Riona (18 page)

The brew cooled and steeped while Riona made a poultice of a few crushed mistletoe blossoms, which she’d knocked from a tree with stones, and some wood sage she’d found growing along the forest’s edge downstream. Carefully, she wrapped it around Kieran’s thigh. He flinched as she pressed it on and wrapped it, but made no sound.

“Hopefully this will draw out the infection. Would that I had salt,” she lamented.

“Methinks the only remedy for this aching head is the slice of a sharp sword at the neck.”

At Kieran’s remark, Leila hopped dutifully to her feet and removed the cloth from his forehead. Riona watched the little girl make haste to the water to refresh it and wring it out. Skipping back, she laid it gently over his forehead, tender as a mother with her babe.

“Thank you, milady.” The corner of Kieran’s mouth tugged in an attempt to smile. “I’m a lucky man to have two such pretty maids tending me.”

Leila’s face lit at the compliment. Impulsively, she leaned over to kiss him, but was thwarted by the rag covering his forehead. Instead, she gave him a little peck on the tip of his nose.

“Now I know I shall improve.”

“Fever improves your disposition, milord,” Riona remarked as Leila returned to the fire with her brothers.

“A kiss on the lips from a full-grown maid would heal me entirely.”

Faith, he could be charming when he chose. “That colt’s tooth will win you no favor.” She doubted his precocious yearnings had suffered overmuch of neglect, given the winsome manner in which he pursued them.

“ ’Twould take my mind off this pounding in my head.”

“So will this.” Riona picked up the tea and tasted it. It was palatable but no more, and considerably less. She strove to keep her features from contorting in distaste. “And this will help ease the fever and infection. ’Tis cool enough to take straight down, if you prefer.” She lowered her voice mischievously. “Now drink it like a warrior, lest these children think you a ninny.”

Three pairs of curious eyes rested on Kieran as he put the cup to his lips. He took a sip, lips thinning as he swallowed with manly composure. “I’ve wallowed through cattle mire that surely smelled and tasted better,” he said aside to her. “You swear it will help?”

“I swear.” It was all Riona could do to keep from snickering as he eyed her through narrowed golden lashes a woman would give her dowry to possess.

Kieran lifted the cup and drank it straight down so fast a sliver of root nearly went down with it. With a jerk forward he coughed it up and then fell back against the tree, exhausted. “I’d have a brace of ale, if you don’t mind, to chase the foul stuff.”

Riona handed him the skin. Most of its contents were gone. What was left she watered down to make it go farther. If he minded, he didn’t let on. He merely swished it in his mouth, as if to be certain no taste of the herbal concoction lingered, and swallowed.

Leila scrambled over to him, digging in her apron pocket, and produced a green leaf. She put it under his nose.

“Mint,” he observed in surprise. “Why, thank you again, milady.” He popped the leaf in his mouth.

“Where did you find that?” Riona asked. She’d seen no mint on her search.

Leila shrugged and waved in a downstream direction before rejoining her siblings.

“Leila used to help Mother find herbs. She was good at it,” Fynn informed them. “Mother said she has a nose for them keen as a hound’s.”

As if to demonstrate, Leila sniffed, twitching the little stub of her nose, and then giggled. Everyone laughed except Kieran.

“A fine quandary we’re in,” he complained, head laid back against the tree, eyes closed. “I’m laid up with this fever and leg wound and you and the children at the mercy of nature.”

“Mercy
is right,” Riona agreed, but not in the sense her woeful patient meant. “Mercy has provided us with a fine hunter and cook, a good nurse, and the best wood scavenger I’ve ever seen.”

“And a clear night,” Fynn put in. “There must be a million stars out tonight. Better than last night’s wet blanket.”

“I think the meat is done,” Liex announced, not the least interested in medicine, mercy, or stars. Of course, the lad had made the same observation every few moments since the smell started to fill the air and taunt the nostrils.

“I think you might be right this time, wort.” With an air of authority, Fynn tested the leg of the hen with a tug. The meat pulled away without resistance. “Aye, you’re right. Now hold on to this while I move the braces away from the fire.”

He lifted the spit and handed it to the younger boy. With a short tug, he pulled up the Y-shaped branches he’d used to support the meat and, using a piece of firewood, drove them into the ground a short distance from the fire itself.

“Let it cool a bit, and then we’ll have our feast. I’ll have the king’s choice since I killed and prepared it.”

Kieran didn’t protest. He just lay with his head back, eyes closed. Riona touched his cheek. Still warmer than normal.

“While the meat’s cooling, what say we make up another concoction so that it will be ready for later?”

“I saved the stones,” Liex told her, producing them from his pocket. “We can use Fynn’s new cup, and Gleannmara will be back to his old pompous self in no time.”

One of Kieran’s eyes opened, peering half-lidded at the boy, but said nothing. She didn’t know if he was too sick to take up the unwitting insult or was learning to temper his tongue, at least around the children. She feared it was the first; she prayed it was the last.

The finest fare ever spread on Dromin or Gleannmara’s tables paled in comparison to the welcome taste of roast squirrel and fowl. Kieran nibbled a little, but aside from drinking down Riona’s concoction and a little ale, he slept. With the energy of children, Fynn, Liex, and Leila were still high on their adventure as the twilight approached. They listened eagerly as Riona shared her memories of Dromin, as well as what she remembered of Gleannmara’s hall.

“I don’t ever recall having a home in one place,” Fynn said, a faraway look in his eyes. “We traveled all the time, staying wherever we would be paid for performing. We juggled and sang. Even the twins were starting to take a place in our show.”

“You’ll have a home soon,” Riona promised, her mind focusing on that goal.

With a new O’Cuillin chief elected, the lodge that had been her home would no longer be hers, but she had property, which was rented. She could have a lodge built for her and the children and live comfortably enough, if not in the luxury to which she’d been accustomed. Her tenants were good people and would make good neighbors. With her rightful share of their efforts combined with those of her own, she’d want for nothing of importance. To this end, her thoughts drifted and eventually faded in favor of sleep.

What seemed like moments later, Riona rolled away from Kieran at the intrusion of a stranger’s voice.

“Well, if this isn’t the picture of a fine family!”

“And food,” chimed in another.

Fynn was up on his haunches in an instant, his knife drawn. Like Riona, he eyed the two men standing by the fire looking hungrily at what was left of the evening meal.

“Here now, who the devil are ye?” the lad demanded warily.

With a theatrical hop, the first man, clad in multicolored breeches and a tasseled shirt, announced, “I am none other than Dallan, gleeman
extraordinaire, and this is my brother—”

“Marcus the Magnificent,” the fairer of the two proclaimed. As if to punctuate his claim, he ran forward three steps and sprang into the air, doing a backward flip and landing squarely on his feet. “And this,” he sang in a melodious voice, “is the Lady Finella, whose harp has no equal in all of Erin.”

“A simple introduction will do, Marcus.”

From out of the shadow of the trees, a woman entered the circle of firelight. She looked to be Riona’s age, perhaps slightly older. A ruddy complexion confirmed she’d spent a good share of time in the weather. She looked past Riona at Kieran, who still slept, oblivious to their company.

“He has the look of a fevered man,” she observed flatly. “What have you prepared for him?”

Marcus intervened. “Before you take to treating these people, good sister-in-law, perhaps we should confirm that we are welcome to share their fire.” He glanced again at the food, now cold on the spit.

Riona recovered her startled wits and motioned to it. “By all means, you’re welcome to what we have to share. And yes,” she added to Finella, “he was wounded by a pitchfork and his leg is sorely infected. I’ve given him a tea of bramble and fennel root, as well as made a poultice of leaves. Now he sleeps.”

“But you need salt.”

At Riona’s astonished look, Dallan spoke. “Get used to it. She does that all the time. My wife has a gift, sometimes timely, sometimes not. But always true.”

“And she has a knowledge of herbs as unmatched as her harp music,” Marcus informed them. “As luck would have it, she’s prepared several for sale at Drumceatt this summer, so her supply is likely to include anything you need for yon warrior.”

Finella walked over to Kieran and touched his forehead with her hand. “ ’Tis no luck at all, Marcus. Something told me to follow the river from the road.”

“Something aside from the threat of being attacked by thieves and vagabonds?” her brother-in-law quipped.

“Don’t argue with her, Marcus,” Dallan warned him. “It’s as useless as trying to fatten a greyhound.”

“May I see your husband’s wound, milady?” Finella asked.

“By all means.” Riona didn’t think to correct them. These people had come upon them so quickly and exchanged words like juggler’s balls, and it took all she had to follow them at all so weary was she from the day and the worry over Kieran.

“May I taste some of that bird carcass? Merry, I could eat it bone and all.” Marcus licked his lips expectantly, looking from Riona to Fynn and back again.

“Of course. Help yourself.” Riona motioned toward the food.

“After you fetch the cart,” Finella said without abandoning her examination of Kieran’s leg.

“I’m away at your command, good lady.” With a leap and a cartwheel, Marcus disappeared into the darkness.

“We’ll have nothin’ for the mornin’,” Fynn reminded Riona in a low voice.

“To turn these people away could be to turn God’s angels away.”

“Angels?” Dallan laughed at Riona’s words. “We’ve been called many things, but never angels.” He sobered, narrowing his gaze at Fynn. “And I’d vow I’ve seen you before, lad. Where are you from?”

“Everywhere.” Fynn grinned. “Our father was one like yourself. Glasny was his name.”

“Glasny.” Dallan mulled the name over. “I met a Glasny in the south once. A fine voice he had. But that was years ago, before I met Finella. He had a son, and his wife was big with child.” The gleeman traced a large invisible swell over his abdomen, illustrating that of a pregnant woman. He pointed at Fynn. “You do look like him … same reddish brown hair and dark eyes.”

“Well, if he’s the same Glasny,” the lad answered, “then these are the cause of his wife’s swelling.” He pointed to his brother and sister. The two fair-haired children sat cross-legged on the blanket, blinking at the newcomers.

“His wife did have flaxen hair and eyes the color of a summer sky.” Dallan leaned over Liex. “Here,” he said, tugging the edge of a
handkerchief out of his pocket. “Wipe the sleep from your eyes.”

Liex eyed the man cautiously.

“Well, go on,” Dallan insisted. “Give it a tug.”

At Fynn’s nod, Liex grabbed the kerchief and pulled it. To his astonishment, another was tied to its opposite corner. On tugging it free, another was attached, and another. The younger boy was in a fit of giggles when the final square of the many colored cloths came out. Dallan coaxed Leila into tucking it back into his shirt and carried on so, pretending to be ticklish, until tears of laughter streamed down the little girl’s cheeks.

“Don’t get them too excited, Dallan, or none will sleep tonight,” Finella warned. She rose from her examination of Kieran’s leg and straightened her dress. “I have just the thing for this,” she told Riona.

“See, I told you she’d have something to fix up the man.” Marcus entered the glen leading a shaggy black pony, which pulled a narrow cart enshrouded in a tent made from strips of various cloth. “Finella mixes potions for all manner of ills and matters.”

“They burned our cart with mother’s and father’s bodies in it. We couldn’t even give them a decent burial.” Fynn stared hard at the vehicle and then, swallowing the bitterness in his voice, he turned away. “I’ll go get more firewood.”

Riona wanted to embrace the boy, but he was away too fast.

“Made a man before his time.” Dallan shook his head at the unfairness and pulled the squirrel’s carcass from the spit. “What happened to Glasny and Una? I think that was her name.”

“Mama’s name was Una,” Liex confirmed. “She was pretty.”

Dallan broke the carcass in half and handed one to his brother. “Aye, that she was, lad, and proud of her children, I’ll wager.”

“She said I was the best juggler that she’d ever seen, but our balls and everything was burned.”

“Shame on the folk who’d destroy a man’s means of support,” Marcus exclaimed. He wiped his hand on his leg and reached into a bag he wore slung over his shoulder and across his chest. One. Two. Three red balls came out, and he tossed them at Liex, who caught them easily. “So entertain us. ’Twill be a delightful change, eh Dallan?”

His brother nodded. “Have at it, lad. Make your mother proud.”

With less effort than it took Riona to toss one into the air and catch it, Liex tossed up the balls until all were making their own course up and down, weaving a wondrous spell for observing eyes. Dallan and Marcus cheered, and soon Leila joined in the three-ball toss.

Fynn returned and demonstrated his prowess with his knife, tossing it into the air and catching it by the handle. Riona couldn’t help but feel a tug of jealousy, for the children took to the gleemen as if they were family. They were related, she supposed, by profession.

Finella, who’d been working off the back of the cart by the light of a small lamp, came around with a small copper kettle and what appeared to be a blanket roll.