Fateful Encounter

by June Francis

  ‘Perhaps Robin will come here for me?’ suggested Constance, keeping a careful eye on the girl.

  ‘He surely isn’t such a fool! The men are already here looking for him, and planning to takeyou up into the mountains if they don’t find him and Kathleen.’

  ‘Takeme?’ Constance’s voice hardened. ‘Niall would not allow it.’

  ‘But Niall is not here,’ said a silky voice. Both girls whirled round to confront the man in the flowing robes filling the doorway.

  Brigid gave a frightened cry, and backed away from him, but he held out an arm and fixed his dark eyes on her. After a few moments, she walked slowly towards him. Constance shuddered, but stood her ground, watching.

  Sil spoke to Brigid in low compelling Irish, and she gave a moan and fell on her knees, wrapping her arms round his feet. She kissed them. He bade her to rise, and she did so hurriedly. He spoke again, and she pressed her body against his and held her face up for his kiss. Sil’s eyes were on Constance’s face as he kissed Brigid, and she thought she recognised triumph in their depths. A great sense of repulsion kept her sitting on the chest. Fear tightened her stomach.

  Sil released Brigid abruptly, and told her to go and wait outside. She went. Then he turned to Constance again, and surveyed her carefully, his eyes passing over every aspect of her. ‘You see that she is my creature,’ he said melodiously. ‘So shall you be.’

  ‘I am not alone here, Sil,’ she said quietly in French. ‘And you surely cannot bewitch the whole settlement.’

  He smiled, his black eyes glistening. ‘No, but the O’Tooles will keep them in order while they search the place for your kinsman and the wayward Kathleen.’ They are not here.’ She looked down at her bare feet, already feeling the power in his gaze.

  ‘I know it. They should be on their way to Dublin by now. Love ... is it not a wonderful emotion? Almost as exciting as hate.’ He laughed. ‘Look at me, Mistress de Wensley. Surely you do not fear me?’

  ‘I don’t fear you,’ she lied, ‘but I have respect for your devilish powers, Sil.’ She glanced at him, but immediately looked away. ‘If you know that my kinsman is not here, why have you come?’

  ‘I came for you, Mistress — and Dermot’s friends among the O’Tooles will not speak a word against my taking you. They see the necessity of having another hostage in your kinsman’s place. They do not realise my real interest in you.’ He moved towards Constance, and it seemed to her that he glided. She closed her eyes tightly as he laughed. ‘What a pretty gown you are wearing.’ Constance opened her eyes and turned to run, but he seized a handful of her long hair and dragged her to him. He forced her head back, and gazed into her face. She closed her eyes swiftly, and his laugh seemed to bounce off the rafters. ‘I have been having you watched, Englishwoman,’ he said melodiously, ‘and your actions interest me.’

  ‘Whom have you bewitched besides Brigid, you devil?’ She struggled to free herself, but he only pulled her hair the harder until she cried out.

  ‘What harm is there in telling you,’ he murmured. ‘The man who washed your walls — Grannia’s mother. Just a small enchantment, that is all. But if you wish for a devil now, woman, I could summon up a devil for you.’

  ‘Why call one up,’ she hissed, tears of pain in her eyes, ‘when one is already here in possession of your soul? And you consider yourselfmaster — when you are only a tool!’

  ‘I can see that I shall have to subdue you,’ he muttered, an ugly expression twisting his hawk-like features. With his free hand, he pushed her in the direction of the bed.

  Desperately she tried to dig in her heels, but his next blow sent her flying on to it. She screamed as he crawled on top of her. He wrapped her hair round his wrist, so that she could not move away without causing herself great pain. He stared down at her. ‘You have been in Niall’s company too long, and he and his brother were always obstinate. Even as boys, they dared to range themselves against me. Me, the Great One, who will lead his people back to the old ways.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ she gasped, keeping her eyes firmly closed.

  ‘The great have often been accused of madness, because their ways are elevated far beyond the understanding of ordinary men.’ He pulled her hair again, and she screamed, praying that someone would hear her and come. ‘Open your eyes, woman. It will be easier for you to obey me.’

  She shook her head, tears pricking the backs of her eyelids. The breath hissed between his teeth as he twisted her head this way and that, but still she did not open her eyes. Then she felt unbearable pain as he thrust his fingers against them. Instantly into her mind came the memory of how he had attempted to blind Niall, and her fear almost suffocated her. She felt the chill of metal against her cheek.

  ‘You are a fool,’ he muttered, the melody having disappeared from his voice. ‘And if I did not want to possess you, I would slit your throat.’ He slapped her across the face, and her eyes blinked open.

  Strange coloured lights fizzed on and off in front of her. She could barely see his face through the haze. Her head throbbed. ‘You will rot in hell,’ she whispered, wondering why he should choose this way to have his revenge on her for spoiling his plans.

  ‘There is the power, woman,’ he answered, his voice silky again. ‘Look at me! Hate is a much stronger feeling than love. And power is more exhilarating than both.’

  ‘I despise you,’ she moaned, her head swimming as she felt the power of that glistening stare. ‘Love Niall. Hate you! Despise you!’ She experienced a strange exultation as she realised what she had said. ‘Hate what you tried to do to Niall! Hate! Hate! Hate!’ She would not surrender to him.

  ‘Niall will not come to you. He will be dead by now. My men will have seen to that. Peace lies my way. You can rest — stop struggling. You don’t hate me. You desire me — you would obey me,’ he said in a monotone.

  ‘No!’ she forced the words out through slack lips. ‘He isn’t dead. I would know if he were dead. I love him. Hate you.’ She could feel his mouth pressing eagerly against her throat. ‘Hate you!’ she screamed. ‘Love Niall!’ She could feel a power growing within her, resistance strengthening. How she hated all that Sil symbolised! She recalled the pain in Niall’s voice when he had spoken about his scar. ‘No! No! No!’ She began to wriggle, and he cursed.

  Pain was her reward for resisting, but she discovered that it made it easier to go on resisting, and she knew when he decided that she was not going to submit to him. ‘A different way you have chosen,’ he rasped, taking a small phial from a pouch at his girdle.

  She was too exhausted to move as she watched his long fingers ease out the stopper. Her tongue ran rapidly over her dry lips, and she tried to wrench herself out of his hold, but his curved nails dug into her scalp. He dragged her head back and back until it made breathing difficult, and her lips parted. Then he forced the liquid into her mouth. She choked and coughed, but still it ran down her throat. He thrust more of the liquid into her mouth until she felt that if she did not swallow or draw breath, she would die. Perhaps shewas going to die? A mist was forming in front of her eyes, and her head spun slowly? The last sound she heard was that of Sil laughing before his laugh was cut off as the door opened.

  ‘What do you want?’ Sil snarled, as Dara, the dwarf, entered.

  ‘Thought you should know, Master Sil, that the captain is on his way to see Mistress de Wensley.’ He stared stolidly at thefilidh and strode heavily to the bed.

  Sil muttered a curse. He had never been able to do anything with the dwarf: unnatural blood there, he reckoned. ‘She swooned,’ he said, as the dwarf gazed down at Constance’s pallid face.

  ‘I’d better take her outside, then. The fresh air will revive her.’ He scooped her up in his short strong arms before Sil could protest, and carried her across the hall and out. Sil followed him swiftly.

  ‘I shall take her on my horse,’ called thefilidh, determined not to have his prey taken out of his control.

  ‘The widow will go with Dara,’
said a deep voice.

  ‘But, my lord, she will be best with me,’ replied Sil, facing the captain. ‘The dwarf and Dermot’s friends have already lost us one hostage.’

  The captain squared his drooping shoulders, and his weary grey eyes fell beneath Sil’s. ‘Even so, Sil, she will go with Dara. Perhaps not all those about Master Milburn were my son’s friends — and maybe he was not so much lost, as allowed to go free.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Sil smoothly. ‘One is always inclined to blame others when something goes wrong. If the dwarf loses her ...’ He shrugged, and walked away from the captain to his horse.

  Brigid, who had been watching, followed eagerly to paw at him. Sil spoke to her softly and stroked her cheek. She moaned, before falling back as he rode away. Hurriedly she went over to the group of villagers, and spoke to a man with a hole in his tunic and the strings of his cap untied. He pushed his way out of the huddle of people and vanished.

  The captain looked at Constance in Dara’s arms. His rough fingers touched her slightly damp cheek, and he sighed. Take her, Dara. Keep her safe.’ The dwarf nodded, and moved away.

  The rest of the O’Tooles mounted and rode off. Dara soon caught up. Following at a distance came the man to whom Brigid had spoken.

  Once in the hills and among the trees, Dara detached himself from the group of O’Tooles. He seemed to lose himself among the gnarled trunks of the oaks, and was soon travelling terrain that seemed bleak in comparison with the greenery of the forest. After a short time, he came to a stretch of water, reed-ringed, with a small island in its centre. Only for a short distance did the horse have to swim before its hoofs were scrabbling for a firm footing on land again. Though the island covered only a small area, it was populated with bushes and saplings and a couple of fully grown alders. The horse was soon out of sight of any watchers on the far shore, and then it was as though he and the riders had vanished from the earth.

  Constance woke slowly. The afternoon sun was slanting in through the woven branches that served as a roof for the crude hut, washing the interior in a wavering green light. Where was she? Something moved to her right, and her head turned quickly as remembrance flooded through her. But it was not Sil — it was a little man with a long beard and concerned, bright, hazel eyes. Kathleen’s O’Toole dwarf — but was he a friend or a foe? Her fear must have showed in her face, because he spoke.

  ‘You are safe, Niall’s woman. Sil will not find you here.’

  ‘What happened? I ...’ Her hand went to her head, which felt strange. He told her, and relieved, she sank back on the bed of moss and grass, her eyes on his gentle face. He seemed completely different from the time she had seen him with Kathleen. And what had he said about her being Niall’s woman? Was that how some of those who knew Niall saw her? ‘What now?’ she murmured, glad to rest.

  ‘I shall go and tell Niall where you are.’ He sat cross-legged on the ground. ‘But first you must have a drink and some food. I shall be some time, but you must not worry.’

  ‘But you said you did not know where he had gone!’ she exclaimed, watching him fill a wooden cup from a flask.

  A smile creased his leathery face. ‘Even the trees might be listening, Niall’s woman.’

  ‘So you do know, and he’s not dead?’ She took the cup.

  ‘He is not dead. Wounded, ay! Or he would have faced Sil by now.’ A napkin was placed by her side. ‘Bread and fish,’ he said. ‘Now I must go.’ His hand touched her sleeve. ‘You are on an island, but you must not wander round it in case you are seen. Keep hidden within the trees and undergrowth.’

  She nodded, and took a sip of water. He patted her arm, and with a ‘The saints will guard you’, he left the hut. For a moment she stared at the fluttering leaves, and then unfolded the napkin.

  Dara caught his first glimpse of water in the valley below, and knew that he would soon see the tower of St Kevin’s fine stone building. There were robed figures ahead on the lower slopes. As he neared them, heads turned, and he recognised first the handsome man with a strong chin and far-seeing eyes, and then Niall with his thatch of tawny hair not quite concealed by the monk’s cowl.

  ‘Friend! What brings you here?’ Niall’s expression was anxious, for it had been agreed that Dara was not to risk being followed unless Sil made a move that put Constance in danger.

  ‘She is safe,’ Dara assured him, dismounting. ‘At least for the moment. But I bring you bad news, Niall.’ He inclined his head to Niall’s companion. ‘Brother Michael.’

  Niall had gone pale, and clutched at the horse’s bridle. ‘How can you say in one breath that she is safe, and then tell me you bring bad news?’

  ‘It is her kinsman and Kathleen. They have run away — allowed to escape, is what the captain believes.’

  Niall’s brown clouded, and he muttered under his breath, his bound hand clenching. ‘And Mistress Constance?’

  ‘I have her safe on the island, but for how long I do not know. Sil made sure that your woman’s estate was searched. He disappeared inside the house just as I reached it. Your foster-sister came out — and I heard your lady scream, and went in.’

  ‘What had he done to her?’ demanded Niall unsteadily.

  ‘She was unconscious. That foul liquid he used on Dermot when he was taken by the English, I don’t doubt.’ He squeezed Niall’s arm reassuringly. ‘He has not possessed her body or her mind, if that is what you fear. There is no sign of it in her eyes — and, besides, he would not have needed to drug her if he had. But you must come! I do not trust Sil, even though he rode before me and could not have seen me leave. Come, Niall, come!’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘I SHALL come as well,’ said Brother Michael, his mouth firming. ‘Your wound is not quite healed, Niall, and you might have need of my skills.’

  A slight smile eased Niall’s lips. ‘We go to face Sil together as in the old days, Dougal — is that it?’

  ‘Not quite as it was then,’ replied his brother. ‘We are not children now.’

  The dwarf nodded. ‘It is good. We shall get the horses and dogs?’

  The brothers agreed, and followed Dara down the hill.

  *

  Constance woke, and the hut was filled with dusk. Something had disturbed her, but was it only a bird settling for the night? Or maybe the dwarf was returning with Niall! Her heart gave a leap, and she rose hurriedly as a rustling came from the undergrowth. It was possible that it was neither, but Sil. Her blood chilled as she remembered how Brigid had behaved towards thefilidh. Poor Brigid! She could not help pitying her.

  A voice suddenly spoke, and her spirits soared. ‘Niall!’ she cried, stumbling in the direction of the sound.

  ‘Why, I do believe you are glad to see me.’ He scanned her face as he seized her outstretched hands.

  ‘Of course I am!’ She was forgetting in that moment how they had parted. ‘I thought you might be that terrible Sil.’ Her fingers laced feverishly through his as she stared into the lean scarred face she had come to love.

  ‘Then at least I’m preferable to him,’ he said lightly.

  She frowned. There was something in his voice. ‘A thousand times a thousand,’ she replied extravagantly.

  ‘A thousand thousand? Sweet Jesu, you must hate Sil!’

  ‘Hate! Loathe! Despise!’ She lowered her voice. ‘If you could have seen the way he made Brigid kiss his feet.’ She gave a shudder.

  ‘I don’t doubt that he has possessed my sister,’ he said harshly. ‘Another reason why I have to kill him.’ His bound hand curled stiffly about her wrist as he pulled her to the low doorway. ‘Did he hurt you?’

  It sounded to Constance as if it were an afterthought, and a great ache caught her throat. ‘Nearly tore the hair from my head,’ she said brightly.

  ‘Nothing more?’ he asked tautly as they came out into the open.

  ‘He threatened to slit my throat if I did not submit.’ Her voice was still airy. ‘He slapped my face quite hard. Cut my mouth.’ Her
tongue licked the inside of her cheek. ‘And poured some foul liquid down my throat.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Niall’s breathing sounded loud.

  ‘Isn’t that enough?’ she said quietly, dropping all pretense. ‘I was terrified.’

  Niall made no answer, but he was almost choked with fury as he pulled her on towards where the lough gleamed in the starlight. Dougal and Dara waited there with the horses. ‘This is my brother Dougal,’ said Niall, releasing her hand. He watched Constance’s face, feeling slightly anxious as she looked up at Dougal.

  ‘It is a pleasure to meet Niall’s brother.’ Constance made the sketchiest of reverences, uncertain how to address him. She could not see his face properly, shadowed as it was by his cowl. Why was he here?

  ‘I am pleased to meet Niall’s mistress.’ His voice was deep, and it seemed slightly familiar. ‘But let us not delay here,’ he added. ‘Even the night has eyes when creatures like Sil are about.’

  ‘You have seen something?’ asked Niall sharply.

  ‘Only shadows,’ Dara replied, stroking his beard.

  The hounds whined softly, and Niall’s hand took hold of Constance’s again. She was glad of the contact. ‘You consider them more than shadows?’ whispered Niall, his eyes narrowing as they searched the water and the far bank.

  ‘It’s possible.’ Dara reached for the axe at his girdle. ‘It might be wiser to wait out the night and cross the lough with the dawn light.’

  ‘Then we shall wait,’ said Dougal, lowering himself to the ground, and sitting cross-legged.

  ‘I’ll set the dogs to roam,’ murmured Niall. ‘We’ll take turns at watching.’

  ‘No,’ said Dougal, looking up at him. ‘Your wound is not yet healed, and you need more rest than I do. I am used to keeping all-night vigils, brother.’

  Niall would have protested, but Dougal and Dara insisted that he took some rest. ‘Take your mistress with you,’ said Dougal, ‘and go to my hut.’