"The berries are all back there," Rhona said, pointing.
Doireann waved away her words. "Let the children pick berries. I must find the holy spring. I know it's here. They say it was blessed by Saint Columba himself, and sprang up at his touch, and one cup will make any woman fertile, no matter how barren she may be. I heard Lady Catriona of Isla drank the miraculous waters of it on her wedding night, and that was the reason she gave birth to triplets."
Rhona shook her head. "I've never heard of such a spring. And Saint Columba didn't like women, so it does not seem likely he would work that sort of miracle. Especially not here. He feared the witch women of Nimbanmore."
Doireann scoffed, "There are no witches left in the world, least of all here. The faithful wiped such wicked creatures out centuries ago!"
Rhona wondered what the woman would say if she told her stepmother that magic was alive and well, coursing through her blood in readiness for when it was wanted, but she held her tongue. Blanid had told her to hide it, and hide it she would. No one must ever know.
"But the miraculous spring is real. It must be. I shall find it, and drink from it, so that I might bear Lord Ronin a son!" Doireann ducked between two trees, then trotted down a slope.
Rhona glanced back at her sisters. They were already out of sight. If she followed her stepmother, the girls would not know where they had gone. "Doireann, wait. The girls…"
"Go back to the children! I will find this spring on my own. It's not like you need it. You have no husband yet! Wait for me in the clearing. I shall not be long," Doireann called back before she disappeared from sight.
Rhona was torn. If something happened to her stepmother, her father would never forgive her. But if anything happened to her sisters…alone in the woods…Rhona would not forgive herself, and nor would Blanid. Wishing she didn't have to, Rhona said, "Very well. We shall wait."
Her dread-filled heart weighed more than her empty berry basket as Rhona returned to her sisters.
"Where is she?" Nuala asked, popping berries into her already stained mouth.
"Doireann has gone for a walk in the woods by herself. She wants us to wait here for her," Rhona said.
"More berries for us!" Sive cheered. Her hands and face were so covered in berry juice, she looked like she'd slaughtered a pig. Or a piglet, perhaps.
Rhona managed a smile for her sisters. "Let's see who can pick the most before she comes back."
Six
Twilight came, with no sign of Doireann. Rhona had spread a blanket upon the ground, and Sive lay on it, snoring softly. Maeve looked like she wanted to join her, and even Rhona longed for her bed. Nuala was determined to pick berries until the last of the light was gone, but that time was fast approaching.
Finally, Nuala plopped herself down beside Sive. "I wish I'd brought a cloak. I'm cold," she announced.
"I'd prefer a fire," Maeve said. "Much warmer."
Rhona could not magic a cloak into being, but she could build a fire. The warm day meant there was some tinder and a few sticks, but not much. A fallen tree held plenty of timber to burn in its broken branches, but Rhona had not thought to bring anything with which to light the fire.
Nevertheless, she piled up a collection of fuel, then crouched over it so she hid it from her sisters' sight. Only then did she dare bite her lip and unleash the most powerful part of her magic.
The log blazed to life, as though Rhona had added it to a roaring fireplace and not a cold nest of sticks.
Maeve clapped her hands. "Thank you, Rhona!" She stretched out her fingers to the blaze.
Darkness descended, leaving the four of them alone in the woods. Luckily the biggest beasts on Rum Isle were its cows – they would not have wolves to worry about, or bears. "We should probably huddle up together with the blanket by the fire to keep warm, while we wait for Doireann to return," she said. "I'm sure she'll see the light of it, if she is lost, and come back soon." This last was a lie, but her sisters did not need to know this. It was just another burden she would carry alone.
On the morrow, they would return home, and tell Father his wife was missing. He would send men out to search, and they would find her. Rum Isle was too small to hide her for long.
Rhona set several logs beside the campfire, so that she might add fuel through the night if she needed to, before joining her sisters in their blanket bower.
Nuala's eyes drooped, and she soon added her snores to Sive's. Maeve was still awake, though, and her watchful eyes regarded Rhona.
"Is she coming back?" Maeve whispered.
Rhona wet her lips. She didn't want to lie, but… "I hope so. Father would be heartbroken to lose another wife so soon after Mother's death."
An owl screeched in the distance, and Maeve squeaked like she'd been the owl's prey. "What is THAT?"
"Just an owl. You are too big for it to carry, so it is nothing to worry about. It is catching mice."
Maeve shuffled closer to Rhona. "There are mice in the woods?" Her eyes were wide with terror.
Rhona smiled in the dark. She would never understand her sister's fear of the small creatures. "Not while the owls are out hunting. They are running to hide – probably in our barn."
"Good. Then the cat will get them. She has six kittens, you know." Maeve snuggled closer to Rhona. "Mother said you will protect us. It's true, isn't it? You will keep us safe?"
"As long as I draw breath, I will let nothing and no one hurt you, or any of my sisters," Rhona promised her, and every word rang with truth.
Using any means necessary, Rhona added in her head, as she threw another log on the fire. Even magical ones. No one hurt her family.
Seven
"The pony's gone!" Maeve cried.
Rhona winced at the rude awakening, wishing she could sleep a little longer in some place more comfortable. But she had to put on a brave face for her sisters. "I'm sure he's just gone to find some breakfast," she soothed. But there was plenty of grass in the clearing – grass he'd eagerly devoured yesterday. "Or he was thirsty."
That made more sense. "We should go down to the river for a wash and a drink, too, before we head home. Perhaps we shall find him there, and Doireann, too," Rhona continued, clambering to her feet.
The pony was indeed nowhere to be seen, along with the panniers of berries he'd been carrying. True to her word, Rhona had left some berries on the bushes, so there was enough for breakfast.
She helped Sive wash her breakfast berry juice from her face and hands, but when they still found no sign of the pony or Doireann, she had to admit defeat. "Fill your pockets with berries for on the way. Time to go home," Rhona said.
Eight
Rhona staggered up to the house, her arms aching from carrying Sive. What she wouldn't give to have the pony who'd carried Sive into the forest, but they'd seen no sign of the creature since last night. She tucked Sive into her bed, figuring the girl could wash when she woke in the morning. Maeve and Nuala had washed in the water butt outside, and were no doubt raiding the kitchen for dinner.
Rhona debated whether to join her sisters and grab a bite to eat, or head straight to bed and break her fast in the morning. Her stomach had churned with worry too much to allow her to eat today, and even now she wasn't sure if she could keep any food down. Not without knowing if Doireann was all right. Her father would never forgive her for losing his wife.
Though the hour was late, she should probably wake him to tell him the ill news. She padded softly to her father's chamber, and raised her fist to knock.
A distressed cry came from Sive's chamber. "Mama?"
Rhona's heart broke anew, and she turned to go to her sister.
"Rhona?"
Her father stood in the open doorway, looking distinctly displeased.
"I must see to Sive," Rhona said.
Father seized her arm. "Let Doireann do it."
To Rhona's surprise and relief, her stepmother emerged from her father's chamber, squeezed past them, and headed for Sive's room.
/> "So she made it back?" Rhona choked out.
Her father's brows lowered further. "No thanks to you. What possessed you to take off like that, and with your sisters?"
Rhona was lost for words for a moment. Finally, she said, "I thought it would be safer…"
"Then you are a fool. A foolish child, who I thought was past such things. Really, Rhona? A miraculous spring blessed by Saint Columba himself? Where did you hear such nonsense?"
Rhona glanced at Sive's chamber, but Doireann had closed the door.
She did not want to make trouble for Doireann. "I do not remember, but I thought it strange that such a spring should exist so close to home, when I had not heard of it."
"Keeping your sisters out all night in search of this nonsense! What were you thinking?" Father demanded.
She hung her head. "I am sorry, Father. I lost track of the time. We should have returned before dark, but Sive was tired, and – "
"Enough! You are too young to take care of your sisters, no matter how mature your mother thought you might be. They are Doireann's responsibility, not yours. She told me she tried to dissuade you from finding this imaginary spring, especially when your sisters insisted upon following you, but you refused to listen and left without another word. What if one of you had been hurt, hmm? Doireann arrived after dark last night, quite distraught that you had not returned, though you had promised to be but a moment. You were gone hours, leaving her alone in woods she did not know!"
Rhona struggled to make sense of her father's words. No, it was Doireann who had set off to find the spring, who had told HER to wait, not the other way around. And her sisters had never left the clearing, except to wash by the river, and that was hardly but a step away from where they'd camped in the clearing.
"But, Father, I – " she began, not sure how to continue.
"I do not want to hear excuses, for nothing will excuse such reckless behaviour. Do you think any man will want a wife who puts the children under her care in danger, just to satisfy her own curiosity? Go to bed. On the morrow, you will beg your stepmother's forgiveness, and you will submit to whatever punishment she gives you. She is the lady of this house, and whatever she asks you to do, you will obey. Is that understood?"
Rhona swallowed back her fury. "Yes, Father," she lied.
"Good. We will not speak of this again, and hopefully the matter will be forgotten before rumours can spread outside our household. If Lord Lewis were to hear…but he shall not. Both Doireann and I will watch your behaviour carefully from now on, Rhona. So soon after losing your mother…I will not lose you girls as well!"
Seething, she made her way to her chamber and closed the door. She had not been sent to bed without dinner since before Nuala was born, and certainly never before when she had nothing wrong!
How had her father gotten the idea that she had gone searching for the stupid saint's spring? Rhona had not heard a whisper of the place until Doireann mentioned it.
Realisation dawned. Of course, Doireann had reached home before her. Perhaps Doireann had expected them to have arrived already, and she'd been shocked to find the girls missing. Had she spun a story for her father, painting herself in a good light and placing the blame on Rhona?
Maeve might have made up such a story, but Rhona would never. Father had called Rhona childish, when it was his wife he should have been looking at. Why, the woman was not much older than Rhona, and if her father asked for the marriage to be annulled…perhaps the widow had nothing left, after the Alban raiders had taken everything from her.
Rhona's fury eased the tiniest bit. If she was faced with such a future, perhaps Rhona might lie. Perhaps. But that did not excuse Doireann. On the morrow, Rhona would not apologise to her stepmother. Instead, she would make sure the woman understood she knew what her stepmother was doing, and while she would forgive her the once, if Doireann ever blamed Rhona for her own faults again, Rhona would not be so lenient.
With that firm resolution uppermost in her mind, Rhona prepared for bed. It wasn't until she was tucked up in her blankets that her belly reminded her that she'd barely eaten all day. She rolled over onto her side, hoping to silence the grumbling sounds. She could eat her fill on the morrow, and every day thereafter. Rum Isle might not be the wealthiest of the isles, but they would never run short of food. Not while her father ruled the island.
Nine
After a week spent cleaning every inch of Blanid's former chamber twice, as Rhona's first effort hadn't met with her stepmother's approval, Rhona was ready to stuff the scrubbing brush down Doireann's throat and drown her with the bucket of dirty water.
One good thing had come of all this cleaning. Rhona had moved all of Blanid's things into her own chamber, though the haphazard jumble of chests made it difficult to reach her bed at the end of each exhausting day. Rhona promised herself she would go through everything and keep it safe for her sisters, but for now, she had to drag the mattress back to the bed from where she'd left it airing by the window.
Her arms ached as she made up the bed again, but Rhona had to admit a certain satisfaction at a job well done. The room was no longer Blanid's – if her spirit had lingered, it would not stay here. Even Blanid's favourite candlestick now sat on the table beside Rhona's bed – Doireann would not have it. But she would surely want some light, so Rhona headed down to the kitchen to see if a spare one could be found that was suitable for the new lady of the house.
It took some rummaging until she found a brass one so tarnished she barely recognised it for what it was, but when she carried it to the kitchen table, the cook exclaimed, "Why, I have not seen that since your grandmother died! 'Twas her favourite. Well I remember her coming down here when young Ronin could not sleep. She would sit the candle on that very table, cradle the boy in her arms, and sing him to sleep in that very chair. More often than not, I'd find her still there in the morning, fast asleep, when I came to light the morning fires. I was in my first year of service then."
Rhona blinked, trying to imagine Belen as a young maid, perhaps the same age as Nuala, and not the woman she'd known all her life. "I was looking for something suitable for Doireann." The old candleholder would not do for her stepmother, Rhona knew. Doireann would want the best, shiniest one in the house.
"And it will be, once it's had a polish," Belen said. "I'll get one of the girls to do it. Ciara!"
Ciara looked up from peeling the carrots. "Yes?"
"Polish that, will you? It's for her ladyship upstairs." Belen rolled her eyes heavenward.
Ciara didn't make the mistake of thinking that meant Rhona. "At least I can spit on that."
Rhona laughed. "I should probably clean that, too. She said I was to prepare the room myself, with no help from anyone else."
"You've done the work of two maids this week, and given both Ciara and Siobhan quite the holiday. 'Tis only fitting that she do this for you now, as is proper. The lady of the house should not rub her hands raw polishing some old brass." Belen gestured toward the chair where she'd said her father had fallen asleep in his mother's arms. "Rest a little, Lady Rhona."
Rhona smiled at the title. "I am no lady. Just my father's daughter on a good day, or a drudge on a bad one, like today."
"Not to us. Not to any of us. That slip of a girl might have married your father, but she is not Lady Blanid, or your lovely self. Lady Blanid ran this house, and indeed the whole isle, as smooth as the sea on a summer's day. She never came into the kitchen without a kind word for what was cooking, and a helping hand where it was needed. She never needed no titles to command respect. She was a lady, and so are you. That Doireann…she's as common as muck, and meddlesome besides. Why, she finds fault with every dish that comes out of this kitchen, though 'tis exactly what she ordered. She asks for less salt, so I spare the salt, and she complains 'tis too bland. I add more, and she complains 'tis inedible and sends the whole mess back to the kitchen. Well, let me tell you, that stew most certainly was not inedible. I had two helpings myself!" Belen
grinned.
Resting while everyone else worked was not in Rhona's nature, so she picked up Ciara's knife and set to work on the carrots.
"You should hear her hold forth about the only way to chop carrots!" Belen continued.
Rhona faltered. "What way is that?"
"Never mind. I'm sure whatever you do will be good enough for everyone else, and more than good enough for her."
Rhona resumed peeling. Working with a knife was calming, much like preparing herbs in the stillroom, for the repetitive task allowed her mind to wander. But never far. Her thoughts turned to Blanid, or Brigid, or Doireann, and none of them were comforting right now.
Rhona said, "Belen, would you tell me a story, please? One of the folktales where the wicked are properly punished, and the ending is happy."
Belen tapped the spoon on the side of the stewpot. "My lady wishes for a tale? Lady Blanid was one for tales. We could swap them for hours – she knew more than me, for her family collected tales along with the plants they grew. Let me see…she used to tell this chilling tale of a brother and sister, lost in the woods.
"Once upon a time, there was a poor woodcutter and his wife who had two children, a boy and a girl, but they did not have the wherewithal to feed them. So one day, the father took the children into the woods with all the food they had, and left them there, hoping someone might take pity on the mites…"
Parents too poor to feed their children. That was something Rhona would never allow to happen on Rum Isle, she reflected, as she listened to the tale. Poor Hansel and Gretel would not have needed to take shelter with a wicked witch here.
By the time Belen's tale ended, the carrots were cut and Ciara stood beside Rhona, with her mouth open and the polished candlestick in her hand.
"Her ladyship will want the best beeswax candle for that. No tallow for her," Belen said, fitting a candle into the stick before handing it to Rhona. "When you're finished taking that up to her room, come back. I have a treat for you, and your sisters, if you choose to share it. One of the beekeepers brought some honey today, and he was so thankful for the poultice you made for his knee – which is quite healed, by the way – he brought you some honeycomb."
Return- Hansel and Gretel Retold Page 2
