Sword in the Storm Read Online Free PDF Page A

bonny lad?” she asked him.
    “Is the pie ready, Mam?” he countered.
    She stepped in close, peering at the bruise on his cheek and the cut lip. “Why, what have you been doing? Not fighting again, Conn?”
    “Just playing, Mam,” he told her, squirming from her embrace. “Anyway, I’ve already told the Big Man all about it.” He darted into the house.
    Meria swung on Ruathain. “What did he mean? What has he told you?”
    “He got into a fight with Govannan and some of the other boys. It is over now. It matters not.”
    “It matters to me, husband. Why were they fighting?”
    Ruathain shrugged. “Boys fight. It is the nature of things. They make up soon enough.” Young Braefar had walked in unnoticed from the stable.
    “Govannan said Conn’s father was a coward who ran away,” said the boy. “But Conn broke his nose for it. You should have heard it, Mam. It broke with a mighty crack.”
    “Get inside!” roared Ruathain. Surprised, for his father rarely raised his voice, Braefar backed away, then ran into the house.
    Meria stepped in close to her husband. “What did you tell him?” she whispered. Above them the crow sent out a series of screeching cries.
    “I told him the truth. What else would you have me do?”
    “Aye, that must have made you feel good,” she hissed, her green eyes angry. “You’d like him to despise his father, wouldn’t you?”
    “Nothing could be farther from the truth, woman. It saddens me you should think it.”
    “Saddens you? Why would it sadden you? You’re the man who let his father die. Just to win his bride.” As soon as the words were spoken she regretted them. Never in their ten years together had she voiced them before. The sound of flapping wings broke the silence, and the crow flew off toward the northern woods.
    Ruathain stood very still, his face expressionless, his pale gaze locked to her face. “That is what you believe?” he asked her, his voice terribly calm.
    Pride made her stand her ground. “I do,” she said.
    The sudden coldness in his eyes frightened her, but when he spoke, his voice was heavy with sadness. “Twenty men saw him die. Not one of them would say that of me. It is simply not true. I protected him all day. Then he ran. That wasthe way of it.” His voice hardened. “But any woman who would wed a man she believed had connived in the murder of her husband is no better than a pox-ridden whore. And I’ll have no part of her. Not now. Not ever.”
    Then he walked past her into the house. That night, as the candles were snuffed and the lamps extinguished, Meria found herself alone in the large bed.
    Ruathain took his blanket and slept in the barn.
    The following morning he summoned workmen and carpenters, who began the construction of a new house at the far end of the long meadow. Three weeks later he moved his belongings into it.
    The settlement of Three Streams was mystified by the separation. Was he not the most handsome of men, rich and brave? Was he not a good father and provider? Was she not lucky to have found a man to take on a young widow and her son? It was well known that he adored her and had raised her child as his own. Why, then, they wondered, should he have moved out?
    Vorna the witch woman could have told them, for she had been picking herbs in the high meadow and had seen the great crow circle the house. But she said nothing. It was not wise for humans to meddle in the affairs of gods. Especially gods of death and mischief, like the Morrigu.
    Drawing her cloak around her, she moved away into the Wishing Tree Woods, there to commune with the Seidh.
    If the separation caused confusion in the community of Three Streams, its effect on Ruathain’s children was devastating. For weeks nine-year-old Braefar was inconsolable, believing himself responsible for the rift. Connavar also felt a powerful sense of guilt, knowing that his fight with Govannan had led to the breakup. Three-year-old Bendegit Bran was also tearful, though