by June Francis
‘You say it’s true, so I have to believe you — but there must be some explanation.’ He dropped a hand on the shoulder of the girl by him. ‘This is Grannia, who will help you to bake bread and perform other tasks that you want done. I’m going to find Brigid and get to the bottom of this matter.’ He lifted a hand in farewell and strode off towards where the dogs lay in a patch of sun.
Constance took a deep breath and turned to face Grannia, relieved that he was going to do something.
CHAPTER TEN
WITH GREAT determination, Constance put Brigid out of her mind. ‘There is a bakehouse here?’ she asked.
‘No bakehouse.’ Grannia smiled shyly. ‘But, Mistress de Wensley, if you will allow me, I shall show you how to manage without one.’ She touched Constance’s arm and led the way into the house, pulling the sledge behind her.
Constance watched silently as the fire was lit. Grannia gave her a flashing smile as she brought the broad plank of wood that Brigid had used to put the bowls on for the porridge, on the day that Constance had first come into the house. How could Brigid have tried to kill her? Frowning, she watched Grannia take up a large bowl, and dust it inside. Soon the girl had everything to hand. Constance pulled up a stool to watch her more closely. Later she would sweep the floor and rid it of the dirty rushes, but it would have to wait until the breadmaking was finished. Perhaps Niall would have returned with Brigid by then?
It was a long process making the dough, leaving it to rise and kneading it. In the middle of the waiting, Constance asked Grannia to help her to remove the mattress. They shook it well, and left it spread out on a bush to air.
The dough was formed into round cakes, which were left to rise again while Grannia gathered some forked sticks. She placed them standing up on the hot stones surrounding the fire. When the cakes were risen to her satisfaction, they were stood on their ends against the sticks in front of the fire.
While Grannia tidied up, Constance watched the bread. Her mind wandered, and a sudden loneliness swept over her. She would have liked her stepmother to talk to, to pour out her worries about Niall and Brigid. Did the girl care for her foster-brother? Was she jealous of Constance? Yet surely, when Brigid calmed down, she would realise that you did not get rid of people because you wanted them out of the way. Jealousy was an unenviable emotion. She herself had suffered from it in the past, when her half-brothers had been born. She rued the day that she had responded to that feeling by running away with Milo de Wensley. Was Brigid so jealous that it was driving her mad? Had jealousy not driven a wedge between her own father and his brother because of her mother, who was now only a memory to them all? Jealousy could change a person out of all recognition. What was she to do if Niall returned with Brigid? Was Brigid to stay on in the house?
‘Mistress de Wensley! The bread is burning!’ Grannia’s words caused her to start, and move hurriedly. It was with relief that she saw that only one of the cakes had been singed. They were removed hastily out of the fire, and later moved to a basket and covered with a cloth.
‘With Master Niall to feed, we shall be baking every day,’ said Grannia, her brown hair falling into her eyes. ‘He is always hungry, and loves freshly-baked bread with lashings of butter — but he will have to do without that for a while. Until Mistress Kathleen has had the making of it.’
‘That is what she’ll be doing while she’s away?’ Constance took up an armful of rushes, and Grannia followed suit.
‘Ay, and there’ll be buttermilk and cheese — but not a lot of cheese.’ They began the arduous task of cleaning the rushes from the hall, gathering them in a great pile for burning outside. Then they took besoms and began to sweep the floor clear of bones, bits of grass and seed-heads, mice-droppings, and any other rubbish that had gathered. A worried frown crossed Constance’s face as she wondered whether Niall had found Brigid.
‘Something is bothering you?’ Grannia’s hazel eyes scanned her face. ‘Would Master Niall not like you doing this? I can do it by myself, if you wish, for it is too menial a task for you.’
‘I don’t mind doing it,’ murmured Constance, forcing a smile. And that was true! There was a kind of satisfaction in getting rid of filth and dirt and making something tidy and clean again. As she worked, there was a lilt in the sway of her body.
Niall entered suddenly, and stopped to watch her. The dogs bounded over to the pile of rubbish, and eased a bone out. Niall seized Constance’s arm and moved her swiftly out of the way. His arm went about her waist, and it was as though a current of light flashed through her. Their eyes met, and his flaxen brows drew together. ‘This is no task for you!’ he said roughly, snatching the besom from her slackened grasp.
‘What am I supposed to do when you are not here?’ she demanded shakily. ‘Just wait idly while you search for Brigid? Have you found her?’
He shook his head. ‘We followed her tracks to the mound, then lost them.’ His hand pulled at his moustache before moving to scratch his head. ‘Up on the mound, one can see for miles. It is a good vantage-point. But there was no sign of her.’ He rammed the besom on the floor as he gazed down at it.
‘What will you do? She can’t have disappeared into thin air.’
‘Of course she can’t,’ he muttered absently, bending down to pick up a knife from the floor. ‘Is this the weapon she tried to kill you with?’ He held it out on the palm of his hand.
‘I didn’t have a close look.’ She peered at the knife, with its gold-like handle engraved with whorls. ‘But that must be it. Is it not a warrior’s blade?’
He nodded grimly. ‘She could have had it for her own protection, and nothing more.’
‘Of course,’ she said colourlessly, not believing for one moment that Brigid would have carried such a knife. Besides, there was something in Niall’s expression that convinced her that he did not believe it, either. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘More of what I’ve already done. I’ve got men searching for her. When she’s found, she’ll be brought here.’ He went over to the fire, and thrust the weapon into the glowing depths. ‘Grannia, go and fetch more wood.’ The girl nodded, and hurried outside.
‘Why are you trying to destroy it?’ Constance moved to Niall’s side to stare into the fire.
He glanced at her, and away again. ‘That’s all I can do — try. It is an evil weapon.’ He crouched, and murmured words in Irish before prodding the knife in the fire with the axe he took from his belt. Constance sat on a stool, and her lips moved in prayer. There was something here that she did not understand.
Niall rose suddenly, and smiled down at her. ‘I smell fresh bread!’
Her heart lifted because of the ordinariness of his remark. ‘You’re hungry?’
‘There were only three small fishes for dinner.’ Grannia came into the hall with a bundle of firewood. Niall called to her in Irish, and she answered. ‘Grannia will see to supper,’ he said gravely. ‘I thought you might wish to see the scrolls containing the names of the cottiers andbetaghs here with the dues they owe you and the amounts of rents paid. You might not be able to read them, of course — you will have to take my word that they are correct.’
‘If they are in Latin, I shall be able to read them,’ she said softly.
He turned, half-way towards the chest. ‘How is that?’
‘My stepmother and father thought it wise that I should. For years, I was the heiress to a fortune, so they wanted to make certain I would not be cheated. I learnt to understand agreements and dues and charters and settlements myself, in case any man should think he could get the better of me. So many good and worthy clerics died of the plague years ago, while the rogues survived. Besides, if I could not read, how would I understand the book of simples with its herbs and medicines that Philippa gave me?’ She smiled sweetly, enjoying his surprise. ‘Of course I am not an heiress now, as I think I have told you. Only this ...’ her eyes roamed the rafters and walls, ‘is now mine. But tell me what are cottiers andbetaghs? Are they simil
ar to our English serfs?’
‘Betaghs are. Cottiers have personal freedom, but pay rent and labour service. My foster-father’s ancestors were gavillers — tenants at will — as he was.’ He lifted the lid, and buried his head in the chest.
She waited patiently. ‘I would also wish to know what livestock we have here.’ Her voice reached him as he closed the lid. ‘Last time I was here, I had no mind to consider swine or sheep or cattle — ducks or chickens. Do we have many fruit-trees? Are peas and beans grown, as well as barley and oats?’ She ticked the questions off on her fingers. ‘I would like to know what proportion of what is mine.’
‘They will be written down in the dues,’ he answered shortly. ‘My foster-father stuck to the letter of the law.’ He handed her the scrolls.
‘I do not doubt his honesty.’ She looked up at him and smiled. ‘But tell me where we get salt? Have we any? Do we have hives? Does a tithe of everything we have go to the priest?’
‘Questions! Questions!’ he muttered, throwing up his arms. ‘Look in the scrolls, woman.’
A bubble of laughter formed inside her at the look on his face. Her eyes danced. ‘But some people’s Latin is so difficult to read. Can you not tell me? What wood may I take from the forest? I shall have some furniture made and another house built, maybe. Do all the deer belong to the king? Do sit down, man!’
Grannia, who had been watching and listening, but whom they had both forgotten, darted forward with another stool, placing it near the one already close to the fire.
Niall was suddenly aware that Constance was teasing him. There was dust on her cheek as well as a smear of flour across her forehead. What if Brigid’s blade had struck? A cold hand seemed to squeeze his heart. He sat close to her as she unrolled a scroll. ‘Salt we have from Dublin. It comes by ship from Chester, but you will have to confirm whether we have any. No doubt Brigid,’ his voice wavered, ‘will have used most of it when she salted the meat for the winter. You have certain rights to wood — they’ll be listed. Deer?’ He shrugged. ‘Did you hunt in London?’
‘Outside London — on occasions when I stayed with my father’s cousin and her husband, and when I visited our manor in Kent.’
‘Then, no doubt, we can find you some sport, if you wish. As for the priest, he receives a gift from you as well as from the rest of those who live in the settlement — how else would he live? He speaks no English, and the church is small, but you will be able to receive the sacrament.’ His voice changed. ‘My brother is a holy man, who lives in the hills in a valley — a dream of a valley.’ He stopped.
Constance nudged his arm. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘You would have to see it to understand how beautiful it is,’ he replied, a little self-consciously, flattening the parchment beneath his elbow.
‘Help me to see it,’ she murmured, her hand brushing against his. He looked at her, and the dusty air was suddenly charged with a tingling excitement. ‘It’s right in the mountains. There are two lakes in the most heavenly valley you could ever see. It’s difficult to reach, but that’s why Saint Kevin went there years ago. They say he was driven into solitude by the passion of a beautiful girl who pursued him relentlessly. So much so, that he turned on her and beat her with nettles.’ He paused, his eyes lingering on her face.
‘What happened?’ she asked huskily. Somehow his hand was covering hers, and his fingers were interlaced with hers, and she felt her heart quickening. Was he aware of what he was doing?
‘Her love evaporated — and she left him.’ His expression was guileless. He was enjoying telling her the tale in such a way!
Her mouth formed a moue of disappointment. ‘Is that all?’
‘Yes, where women are concerned.’ He smiled. ‘He went to Gleann da Loch — that means “The place of two lakes’’. At first he lived in a hollow tree before he found a cave high in the face of a cliff. Eventually, other men followed him and a community came into existence. My brother lives there.’ He hesitated before adding, ‘I’d like you to meet him one day. I think his life would interest you.’
‘I’d like to.’ She thought it wise at this point to loosen her fingers and to turn the conversation to estate affairs.
It was Grannia who, during their discussion, went to fetch bacon, eggs, herbs and onions. She cut and chopped and beat them together, and when they were cooked in a small iron pot, she served them with some bread on wooden platters.
Constance and Niall ate where they sat, balancing the food on their knees, while Grannia poured ale for them. Then she sat at their side, smiling as she watched them eat together. Despite her presence, Constance was questioning the wisdom of such intimacy between her and Niall. If they had been in England and there had been trestles, she could have invited the workers to come in, and they could have eaten together, but there were no trestles.
When he had finished eating, Niall placed his cup beside his platter on the floor, and stood. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see if there’s been any sighting of Brigid.’ He ran a hand through his hair, and a muscle tightened in his lean cheek. ‘If you have a mind to, in the morning we could go for a ride so that I can show you the manor.’
‘What if Brigid is not found?’ she asked, looking up at him quickly.
‘Then we can still rideand search, if that suits you?’
She nodded, considering that he looked tired. ‘If you find her tonight, come and tell me. It will be some time yet before Grannia and I are finished here.’
He frowned. ‘Don’t work too hard in here. I’ll get one of the men to clean the walls in the morning. I’ve told Grannia to stay here with you tonight; I thought you would not wish to be alone.’
‘Thank you.’ She was relieved, fearing slightly that Brigid might come back unexpectedly, and find her alone.
‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ His lean face creased into a smile.
‘In the morning,’ she echoed, as he left the hall.
*
Constance woke early, roused by Grannia moving on the pallet on the floor. It was dull in the hall, and when she peered outside it was to see that the clear skies of the day before had vanished, to be replaced by a grey pall of lowering cloud. She determined not to let the weather lower her spirits, and dressed quickly.
Grannia watched her, touching the scarlet skirts now and again, seeming to find pleasure in the feel of the English wool. Irish wool was rougher. Constance smiled at her as she set her coif a little more firmly on her head and pulled on her riding-gloves. ‘Go and tell Master Niall that I am ready. Perhaps you will find him in the stables?’ He had not come with news of Brigid, and she wondered where he had spent the night. The girl scurried out. She followed more slowly, winding her veil more securely about her throat as she pondered on Brigid’s strange behaviour and its possible cause. A shiver trickled down her spine as she went out into the gloomy day.
Niall came to a halt at the top of the mound. His hair was blown into a tangle by the rising wind, and he presented a rather awesome figure as Constance looked up at him. Man and horse seemed welded into one against the sky. He could have been some pagan legendary creature of old surveying his domain, but he was still searching for his foster-sister. Had he made Brigid any promises before she herself had come along? Did he care for Brigid more than he had realised? As a lover, maybe — the thought hurt. She urged her mare up the mound.
Was this another burial-mound? If so, it was a large one. There were several of them dotted about, as there were also strange stones with intricate carving and inexplicable runes. Could the dead walk again on earth? Could they really creep out of their burial-places to lure the living into their world of shadows? There were tales of such happenings. Could that have happened to Brigid? She drew alongside Niall, realising that this mound was different from the others. It was flattened on top over a larger area. She looked down the way they had come, and across the valley. One could see for miles, and the view was quite magnificent.
‘Once, this was a plac
e of safety for our people. If enemies attacked, they retreated up here. There was a fence all round, and where the gorse and brambles now grow, there was a deep ditch.’
‘You speak of the English?’ She tried to concentrate on what he was saying.
‘No, of neighbouring tribes and the men who came from across the northern seas. They came in their long-ships and rowed up the loughs and so managed to get far inland. They were excellent seaman and doughty fighters, but eventually they intermarried with the Irish. They built towns like Dublin. We learnt from each other.’ His eyes held hers, and her blood quickened. ‘So it goes on,’ he said softly. ‘The intermingling of the races. This valley was given to the de Wensleys in Strongbow’s day — that was when the first de Wensley came over with him from Wales. There was a time when the O’Mores in the east fought them over this land.’
‘I did not know that!’ Her dark brows rose and she was wide-eyed. ‘Did you hate the de Wensleys?’
For a moment he made no answer, and he appeared so forbidding that she wished she had not asked. Then he said, ‘I lived with the O’Mores only for the first two years of my life. Then my father was killed in a skirmish, and my mother returned to her own family, but she was not really welcome there and was unhappy. I was only a child when she entered the convent, and I have not seen her since. Not that I mourn her — instead of a mother wrapped up in her own misery, I had a foster-mother who loved me dearly. I make no complaint against the de Wensleys, for they did me no wrong.’ He fell silent, and despite her curiosity, for there was something in his words that puzzled her, she questioned him no further.
‘Do we continue the search?’ she asked after a long silence spent in scanning the area.
‘I think not.’ He turned to her hurriedly. ‘I’ll take you back.’
There was such an air of suppressed excitement about him, as his hand seized her bridle, that she could not remain silent. ‘Have you seen something — is there danger?’
