By the time the Arch-Druid’s shadow fell across the doorway she had worked herself into a state of numb apprehension.
“I am glad to see you are better,” he said neutrally, looking down at her.
“Oh yes, I am feeling quite well, Grandsire.”
He scowled. “Indeed I am your grandsire, and you will do well to remember it!”
He strode to the basket, looked down at the child for a moment, then lifted it in his arms. “But you have made your bed, and now we must all lie in it. This masquerade has gone on long enough. Three days should be enough for your milk to dry off, and then you will return to the Forest House to prepare for the spring rituals. As for your son, he will be fostered elsewhere.” He turned and started towards the door.
“Stop!” Eilan cried out. “Where are you taking him?” She felt anguish swelling in her throat and remembered how their hound bitch had howled when Bendeigid took her puppies out to be drowned because she had mismated with a neighbor’s terrier.
He regarded her unblinkingly. “Believe me, it is better that you do not know. I pledge you that he will be perfectly well and safe. Perhaps, if you do everything you are told, we may let you see him from time to time.”
Eilan wondered why she had never noticed before how cruel Ardanos looked when he smiled, and how very long and sharp his teeth were. “You cannot,” she cried. “I will care for him. You must not take him from me. Oh, please, I beg you —”
Ardanos’s bushy brows met. “Why such surprise?” he asked with edged control. “Did you suppose you could nurse your child before all the priestesses in the House of Maidens. Be reasonable.”
“Give him to me,” she cried. “You cannot have him.” She snatched at the wrapped bundle in her grandfather’s arms, and the baby, waking, began to scream.
“You little fool, let him go.”
Eilan’s legs would no longer uphold her, but she clung to his knees. “I beg you, I beg you, Grandfather! You cannot,” she was babbling, “you cannot take my son from me . . .”
“I must, and I will,” Ardanos said fiercely, thrust outward with his knee and wrenched his robe free. As she collapsed he carried the wailing infant out through the open door.
And then there was only the dappling of sunlight, as innocently mocking as a baby’s smile.
“Is this your revenge, you monster?” Caillean banged the door shut behind her and stormed into the room, too angry to appreciate the fact that in his quarters in the Roman town, the Arch-Druid had a door to slam. By Roman standards the house would have seemed plain and small; its straight, plastered walls and sharp corners seemed unfriendly to British eyes.
Ardanos looked up from his meal, agape, and she marshaled the words stored up during her ride from Vernemeton.
“You wicked, cruel old man! I promised Lhiannon before she died to help you. But that does not make me your slave or your torturer!”
He opened his mouth to speak but she raged on. “How could you treat Eilan – your own daughter’s child – that way? I tell you I will be no part of this; let her keep her child or —” she drew breath, “or I will appeal directly to the people and let the Goddess judge between us.”
“You would not —” Ardanos began.
“Try me!” Caillean retorted implacably. “I assume that you have some use for her or you would not have let her survive,” she continued more moderately. “Well, I tell you, unless Eilan is allowed to have her child with her she will die.”
“I suppose it is not surprising that the girl should be such a fool, but I did not expect it of you,” he said when she let him get a word in at last. “Stop exaggerating. Women do not die so easily.”
“Do they not? Eilan was bleeding again when I found her. You almost lost her, old man, and then where would all your plans be? Do you truly believe Dieda would be as pliant to your will?”