by June Francis
Constance was about to say that she had been sleeping on and off most of the day, but Niall pulled on her hand and she was forced to go with him. She wondered what a man of the church was thinking of, telling his brother to take his woman with him to rest, and part of her was hoping that the dwarf at least would come with them, but he did not.
‘You don’t have to be nervous,’ muttered Niall, as they retraced their steps back to the hut. ‘I won’t touch you. I’ll be acting as your guard.’
Constance made no reply. She felt like laughing, and saying: It’s too late for that, Niall O’More, I’m having your child! But now was not the time. Her fingers were warm inside his, and she could feel the binding about his wrist. How bad was his wound? The tips of her fingers sought to find the extent of the bandaging. ‘Don’t do that,’ he ordered, wriggling his arm.
‘Is it very painful?’ Constance’s thumb stroked the back of his hand, and she looked up at him. ‘Was it a bloody fight?’
‘Very bloody,’ he said roughly, stilling her thumb with his thumb. ‘But there are three less on Sil’s side.’ Their thumbs rubbed up against each other. ‘You realise I’ll have to let the captain exchange you for Dermot?’
‘I know,’ she murmured. ‘It’s a pity Kathleen couldn’t have been a little more patient.’
‘Kathleen? It was your kinsman who couldn’t wait,’ he snapped. ‘He’s ruined her reputation; you realise that?’ His index finger tickled the palm of her hand.
‘He’ll marry her. If nothing else, Robin is a gentleman.’ There was a quiver in her voice.
‘I’ll make sure he does,’ said Niall in a stern voice, bringing her to a halt outside the hut. ‘You’ll sleep inside, and I’ll sleep outside.’
‘Of course,’ she responded in a dignified voice. ‘And if I scream, you are not to enter.’
‘Why should you scream?’ he demanded impatiently.
‘I can’t abide spiders!’ Constance shivered. ‘Or anything else that creeps or crawls — such as Sil.’
The corner of Niall’s mouth quivered. ‘Sil’s not going to get you, because he’d have to do so over my dead body — and I’ve no intention of dying yet.’
‘How chivalrous of you to guard me with your life,’ she said, smiling sweetly.
‘Isn’t that what you employed me for?’ he said sternly, pushing her towards the doorway.
She went inside, and for several minutes sat silently, pondering over what to do next. Then she screamed. Niall jumped out of his skin, but stayed where he was, leaning against the side of the hut. She sighed. It was going to be a long tedious night if he did not come inside. They could at least talk. She wanted to know about the battle.
Niall was just dozing when he was suddenly disturbed by singing. He groaned, and pulled his mantle about his ears. What was wrong with the woman to be singing at this time of night? The singing stopped after several minutes, and in its place began a moaning. He smiled, and poked his head through the doorway. ‘Are you in some kind of pain?’
‘I’m cold,’ she said in a woebegone voice. ‘And the ground is hard.’
Niall was tempted then to forget the hurt that her parting words had inflicted. But she needed a lesson, he decided. He pulled off his mantle and threw it at her. ‘That should keep you warm.’ His head withdrew just as Constance picked up his mantle to throw at him. Furious, she was silent after that.
The grey of dawn was in the hut when Constance woke, and she had scarcely left the hut when she felt the familiar sense of nausea. She dashed round to the back, and when she appeared again at the front, she was pale and trembling.
‘How long have you been like that?’ Niall’s grey eyes scanned her face. There was a peculiar sensation in the pit of his stomach. She made no answer, only wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He seized her by the shoulders. ‘You were sick the morning before I left! That’s over two weeks ago — three, maybe.’
‘And what if I was!’ She did not look at him as she tried to wriggle out of his hold.
His hands were suddenly shaking on her shoulders. ‘Have you been sick every morning since I left?’ She was silent. Niall swallowed convulsively. ‘I — I didn’t see my foster-mother sick in the morning several times without realising that a child was on the way. A few she lost, but that means — you must be ...’
‘What, Master O’More?’ she asked coolly, lifting her head and staring at him steadily. ‘That I’m carrying your bastard?’
‘Ay!’ he exclaimed with a note of exultation in his voice. ‘We’ll have to wed now. Sweet Jesu, to think ...’
‘We don’t have to do anything of the sort!’ Her tart voice cut through his like a whiplash.
Some of the wonder evaporated from his face. ‘I know that you said you’d rather wed any man but me — but I don’t believe you really meant it,’ he said in a low voice.
‘Why should you think I didn’t mean it?’ she demanded unevenly. ‘I want my child’s father to be respectable, not — not a horse-thief!’
He pulled her into his arms. ‘I’ll become respectable. Don’t fight me on this. I’ll be the only father my son shall have — unless you would deny that he is mine?’ His penetrating gaze scanned her face.
Her eyes widened. ‘You insult me again! Do you think I lie with men from here to Dublin? How can I deny that you are the only man who could have fathered this child?’
‘So you’ll wed me?’ he said roughly.
‘For the child’s sake, I suppose I’ll have to,’ she murmured, not looking at him.
For a moment he was silent. ‘For the child’s sake,’ he said drily. She looked up at him then and their eyes held, and she wondered why there was no sign of triumph in their steely depths. ‘You don’t have to,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I’ll go home to England, and ...’
‘I do,’ he interrupted inexorably. ‘We can’t have your good name ruined, Mistress de Wensley — I would make a respectable woman of you.’ Then he kissed her in such a way that he crushed her lips, and left them feeling bruised, and she wondered what had happened to the gentle man who had made such sweet love to her under the moon.
‘We’ll wed now — today!’ declared Niall, lifting his head.
‘But ...’ She stared wide-eyed at him, feeling as though her life were being taken out of her control and into his.
‘But yes!’ He slapped her bottom lightly. ‘The dawn has come, if you haven’t noticed. Dougal can marry us.’ He took her hand to lead her back to the shore. Constance resisted. ‘It is too soon!’
‘Not in your condition,’ he retorted in a honeyed tone. She felt like screaming, but the sight of Dougal and Dara sitting in the lee of a bush out of the wind calmed her.
‘Any sign of movement?’ whispered Niall, dragging Constance with him as he knelt on the ground.
Dara shook his head. ‘That doesn’t mean that there’s nobody about. We could try leaving from the other side of the island, but the water’s deeper there.’
‘No,’ said Niall, glancing at Constance, ‘we’ll go back the way we came.’
Dougal nodded. ‘It is safe, I think.’
Niall reached out and touched his arm. ‘But first, brother, I want you to make Constance my wife.’ Dougal’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but that was the only sign of surprise he showed. ‘If you are both willing,’ he said, ‘and you’ll help me with the words. I have not performed many weddings.’
Constance was tempted to say that she was not willing to be wed in such a manner, but Niall’s hold on her hand was firm and she did not doubt, looking at his stern profile, that even if she did, he would still be able to persuade his brother. ‘I know some of the words,’ she offered calmly.
‘There you are,’ said Niall. ‘And I know enough.’ Dougal threw back his hood and indicated that they should kneel before him. Constance could not help thinking that she ought to recognise his face, but perhaps it was only because he resembled his brother, although Niall was fair and Dougal dark.
She stumbled her way through the wedding service, taking Niall for fairer for fouler, for better for worse, in sickness and in health — till death did them part.
When it came to the ring, Niall pulled Milo’s ring from her finger and tossed it in the lough. ‘A new life — a new symbol,’ he said quietly, taking the ring from his little finger to hold it over her thumb in the name of the Father; over her index fingers in the name of the Son; and over her middle fingers in the name of the Holy Ghost. As the Amen sounded, he slipped it on her third finger. His kiss was cool as they sealed the ceremony, and within moments she was up on his horse and they were leaving the island.
Soon the horses were swimming through the water, and now Constance could feel the tension mounting in Niall’s body. Her feet and the hem of her gown were soaked, but she was almost unaware of the coldness, for her eyes were searching the bank of the lake. The hounds, which had been able to swim faster, were already on land and shaking themselves, and within minutes the horses were following them out.
The three men looked about them; Niall and Dara with their axes to hand, while Dougal held the knife at his girdle. ‘Someone’s followed our tracks,’ said Niall, carefully dismounting and inspecting the ground. He sat back on his heels. ‘Someone riding our black stallion has been here. He cast a shoe before I left, and I meant to tell you, Constance, to see that it was replaced.’
‘None of the captain’s men took any of your horses,’ said the dwarf.
‘Then it must be either Brigid, or’ Constance’s brow wrinkled with concentration, ‘ — that man who washed the walls, or Grannia’s mother. Sil said that they were his creatures,’ she murmured.
Niall glanced up quickly. ‘It surely couldn’t be Grannia’s mother! But whoever it is, it’s likely that they have gone to inform Sil where we are.’ He straightened up. ‘Let’s go swiftly, for I want you safe before we confront him.’
Was it her he cared about, she thought sadly, or was it the child she carried? Even so, she found herself suddenly fiercely protective towards the baby inside her.
It was as they entered the oak-grove that they were attacked by Sil’s followers, by a handful, no more, of O’Tooles that he had won to his side. Of Sil himself, there was no sign. It was a fierce fight, and Constance was aware from its beginning that she and Niall were the main targets.
The dwarf fought like a man possessed, swinging his axe as though it were a scythe cutting corn. He disposed swiftly of one man, while Dougal stabbed another. The dogs dealt with the one who had washed Constance’s walls. Despite Niall’s wounded arm, he killed his attacker, but the last man was attempting to drag Constance from the horse behind him. The dogs barked madly.
All would have gone well had another six men not burst through the trees. Constance called a warning while she rained blows on her assailant, and immediately the three defenders turned to face the fresh attack and Niall set the dogs on the reinforcements. But as he turned his horse to face the men, Constance was dislodged from her perch and dragged down. Screaming and kicking, she was pulled through the trees before any of the men could prevent it.
Sil appeared suddenly in front of her, staring at her with glistening triumphant eyes. Then he hit her across the head, and she collapsed on the ground.
Desperation served Niall and the others well, and with the dogs’ help, the six men were despatched swiftly; but already it was too late to see in which direction Constance had been taken.
Chest heaving with exertion, Niall faced his brother and Dara. ‘We’ve got to find her soon, or ...’ He could not finish.
‘Where do you think he’ll have taken her?’ Dougal gazed into his brother’s anxious face and wiped his blade on a fold of his habit.
‘Not to the captain’s settlement or to her manor, certainly,’ grunted the dwarf, swinging his axe absently.
Niall’s lips were compressed tightly. ‘There is a place — I found Brigid wandering near it when she went missing,’ he told them.
‘Then let us go,’ said Dougal, putting away his knife. ‘And let us pray that we are in time.’
*
Constance ached all over. It was dark — darker than she had ever known it to be — as she opened her eyes wide. Where was she? Sill She had seen Sil coming through the trees. Niall! Sweet Jesu, where was Niall? He had been fighting for his life! Despair clutched her heart.
She scrambled to her feet, and immediately banged her head on a low roof. If she had been fearful before, it was little compared with how she felt now as her hands searched for a wall or furniture — anything that spoke of human habitation. But there was nothing, only air and a noisome odour. Her fear was such that her knees suddenly gave way and she sank to the ground to huddle in a tight ball. What if Niall were here, but he was dead! ‘Sweet Jesu! Sweet Jesu! Don’t let him be dead — don’t let me be — where I think I am.’ The sibilancy of the words seemed to hiss back at her: ‘am — am — am.’
All her fears about burial-mounds, and of the dead stealing away the living, clawed at her mind, so that somehow she managed to get to her feet and run — run as fast as she could into the darkness, not knowing where her fear would take her. She fled up a passage, some instinct keeping her from hitting the sides or from falling, only to be brought to a halt when she ran into something solid directly in her path. Panting, she drew back and fell to the floor. Nausea doubled her up, and she sat trying to calm herself, as she fought against the sickness and feared for the baby. Then she heard a noise, so muted at first that she thought she imagined it. Until it came again.
The breath caught in her throat as she saw a glimmer of light edging round what must be a door in front of her. Then it was thrust open, and a figure in flowing robes stood there.
‘No!’ Constance whispered. ‘It can’t be you. I want Niall, not you.’
‘How did you get as far as this?’ Sil’s eyes snapped cold fire.
She did not answer; her head was aching and she could not bear to look at thefilidh.
‘No matter,’ he muttered, gazing down at her, ‘you can forget Niall. He might have escaped my creatures once, but he will not do so again. They will bring his body here, and I shall put it among the dead.’
‘Hecan’t be dead,’ said Constance in a thread of a whisper.
Sil smiled mirthlessly. ‘I will have you come to me, then I will possess your willing soul and body utterly. I shall wed you, and we shall reign in power.’
She stared at him in fascinated horror. ‘You will never have me willingly! As for wedding me, I am already wed to Niall. On the island, I became his wife.’
His mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. ‘You wed that cur? Have you lain with him yet?’
‘That is none of your affair.’ She laughed suddenly, a slightly hysterical laugh. ‘But, ay, I have. We shall have a son, and live happily together.’
‘Never,’ he snarled. ‘He shall not have you! At every turn, that dog of an O’More has confronted me and spoilt my plans.’ His hand went to the sickle at his waist.
She backed away from him hurriedly. ‘You are quite mad! Why do you hate Niall so much? He is your kinsman!’
‘He is an O’More, and he would dare to defy me. His mother was a whore, who slept with the English — an Englishman that you surely knew — your having wed his son.’
Constance could not speak, neither could she move because of the shock of his words. Sil smiled. ‘You did not know? He did not tell you that his mother and de Wensley ... ?’
He laughed when she still did not answer, and his voice was almost gentle as he fingered the blade of the sickle. ‘You chose to take sides with Niall against me, and for that you will pay the price. Did you know that, in the old days, women’s heads were greatly prized? They joined in the battle alongside their husbands, and it was a risky affair whether they survived or not.’ He lunged towards her, but she rolled over swiftly and he missed her — to fall over her feet. Suddenly she heard the baying of hounds.
It was a sound that was enou
gh to freeze the blood, and it had its effect on both of them. Constance scrambled desperately to her feet and ran for the opening. Sil rose, his hand searching for his sickle. Again the hounds bayed, and suddenly she laughed, because now she was out of Sil’s range and in daylight. ‘The hounds of hell are after you, Sil!’
He spat a curse at her, but she did not care, for already she could see the wolfhounds loping towards her. Behind them, she could see Niall just a little ahead of what appeared to be the whole clan of the O’Tooles. As he came, he swung his axe. She had wanted him to come, but now she wished he had not. His aim was to fight Sil; she had no doubt about that because it was written in his face. Why had he not told her that he was Milo’s half-brother? That must have been the reason why he had taken her by the bog: revenge for what a de Wensley had done to his mother! And surely it was the compulsion behind his wanting the child to be legitimate. Yet, if he was Milo’s half-brother, surely their marriage was not acceptable to the Church? Her heart sank.
The whole band of men halted suddenly, and Niall called sharply to the dogs, who had bounded within striking distance of Sil’s upraised sickle. Across the short distance, she and Niall gazed at each other. ‘Has he harmed you, wife?’ he called harshly.
‘He has threatened to take my head from my shoulders and bury me in the mound.’ The horror of that moment was apparent in her voice.
‘That’s not polite, Sil.’ Niall’s voice was suddenly unemotional. ‘Because it means that I am going to hackyour evil big head into the nearest bog!’
Sil spat out a string of obscenities before shouting in his rich voice, ‘Are you going to allow this man — this son of a whore — to speak for you? Or are you ... ?’ He got no further, because Niall ran towards him, whirling his axe.
Constance drew back hurriedly as Sil brought his arm back. The blade of the sickle shone in the sunlight as it swept a circle and down, but it did not find a target. After that first rush, Niall and Sil became more wary. Not one of the watching men made a sound as they circled each other. There was an other-worldliness about the scene that struck Constance vividly, even as fear for Niall tensed every muscle and sinew in her body. It was as though a scene from the old tales of battle and glory was being relived. The men were silent, and no birds seemed to sing beneath the shadow of the burial-mound.
