On the seventeenth night, as Conn was skinning a rabbit, a slender figure moved into the cave mouth. He glanced up, and saw it was Eriatha. He took a deep breath and made to speak, then changed his mind and returned his attention to the rabbit.
‘How long will you stay up here?’ she asked him.
‘I don’t know. Now leave me in peace.’
‘This is peace? No, Connavar, this is a form of self-torture. You are not the first man to lose a loved one. You will not be the last.’
‘You know nothing of it!’ he said, quietly.
‘Then tell me,’ she insisted. ‘Tell me why the new laird is sitting in a cave while his duties are being undertaken by others.’ Eriatha advanced into the cave. There were no candles, and the fire cast little light. Conn was too withdrawn – almost emotionless, as if he’d emptied himself of all feeling. ‘The Lything voted for you. You are the Laird,’ she said. ‘Now why are you skulking here? Your wife is dead, you have avenged her.’ There was still no fire in his eyes, even at the use of the word skulking. She took a deep breath. ‘What is the purpose of this . . . senseless exile?’
‘There is no purpose,’ he told her. Tears fell to his cheeks. ‘Just go. Leave me be!’
She forced a laugh, the sound as full of scorn as she could summon. ‘I did not think to see this,’ she said, contempt in her voice. ‘The great Connavar, unmanned. Crying like a wee baby.’
Suddenly furious he stormed to his feet and loomed over her. ‘Get out now!’ he hissed, grabbing her by the shoulders and hurling her towards the cave mouth. She fell heavily and cried out, more in shock than pain. Conn ignored her and returned to the fire.
Eriatha sat up and rubbed her arm. ‘I am not leaving,’ she said.
‘Do as you please.’
Eriatha was satisfied that she had drawn him from his lethargy. All that now remained was to get him to talk. ‘I want to understand,’ she told him softly, rising and moving into the cave to sit beside him. ‘Tell me why you are here. Tell me and I will go. And you will have your peace.’ At first she thought he was continuing to ignore her. He finished skinning the rabbit, then put the meat to one side. When he spoke his voice was barely a whisper.
‘I was warned to keep all my promises. Warned by the Seidh. I took the warning lightly. Why would I not? For I am Connavar.’ He almost spat out the name. ‘And Connavar is known as a man of his word.’ He fell silent again, staring into the fire. ‘I told Tae I would ride with her. I promised her I would be back by noon. I broke that promise and she rode with Ruathain. Rode to her death. And why was I late? I was with a woman. We were rutting like two dogs in heat.’
‘What do you want me to say?’ she asked him. That you are not the perfect man? Ha! As if that beast has ever existed. You broke a small promise, and the consequences were terrible. Aye, there is no arguing against that, Conn my friend. You will have to live with that broken promise all your life. It will hurt for a long time. Maybe for ever. But we all live with our hurts. You once told me that you were determined never to be like your father -never a coward. Consider this: what would you call a man who makes a mistake and then runs away from his responsibilities? I’d call him a coward. You also told me that one day the Stone army would march on our lands and you were determined to stop them. Are they not coming now? Or is it that you no longer care about this land and its people?’
‘I care,’ he admitted.
‘Then what are you doing here, Conn?’
‘Trying to make sense of my life,’ he said. ‘You helped me once before, when I left the children to die. I accepted what you said. I believed it. Perhaps because I needed to believe it. But what has happened has all but destroyed me. Tae was beautiful, and she had a life to live. She was the sister of my soul. I knew that when I first met her. I know it even better now. But I am not sitting here full of self-pity. I am not wallowing in my grief. I am haunted by remorse. It eats at my spirit because I cannot change what happened. I cannot make it right.’