by June Francis
‘It might be nothing.’ His voice held a lilt.
‘But you believe it is something?’ she demanded, attempting to gain control of her own mare.
‘If it is, you are playing no part in it!’ he replied firmly, releasing his hold on her bridle. ‘I want you at home, and with the gates shut.’
‘While you go and fight for Brigid, I suppose.’ Her dark eyes were stormy, and her rosy mouth set stubbornly.
‘Mistress de Wensley, I believe you would like a man to fight for you.’ His grey eyes suddenly gleamed like pebbles in a sunlit stream. ‘Once I would have, and you did not want it.’
‘I wish for nothing of the sort,’ she said tartly, turning her mare’s head. ‘You men simply like an excuse to fight.’
‘We don’t need an excuse.’ His eyes teased her before he slapped Maeve’s rump. ‘Now go for home,’ he shouted, as her mare made her way down the mound.
‘The nerve of the man!’ she muttered, allowing Maeve her head as they came on to flat land. ‘I’m not going to look back — nor am I going to care what happens to him.’ Yet she wanted to — she had to fight against the desire to see whether he was fighting for his life. She groaned inwardly, wondering even now whether to disobey him and turn to see what was happening. But already the houses were looming up, and there was the possibility that nothing might be happening. Soon he would be following her, and then he would ask why she had worried enough to disobey him, and she did not want him thinking that she cared.
Once she reached the house, she changed her clothes and considered working in the garden while she waited for Niall’s return. There was no sign of Grannia. Just as she was about to leave the hall, a knock came at the door, and her heart began to hammer. Perhaps it was bad news?
Squaring her shoulders, Constance flung the door open so quickly that the man there fell inside. He muttered a flurry of apologies in French, interspersed with the news that Master O’More had said that she needed some walls cleaned. He was an untidy individual, with the strings of his cap half undone and a rip in his tunic, but he appeared willing, and she left him to it after locking the chest, where she had deposited her money and the ring given to her by the king.
She took several deep breaths as she sauntered with a deliberately casual step out to the garden. It was planted with several kinds of herbs — sage, mint, thyme — and there was even some balm. They said that the juice of balm was useful for wounds. Why should she be worrying about wounds? If Niall O’More was wounded, it would be his own fault for being foolhardy and conceited enough to believe he could cope with Sil and his band of cut-throats single-handed. Why should she believe that Sil was involved in Brigid’s disappearance? That was foolish! She sighed, and concentrated on the weeding. Balm was also good against a surfeit of mushrooms, not that she had seen any of them. Bees delighted in the herb, so beekeepers rubbed their hives with it. Perhaps that explained the presence of hives under some apple-trees. She knew little about bees, but supposed that she could learn.
Her eyes went on to the western mountains, she realised how threatening their presence was, and must have been for Milo’s father. To the east, there was also the threat from the O’Mores. How much blood had been spilt on this land during the de Wensleys’ struggle to hold it against the natives in the hills? Yet they had still been here until Milo’s father had fled. She still found it difficult to accept that he could have desired a woman so badly that he had stolen her away from a husband who would surely come after him to kill him. But he had been young, and love was so unpredictable. Now she was here — surely the last of the de Wensleys, and not even of their blood-line.
She fell to weeding again as easily as her thoughts drifted. What of this woman Milo’s father had slept with — could she have had a child? It was possible, but it was not as easy to conceive as some seemed to believe. In four years of marriage, she had failed to do so. Was it possible that out there in the hills there could be a half-brother — or half-sister — to Milo? Foolish thought! Even if there were, as bastards, they would have no legal claim to this land, so what was the point of thinking about it?
A few minutes later, Constance was brought to her feet by Brigid’s sudden appearance round the corner. The girl smiled at her. ‘I am glad to see you here, and regret not being here to welcome you. But Niall would have done that. You have forgiven him for abducting your kinsman?’
Constance eyed her warily, completely taken aback. ‘It is Christian to forgive. Where have you been, Brigid? Have you seen Niall?’
‘Ay, I met him as I was returning from seeing Kathleen, and I have brought you some milk.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘Also I bring you news of your kinsman.’
‘Of Robin?’ Constance could not conceal her amazement.
‘It was only by the merest chance that Kathleen saw him. She was drinking at a stream, as he and some men were crossing. At first she did not realise who he was, for he was dressed in a similar fashion to theirs. Then he slipped on a stone and his foot went in the water — and he cursed in English! At least, I’m sure he cursed — that’s what Kathleen said.’ Her face brimmed with mischief. ‘So she realised who he was.’ She scrutinised Constance carefully. ‘She said he didn’t look like you.’
‘No, Robin is like his mother.’ Constance could not believe that this conversation was taking place. ‘Is he well?’
‘Well, but vexed — Kathleen did not have much chance to speak with him. He was being watched carefully, but they were able to exchange a few words. He asked after you, and is wishing he could be rescued.’
‘Did she tell him who she was?’ Constance watched her carefully.
‘Of course.’ Brigid pouted. ‘He did not seem pleased about Niall, but she told him that he was completely trustworthy and would see that you came to no harm.’
‘And did he believe her?’ she asked drily.
‘I do not think so — Kathleen became quite cross, and left him.’
Constance watched her even more closely. ‘When did this happen?’
A shadow crossed Brigid’s freckled face. ‘I cannot remember — this morning, perhaps? I have ridden fast all the way here, and now I’m hungry. Perhaps I should go and see what there is for dinner.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ Constance brushed soil from her gloves, and followed.
Niall was in the hall, talking to Grannia, who was stirring a blackened pot on the fire. He glanced up, a worried expression on his face. He came over to Constance and Brigid. ‘So Brigid found you?’ His voice contained a note of forced cheerfulness.
‘In the garden.’ Constance’s eyes scanned his face for some sign that would help her to know what had happened. ‘Brigid told me that Kathleen had seen my kinsman.’
He nodded. ‘So she told me. We met by the burial-mound.’ He seized Constance’s arm so swiftly that she jumped. ‘I’ve been speaking to the priest. He apologised for not having been to visit you yet, but I told him that you’ve been busy and that you hope to see him tomorrow at Mass. I thought we could all go. That is, if you don’t mind?’ He had managed to draw her a little away from Brigid, who was scowling as she looked about the hall. ‘He is a good man,’ he continued in a loud voice, ‘simple, but hardworking and honest, which is more than you can say of some churchmen.’
‘I agree,’ said Constance, wondering what this was all about. ‘I haven’t been to Mass since I’ve been in Ireland.’ If the truth was told, she had avoided going to Mass since Milo had been killed, but she supposed she had better start as she meant to go on, by setting an example.
‘Why is that?’ Niall sounded interested. ‘Are you accustomed to bishops in fine robes, or are your sins too few?’
‘No!’ she replied, startled. ‘Although there are men in fine robes who make good bishops, not all bishops are good men. It’s just that I have not felt inclined and that sin is difficult to confess, I find.’ Why had she told him that? She must be crazed.
‘Then you’ll feel better when you sin is confessed,’ he
murmured. ‘I know I will — perhaps because I am more in need of forgiveness.’
‘Sin is sin.’ She glanced at him, then looked away again. Was he referring to the night at the bog? ‘Brigid said she was hungry, so should we not eat? Then perhaps you can show me the horses and speak to the carpenter for me.’
‘Brigid can stay with Grannia and supervise the washing of the walls. She’s a little effusive, my foster-sister. Really friendly, don’t you agree?’ he said softly.
‘I can’t understand it after what you told me, and from what I know of her.’
‘I see. What do you think is wrong?’
‘I have my suspicions, but let’s talk about them elsewhere.’ He took her arm and led her outside.
*
‘Well?’ said Constance, offering a slice of wrinkled apple to the black stallion nuzzling Niall’s shoulder. ‘I do not wish to gossip about your foster-sister, but ...’
‘But there’s something not quite right about her,’ murmured Niall, his eyes narrowing against the sun that was breaking through the clouds scurrying before the wind to reveal patches of blue. ‘It’s her eyes — it’s as though another person were looking out of them. I’ve sent some of the men to see that Kathleen is all right, and to find out whether Brigid really has been there.’
‘Do you suspect Sil of being the instigator of Brigid’s strange behaviour?’ Her emotionless voice revealed no sign of her fear.
‘Why do you think that?’ He looked down at her quickly.
‘Because of what you said yesterday. Although, surely, someone should have seen him?’ Her hand stroked the horse’s mane with a controlled carefulness.
‘We could have a traitor in our midst, who hides his allegiance to Sil behind a mask of friendship.’ His mouth tightened.
Constance stared at him, thinking that she had never seen him looking so austere. Her fear deepened. ‘How can you find out?’ she asked quietly.
‘Set a trap.’ His knuckles gleamed white as his fingers clenched the metal of the knife he had taken from the fire’s ashes that morning. ‘We might not find out who he is straight away, but we’ll find him!’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘PERHAPS IT would be best if I left here?’ Constance wondered. ‘Maybe Sil then will release Brigid from whatever spell he has cast over her and leave you all alone.’ Her eyes reflected her uncertainty.
Niall was silent, as his gaze shifted from her face to the knife in his hands. ‘I would agree, except that Sil never lets go. I would have to go with you all the way, and he would have us followed. There would be an ambush in some lonely spot.’ He spread his hands expressively. ‘No, I would rather arrange our next confrontation on my own ground. When it takes place, only Sil or I will leave alive. The time has come for Sil’s persecution of me to end.’
Constance cleared her throat. ‘You want to fight him,’ she stated. ‘I can see it in your face.’
He smiled brilliantly. ‘Do you blame me for wishing to kill him?’
‘No, but he might killyou,’ she muttered angrily. ‘Is there no other way than a fight to the death?’
‘Such a lack of faith you have in me, Mistress de Wensley!’ There was a peculiar note in Niall’s voice. ‘But I swear I will not let him kill me.’
‘You are so sure of yourself,’ she said tersely, leaning against the horse. ‘But you yourself said that he is no weakling.’
‘Neither am I. I have only one weak spot, and the danger is that I believe he already has guessed it. Hence Brigid’s behaviour. But you do not have to fear, for I will guard it carefully.’
She stared at him, puzzled by his words and the strange emotion — almost a pain — she experienced when looking at his profile. ‘Your eye?’ she said slowly. ‘Is it your eye, where he nearly blinded you?’ As if of its own volition, her hand reached up to touch his face.
A muscle twitched in Niall’s cheek and he turned to face her. She felt a moment’s unexpected headiness, of excitement — then his expression altered, and he wrenched her hand away. ‘Really, Mistress de Wensley, you should not be going so close to the black stallion! He can be a devil with strangers!’
‘What ...’ she began in amazement, only to be interrupted by Brigid.
‘So here you are!’ cried Brigid. ‘I’ve been looking in the herb garden for you, Mistress de Wensley. I thought you might wish to come with me and see the place where the best rushes grow down by the river.’ Her mouth smiled delightfully.
‘Now isn’t the right time,’ Niall intervened before Constance could answer. ‘But Mistress de Wensley might need some washing done — and as it’s not a meat day, we need some fish. I suggest that we all walk that way, if Mistress de Wensley doesn’t mind my company for a little longer?’ His voice was smoothly polite as he addressed the latter words to Constance.
‘I have no objection, Master O’More,’ she said stiffly, thinking it was just as well that Brigid had come along when she had. Otherwise who knew what might have happened next?
‘Then let us go.’ He smiled politely, and inclined his head as he indicated with a wave of his hand that the two women should go before him. They went.
Brigid chattered brightly about the manor and the horses — and Robin. How delightful that Kathleen should have seen him, so that she, Brigid, could reassure Constance of his well-being and safety. Niall said nothing, only listening, his face expressionless.
Constance wondered if there was a threat behind the words about Robin. She had begun to accept Niall’s assurances to his safety, but what if Sil had arranged for Robin to be disposed of? He did not want the exchange of hostages, according to Niall. She wished that Brigid would stop talking so that she could again broach the subject of Robin with Niall, but the opportunity did not arise.
During supper, Niall hardly exchanged a word with Constance. Instead, he addressed himself to Brigid, speaking of his plans to go to Connemara, perhaps go in a week or two. That news surprised Constance, but she kept quiet, although she would have liked to say much. Immediately supper was over, Niall disappeared swiftly out of doors, leaving Constance in the house with Brigid and Grannia.
After watching Grannia and Brigid argue over what to do with the feathers from the chicken they were plucking, Constance wandered out, but she no sooner arrived in the garden than Brigid was there. She followed her — to the horses, the stables, the carpenter’s house, not speaking at all, just silently walking in her tracks. There was no sign of Niall. It was beginning to get dark when Constance went indoors, followed by Brigid.
Constance darned some stockings and then went to bed, weary and rather irritable. Brigid would have preferred Grannia to leave the hall, but she insisted on staying, and Constance was glad. She did not believe that Brigid would attempt to harm her again, but she felt much safer with Grannia there.
Sleep was elusive. Constance tossed and turned. It had been a mistake coming to Ireland. There was danger all round! How could she have believed that everything could turn out as she had wanted it? Where was Niall? Where was Sil? Were they confronting each other, even now?
Brigid shifted in her bed, and a mouse scurried across the floor. Constance stiffened, then the girl stilled. The mouse scrabbled again, and she remembered the sack of flour in the corner. They should have a cat, there was need for one here. Another problem. Tiredness began to wash over her, then she heard the rain on the roof, and she remembered the washing outside. Was Niall on the mound, watching, in this weather? She groaned, turning over to pull the blanket over her ears. Eventually she slept.
It was still raining next morning, but despite her low spirits, she dressed in a scarlet woollen gown and a cote-hardie of a paler hue. She realised that she had lost weight since coming to Ireland — but she was not going to allow that to depress her spirits further. Would Niall come to church with them, as he had promised?
He appeared in the doorway suddenly, wearing the all-encompassing mantle, and Constance could not have been more glad. The brim of his hat conceale
d the expression in his eyes, and when he spoke, it was to make prosaic remarks about the weather. She was annoyed. No explanation of where he had been? She had lost sleep over this man, and all he could talk about was the weather!
‘I would like a cat to live in the house with me,’ she said, completely irrelevantly.
‘A cat, is it?’ He pushed his hat further back on his head, and looked at her, and his expression was such that she felt colour warming her cheeks.
‘A cat,’ she repeated unevenly. ‘To kill the mice. I heard them last night, when I couldn’t sleep.’
‘You couldn’t sleep, either?’ He smiled lazily. ‘And there you were in a nice warm bed, and I cold and wet on the hill coming back from seeing Kathleen. It’s a pity we couldn’t have kept each other company.’
‘I did not think that you wished for my company last evening, Master O’More,’ she responded with dignity. ‘I wished ...’
‘There you would be mistaken, Mistress Constance.’ He was suddenly serious. ‘Your kinsman is well, and the captain has a hand-picked guard over him — if you were worrying about him?’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled and he smiled back.
‘It’s a cat you’re wanting.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Then it’s a cat you shall have.’
‘Thank you again.’ Suddenly it did not matter about the rain, or Brigid, or Sil, or anything else. Then Brigid came running out of the house. Her dark braids bounced against her small breasts, and her cheeks were rosy.
‘Is that Niall’s voice I hear?’ she said breathlessly. Her hand went to his chest, and she gazed up at him. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried about you.’ Her anxiety seemed real. Some of the brightness went out of Constance’s day as she stepped aside.
‘I slept in the stable,’ he said reassuringly, his hand covering hers. ‘Now Mistress de Wensley wishes to go to church. Are you coming?’
‘Church?’ Brigid smiled brilliantly. ‘Of course.’ She tucked her hand in Niall’s arm, and he stared woodenly at Constance.
