Well, she likely would leave out quite a few details—like the bit where she cried out his name at the top of Cnoc Rua. Or how she’d been up so early because she hadn’t slept at all. Or how right it had felt to be back in his arms.
As she neared the hall, Niamh decided perhaps it would be best to skip over the night and focus on the betrothal. Her mother, in particular, would be ecstatic. She’d always pushed Niamh to reconsider leaving Dallan, to give him a chance, to believe in him. To trust him.
She’d done all those things and then some. Only time would tell if she’d made the right decision.
Niamh opened the doors and stepped into the hall, her eyes adjusting slowly to the dim, fire-lit room. She didn’t see her mother or Máire, but she spotted Alva sitting at the outermost table, far from all the other folk in the room. Her friend didn’t appear to see her, staring blankly at her hands, her chestnut tresses out of their usual braids.
Niamh could tell instantly that something was terribly wrong. Alva rarely left her home, dedicated to helping her husband manage the smithy and always busy with housekeeping and her garden. When she had a spare moment, she used it to help her neighbors. Though her cottage had been destroyed, she’d continued her habit of near-constant activity, helping around the keep wherever needed. Niamh hadn’t seen her sit down at all, aside from meal times.
“Alva?” Niamh ventured softly. “May I join you?”
Alva nodded, her face impassive.
Niamh sat beside her. “What happened?” she asked, keeping her voice low, so that no one could overhear them.
“She moved in.” The pain in Alva’s voice brought an ache to Niamh’s chest.
“Oh, Alva.” Niamh pulled her into the tightest hug she could manage. It seemed her good news would have to wait. Alva needed her support right now. “I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t think he’d really do it,” she muttered, her cheeks flushed. “Am I selfish, for wanting him to myself? A better wife would want what’s best for him, want him to have children. That’s why the law exists, is it not? To ensure the future.”
“You are not selfish. Everyone deserves love and happiness. Who is she? You’ve not said much about her, though I hardly blame you.”
“The miller’s eldest daughter, Úna.”
“Well, perhaps when you conceive a child he’ll see the error of his ways,” Niamh offered, trying her best to comfort her friend in what seemed a hopeless turn of fate.
At that, a flash of silvery tears fell down Alva’s pale cheeks. “I’m afraid that may be out of the question entirely now.”
“What? Why? Alva don’t say that. We can keep trying.”
“I think I’ve the same problem as you,” she leaned closer, her voice hushed. “My bleeding has stopped, too. It wasn’t meant to be.”
Niamh sat straight as a rod, excitement bubbling through her. “Alva,” she worked to keep her voice calm, “if your bleeding has stopped, it’s most likely because you are carrying, not barren.”
“But I haven’t felt ill at all,” she countered. Though Niamh saw the light return to her eyes.
“Not everyone does. How long has it been since you last bled?”
“Not quite two turnings of the moon.”
“Alva!” Niamh could hardly contain herself. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“There was nothing to tell. Until this past sennight, it wasn’t unusual. You know how unpredictable they’ve been.”
“But this is the longest it’s been between bleedings?”
Alva nodded, the dark look of defeat lifting from her face. “Do you really think it’s possible?”
Niamh took her hands, feeling something she’d thought she’d never have again: hope.
“Anything is possible,” she whispered, surprised to find that she meant it. “Anything.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Lay on thecot here,” Niamh directed Alva. “I’ll see if I can tell, though it may be too early yet.”
Alva hurried to the cot, plopping down and chewing on her lip as she waited.
