Chapter 4 : Overcast Skies
10 November 1068
Though an escape to the woodland encircling Castle Rushen had seemed a good idea at the time, Ruarc was beginning to have his doubts; a persistent layer of cloud cover blanketed the sky, leaving the earth dour and slightly chilled. It even looked to be that rain was a coming possibility and, though the clouds appeared scarce heavy enough to drop more than a few moments' showers, it would be far from pleasant should it catch him unawares any time soon.
Ruarc shuffled himself under a tree that looked particularly reliable for shelter, settling himself against the trunk as he made to relax, his eyes scanning the trees for hints of any local wildlife that hadn't been scared off by his presence. A steady autumnal breeze began to pick up in the area, a soft instrumentation of sighing leaves following soon after, a few errant rays of sun breaking through the otherwise mottled gray.
It was all-in-all a beautiful sight, Ruarc noted; artistic in its simplicity, impressive in its abundance.
“Earl.”
Ruarc turned to the voice, giving a brief nod of acknowledgment before returning his gaze to the forested horizon. “Come to bask in nature with me, Kolbein?” Ruarc queried, his mouth stretching into a wry grin that didn't quite touch his cheeks. He had known the answer before he asked, of course – Kolbein wasn't the type to idle outside in such cold, dreary weather. Kolbein, too, must have known that such a question was in jest; true to form, he remained silent, his expression remaining atypically stern.
Ruarc turned himself to better address his chancellor, curious. “What is it, Kolbein?” The earl brought a hand up to his chin in thought -- a gesture he had long since picked up from the other man. “I didn't come out alone, I've guards stationed a small distance away.” As if to illustrate the point, Ruarc gave a short wave behind Kolbein's back. Three of the four men were so engrossed in their sentry duty that they didn't notice the gesture, though the one remaining who did gave a tentative wave of his own in return. With a satisfied grin, Ruarc returned his attention to his friend, only to be met with much the same.
Kolbein simply shook his head, his solemn face proving remarkably sturdy; not so much as a crack appeared in his gloomy demeanor. Not one that Ruarc could see, anyway.
Alright, maybe it was finally time to address the teeny tiny problem that had turned him refugee in the first place. “Sorry, Kolbein. It's hard to deal with her sometimes.” The earl gave a deep sigh, his body sagging with accumulated wear and tear. “It's not like I have any more control over it than she does, so I don't know why she sees fit to pin all of the blame on me...” Another deep sigh, an averted gaze before he finally manages to ask the question of import, “What did she manage to do?”
“This isn't about your wife, Earl.” Kolbein interjected at last, a hand raised.
“What?” Ruarc barely managed to whisper out, a profound degree of surprise on his features. Kolbein typically reserved that look for natural disasters and his wife, and Ruarc certainly didn't
see any natural disasters around.
“Áedh!” A great shout echoed throughout the castle's bailey, steeped with enough raw urgency and anger to put to pause the few people that had remained outside. “Where are you, Áedh?!” Ruarc continued to press quickly through the castle grounds, a stern-faced and slightly winded Kolbein just managing to keep pace behind him. “If you don't show, so help me, Áedh, so help me..!”
The earl doubled over, his hands moving to his knees to support him while he made to rein in his labored breathing. While he had admittedly not been the sterling example of fitness as a simple steward, he hadn't thought that becoming a lord would have left him so much further out of shape. It was fortunate for Ruarc that Áedh appeared soon after, engaged in a brisk trot with a face holding equal measures concern and irritation.
“Áedh! Where –“ the earl was interrupted as he was made painfully aware that he had started talking short on air, leaving him with a brief cough before he managed to better control himself. “Áedh, where is your wife?” Ruarc managed to stand now, though just barely; a hand was clutched to his chest in a pained manner, each breath telling again of the aging man's limits.
“Slaíne, m'lord?” The newcomer replied, an expression of great shock melting quickly into dubious curiosity. “Why would you wish for Slaíne, m'lord? Has something happened to her?” Áedh swept the surrounding area with nervous eyes, his composure paper thin in contrast with his thick, heady voice.
Ruarc's eyes bored into the younger man,“Slaíne seeks Ainmere de Sulby's life.” The earl practically began to spit as he continued his tirade, pointing a finger accusingly in the spymaster's direction. “Has for some time now, in fact! Know you anything of this, Áedh?!”
The younger man continued to fidget in place, his eyes never quite managing to stay focused on the older man's face. “Are you certain it is Slaíne, m'lord? Perhaps it is someo-”
“I know very well who it is, Áedh.” Ruarc interrupted, a hand held up to bid silence before pressing forward. “What I don't know is how my spymaster – who is married to the culprit, don't forget! – seems to not know anything about what goes on the very castle he resides!” The hand at Ruarc's side had by now tightened into a sturdy fist, its form trembling with promised violence though the man attached still had enough good sense to keep it in check. “What in God's name do you do around here, Áedh, that somebody else found this out before you did?”
Though the younger man remained rooted in place, it looked to all the world as if he wanted nothing more than to bolt, consequences be damned. “You're mistaken, m'lord.” He managed to get out, small beads of perspiration running down his face all the while. “M'lord, Slaíne is a good person. She wouldn't even think of such things.”
Ruarc turned a questioning look to Kolbein who, catching the glance, simply shook his head at the pitiable display. Growing ever more frustrated at the impasse, the earl gave a violent shrug of his shoulder and set off, setting a brisk, deliberate pace that the chancellor soon moved to follow. “We'll find her on our own, Kolbein. I'll turn this castle upside down if I must.”
The abandoned spymaster watched the two retreating forms with a clouded expression upon his face, his trembling abating quickly at the earl's departure. Sparing Kolbein's back one last dirty glance, Áedh turned and headed in the opposite direction, striking a purposeful stride that nearly matched the pace of the two older men.
“He's up to something, Kolbein.” Ruarc intoned lightly under his breath, momentarily pausing in his tracks both to address his friend and catch his breath.
“Áedh?” The chancellor raised an eyebrow at this, looking to the disheveled man curiously. “The boy's always like that, Earl. More squirrel than man, as the children say.”
Ruarc shook his head resolutely, his brows pressing his eyes into menacing slits. “I have my doubts about this whole affair. He's a bit of a mess, but he's not addle-minded; I didn't care for that little act of his.” A look of surprise crossed the other man's face and, of habit, his hand moved naturally to his facial hair, a decidedly thoughtful expression overtaking his features as he stroked at his beard.
“You... needed me, my lord?”
Two pairs of eyes turned as one to the direction of the soft, feminine voice, both men staring in mute appraisal as Slaíne stepped hesitantly closer. “I... Áedh told me you were looking for me.” She scanned the earl's stony face, her eyes brimming with confusion and worry. “He looked p-pretty upset. Is something wrong?” Though the woman managed to hold her form up with poise and dignity, it seemed every bit a herculean task; her voice managed only just over a whisper and carried with it a slight tremor that betrayed her failing nerves.
Ruarc – confronted with a woman who looked every bit a victim – was at a loss of what to say. The righteous anger that had filled him completely mere moments before had largely subsided, leaving him worn and empty. The aging man's eyes closed and, though ultimately a futile gesture, he began to rub absently at his forehead to stave off his encroaching headache.
“Slaíne, do you seek Ainmere de Sulby's death?” Though the words was notably free of accusation, still, too, did it carry a tone of finality; no longer a question, it was the prelude to judgment.
Slaíne's confusion grew nearly palpable as she slowly worked to absorb the gravity of those deceptively calm words, of the situation she had found herself inexplicably caught in. Though it took a few moments, the woman's knitted brows turned upward in surprise and – inevitably – fear. Her countenance paled, her hands clasping together before her in a pleading motion even before she began to speak.
Or attempt to speak, as it were. Her first attempts were unintelligible – too low to make out, too garbled to understand – and only served to leave her out of breath. The Earl of the Isle of Man settled a hand atop her shoulder; firm in its placement, merciful in its grip, he silenced her mumbling with a single gesture. “Speak clear, Slaíne.” Though his words was still carefully lacking in hostility, there was a faint undercurrent of irritation that proved difficult to miss. Kolbein pulled his eyes away from the woman, his gaze instead settling curiously on the earl.
“I'm so sorry, my lord.” Came the soft – but very much perceivable – reply, the woman's head bowing as she took to looking to the ground. “I only w-wished to help my husband.” A brief stumble in her words left her more careful, more articulate afterward, “He speaks of Ainmere as if possessed, can hardly experience a pleasant night's sleep without waking to dreams...” A distressed sniff, a lone tear floating silently to the ground. “I just wanted to help, but Ainmere refuses to speak to me, to either of us. I... I...”
The hand at Slaíne's shoulder gripped tighter, renewing the reign of silence and paving the way for Ruarc's own monologue. “I am not to tolerate actions against my people, Slaíne. That very much includes Ainmere de Sulby.”
Ruarc's words hang ominously in the air, stifling the woman, leaving her naught but a choked nod as a valid response. Seemingly satisfied with this, the earl retracted his hand from Slaíne's shoulder, pulling himself a more respectable distance away. “You should come to me with such worries, Slaíne. That is what I am here for.”
Ruarc made a brief gesture to the nearby chancellor before turning to depart, ignoring the muffled sobs of the woman that came soon after his leave. His pace was slow out of necessity – never before had he felt the accumulation of years as keenly as he did now, its weight wrapped securely around his body as a leaden cloak, its tightened drawstrings a noose about his neck. His breath was shallow and his eyes closed of their own accord – it was not by coincidence that he was headed towards his chambers.
“Are you well, Earl?” Ruarc looked over his shoulder at the chancellor, slightly unnerved in his excitable state; Kolbein's footsteps were carefully placed to mirror his own and, if it weren't for the sudden address, he may very well have been traveling alone for all he would know. It wasn't a particularly new characteristic of his friend, but it wasn't quite as welcome after such an engaging talk of assassinations. Ruarc returned his attention forward, intent on hiding his discomfort.
“I'm no good at this, Kolbein.” The voice that he had managed to force out was but a pale shadow of its normal self, born of gravel and sand, barely higher than whisper. Ruarc was quick to bring a hand to his throat and work to clear it, littering the air with offhand “ehem”'s before he gave up altogether, deciding it futile.
“You handled it well.” The chancellor replied when at last the fit had passed, his gaze never wavering from the earl's back. “She expressed desire for penitence just after your leave.” Kolbein's brows grew furrowed as he spoke and, for the briefest of moments, he paused to look behind him, towards the woman that had begun to move from her rooted position at last.
“Keep an eye on Áedh for me.” Again Ruarc was forced to bring a self-conscious hand to his throat as he spoke and, briefly, he wondered as to whether a drink would be enough to right it. His companion returned the command with a brief nod, a movement the earl only just barely managed to catch from the corner of his eye. “I don't want this to happen again.”