“Most of the herbs over by your worktable were burned to ash,” her mother replied. “I found these under the wall that collapsed. The mud must have protected them, or the fire had burned out in time to spare them.”
They worked for several hours, spending much of the morning and part of the afternoon salvaging, sorting, and stacking until they could once again see the earthen floor.
“A good day’s work,” Máire declared as they stood in a row, each one’s arms behind the other, looking at the results of their efforts.
“A good day, indeed,” her mother agreed. “Shall we head to dinner?”
“I’m going to go find Alva,” Niamh replied. “I’ll meet you in the hall.”
She’d been so wrapped up in her own problems that Niamh had nearly forgotten about Alva.
Wandering down the dirt path to Alva’s cottage, Niamh found her doing much the same as they had, sorting and piling debris. Niamh’s stomach dropped when she noticed that Alva was joined by her husband—and another woman. The look on Alva’s face as she raised her head, eyes meeting Niamh’s across the way, said it all.
Apparently, her husband was more of a fool than Niamh had believed. Or more selfish, at least.
Plastering the biggest smile on her face she could manage, given the circumstances, Niamh swooped in for the rescue.
“How are you feeling? Have you eaten enough, taken some rest?” she asked Alva a little too loudly. “You don’t want to overexert yourself.”
Alva sighed, setting down an armload of broken wood on the nearby stack, and meeting Niamh in the road. “It’s no use,” she muttered under her breath. “But I appreciate the effort.”
“If you told him, why is she here?” Niamh narrowed her eyes at the pair of them.
“He’s ensuring his succession,” Alva replied, clearly mocking his own answer to the very same question.
Niamh scowled. “He’s a blacksmith for god’s sake!”
“The king of the forge,” Alva grumbled, her lips thin.
“The fool of the forge, more like.” Niamh put her arm through Alva’s, turning to call back to the pair of them. “I’m stealing her!”
Alva’s husband frowned at Niamh’s joke, making her feel just a tad bit better. Even the corners of Alva’s lips lifted.
“I’m not angry with him,” Alva admitted as they walked arm-in-arm toward the keep. “Just sad and a little powerless. Naught can be done, and he’s acting entirely within the law. He’s been as kind about it as possible, but…”
“But he isn’t above breaking your heart so that he has a son to pass his trade to,” Niamh finished for her.
“Precisely.” Alva paused, furrowing her brow. “I heard that the Fianna went north.”
Niamh’s chest constricted uncomfortably. “Cormac and Diarmid went north. Dallan went east.”
Her mouth opened in shock. “To Laigin?”
Niamh nodded. “He left yesterday.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry! Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to dampen your joy,” Niamh snorted. “Though it seems your husband’s done it for me.”
“He left without you?” Alva sounded angrier over Dallan leaving than her husband taking another wife. “What did he say?”
“Well,” Niamh blew out a breath, “he asked me to go with him.”
“And youdidn’t?”
“He kept it from me!” Niamh defended. “AndI discovered—entirely by accident, mind you—that he’d only been nice to me after the battle to try to learn why I’d left him. I’m also not entirely sure he meant what he said about not caring that I couldn’t have children, as he was lying to me the entire time. That he knew he was going to be leaving days ago and he nevertold me was just the half of it. I suppose it’s fair though, since I did the same when I left him.”
Alva nodded, her face pinched like she didn’t quite agree. “Is it, though?”
