The Priestess bent, and they lifted from her head the crown of candles. As they lowered it to the ground before her, Gaius saw her face for the first time in full light. It was the face he had dreamed of, and yet, even in a single moment of illumination, he knew it was not Eilan. He remembered, now, how beautifully Dieda had sung.
He pulled away, shaking. Had the woman got it wrong or was Eilan the victim of some dreadful deception?
“Hail to the Lady!” the people cried. “Hail to the Holy Bride!” Cheering, the young men touched their torches to the candle crown and began to form the procession that would carry the light to every hut and farm. It was certainly Dieda, and she must know where Eilan was. But he could not approach her now.
He turned away and recognized another face in the crowd. At this moment, danger meant nothing.
“Caillean,” he whispered harshly. “I must speak to you! In the name of mercy – where is Eilan?”
In the half-light he felt sharp eyes on him; he heard a voice speaking in a whisper, “What are you saying?” A hard grip closed on his hand. “Come away from this crowd; we cannot speak here.”
He went unresisting. It seemed to him that if death should descend on him, it would be no more than his due. But when they were beyond the crowd, he stopped in his tracks and turned to the priestess.
His voice was low and hoarse. “Mistress Caillean, I know how Eilan loved you. In the name of any god you cherish, tell me -where is she now?”
Caillean pointed to the dais where the white-veiled woman presided over the festivities.
“Cry out and betray me if you will, but do not lie to me.” Gaius stared into her eyes. “Though every man here should swear that is Eilan, I know better. Tell me if she is alive and well!”
Caillean stared back at him with widening eyes in which he read amazement, anger, and fear. Then she let out her breath in an explosive sigh and pulled him after her, further away from the circle of torchlight where Dieda was lifting her hands to bless the crowd. As he followed Caillean into the shadows, Gaius told himself that the catch in his throat was only from the smoke of the fires.
“I should tell them who you are and let them kill you,” she said finally. “But I, too, love Eilan, and she has had enough pain.”
“Is she alive?” Gaius’s voice cracked.
“No thanks to you,” Caillean retorted. “Ardanos would have put her to death when he heard what you had done! But he was persuaded to spare her, and she told me everything. Why did you never come for her? Is it true that you have married someone else as we were told?”
“My father sent me away —”
“To Londinium,” she confirmed. “Then it was one of the Arch-Druids’s lies that you had been married off to some Roman girl?”
“Not yet,” he said. “But I have been on service and was not free to come. If Eilan was not punished, why do I not see her here?”
Caillean looked at him with contempt; and Gaius felt it withering him. At last she said, “Would you expect her to be out here dancing when she has just given birth to your son?”
Gaius’s breath caught. “Is she alive? Is the child?” It was dark here, away from the fires, but it seemed to him that Caillean’s stern expression softened.
“She is alive, but weak, for the birth was hard; I have been very frightened for her. You do not seem to me worth dying for, but seeing you might be the medicine she needs. The gods know I am no judge. I care nothing what Ardanos might say. Come with me.”
Caillean was only a dark shadow in the night as she led him around the crowd and back along the road, away from the Forest House and the Hill of Maidens. When they could no longer see the light of the fires, Gaius asked, “Where are you taking me?”