Riona (7 page)

It was the lad who took Gray Macha to the stables earlier. But as the boy came to his feet, it was not a lad’s weapon that flashed in his hand.

“Fynn!” Riona threw herself in front of Kieran, but reflexes of the youth were quicker.

Kieran grabbed her and dragged her to the floor with him as the knife nicked his shoulder. A moment’s delay and the blade intended for his heart would have struck the lady a deadly blow.

Oblivious to the narrow miss, Riona scrambled to her feet and blocked Fynn from retrieving the knife for another attack.

“Have you lost your mind, lad? Haven’t I gotten it through that mop head of yours that violence is the devil’s work?”

“He was hurting you! No man, warrior, or king will lay a hand on my lady.”

“Your
lady?” Kieran nearly laughed at the idea of Riona and this wet-eared pup, except that experience had just shown him neither were to be easily dismissed.

Riona put her hands to her temples where the blood flooding her face pounded fiercest.

“Oh, Fynn,” she said in exasperation. “Kieran would never hurt me. He is my foster brother. The truth is, I provoked him. Faith, I’m sorry, but I did.” She walked toward the boy and drew him to her gently. “It seems we are both orphans now. My brother is dead, and I turned on Kieran in my pain and grief, just as you raged at us so often when you first came here.”

Fynn glowered at Kieran, not nearly as sure of him as Riona seemed to be. “I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

Riona kissed the crown of the lad’s wild brown hair. He was just a boy, but that did not lessen the sting to Kieran’s pride.

“I’m indebted to your valor, sir,” she told the lad, “but it’s not needed with Kieran of Gleannmara. I must tell you, as I’ve told him, that when God is my protector, I need no earthly one. This was all of my own making, and I go to do penance for it right now.”

“Who is this young rooster anyway?” Kieran demanded.

“This is Fynn, the elder brother to the twins, Liex and Leila, whom you saw earlier with me. They are a gleeman’s children, orphaned by the plague last summer. These last months we’ve grown close, so I decided to take them as my own.”

“What?”
Had his hearing been knocked awry by that well-aimed cup? “A lady of your station doesn’t take common children to foster, even if she has the means, which you do not.”

“Where there is a will to do God’s work, He will provide the means.”

“God’s work,” Kieran mocked with derision. “This is the work of a gleeman, as light of hand as of foot and as cunning as a fox.”

“At least I know better than to force my attentions on a lady,” Fynn retorted in kind.

“But for that lady, whelp—” A growl infected Kieran’s voice, betraying his waning patience—“I’d have you skinned and hung to dry.”

“But for the lady, your heart would be skewered by my dagger.”

Kieran started forward. “You nearly
killed
her, you insolent little—”

“Enough!” Riona’s voice was as large as her brother’s when she desired it. Or soft as a babe’s cheek, as it was when she continued. “I am to blame for all of this. I apologize to you both. I go to apologize to my God.”

She steered Fynn through the door, stopping long enough to glance over her shoulder. “I apologize, my lord, for my behavior, but not for my answer. By that I stand. Good night.”

Y
ou could have killed Kieran,” Riona scolded as she and Fynn walked toward the mean lodgings assigned to her and the children. Leila shared Riona’s quarters, while the boys slept in an enclosure off the back.

“I meant to! Why did ye leap in front of him like that? My heart stopped soon as the blade left my fingers, but there was no callin’ it back.”

“Because mad as I was with Kieran, I still love him. He’s the only brother I have left, even if he isn’t my blood.” A sob crept up on Riona and her step faltered. She meant it. She did love Kieran. He was as much a brother as Heber, even though they were not blood kin.

Father, help me. I know well I don’t deserve it after losing my temper as I did, but I could bear no more this day. ’Tis as if the same weapon that took my brother’s life had run me through, making me mad with pain. I’m claiming Your promise of forgiveness. And forgive this child, for he was only trying to protect me
.

“How was it you knew I needed protection?” Riona asked suddenly. She turned the prodigal toward her, spinning him off balance with surprise.

Unwavering, Fynn met her gaze. “I was looking for you, and it was there I found you.”

“Why, Fynn? You should have been abed with Liex at this hour. Father Clemens will expect an early start on the morrow.”

“Because Tadgh intends to sell us to a slaver who will sell us in Bristol.”

Shock clutched Riona with fresh claws. Heber, Kieran, and now this. “Whatever makes you say this?” Her thoughts tumbled afresh. She’d heard of the Britons selling off their young, but surely no God-fearing Irishman would do such a thing. Still, there was something not quite right …

“Seargal told Leila. She and Liex are hiding in the milking stalls.”

Riona rolled her eyes heavenward at Fynn’s explanation. “Her imaginary friend?” Changing direction, Riona started toward the gate to the outer rath.

Fynn shifted in step with her, shaking his head. “No, that’s not all of it. ’Tis that what made me look closer at the man. Then I recognized him for myself. We saw ’im in Dublin, leadin’ orphans of the dead to a slaver bound for Bristol. They call him Silver Tooth.” Fynn grabbed Riona’s arm, stopping her, a plea in his voice. “I saw his tooth when I carried food from the kitchen to him and that hag he calls his wife. Her I’ve not seen, but him I know. I’d swear it on my life.”

“Heavenly Father, spare us!” Riona crossed herself so horrible was the idea. “Tell me again that you’re certain, beyond all doubt.”

Fynn crossed his heart. “God take my breath now if I’m not speakin’ the truth.”

“He very well may,” Riona warned him, still wary. While the lad had a good heart, there was much about Fynn’s ways that gave her cause to be cautious. He’d been caught in so many lies told to suit his whim when he first came to the abbey. She prayed that was a thing of the past now that he’d spent the winter months here among the brethren. At least he hadn’t been caught in a lie of late. Whatever the case, Fynn and the twins genuinely appeared to think it was so.

“So be it, then.”

“So I was lookin’ for ye to tell ye and came upon that bully forcing his attention on ye.”

Riona closed her eyes, wishing that would erase the last hour as it did the moonlit yard, but that wasn’t to be. “Kieran was only protecting himself from me, Fynn. Shame to say, I lost my temper and fell upon him.”

Fynn’s snort underscored the dubious arch of his brow.

“It’s true. I’ve a fearsome temper, which I prayed was put to rest by faith. My foster brother has a knack for resurrecting it to its full-blown most. Sure, temper is the devil’s own work, for you nearly spilled an innocent man’s blood on my behalf, and I’d have been as much at fault as you.” Riona grabbed the lad’s face between her hands. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Fynn nodded, but from the stubborn set of his chin Riona knew he was not convinced. Still, that was a mission for another time. Seargal might be imaginary, but Leila had obviously recognized Tadgh or Silver Tooth. It was her curious way of warning them. Riona couldn’t dismiss it with Fynn’s added testimony. Her penitent prayers would have to wait. She needed to see the abbot immediately.

“I’ll seek an audience with Fintan now. I don’t think he’s finished with his Scripture for the night.”

The abbot read a chapter of the Word each evening in his office before retiring. On his better days, he allowed Riona to read it aloud to him, indulging her love of books and the Lord. Her mother’s relation had baptized her a child of the church as an infant, and she’d hoped that in the near future he’d welcome her as a bride of the church as well. With the recent turn of events, that would be impossible. Faith, she needed to speak to her mentor as much for herself as for the children.

“You get Leila and Liex and put them
and yourself
to bed. The morning always comes too early for you as it is,” she warned her stalwart protector.

Fynn would not be diverted from accompanying her to Fintan’s private quarters. Too overwrought to argue, Riona left him in the courtyard garden where the elder churchman often meditated on warm days and stepped inside the cozy apartment of rooms near the chapel. Brother Ninian’s desk was vacant, cleared of its ever-present books and logs. He must be preparing the abbot’s bedchamber, Riona surmised, walking beyond to Fintan’s private retreat. Riona knocked softly at the door.

“Who goes?”

“It’s Lady Riona, Father.”

“Come in, child.”

Upon entering the inner sanctum, Riona found Abbot Fintan seated at his desk. Instead of the Holy Scriptures spread before him, an open, ornately carved casket sat on his desk. Surrounding it were letters, much like the one on which Fintan dripped molten wax.

“Father Fintan—”

“My answer to Drumceatt’s call,” he said, placing his seal on the missive before him. He sighed heavily and placed it in the box. “I fear that, like many of the bards, I’ve outlived my usefulness.”

Stricken by the melancholy in the elder churchman’s voice, Riona protested. “Oh no, Father. That could never be. Your devotion to God’s service is a testimony to us all.” Fintan’s frame was bent with age, but the fires of his faith kept him involved in all the abbey’s work and worship.

“Nonetheless, I shall send Bishop Senan in my stead with commentary on the fate of the bards and other issues at hand. Change is in the air, child. Like myself, the bards have outgrown their usefulness, at least by today’s standards.” A melancholy grazed the gray of his gaze. “Many have grown demanding and spiteful. They sow dismay rather than joy.”

Or enough of that learned class did so, earning contempt for their innocent brethren, Riona added silently. It was a travesty the way they imposed upon people’s hospitality and paid them with biting satire and curses, as if immune to God Himself. “I do not envy the high king in deciding their fate, for the nobles scream banishment.”

“And how do you feel about them, Riona?”

Unlike many of the brethren, Fintan never acted as though a woman’s opinion was of no import. Many was the night he’d challenge her as to what a particular reading meant to her. Usually she rallied with enthusiasm, but this night was not one of them. She thought a moment.

“I should hate to see them banished, for indeed they preserve our past and present with their gift of words, but some means of restraint should be enacted upon them for their brash misuse of rank and privilege.”

“Hm.” Her answer pleased him. It showed in the tilt of his mouth as he reached into the casket and drew out something. As he held it before the lamp, she saw it was a jeweled, silver-encased vial strung on a silk cord. “Holy water from the well at Kildare,” he explained, “intended for the high king to drink for wisdom in his decisions.” He cocked a bushy gray brow at her. “Think it will help?”

She wanted to say “the devil take the water,” but she reined in her
impatience to tell him about Tadgh. She’d enough to repent for as it was.

“It is God’s creation,” she answered thoughtfully. “The saints have blessed it. I think it’s time man gave God credit for His wonderful works rather than devil’s spawn.”

“So you think it has power.” It was a statement, not a question.

“If God intends it to, aye. But only the heavenly Father knows that for certain. Like the power of prayer, the result may not be what we expect, but God can make the best of it if we accept and believe He makes no mistakes.”

Riona tried to think of a way to tie this strand of conversation to her purpose for coming without being rude or stepping out of her place. “For instance, I’ve prayed tonight for an answer to my quandary regarding the children and—”

“God sent you a husband.”

Riona’s jaw dropped, leaving her mouth agape in stupor. A husband! How could Abbot Fintan possibly—

“I met your cousin Bran at the chapel, where he was giving thanks for the safe arrival of himself and Gleannmara’s king.” Fintan leaned forward, compassion kindling in his gaze. “I know of our Heber’s loss, child. I know why you’re here.”

“Th … the children?” she stammered, beginning to wonder herself. This wasn’t at all what she intended to discuss.

“A husband may not be what you prayed for, Riona, but it’s what God sent you, and just in time.”

This was too much. Riona shook her head. “No, not a husband. That isn’t why I’m here.”

“But you have my blessing and, even in death, your brother’s as well,” Fintan pointed out. “That God can take such a terrible tragedy and turn it to good use—” the abbot clasped his frail, palsied hands around the vial—“I never cease to marvel at His goodness. I’ve been much concerned over you, you know.”

Her brain was as shaken by the abbot’s words as the water in the jeweled casing. It couldn’t be as he said. How could she—?

“How could I marry the man who led Heber to his death?” she
blurted out. “Heber would not have gone if Kieran had not. It wasn’t even their war.”

The abbot’s smile faded. “Surely you don’t mean that! Heber was a man of his own mind. It was his choice to go to battle, to fight another man’s enemies.”

“But it was Kieran’s idea.” Riona threw up her hands. “He’s always full of war talk, war games … sure, he dreams of war at night! How could I wed such a man when I seek God’s peace, not war?” Her chin trembled with emotion. “You know what my mother went through with my father. Would you wish that upon me?”

“Riona, child—”

A knock on the door cut the elderly man off. At Fintan’s acknowledgment, Brother Ninian peeked inside. “I heard raised voices,” he said with an apologetic look at Riona. “I thought something might be wrong.”

“I’m sorry, Brother Ninian,” Riona apologized. “I’ve had the most tragic news and fear I became overly agitated.”

“We are fine, Ninian. Thank you for your concern,” the father added with genuine affection. His venerated station demanded such attentions, yet Fintan accepted them with a humility that endeared him even more to his junior clergy. “I will not need you any more this evening.”