Riona (26 page)

“We’ve always been on the other side of the basket,” Fynn remarked, taking a moment to reflect upon his good fortune. He looked at Riona with something akin to worship. Suddenly, he yelped as Liex elbowed him in the ribs. “What, wart?” he said testily.

White showing all around the blue of his eyes, Liex pointed to the entrance. At the head of his party, Lord Maille of Kilmare walked in and casually surveyed the room. He said something to one of the maids and a few moments later, the brewy himself appeared. Kieran watched with interest from his table of comrades, but the wink he gave Riona told her he was not overly anxious.

As far as she was concerned, an enemy in their midst was like a spark on a rug. Aye, it might mean nothing at all. Then again, it could be deadly to all in the household.

The brewy shook his head as if in apology and invited the lord and his party to partake of the victuals. With a stiff nod, Maille turned toward the mass of tables and benches and walked straight to where Riona and the children sat. Riona stiffened as he approached.

“I bid you good day, milady.”

“And you, sir,” she said, keeping both feet planted on the floor, rather than lifting a polite knee in deference. “I wasn’t aware you had friends among the Dalraidi camp.”

“Rather no room, I fear,” he answered, twirling one of the two forks of his beard around a manicured finger.

She tried not to make the association with a snake’s tongue, but given his betrayal of justice, it was impossible. All the man needed was a lisp. Her thoughts scattered in search of a polite and truthful reply, but none that came to her qualified, which only prolonged the silent awkwardness.

“We have a fine guest house,” Fynn informed him smugly.

The twins looked about to dive under the table with the mongrel they’d been feeding, but their elder brother refused to be intimidated by the lord.

The smile Maille brandished at the lad’s reply put Riona to mind of a dog’s raised lip. “How incredible, considering you travel with a redhand.”

“Gleannmara is no murderer!” Riona protested before she could stop herself.

“The swine yearns for lavender, when all he has is mud to wallow in,” Kieran injected wryly. She hadn’t even seen him cross the room, yet there he stood beside her, tall and unbending as a sacred oak. “Indeed, the stench of his deceit grows old, but no less offensive.”

Maille’s pack of men closed ranks around him at the insult. Likewise, the men who’d been making merry at Kieran’s table watched silent and poised to spring at the slightest provocation. The hush was infectious, spreading from table to table until everyone in the lodge was aware of the friction. To break the nonviolent code of the fair was to court not just disfavor but possible death. The crisp, clear notes of Finella’s harp marked off the time in heavenly measure of a hellish situation.

Knowing the short wick of her foster brother’s temper and the calculation of her distant relative’s, Riona rose. “Gentlemen, this matter is to be settled before the high king and his brehons. Until then, it’s best that each of you keep to your own camp, unless you trespass with the intention of provoking the other into breaking the law.”

Kieran’s brow shot up, as if the idea were preposterous. “Crom’s toes, is
that
why you and your wolf pack have come here?”

Maille was unflinching at the mockery. “I assure you … and all your friends,” he added for the benefit of the formidable group of Dalraidi warlords, “that I came to inquire about lodgings only and stopped to ask my cousin’s child how she has fared.”

“She’s fared well.” Kieran’s flat-out remark punctuated the conclusion of, at least, Maille’s alleged concern.

Maille acknowledged with a stiff nod, but the calculation in his beady gaze raced unchecked.

The spark had not gone out, of that Riona was certain. What more could the man want? What course did he have, now that the avenue of his intent had been blockaded within sight and sound of all?

“If there’s nothing else, milord …” Kieran’s pause affected Riona’s breath as well. “But of course there is!” Kieran motioned toward the table where his comrades sat. “I would be remiss if I didn’t invite you and yours to a drink with my good fellows,” he bellowed in his most gregarious manner.

Insult Maille expected. This he was clearly not prepared for. “No, I … we …”

“Bring us cups, ladies,” Kieran insisted, grinning like a cat with feather in its mouth.

“No,” Maille countered with an impatient snap that gave the twins a start. Leila slid off her bench and buried her face in the folds of Kieran’s brat. Liex sidled closer to Fynn, who was as ready to leap into action as any of Gleannmara’s able allies.

The harp strings counted … one … two … three … four …

“I thank you for your hospitality, but we need to find suitable lodging for our company,” Maille finished with an upturn of relief in his voice.

Fynn proved it premature. “Your lodgings are at the Boars Head, milord, where you’ve been these last two days. Or have ye lost your way?”

Snickers echoed throughout the room, triggering a rise of color to Maille’s neck and face. He aimed a daggerlike stare at Fynn, but the boy was as intoxicated with smug bravado as Gleannmara. Riona wanted to shake them both for baiting Maille like a couple of bristling hounds with a bear. Maille was no bear. He’d never charge headlong into them. He’d lie in wait like a serpent and strike when they least expected it.

“How is it that a lowly gleeman’s orphan sups with the nobles?” The words were minced with the acid of Maille’s voice.

There was a short scramble of notes from the harp above before it picked up melody once more.

With a sly tug of his lips, Kieran rallied. “I invited him as my guest, no different than you.”

The war of words about to erupt was more than Riona could handle alone.
Heavenly Father!
she prayed, eyes wide shut.

Maille let the insult slide. “You can dress them any way you wish, Gleannmara, but their blood’s still that of a gleeman, the same as yours is a redhand whether it bears royal rings or a serf’s calluses.”

Kieran moved toward Maille, his broad grin all that allowed Riona her next heartbeat. Clapping the man on the back, he started walking the lord toward the door. “I bid you luck in finding that lavender, Kilmare, for you’re in sore need of it.”

Fynn started to make a snorting noise, but Riona seized his nose, pinching it off. “Ow!” he gasped, but further objection was silenced by her warning glare.

As the men of Kilmare made their departure without further incident, Riona gathered up the children. “Come along now. We’ve real beds tonight and a bath awaits.”

“We can’t all bathe at the same time.” Fynn’s practicality was sound, but his reason remained to be seen. Not that Riona couldn’t guess. He wanted to remain with the men a while.

“Now
there’s
an entertaining thought.” Kieran’s wicked whisper startled Riona from behind.

She gave him a sharp look. “Say no more, milord, for I’m annoyed with you enough as it is.”

The man looked dumbstruck. “Why? Did we not send Maille scampering off with his tail tucked between his legs?”

“His tail was not between his legs, Kieran, he was gnawing on it and plotting to get even, and you with a prideful head long on tongue and short on wit.” At Fynn’s snicker, she nailed him as well. “And this foolish pup one bark from the same.” She narrowed her gaze at the lad. “Do you think you can chase your tail and stay clear of trouble till Leila and I are done with our bathing?”

“Aye,” Fynn replied, looking at the floor. Liex bobbed his head solemnly.

Satisfied, Riona gave Kieran one last piece of her mind. “You are
accountable to the example you set for these children, sir. Make it a good one.”

“They are not
my
brood. Besides, they need know how to stand up for themselves.”

How could he be so self-absorbed? She’d so hoped his heart was changing toward the children. His flippant dismissal added sting to her reply. “Nay, but you
are
a king,” she reminded him sharply, “one, it appears, who needs learn the difference between standing up for himself and openly inviting his own downfall. Good night, sir.” With a defiant tilt of her chin, she spun away, herding Leila toward the door and leaving Kieran of Gleannmara to the ribbing of his companions.

The grounds outside the great hall of the bruden were aglow with soft light from strategically placed lanterns. The mingle of oil and wood smoke filled the night air with an assuring presence Riona hadn’t known since leaving Kilmare. As she and Leila approached the guest house, with its own faint wisp of warm welcome hovering above the roof, one of the servants hailed them.

“The bath is ready, milady, and I’ve fresh stones in the hearth to reheat it.”

“Thank you, lass. I’m sure it will be divine,” Riona called back. Divine. Heavenly. A godsend. A blessing. A treat. A delight. The words kept on coming as she opened the plank door to the lodging and, taking the lamp off the hook beside it, stepped inside. She gasped as the light filled the interior, illuminating a terrible maleficence. The derguds had been pulled from both bed cubicles, and the stuffing from them now covered, like a snowfall of straw and feathers, the green birch leaves that were strewn on the floor. Moving in a trance of disbelief, Riona looked into each of the imdas, taking in the chaos in each portioned space.

In Kieran’s sleeping chamber his belongings had been emptied from his travel sack. His bedstead was bare, save the wad of blankets and linens that had been torn from the mattress. The same was true in the imda she and the children shared. What few belongings they’d brought with them were scattered in the disarray of blankets and linens. Riona picked up a skin-covered pillow that was still intact and
crushed it to her chest as she kicked her way through the tangle of bed linens and walked to the barrel-shaped tub next to the low-burning hearth. As she tested the water, she saw that it, too, was filled with debris.

Her nice warm bath. She stared down at the steaming water and did all that she could.

She started to cry.

A
voice in the darkness echoed quietly. “Nothing, milord.”

“Nothing?” Lord Maille paced in the moonlit glen, frustration and anger battling for his control.
“Nothing?”
He sneered at the man in the shadows. “You, sir, are a poor coward and a worse thief.”

“I cannot steal what is not there, milord. Nor is it my fault that the Dalraida was a better judge of Dromin and Gleannmara’s swords than our patron’s henchmen.”

Maille glared at the insolence. Men got a bellyful of dagger for less insolence. “So you dare muster courage from kinship?” He raised a gloved fist. “Then muster this in your yellow blood. If I am caught, I will
not
go to the gallows without company.”

“If you continue to toy with Kieran, he will squash you beneath his boot like the rodent you are.” The shadowy figure crossed his arms over his chest. “Has it not occurred to you that the reason you have not been charged with any crime is because Gleannmara doesn’t have this evidence of your involvement?”

“Or doesn’t know he has it,” Maille countered sharply.

“As for me, I’ll have no more of this whimsy. It’s over. We all took a risk. We failed.”

“It is
not
over.” Maille growled the words, his lips pulled back from his teeth like those of a cornered dog. Except he was not in a corner. Not yet. “The fair provides ample opportunity for the elimination of one’s enemy.”

“Not by
my
hand. I’m done. I met my part of the bargain.”

“And were well rewarded, just like that sniveling priest,” Maille reminded the man. “ ’Tis
my
reward that’s missing.” He ground his foot into the ground as if Senan were beneath it. “I can’t believe that sniveling priest let it out of his sight to begin with. All he had to do was deliver it. No blood stained his hands.”

“Nay, he merely sold children into slavery. I suppose there’s not enough reward in God’s work.”

“Tadgh took care of disposing of the abbot for him, and he’s dead … drowned, according to that crone of his, at the tip of Gleannmara’s sword. The child-slaver will be the new abbot, whilst I scramble to cover his bumbling.” Everyone involved was clear except him. The idea gnawed at Maille, spreading its vile, green infection.

“Blood money disguised as holy water. Hah, the irony!”

The wry humor in his companion’s voice grated Maille’s already black humor. He’d kill the man on the spot without regret, but his accomplice had not outlived his usefulness. He would have access to Gleannmara’s company that Maille could not hope for.

Meanwhile the lord’s payment and connection to the plot rested in that missing vial—diamonds worth a fortune and an incriminating message with
his
name on it. This mess would never be over for the lord as long as that vial was unaccounted for. Nor was he about to let his coconspirators enjoy their fruits while he lived haunted by a condemnation that might surface today or years hence. He pointed a warning finger at his indifferent colleague.

“Stay close. You are no more finished than I.”

“Let it go, Maille. Is your payment worth your life?”

“My peace of mind is.”

The man in the shadows chuckled. “Then do thyself a favor and take your life now, for such as we will
never
have peace of mind.”

“You know not who you deal with.”

“I know him exactly. Which is why, should anything happen to me, more evidence than that in a missing vial lies waiting to expose you.” The conspirator made a mock bow. “If I have no peace of mind, then neither shall you or Senan.”

Maille watched his companion walk away, oblivious to the branches that snagged the chiefly folds of his new brat—as if he were untouchable. The lord’s lips took on a cynical curl. Such would be his downfall. That, however, would have to wait until later. Relieving Scotia Minor of its new king and finding that vial were first on Maille’s agenda. A new plan was already in place to accomplish the first. ’Twas the last that vexed the Ulster Lord most.