Shadow Spell (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy 2)

“What is it? You must tell me.”

“As you love me so still you fear what I have. But you must bide me now, in this. Your son, this one to come, must be the last. He will be healthy, and the birthing will go well. But the next will not. If there is a next, you will not survive.”

“I . . . You cannot know. I cannot deny my husband the marriage bed. Or myself.”

“You cannot deny your children their mother. It is a terrible grieving, Ailish.”

“God will decide.”

“God will have given you seven children, but the price for another will be your life, and the babe’s as well. As I love you, heed me.”

She took a bottle from her pocket. “I have made this for you. Only you. You will put it away. Once every month on the first day of your courses, you will drink—one sip only. You will not conceive, even after you take the last sip, for it will be done. You will live. Your children will have their mother. You will live to rock their children.”

Ailish laid her hands over the mound of her belly. “I will be barren.”

“You will sing to your children, and their children. You will share your bed with your man in pleasure. You will rejoice in the precious lives you brought into the world. The choice is yours, Ailish.”

She closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them, they turned dark, dark. “You will call him Lughaidh. He will be fair of face and hair, blue of eye. A strong boy with a ready smile, and the voice of an angel. One day he will travel and ramble and use his voice to make his living. He will fall in love with a farmer’s daughter, and will come back to you with her to work the land. And you will hear his voice across the fields, for he will ever be joyful.”

She let the vision go. “I have seen what can be. You must choose.”

“This is the name I chose for him,” Ailish murmured. “I never told you, nor anyone.” Now she took the bottle. “I will heed you.”

Pressing her lips together, Ailish reached into her pocket, took out a small pouch. This she pushed into Brannaugh’s hand. “Take this.”

“I won’t take your coin.”

“You will.” The tears fell now, spilling down her cheeks like rain. “Do you think I don’t know you saved me and Conall in the birthing? And even now you think of me and mine? You have given me joy. You have brought Sorcha to me when I missed her, for I saw her in you day by day. You will take the coin, and swear to me you will be safe, you will come back. All of you, for you are mine as I am yours.”

Understanding, Brannaugh slipped the purse into the pocket of her skirts, then kissed Ailish on each cheek. “I swear it.”

Outside Eamon did his best to make his cousins laugh. They asked him not to go, of course, asked why he must, tried to bargain with him. So he wound stories of the grand adventures he would have, smiting dragons and catching magick frogs. He saw Teagan walking with a weeping Mabh, saw her give Mabh a rag doll she’d made herself.

He wished Brannaugh would hurry, for the leave-taking was a misery. Alastar stood ready. Eamon—he was head of the family, after all, had decided his sisters would ride, and he would walk.

He would brook no argument.

Bardan came out of the little stable leading Slaine—Old Slaine now, as the broodmare was past her prime, but a sweet-natured thing for all that.

“Her breeding days are done,” Bardan said in his careful way. “But she’s a good girl, and she’ll serve you well.”

“Oh, but I can’t be taking her from you. You need—”

“A man needs a horse.” Bardan set his calloused hand on Eamon’s shoulder. “You’ve done a man’s work for the farm, so you’ll take her. I’d give you Moon for Brannaugh if I could spare him, but you’ll take Old Slaine here.”

“It’s more than grateful I am to you, for Slaine and all the rest. I promise you I’ll treat her like a queen.”

For a moment, Eamon let himself be just a boy, and threw his arms around his cousin, the man who’d been a father to him for half his life. “We’ll come back one day.”

“Be sure you do.”

When it was done, all the farewells, the safe journeys, the tears, he swung up on the mare, his grandfather’s sword and sheath secured against his saddle. Brannaugh mounted behind Teagan, leaned down once to kiss Ailish a last time.

They rode away from the farm, their home for five years, from their family—and south toward the unknown.

He looked back, waved as they waved, found himself more torn in the leaving than he’d expected. Then overhead Roibeard called, circled before spearing the way south.

This was meant, Eamon decided. This was the time.