Author's Note: Takes place not too long after Oakleaf Bearers/Battle for Skandia and references both Sorcerer in the North and Kings of Clonmel. The largest deviations from established canon are minor characters being not-dead and using 'Kate' instead of 'Cait'.
And Though She Be But Little She Be Fierce - W. Shakespeare
"Why don't we just sit down and discuss this reasonably?"
The words were conciliatory but the tone with which they were delivered struck Kate Shannon as condescending. She longed to wipe the look of habitual smugness off that face so close to her own—wished to take each remark and force them back down his throat—wanted to make him realize how shallow his power was rooted. Not that she could. She'd tried, time and time again, and nothing made a difference.
"I was not aware there was anything left to discuss," said Kate, balling her hands into fists. The bracelets and bangles on her wrist chimed faintly with the movement. Rage and grief were doing a tango at the back of her throat and she wanted to scream but she kept her voice pitched low and level. She could appear reasonable too. "I announced that I was leaving. All you have to do is say, 'Good-bye,' Adding, 'Have a nice trip,' seems a bit much to expect from you but if you want to do the thing up proper—"
He spun away, giving her a small victory in the ongoing battle. Kate stood straight, having pulled herself to full stature to leave no difference in height between them. Her face was flushed with emotion and each nerve had stretched taut as a bowstring. Flickering firelight played over his back and picked out the metallic embroidery at his cuffs as he paced a few steps to regroup. The gold glittered but his face was shadowed when he deigned to re-engage. "Kate, Kate," he murmured, every inch patronizing and concerned. "You are distraught and over tired."
She jerked out of reach, not wanting to be soothed as if she were one of the hounds drowsing on the hearthstone. She did not argue the description but her mind was made up. She was sick of the differences of opinion which flared into full-blown quarrels whenever conviction outstripped the gloss of polite interaction. There had been one incident too many—and then another, and another, and she was through. Words would not patch this breach. There would be no paper-thin mend over deep scars tonight. Let time and distance have a go at the job. "If you say I am only a silly woman—"
He waved his hands as if the notion had never occurred to him. "No, no, of course not. But what of your son?" The boy in question was only a few paces away, in a dither as to which of them to drag from the other.
"My son?" Kate repeated.
"Aye. If you were to leave, what would happen to him?"
"Only as he pleased."
"Suppose I withdrew my favor?" He tipped his head to one side, daring her to have an answer.
Kate stepped forward, moving into his space as if proximity could lend force to her words. "When you've gone through the trouble of taking his father's name and giving him your own? What a waste," she mocked. He was too fond of his heir to actually carry out the threat and ought to have known better than to drag the boy into the middle. They had made terms on this matter and her presence was not stipulated. "Best wait until you have a second choice before you go alienating the one you have."
He didn't give ground and she felt her eyes cross trying to meet the pale gray orbs so close to her own. But she'd at least made him flinch; scoring a hit against his poorly chosen defense. "And where will you go?"
She tossed her head. "Piracy seems a good choice. I've heard there's plenty of gold on the warm southern seas."
"Kate, be reasonable."
She was as immovable as the stone under her feet. "You be reasonable first," she snapped.
There was nothing to be gained from staying any longer—so she went. Words trailed after her. He was explaining to the boy what it had all been about, working in one last link in a chain to bind her, but she was beyond reach and the words were insubstantial as vapor, falling to the ground without entangling her feet or her heart.
"She's grieving. She doesn't mean half of what she's said. It'll all blow over by morning..."
The heavy velvet of her skirts swept the floor as she strode to her private chamber. He was deluded if he thought she would spend another night under his roof. Grieving! Of course she was grieving! Her husband was dead without a child to his name—their boy heir to a posturing fool— She slammed the door and tore at the laces of her gown. It pooled at her feet and left her shivering in the chill of the room. She stripped off her jewelry; necklaces and baubles falling to silent rest on the crumpled velvet. She'd not take anything that came to her from him or her position in his household.
Kate hurried into a plain linsey dress and pulled her hair back. Her plans had been already made and were ready for execution. A wool mantle and hood would keep her warm tonight and what little she called hers fit into a leather pack. At this late hour, the house was silent and still. Kate ghosted through the hall of the place she'd once called home. Her heart was already gone. She had only to follow, hoping to find it again. The torches burning low on the wall guttered as she pulled the back door open. Outside, the night was crisp and the stars sharp points of light in the darkness.
"Mother?"
"Sean Marc," said Kate, greeting the boy who stepped from the shadows. Her son looked unhappy and she longed to smooth the worry from his brow and kiss him and tell him all would be well again. But he was almost full-grown now and well able to choose his own path.
"You're really going?"
"I said I was."
His shoulders slumped. "Why didn't you ask me to come with you?"
"I—"
"Did you think I'd say no? That I cared more for this than you?" Sean Marc flung out his arm in an encompassing gesture, taking in their surroundings and the accompanying privilege. "Is that it?"
Sudden tears burned against her eyes, turning the small flambeux on the wall into memories of roaring funeral pyres, and Kate blinked them back. "I know you would," she said. "I'll treasure that thought all down the road. But you've a position and responsibilities I've no right to dictate."
"You have that too—"
"I'm just a pretty face here," she said. "Will you follow or no?"
Her son had the stubborn set to the jaw and angry glare that distinguished her side of the family and he used both expressions at once. "Fine, then!" he said. "If that's what you want I'll stay!"
"Fine."
"Fine!" he repeated, dashing a hand across his eyes in a quick backhanded gesture that almost ruined his bravado.
Kate bit her own lip and tossed her head. No good-bye, then. She went out the door and out through the garden into the city. Grief had taken the lead for now. If she hadn't been emotionally overwrought, perhaps she would have discussed her actions with her son before announcing them. She knew what it was to be caught in a web of duty and expectations. She didn't know how to make it easier to bear so she'd simply thrown the burden at him, trusting him to meet the challenge in his own way.
She walked all through the night and in the morning caught a ride on a wagon of goods headed back to the coast. The teamster saw her as a middle-aged goodwife on her way to the market; a petite woman in a gray linsey dress that didn't quite fit her lean form while a sash of black silk and bands around her forearms marked her as mourning a loved one. Coarse dark hair, already streaked with silver, was pulled back from her oval face into two braids and tucked up into a net of slender black cord which disappeared against her coloring. He chatted on, worried about her being alone on the road.
Kate held her pack on her lap, thanked him for his kindness and assured him she was not as helpless as she seemed.
The coast town was marked by a forest of masts and the reek of fish and saltwater. Kate kilted up her skirts so they wouldn't pick up fish scales from the streets and found passage across the channel on a fishing smack called the Gull. She allowed herself one look back, but there was no one coming after her.
Telling herself it was just as well, Kate Shannon shook the dust of Hibernea from her feet and boarded the Gull.