starving.’
The two men sat in silence for a while, then Gaelen spoke. ‘More likely it was the Aenir and the child was confused. Many of them wear wolfskin cloaks. And at the Games I saw a man with a wolf’s head for a helm. An attack at night?’
‘She says her mother was killed by men with swords. I don’t think she’s that confused. I think you should walk warily tomorrow,’ said Lennox.
‘We’ll miss you on the trip,’ said Gaelen, gripping Lennox’s shoulder.
‘Yes, but you don’t need me. She does. I’ll get her to the island and then join my father. We’ll see you in Axta Glen.’
‘I hope so. I pray there is an army of highlanders ready to be gathered. But if not I shall still see you there, Lennox. Even if I am alone. I promise you.’
‘I know you will, cousin. I’ll look forward to it.’
Soon after dawn the companions bade farewell to Lennox and the child and set off to the south. Lennox hoisted the girl to his shoulder and headed north.
As they walked he discovered that her name was Plessie and her clan Haesten; she was the niece of Laric, the Hunt Lord. He was tempted to run back and find the others, for Laric would be well disposed towards a group which had rescued his niece. But Plessie’s fearful glances behind them forced him to dismiss the idea.