He was a little vexed that, for a daughter who knew so many people, she had never thought of marriage before.
Otherwise she would not be in this position today.
But then he blamed himself again.
Aislín had been back in Dunmore for two years, and he, her father, had shown so little concern and made so few inquiries.
How could a young lady be expected to choose a husband for herself?
In the end he laid all the blame on himself as a father.
Not only had he been unable to protect her, he had brought her hardship after hardship.
Aisling saw the light in her father’s eyes dim and his expression grow more downcast, and knew he was feeling guilty again.
She had no choice but to provoke him on purpose.
“Father, is that face because you can’t help me?”
“Nonsense!” King Ruairí scolded gently.
“They’re only two minor posts.
I may be out of favor at court, but I can still manage small matters like these.”
When two realms sealed an alliance by marriage and a princess was sent to wed, the Office of Rites followed set protocols.
The rank of the officials, the number in the party, and the size of the dowry were all fixed in advance.
The escorting guards were no trouble; they could turn back once they had delivered her to the border of Kilmore.
But the officials overseeing the ceremonies had to travel all the way to the court of the clan king of Dunmara and could return only after the wedding was done.
The road was long and dangerous, and they would have to deal with the barbarian clans.
It was a thankless duty that few volunteered for.
Still, the officials chosen to escort the bride did stand to gain.
By the rules of the escort, senior officers of the Office of Rites or the Office of Protocol, who handled the reception of lords and envoys, had to preside over the ceremonies.
At the very highest protocol, a prince himself was required to escort the bride.
So if an official of low rank were raised to the post, he could be promoted several grades at once.
The noble houses had their own privileges and connections, which spared them such hardships.
Men of humble birth might strive for the post, but they could not compete with a single word from the great houses.
King Ruairí had lived a law abiding life for nearly thirty years, yet he still kept some connections from King Diarmuid the Founder and Crown Prince Tadhg.
As he had said, it truly was not difficult.
“Thank you, Father!” Aisling smiled.
In this life, heaven had been kind to her, giving her a family who truly cared for her.
King Ruairí gazed at his daughter’s rosy face, lovelier than the brightest pearl, and thought that she was about to be married.
His heart was heavy with reluctance.
He pictured her going alone to a distant land beyond the northern borders, not knowing what hardships awaited, and wished he could do everything possible for her.
“I still have some of the secret guards King Diarmuid gave me.
Take them with you; they’ll give you some extra protection.”
Aisling shook her head.
Captain Cormac and the others will go north with me, and that is enough.
Your position is more precarious than mine.
Let them stay with you.”
King Ruairí wanted to press further, but when he met his daughter’s resolute gaze he knew she would not waver.
He did not know how his daughter had grown from a small child into someone so clever and far sighted, but it surely had not been easy.
Suddenly Aisling thought of something and felt she should warn her father.
“Father, there is something odd between Lady Sibéal and Lord Declan Riordan.”
She knew Lady Sibéal was an informant planted in Devlin House by King Cathal, but something about her had always felt wrong.
Aisling had only meant to make her father pay closer attention to Lady Sibéal, but after she spoke, he behaved strangely.
King Ruairí asked carefully, “How much do you know?”
“Not much.
Only that before the palace banquet for the Prince of Dunmara, I saw her meeting secretly with Lord Declan for a while, and she looked uneasy.”
King Ruairí let out a breath of relief.
Aisling sensed he was hiding something and asked softly, “Father knows?”
“Well…” In front of his daughter, King Ruairí was too ashamed to speak, afraid of staining her ears.
But Aisling was not inclined to let it go.
She insisted on getting to the bottom of it, even threatening, “If Father won’t tell me, that’s fine.
I’ll send someone to find out myself.” As she spoke, she rose to her feet.
“Don’t!” King Ruairí hurriedly stopped her.
Aisling sat back down and watched him calmly.
His expression changed several times.
His eyes wandered to the window and the floor, anywhere but his daughter’s face.
His fair skin flushed red, and at last he said helplessly, “They…
are involved in a shameful, unnatural affair.” His voice was as timid as a young bride’s.
Aisling was stunned for a moment before she grasped the nature of the tie between Lady Sibéal and Lord Declan.
Weren’t they cousins?
Yet she was not especially shocked.
Thinking back on how they had behaved that day, they had indeed been far too close.
If not for the bond of kinship, one might have taken them for a couple.
“So you simply let them…” Aisling murmured, her eyes wide.
Now that the truth was out, King Ruairí spoke more freely.
“I have never been close to Lady Sibéal.
We both knew why this marriage came about, so I don’t care what she does.
In fact…
she was my pawn as well.”
Lady Sibéal had been sent to watch King Ruairí, but she was not sharp enough to see beyond the obvious.
When he learned of her improper affair with Lord Declan, he had not exposed it and had let it go on.
Otherwise, if the king lost his informant, it would only be more troublesome to replace her.
But now she had dared to plot against his daughter, and that was unforgivable.
A sharp glint flickered in King Ruairí’s eyes and vanished so quickly it might have been an illusion.
Aisling thought that since her father knew, she would not meddle further.
Lady Sibéal’s scheming annoyed her, but if her father still found the woman useful, she would let it be for now.
Father and daughter did not linger on the awkward subject.
Once they had talked through their plans, Aisling returned to her own courtyard.
That evening Aunt Bríd came back and reported that everything was settled: Fionn was willing to go north with her.
Aisling nodded, feeling a little more at ease.
Soon it was the middle of March.
Ronan had been in Dunmore for more than half a month.
Now that the bride was chosen and the treaty with Kilmore was sealed, the clans of Dunmara could not go long without their king, and all of Kilmore was anxious to see him gone.
So the preparations moved quickly.
The day after the marriage decree was issued, the Office of Rites sent someone to take Aisling’s measurements.
The princess’s wedding gown had already been made, and only slight alterations were needed.
The day before departure, the Office of Rites brought the attendant maids and the dowry chests to Devlin House so that Aisling could try on the gown.
The embroiderers’ work was excellent.
Cut to her measurements, the gown fit perfectly and needed no further adjustment.
By then Devlin House was already hung with lanterns and bright silks, and even rare flowers and trees had been transplanted into the grounds, so that the once quiet mansion was bustling for the first time in seventeen years.
Lady Sibéal seemed especially enthusiastic about the occasion, her face lit with smiles.
A stranger might have thought she was truly happy for Aisling.
Aisling leaned against the lattice windowsill in a plain robe thrown loosely about her, her slender wrist propping up her cheek as she gazed quietly at the bright moon hanging in the treetops.
Pure and flawless, its light bathed everything.
Amergin, the bard of old, once said, “People today do not see the moon of ancient times, but this moon once shone on the ancients.”
Yet she, a “modern” woman from a thousand years on, was now looking at the “ancient” moon of a thousand years ago.
This moon was no different from the one she had known in her own future.
The world had changed, and only the people on this land had become different.
Seen across the long span of time, everyone was destined to fade into the dust of history.
The rise and fall of one short lived kingdom might not seem so weighty, but now that she was truly a part of it, she could not help caring.
The faces she had met were so vivid, the things she had lived through so real, and the affection she had felt so deeply cherished…
She could not simply stand by and watch the tragedies to come.
She wanted to beat the butterfly’s wings, to turn the course of history even by the smallest margin.
“Ronan,” Aisling repeated the name silently in her heart.
This falling star, doomed from the star.
Could she change his fate?