But a certain disquiet began to grow in him. The halls were still quiet. There ought to have been some stirring about by now. He might have been mistaken in the hour the first time he had wakened.
See, my lord, the Servants might be saying, he is still abed for all these hours. And Donnchadh wondering to himself at his guest's discourtesy.
His wits had come back to him; his limbs must follow. He flung the covers off, met the hill highlands air and braved it, more and more awake. He looked out the narrow window, with its view of daylit mountains, for here the keep met the wall and the window faced the land round about, the Brown Hills, stony and harsh and forever untilled.
It was far unlike Caer Wiell, with its girdle of fields and forest, of pasture where yellow flowers bloomed. The Brown Hills were well named, desolate and fit for sheep. Even the air was different, having no perfume of growing things from this windward side. The little stream in the cleft at the foot of the cliffs sent no sound up the walls; there was no rush of water and wind that was always with Caer Wiell. The hills were full of stones and harsh with brush and no flowers seemed to bloom here in this season.
He shivered, turned from the window and sought his clothes, the finer ones he had brought in hope of gentle welcome.
And so prepared, leaving the armor and all but his dagger that was fit for meat, he went to the door and opened it.
A page slept on a bench nearby, a thin lad, pinch-faced, who lifted his head at the noise and leapt up. "Lord," he said.
"I have slept too long said Domhnull. "And not a lord, no. But where is your lord this morning, and will he see me?"
Oh, he be hunting. A wolf have got some sheep hereabouts, and my lord and the men be gone to find him."
"Ah," he said, chagrined. "Well, may I go to hall and wait there?"
"It will be long waiting."
"And breakfast."
"Oh, aye, breakfast, surely, breakfast."
"The men with me where are they this morning?"
"O, my lord he breakfasted them in hall and took them with him. They thought they should not wake you. Stay here, my lord says to me, and see to his comforts."
Domhnull frowned, and the least niggling fear came on him, that Boc should have gone off without his leave. Perhaps they hoped thus to win Donn's favor and make amends for his shameful lateness, or perhaps Donnchadh had insisted, or a thousand other tumbling thoughts, not least of which was the suspicion that men who had known the war like Boc and Caith and Dubhlaoch might go then-own way. "Well," he said, "well, I shall have the breakfast down in hall."
"This way, lord."
The boy led; he followed, down halls that thumped and echoed, with wooden floors, wooden stairs and walls, the antlers of deer hung here and there and whimsically adorned with candles unlit now that the sun came in the windowslits.
It was not the way they had come last night, in this warren. He remembered other stairs, no such decoration; but they came into a small warm hall where a cheerful fire burned in the hearth.
"This is not the hall," Domhnull said.
"Oh, it be the lesser hall, this," said the page, "and here my lord will come when he will come. It be far more comfortable than the other with its drafts and echoes. Sit here, lord, and I will see to breakfast."
"I am no lord," Domhnull said again, distracted in looking at the place. A table waited. There was a single chair and benches about it. No lady. Donnchadh has never married. The thought struck him strange, that he had heard somewhat of Donnchadh all his life, but never that he married, nor got children. He was rich and high in the King's favor—and for certain seasons of the year Donnchadh went down from his hills to the plain across the passes, and to the King's seat at Dun na h-Eoin, with entourage and banners and all such things, while lord Ciaran sat in Caer Wiell and never made the jour ney, save once or twice and that years gone, with bitter issue.
He had expected, somehow, more wealth and less of the rustic about Donnchadh. It is very like some steading, he thought, looking about him as he sat down at table. Or some shepherd's cottage, if monstrous large. It might have been a warm place, a cheerful hold. But here were no children, no running feet, no games nor childish laughter—no children of the lord or any of his folk. Perhaps they had kept them out of the way of untrusted guests; perhaps there were such besides the harried pages.
And women—surely women lived here. But there was no lady such as Branwyn, to have been in hall last night: that was the reason the hold had so strange an aspect, such a grimness, that no children disturbed the lord's dignity with games or broke the silences; a man could become like that surrounded entirely by men—I should marry, he thought distractedly, get children, half a dozen at the least, have a wife to my comfort— for until yesterday he had hoped only for some brave word that others might say of him, a little glory in his life. He had seen only Caer Wiell, and had ambition to see Dun na h-Eoin and the King, to ride to some war or other; and now that he had come into this place so different from his own, his longing was all toward home again, recalling how beautiful the fields were, how green the forest, how fine these things had always been and he had never seen them; how rich his lord was, and he had never known it— not in gold, not in such ways as Donn, but in many others.
Perhaps tonight, he thought, will be harping, and folk will begin to laugh, deciding us no enemy.
What will he ask? What shall I say to him? Gods, Boc, and why have you done this? It was not well done, to leave me sleeping.
His breakfast came—no maid came to serve him, but only the servants, a succession of dour men bearing bread and cheese and meat in greater quantity than any breakfast he had had in Caer Wiell.
Perhaps, he thought, their guests were gluttons, or accustomed to choose and have their whims satisfied.
"I shall ride out," he said, "and see whether I can overtake your lord. Have my horse saddled."
There was silence for a moment. "Lord," said one, "we will tell the seneschal and he will come to you."
So he waited, and so the seneschal came, that man who had met them at the gates, he with the gold chain, a graying beard, eyes very dark and narrow.
"I did not have your name last night," said Domhnull. "Forgive me."
"It is Breandan."
"I would ride out," Domhnull said, "and join this hunt."
"So the servants told me."
"I shall need a guide."
"Our lord gave no such order."
"So," he said, and all at once his heart was beating harder, his wits racing this way and that.
"For your safety."
He gave a laugh, easy and merry. "Well, but I rode that way by night, and worse."
"I could not permit it."
The laugh died. He stared at this Breandan. "Then I take it on myself. Must I find the stable?"
"I could not permit it."
Do I then break with this pretense? Ask them where be Boc and Caith and the others? He walked a pace or two away, disliking the gray level stare upon him. O gods. "And how long will this be, before your lord comes home? How long must I wait here? I didn't plan to stay overlong, sir Breandan. That was not my order."
"Not so very long," said Breandan.
"I shall go back to my room, then."
"As to that I have no instructions. I pray you wait here."
"Is it so?" He walked to the fireplace and looked back at Brean dan. And my weapons may not now be there. No, I can be sure they are not. "Where are my men, sir Breandan?"
"I will inquire," said Breandan and walked toward the door.