Chapter 16: Chapter III.4: A Sword in the Dark

It was almost a full-day before he could convince himself to venture forth after dark, and even then he trembled with fright. Anxious after this terrible fright, he could well-understand now some of the villagers, who had begun to grow nervous after sunset. The feeling of always being watched, of shadows looming about everywhere, was shared by his friends. Who for their own part, were not at all blind to his sudden fear, especially after he confided what had happened to them.

“A dark-rider hunted after you?” Trygve asked in incredulous shock, the moment he got the full story out of him.

The two were seated inside of the seamstress’s home, where a small fire had been lit in the chimney, built many years prior by the skilful Corin, as a favour to Murchadh. The two of them and Indulf sat huddled about the fire, in a desperate attempt to fight off the cold.

“Not entirely, I have the feeling that he was keen to hunt me only after I ran into his horse.” Cormac corrected rather sheepishly, face red with embarrassment at how foppish he had acted the other night, and that morning. As so great was his fear that he had hardly wished to step out, with Daegan having yet to arrive to speak to him, of whatever it was that she wished to speak of. Deep within his heart, he could not help but pray that it was to be a confession of love. Though she was entirely ignorant of it, he had long held a secret flame of passion for her, since they were young. He felt certain that she had desired him as of late, yet something had stopped him. This hesitancy had filled him with timidity, leaving him weak in the knees and faint-hearted though he knew this to be folly, for a true man was not one who hesitated on such matters. Not if he knew his lady fair, longed for him as surely as he did her.

“Did you hurt yourself, when you fell?” Indulf queried worriedly, as quiet as ever up until this moment, he studied his friend with such keenness that his already crimson face, turned almost purple so scarlet was he.

“Nay, nay though my shoulder still aches, ‘tis nothing to worry about,” He replied feeling discomfited by the notion of admitting weakness at this moment. He had already admitted to too much of that, and besides as Dae might have said; ‘a man ought to be tough’, he had thus no right to complain and differ about.

The butterflies in his stomach were however to pop out of existence, when he heard the door knocked upon just before it was thrown open. Stomping on inside, Kenna cursed once, then twice and then thrice much to the surprise of each of the lads. The first to hurry over to her side to aid her in the removal of her shawl was her son, who asked of her, “Are you aright ma?”

“Nay I am not, fool lad!” She hissed at him, only to calm down a little the moment she saw him flinch back. At this sight Kenna appeared to regret her sharp tone and worked visibly to contain her exasperation. “Never you mind, it is that stubborn mule Lauchlan! He has refused to sell his ox, Mairy.”

“Whatever for?” Trygve asked.

“Says that ‘I will not sell her to the mother of a murderer, you know what yer son has done so why do you continue to house him?’ As if Cormac could have done something so atrocious as to slay either poor Inga or old Graeme,” Kenna bellowed so furiously that the dark-blonde haired lad took a step back, as surprised by the vehemence of her words as his brother and friend were. Her words instantly warmed the lad’s heart. It had been after all some time, since he had begun to doubt her feelings of maternal warmth for him so that this revelation that she had never suspected him of murder came as a welcome surprise. He might well have embraced her then, and uttered his thanks were it not for the words that followed, which put paid to that idea. “I’faith, it would require the lad to actually get up in the morn’ to do something other than eat, wander about his head in the clouds and to play about near those darned Dyrkwoods!”

Those last words felt as a dagger in his heart, a sentiment that was worsened by the knowledge that she had so little faith in him. It is said that only a loved one can truly wound you, and this proverb was most certainly true in the case of Cormac in regards to his mother. Though she held him in such scorn, he had never once ceased adoring her.

“Do you truly have so little regard for me?” He asked after a heartbreaking silence, as he deposited her shawl upon a nearby hook to the left of the door, which was built for just such a purpose.

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The answer he received worsened his emotional agony, “How can I have regard for you, if you have accomplished so little in thy life, my son?”

At that moment he wished the ground could have swallowed him whole, so great was his pain. So consumed by misery and pain was he. And yet he did not know which was worst; the pitying glances his friends threw his way or the total scorn in her voice as she continued to maintain her back to him.

He wished he could have said that he fled then, his heart shattered. However, he did no such thing. Instead, he stood there mind lost in his own musings, and recollections of the many failures of passivity that he had committed over the course of his truly short life. Cormac knew himself to be passive, knew he was more inclined to dream, to fantasize about the reason behind the crashing of the waves of the sea, or the breeze of the wind and the deeds of all those who had come before him, than to great feats of weaving or swordsmanship as others might be. Oh, he knew something of the way of arms; he had learnt a little from Corin, more due to his own innate inquisitive spirit however, he had no great love for the spilling of blood or the sound of clashing steel. Rather his fascination lay with the honour one may achieve in penetrating the mysteries of life, and in the defence of what one loved.

“Verily aunt Kenna, that appears to me to be rather too harsh,” Trygve said in a placating gesture.

“Bah, no matter how harsh I am with him, it is not as though he will go out to make something of himself.” She growled exasperatedly, “His father was a man amongst men, though passive and timid he was deep down of sterner stuff than any other man. He was never afraid, to make his mark or to leave it upon all he did; be it in boat-making, stone-carving or fishing.”

Though she tended to be harsh towards Murchadh, she still reserved considerable praise for him, this they knew because she had never truly ceased to love him.

I wish she had a tenth of that love, or a hundredth of it set aside, for myself also, Cormac mused somewhere in the back of his mind.

She made to leave, when she heard a knock upon the door, with a curse she threw the door open with an impatient, “What? Oh, it is you Dae, and looking quite fetching to-day, are you here to see Cormac?”

The lass in question had frozen where she stood. Dressed in a red woollen dress, and with her hair braided into twin braids as it had been the night of the festival, the sight of her was not enough to make Cormac’s heart beat fast this time.

“Woah, Daegan She-Paladin can take up the appearance of a proper lady?” Teased Trygve just before he added, “Oh wait, she has shod her feet in proper winter-clogs.”

His forced attempt to change the subject, won him a roll of Indulf’s eyes and the grateful if watery smile from Cormac, who still felt as though he had been stomped upon by the dark-rider’s horse. Daegan for her part remained standing where she was. She was it seemed frozen at the awareness that Cormac was not alone.

“Well speak up lass,” Kenna asked oblivious to the discomfort of the young lass, and that of her son, “If it is Cormac you have come to see, you had best wait until tomorrow.”

“Whatever for?” The younger lass objected so strongly that it won her a sharp glower from her ‘auntie’.

“Because, he has chores lass! Chores, therefore if you are not here to assist, bugger off to that daft father of yours.” Kenna growled, her unexpected anger towards even the lass she ordinarily doted upon, made them all blink in surprise at her.

Trygve glanced from one person to another, his great wit failing him then. Cormac for the first time in his life looked on at his mother in visible disapproval. “Ma, Dae is simply here to visit with me, and there is no reason to treat her so poorly.”

Kenna blinked at him. Surprise etching itself into her face, as she seemed to at last realize what it was that she had done, with all of them expecting an even worst tongue-lashing than before, in store for her son. Therefore, when she gave instead a shallow nod many a jaws came near to hitting the ground, “Aye, you are quite right, my apologies Dae.”

“Think nothing of it.” Daegan muttered with her typical dignity, as always keen to appear the epitome of the perfect lady, when she was not running about hair aloft and wild behind her.

Thus it was that he was put to work, with nary any permission to object on either of their parts. Only Trygve was allowed to leave, which he did rather enthusiastically.

It was as she grumbled about her lot in life, specifically about her inability to make it to Sgain that an idea came into the spirit of Indulf, who proposed quite suddenly. “Daegan, is your pa, not planning a trip in a few days to Sgain, himself?”

“Aye, why?”

There was a moment during which all of them stared at him, with Cormac giving a slow if serious nod of approval. All desire to please his mother having temporarily left him, as to Kenna herself she stared blankly for some time before it occurred to her what it was that he was implying.

At which time, she reacted with utter horror, “Oh nay, by the Golden Goddess nay! Travel with that cad, never- not on the bones of the Paragon Muireall!”