In the end it seemed safer to say nothing. What remained unspoken — and he had found this out the hard way – he need never regret.
Twenty-Six
Caillean woke, shaking, to the gray light of early dawn. It was only a dream. But the images were still vivid, more real, even now, than the curtains of her bed and the breathing of the other women near by. She sat up and stuck her feet into slippers, and then, shivering, took her shawl down from its hook and wrapped it around her.
But the warm wool did not comfort her. When she closed her eyes she could still see the expanse of silver water where white mists wreathed and swirled. Eilan stood on the other side, but with each moment the waters grew wider, as if a strong current were carrying her away. It was the emotion that went with the images that terrified her, the overwhelming surge of anguish and loss.
It is only my own fears speaking, she told herself, a dream that will disappear with the dawn. Not all dreams were prescient. She got up and drank some water from the flask.
In the end, a grey veil of cloud had swirled between her and Eilan, cutting her off from the world. Death is like that . . .The thought would not go away. The ordinary fantasies of sleep dissipated like the mist of morning when one awakened. A great dream — a dream of power – became ever more distinct as one puzzled over it. It could not be ignored.
As the other women began to stir, Caillean realized she could not stay here to face their curious eyes. Perhaps in the garden she could find the serenity she needed to deal with this. But one thing was clear, she must tell Eilan.
That year the Beltane celebrations had ushered in a bounteous summer, and the woods around the Forest House were vivid with flowers. Eilan had allowed herself to be persuaded to go out to gather herbs with Miellyn, and Lia and the children had come along. Beneath the trees the creamy primroses and bluebells still flourished, but golden buttercups were already beginning to star the meadows, and white hawthorn hung heavy on the bough.
Gawen gleefully showed off his knowledge of the forest to Brigitta’s two girls, who hung on every word, wide-eyed and admiring. Eilan smiled, remembering how she and Dieda had followed Cynric about when they were small. Listening to their laughter, she realized how much Gawen had missed having other children to play with, and knew that it was not only the girls who would soon be leaving her. Gawen would have to be fostered out soon.
It was noon before they returned, flushed and chattering and crowned with flowers. “Caillean is waiting for you in the garden,” said Eilidh as Eilan came in. “She has been sitting there all morning. She would not even come in to eat breakfast, but she assures us that nothing is wrong.”
Frowning, Eilan passed on into the garden without removing her wide-brimmed straw hat, for the day was warm. Caillean was sitting on a bench by the rosemary bed, motionless as if she were meditating, but at Eilan’s step she opened her eyes.
“Caillean, what is it?”
The other woman looked up, and Eilan flinched at the utter calm in those dark eyes. “How many years now have we known one another?” Caillean asked.
Eilan tried to reckon it up in memory; they had met when Mairi’s younger child was born. But in truth it seemed longer, and there were times when she remembered those odd glimpses of knowledge that had come to her and thought that they had been sisters in more lives than one.
“Sixteen years, I think,” she said at last, doubtfully. It had been near to winter then; but no, it could not be, for the wild Hibernians were raiding, and it was certain they would not sail if they were afraid of being caught by winter storms. It had not been snow, but rain, she remembered. That had been a bad spring. And she had come to the Forest House as a novice priestess the summer that followed.