Riona (39 page)

The rise of earthworks and rooflines above the abbey’s buildings took shape in the afternoon mist, pervading the landscape of the last leg of their journey from Dublin’s bridge over the black ford. Riona looked forward to changing into dry clothing and a night in her old bed with her new husband. Kieran could take the chill out of a mountain stream, she thought, glancing over to where Gray Macha proudly carried his lord. The lord himself sat straight in the saddle with Liex slumped against him in the cradle of his arms.

The child had fallen asleep and nearly fallen off the pony a little earlier. Fynn caught him by the seat of the pants and shook him, but Kieran rode up and scooped the sleepy youngster up on Gray Macha’s back. He’d slipped into the role of fatherhood as naturally as that of a husband. She could not pinpoint exactly when this transformation had occurred, but she thanked God for it.

Brother Domnall was in the outer rath when they rode through the gate. With a hearty hail, he ran toward them, Leila’s calf trotting at his heels. What a grand reunion it was. Riona was so excited that she hardly knew which of the many brethren hugged and congratulated her. They came from within and without the rath to greet the fugitives they’d helped escape and sustained with prayer.

“This is our father,” Liex, who’d come wide-awake, called out, pointing with pride to Kieran. “He married us and the lady.”

Domnall’s eyes twinkled as they turned to Riona. “Well, I must say, milady, that becoming a wife and mother is becoming.” His usually stern countenance erupted in laughter at his play on words, but he quickly recovered himself, raising a reproachful finger at her. “I always said you had no place in the abbey … rambunctious as the children, you are.”

He meant no offense and Riona took none. Instead, she hugged him and planted a loud kiss on his cheek. “Life would have been easier on all of us if I’d listened,” she admitted.

The boisterous welcome grew subdued as Brother Ninian told his compatriots about Bishop Senan’s ill fate. Riona watched their faces
register shock and misgiving. Domnall and a few others showed no astonishment at all, as if they’d suspected Senan’s hidden nature all along.

“He left a trail of misdeed and treachery to his end,” Domnall remarked as he escorted Riona and the children to her old quarters while Kieran saw to Gray Macha. The grooms remembered the stallion from his last visit and remained shy of it.

“Milady!”

Riona stiffened as Lord Maille hailed her. The Ulster lord carried an ornate box toward them. “These are the bishop’s personal things. I’m wondering where they should go.”

“And you couldn’t ask Ninian?” Domnall queried impatiently. “Everyone knows Ninian was Fintan’s and Senan’s clerk, and heaven knows you’ve given him enough words to write to know as much.”

Maille narrowed his gaze at Domnall and then turned it on Fynn. “Then here, lad. Would you be so kind as to take this to Brother Ninian’s office?”

Fynn glanced at Riona uncertainly. She nodded. “I’ll put your things away.”

Handing over his travel sack to her, Fynn took the large, silver-chased casket. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.

Maille brushed his hands together, as though ridding them of dirt. “Well then, I’ll leave you to refresh yourselves before supper.”

“Vespers first,” Riona reminded him politely.

He nodded with a wooden smile and took his leave. She looked after him, feeling somehow vilified by the contact.

“I know it’s wrong to despise someone,” she began, “but—”

“Heaven’s saints themselves would be hard-pressed to love that one,” Domnall interrupted in the same crusty humor that had caused him to be removed from the scribes’ repository and relegated to the barns. As he realized his transgression, he crossed himself.

Lips twitching, Riona did the same. She dearly loved the man, even more so since he’d been so instrumental in helping Kieran. His manner was often flawed, but his heart was pure as gold.

“Look, mind you, you bleating bother, that’s not a barn,” he railed
at the calf that followed Leila inside the dwelling. “It thinks it’s a pup, the way it follows me about. ’Tis no small wonder I haven’t fallen and broken a bone.”

After herding the animal out, the priest reached inside the slit in his robe and drew out a crumbling piece of scone. Instantly attentive, the calf nuzzled his hand and brushed against him. “What is to become of me?” Domnall complained. “As if I’ve time to mother you.” He looked up at Riona suddenly. “Will you be taking the child’s calf to Gleannmara on the morrow?”

The alarm on his weathered face nearly broke Riona’s heart. “Perhaps you’d keep it for her, now that she has a kitten to occupy her time … unless it’s too much trouble.”

Domnall nodded. “Aye, I suppose I could. The journey might be a bit much on its young legs, what with how they were twisted at birth.”

Riona hugged the man on impulse. Tears stung her eyes as she drew away.

“If it’s going to upset you, lass—”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “It’s just that … that I’ll miss you and Ninian and … and everyone. You were all the family I had for so long.”

The brother sniffed and wiped the tickle from his nose. “With three young ones, a strappin’ husband, and a home to see to, I doubt you’ll be missing me or that nose-aggravating barn. I’ve died a thousand deaths sneezing.” He rubbed his nose again for good measure. “I’ll be seeing you at vespers. Try not to be late.”

Riona laughed. How well Domnall knew her. In spite of her best intentions, the handbell that called the order to prayer was often already put away by the time she hurried into the chapel for evening prayers. “I will, I promise.”

Leila took a short nap with Riona while the boys fell into their normal routines. When they showed up at the guest house with Kieran, she knew where all three had been. Hay clung to Kieran’s and Liex’s clothing, while wood shavings littered Fynn’s new brat. Hurriedly, Riona and Leila brushed them to make them fit for the service.

The bell ringer was just stepping inside as the family entered the chapel for an hour of reverence. Prayers were offered for Senan. Unlike
his brother, Fintan, the bishop would be interred in a burial place removed from holy ground. While the earthly placement of his remains may have been fitting, the company prayed for his soul nonetheless.

The service over, the Gleannmara guests made their way to the hall where Fintan had received Tadgh and Mebh weeks before. Riona and her family joined the brethren in the refectory, while, to Riona’s relief, Ulster’s company dined at its encampment in the outer rath. The way Lord Maille watched her family, as if waiting to do his worst, did nothing to aid her digestion when he was within sight.

She shook off the thought. After weeks fraught with danger and anxiety she should not be searching for more unrest but enjoying the hot porridge and bread, followed by a dish of stewed fresh and dried fruit for dessert.

Riona looked with dismay at the twins’ brats, which had caught whatever their eager mouths had missed of the syrupy concoction, while Kieran and Colga talked about the morning’s departure. The latter, sober since his arrival at the abbey, looked horrid.

The good meal would do him wonders, Riona thought, for despite their uncle Cromyn’s efforts to keep him away from it, Colga had leaned more toward drink than food the last few days. If only her cousin would give up this demon that blackened his humor and gnawed at him. But as Father Cromyn observed, Colga was set on condemning himself more than his heavenly Father was. Until the young man came to terms with himself, there was nothing any of them could do for him. What went unsaid was the fear that her cousin might go to the same extreme as Senan.

“I tell you now, nothing in all my life will look better to me than Gleannmara on the morrow’s eve,” Kieran vowed with a wink for her benefit, “unless it’s my wife. Take my word, man, what you need is a good woman.” He clapped Colga on the back, winning a hint of a smile, nothing more.

“Good is subjective … cousin Riona excluded of course,” Colga acknowledged politely. “For the most part, to believe in what is good is to open one’s mind to disappointment.”

“God is good, nephew,” Cromyn reminded him. “And there is no subjectivity regarding His goodness. He was, He is, and He always will be good.”

“For you perhaps, uncle,” Colga remarked on a cryptic note. “And maybe for those who have tried to do His will. But some of us have outright crossed it.”

“Like the thief on the cross?” Cromyn countered. “Son—”

The door to the reception hall burst open, cutting the priest off. Two of Maille’s soldiers preceded the Ulster lord inside and stood to his flank. Mailles maleficent gaze gnawed at the room, table by table, man by man, until he spied Fynn.

“There he is. There’s the thief,” he proclaimed in righteous indignation.

Fynn was so taken back that his answer was no more than a blank look.

“What in the name of mischief are you up to now, Maille?” Kieran thundered, jumping to his feet so suddenly that the bench upon which he and Riona were seated nearly toppled with her on it.

“Catching a thief,” Maille replied. “Where is it, lad?”

“Wh … where’s what?” Fynn stammered, gaze darting from Riona to his siblings, as if they might enlighten him.

“The silver encased vial you stole from that casket.” Maille marched to where Fynn sat and yanked the boy to his feet.

In less than the time it took her heartbeat to echo, Kieran took the lad back, shoving him behind him. “Touch this boy again, and I’ll skin you like the weasel you are.”

Maille’s guards remained at the door, weapons sheathed, for Kieran’s men of Dromin were on their feet. It was a rude guest who carried weapons to his host’s table, so they had nothing to fight with other than will and their dining knives. Still, Maille’s party was outmatched.

“You disrespect me in my own tuath?” Maille growled in toothless threat.

“I have little respect for you
anywhere
, milord, but this land is God’s, not yours,” Kieran told him. “The last time I yielded to your sovereignty,
I was met by injustice … which is what is afoot now. On what grounds do you accuse my foster son?”

“I entrusted Senan’s casket of belongings to him earlier. The vial was in the casket then.”

“That’s a lie!” All eyes swung to Fynn at his vehement denial. “I … I took it to the abbot’s offices just like you asked. Father Clemens was with me. Just ask him. I didn’t take anything out of it.”

“What’s this vial to you anyway?” Kieran asked. “It belongs to the church.”

“Senan was long a friend of mine. I gave it to him,” Maille informed them smugly. “But when I asked Brother Ninian to open the box so that I might take it back, it was missing.”

“And you immediately thought young Fynn here took it.” Kieran’s remark was no question. It was a statement of ridicule.

“His father was a thief. It runs in the blood.”

“He was not!” His dining knife brandished, Fynn lunged at Maille.

Colga caught the lad by the collar and pulled him back. “Here, boy. He toys with you like a cat with a mouse. Don’t play his low game.”

“ ‘The sins of the father …’ ”
Maille taunted. “If you’re innocent, empty your sack and prove it.”

“He’ll empty nothing for you. If he says he doesn’t have it, he doesn’t,” Kieran said, chin jutting in defiance.

It was a familiar stubbornness Riona recognized, unmovable. Maille might as well negotiate with a statue. Fynn assumed the same posture. Another time the imitation might have warmed her. Now all Riona felt was dread. Cold dread. Was this the darkness Finella warned about?

A fierce battle of wills between two lords of the land waged in loud silence as each assessed the other. Kieran’s hands were fisted at his side, his eyes afire with warning. One of Maille’s rested dangerously close to the hilt of his short sword, his demeanor black and hard as onyx. After what seemed to Riona an eternity, stone gave way to fire. Maille stepped back and conceded with a nod.

“Very well then, Gleannmara. But I’d watch these little light-fingers closely if I were you.”

“Maille, your only salvation at this moment is that you stand on
God’s ground. To impeach their honor is to impeach that of Gleannmara. I’d suggest you take your men and leave before I dwell overmuch upon it.”

A vein bulged at Kieran’s temple as he rocked on ready foot, watching as Maille led his men from the room. A collective sigh of relief erupted with the closing of the door behind them. A few of the brethren made hasty crosses.

“I suppose we should be thankful our meal is over. Elsewise, our appetites might have been ruined by the foulness of Maille’s presence,” Kieran quipped wryly. He made a magnanimous sweep of his arm, acknowledging his hosts and companions. “And now, good brothers and gentlemen of Dromin, my family and I bid you good night.”

“I just don’t like that man,” Liex grumbled on the way to the stone dwelling that had been Riona’s home since her mother died. “I feel like maggots are crawling on my neck when I see ’im.”

Riona shuddered at the graphic description, relating too well to the feeling. “I suppose we need to pray for him, not condemn him,” Riona reflected aloud, as much for herself as for Liex. “It’s not up to us to judge one another.” Even as she said it, she knew it was easier said than done. “Although I need God’s help to pray for the likes of Maille. I’m not as strong as Jesus was when He asked that his enemies be forgiven because they knew not what they did. Think how hard that must have been.”

“Maille knows what he does,” Kieran grumbled. “His every move has a calculated purpose, but this time his greed has made him reckless.”

“Reckless?” Riona questioned, hesitating at the oaken door for the twins to precede her. Once inside, she placed the small lamp she carried on a shelf.

“While I was grooming Gray Macha, Domnall told me that Maille’s men took this place apart after we escaped, even tearing open the pillows and mattresses. Sound familiar?”

Riona eased down on the mattress beside Liex, knees taken out by Kieran’s news. “You think Maille ransacked our guest house at the bruden?” What on earth was he after? Riona wondered, helping Leila out
of her dress. She gave the little girl a kiss on the tip of her nose and tucked her in, sparing Lady Gray her due as well—a gentle scratch behind the ears. The kitten yawned imperiously, bored with the entire conversation.