by June Francis
The men’s weapons suddenly caught and locked — were somehow disentangled — to begin again the macabre sweeps in the air that were part of this dance of death. Constance found that she could not bear to watch, yet not watching was as terrible as recognising the danger that stalked her husband. Her imagination could so easily convince her that a sudden grunt or stumbling foot belonged to the man she loved. Love! She had known there was pain in it.
The fighting seemed to take an enormous amount of leaping and dodging and ducking as well as swinging, and when the end came, it was swift, taking them all by surprise, because it had seemed that Sil’s swinging sickle would take Niall’s head. However, he ducked in time and darted back before sending his axe whirling through the air to catch Sil in the neck.
There was a stunned silence before a cheer went up. Slowly several men came forward to crowd about Niall and slap him on the back. Constance, as if pulled by a string, moved forward to force her way through them to reach him. The men stepped back, so that she faced Niall alone.
A cut on his cheek bled sluggishly, and there was soil smeared across his chin. His mouth was taut and his eyes unreadable. Hot tears trickled slowly down her cheeks and she would have gone into his arms, but at that moment the captain pushed his way through to stand between them.
‘So you have killed Sil, Niall,’ he said in Irish, ‘and I cannot blame you for wanting to do so. Perhaps it is best for all of us, although thefilidh had a magical way with words when it came to telling a tale. But what about Dermot? Your woman’s kinsman has gone. She will have to be exchanged for my son despite your having wed her, for there is no other.’
‘There — must — be another — way,’ panted Niall, wiping the blood on his cheek. ‘If I went to Dublin, I might be able to find Kathleen and Master Milburn and bring them back.’
‘You might — and then you might be captured yourself.’ He nodded gravely. ‘But if you wish to try ...’ He shrugged.
‘I’ll try.’ Niall freed a long breath.
Constance touched his arm in frustration. ‘Tell me, Niall, what is being said?’
He covered her hand with his, but did not reply. Instead, he addressed the captain again. ‘My wife — she may go home?’
The captain frowned. ‘I am not certain that can be allowed. She might try to escape, as did her kinsman.’
‘You can place some of your men to watch her, although I doubt she will try to escape. She is in need of rest. The last two days have been arduous for her.’ Niall’s arm went about her shoulders.
The other man nodded. ‘So be it, then. I shall set men to watch her.’ He turned away and shouted something in Irish.
Constance looked up at Niall, and said quietly, ‘Tell me, Niall.’
He rubbed his moustache. ‘Let’s go home. You don’t realise how tired I am, wife. And I think my wound is bleeding again.’
Immediately she was all concern. ‘Is it very painful?’ She gasped when she saw the blood soaking through his sleeve. ‘You should have said so ... The captain could have waited.’ She put her arm round his waist. ‘Lean on me.’
A tired grin lit his dust-begrimed face. ‘No, you lean on me. Call Dougal, and let him come with us.’
‘You’re a stubborn man, Niall O’More,’ she said crossly, ‘if. you think you’re going to do any more fighting ... !’’
‘Not at the moment. I’d probably fall flat on my face, Mistress O’More.’ He kissed her cheek, and his eyes closed.
She shouted, ‘Dougal!’
When they entered the house, there were already a couple of O’Tooles inside. Constance glanced at them, but said nothing; she had more important things on her mind. She ordered Dougal to put Niall to bed.
‘Dammit, woman,’ said Niall, his face twisted with pain, ‘I’m not going to bed. I’ve got to go to Dublin.’
‘Dublin?’ she cried. ‘You aren’t going anywhere, Niall, even when that wound has been seen to.’
‘I’ll have my wound seen to — and then I’ll go,’ he muttered, gritting his teeth as Dougal helped him on to the bed. ‘I’m not dead yet,’ he added angrily.
‘You soon will be,’ intervened Constance, taking the mantle from his shoulders, ‘if you don’t do as you’re told. Now take that tunic off, or I’ll do it for you.’ She stood, hands on hips, staring at him sternly.
Niall’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Would that be part of your wifely duties now?’ They were both speaking in English.
‘I could make it so, if you want that in front of your brother and the O’Tooles.’ She attempted to prevent the colour from flooding her cheeks.
‘Well, now.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘I think I’d prefer it when we are alone. But I see what you meant by the need for screens in here.’
‘I’m glad you’re going to be sensible,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Although what all this talk about going to Dublin is about, I don’t know.’
‘It’s about fetching your kinsman and Kathleen back — that’s what it is,’ he murmured, and smiled faintly. ‘I don’t think I can get this tunic off. You’ll have to do it.’
Constance sighed heavily, but she was anxious. ‘Get into bed. Kathleen and Robin can wait — I doubt you’ll catch them now.’
‘I’ll have to — there’s no other way.’ Niall’s eyes were on her face. ‘I’m certainly not letting the captain hand you over to the English. It’s just possible that they might not like handing you back to me. I have to get to Dublin, Constance, and the sooner the better.’
She pulled the covers back. ‘You’re not going,’ she muttered, and threw the covers over him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GRANNIA SUDDENLY appeared, as though she had come as soon as she had heard her mistress and Master Niall were there. ‘What can I do?’ she asked, her face beaming as she stared at them both sitting on the bed.
‘Light the fire,’ ordered Constance, ‘and kill a chicken. We need broth.’
‘Find some whiskey,’ Niall commanded. ‘I’m in pain.’
Grannia nodded vigorously, and moved away. Constance could not help being glad that it was not Grannia who had fallen under Sil’s spell. She wondered what would happen to those who had, now that he was dead. Where was Brigid? She was concerned about the girl. She turned back to Niall. ‘Have you pains other than that in your arm?’
‘I ache all over,’ he replied promptly, ‘but mostlyhere.’ He surprised her by catching her hand and pressing it against his heart.
She flushed. ‘There’s no need to pretend, Niall.’
‘Who’s pretending? You’re a lovely brave woman,’ his smile wavered, ‘but are you going to tend my wound before I faint from loss of blood? Dougal’s waiting.’ His head fell back against the pillows, and his eyes closed.
‘Oh, why must you jest?’ cried Constance, wringing her hands.
‘I think he really has swooned,’ said Dougal in a worried voice.
‘Give me your knife then, brother!’ she demanded, holding out her hand. Dougal smiled slightly, but complied, sitting on the side of the bed to watch her slit up the sleeve of the tunic. She began the task of unwinding the blood-soaked binding.
‘Sister, let me finish that,’ said Dougal. ‘You can find me some clean bandages.’
Constance nodded and rose swiftly, only to sway once on her feet. At that moment, Grannia rushed in with her arms filled with kindling, took one look at Constance, and dropped it all. ‘Now you lie down,’ she ordered in a soothing voice. ‘It’s quite seemly to be there with Master Niall, because they say you’re wed. Not that anyone seems to know when that happened.’
‘This morning,’ murmured Constance, obeying Grannia’s command, while she tried to keep her eyes open long enough to say that under no circumstances must Niall leave the house to go to Dublin. ‘He might die on the way,’ she muttered, ‘and I couldn’t bear that.’ Her head slipped back on the pillow, and she surrendered herself to the waves of weariness that swept over her.
When she woke, it was to a
sense of well-being. Warmth and comfort wrapped her round and there was a smell of food, which made her mouth water. Remembrance flooded over her, and she sat up.
‘So you’re awake at last,’ said Niall, looking sidelong at her. ‘I wish you’d slept on.’
‘Why?’ she asked, although she knew the answer. She could see his face, pale and earnest.
‘You know why!’ he said roughly. ‘I’m going to Dublin. Any more delay, and Kathleen and your kinsman could be on a boat to England.’
‘They could be on a boat now.’ All traces of Constance’s sense of well-being vanished. ‘It’s stupid of you even to think of going to Dublin!’ She put a hand to her head. ‘How long have I slept? What time of day is it?’
‘Early morning. We both slept all evening and through the night.’ He grimaced. ‘I’ve already lost too many hours.’
She pursed her mouth. ‘Too many to make it worth your while to risk your life.’ Her hand touched his shoulder. ‘You’re not well enough.’
‘I’ll do.’ He set his jaw determinedly. ‘My brother is making a search for Brigid, and will follow on. A holy man is always useful.’
She nodded. At the moment she was not really interested in Brigid or Dougal. ‘And if you’re captured? What then?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ve no intention of being captured! I’ve entered and left Dublin safely before, Constance.’
‘But your face is known now! What if Ormonde is there, and sees you? He would imprison you as soon as look at you,’ she said angrily.
‘That’s a chance I’ll have to take. I’ll use his horse. It just might stand me in good stead!’ He smiled faintly, touching her hand. ‘Trust me.’
‘You’ve told me to trust you before, and look where it led us!’
He smiled slightly. ‘It hasn’t been all bad. We’re here safe — both of us. I am glad to see this day. There’s food cooked, and a drink to be had together before I go.’ His fingers toyed with hers. ‘If we were alone ...’
‘But we’re not,’ she murmured, not knowing whether to be sad or relieved. Sil’s words were suddenly vivid, and it was in her mind to ask Niall for the truth — except that Grannia came over to them, bringing a salver with food and drink, and the moment passed.
*
It was with a sense of foreboding that Constance stood in front of the house, watching Niall depart. If she believed that begging him not to go would have done any good, she would have tried to do so.
‘Don’t look so forlorn,’ he said, punching her lightly on the chin. ‘I’ll be back.’
She forced a smile and nodded, but could not rid herself of her depression. She felt that something was coming to an end. For a moment, she thought he would kiss her, but he mounted the chestnut horse, raised a hand, and was gone.
She stood watching until he was out of sight, feeling utterly bereft. A furry head stropped her skirts, and she bent to pick up the tabby and rubbed her chin on its soft head. Somehow, it helped to ease her desolation to have her arms filled. That night, the cat slept on her bed.
*
Three days after Niall had departed, she woke up and immediately went outside. The sky was a creamy pearl, and mist hung on trees and bushes. A sheep coughed somewhere, and a man whistled, a hen brooded in a patch of grass, its feathers damp and bedraggled. For a moment she thought the O’Tooles had deserted her when there was no sign of them, and her heart lifted, for she had a plan. Then they came round the side of the house, accompanied by Niall’s brother.
‘Sister!’ Dougal hurried to reach her. There was a smile on his normally serious face. ‘I have good news for you.’
‘Niall?’ Her expression brightened.
He shook his head. ‘No, alas, it is Brigid. She is now her normal self. I have spent much time with her in prayer and talking to her, and she is repentant. Not that all the blame was hers, poor girl. She has decided to enter a convent, but wishes to see you before I take her there.’
‘I see.’ Constance felt relieved, but she wondered how Niall would react to the news. ‘Where is she?’
‘At the hut in the hills. She said that it would make her sad to come back here, so, if you would not mind ...’ Constance shook her head. ‘I do not mind. I shall come with you, if the O’Tooles will allow me.’
He smiled. ‘I have already asked them. They will accompany us.’
She nodded. ‘Then I shall make ready.’
The journey was accomplished at a leisurely pace, so that she wondered whether Dougal knew about the child she was carrying, and if he did, what he thought about it. He had showed no sign of censure, only of caring.
When they reached the hut, it was just beginning to rain; soft misting rain that swept like a grey curtain over the landscape. Brigid appeared in the doorway of the simple wooden hut, and immediately Constance could see that whatever had possessed her had departed.
‘You forgive me?’ Brigid asked her. ‘Brother Michael told me of the terrible act I performed when I was in Sil’s power.’
Constance dismounted, and took her hand. ‘Of course I forgive you! It was not the real you who did those things.’
Brigid smiled. ‘You will come in and have a cup of buttermilk?’
Constance thanked her. ‘The men — can they come inside also? It is so wet outside.’
Brigid nodded, and they all crowded inside, and cups of milk were passed round.
‘So Niall has gone to try to bring back Kathleen and your kinsman,’ said Brigid, her freckled face suddenly moody. ‘I hope he can.’
‘He has been gone three days — surely he would have found them by now? It’s possible that they have already left.’ Constance drained the cup.
‘Niall will be annoyed if they have. He might try to do something foolish — a rescue! He thinks himself invincible.’ Brigid fiddled with her girdle.
Constance paled. ‘He wouldn’t do anything so foolish, surely? Isn’t Dermot in Trim Castle? What hope has Niall of entering there and getting out alive again?’
‘I didn’t say that hewould attempt a rescue,’ said Brigid, making a helpless gesture, ‘only that he might.’
‘I must go home,’ Constance said. ‘Niall might have decided to leave Dublin already.’ She looked down at the ring on her finger, the one the king had given her. Perhaps she should put her plan into action. She lifted her head. ‘Thank you for the milk. I hope you’ll be happy in your new life.’
Brigid shrugged. ‘Brother Michael thinks I shall.’ She smilingly held the door open for Constance. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about Niall. He generally gets what he wants, and he had his eye on you and your manor as soon as he realised who you were.’ Her smile slipped. ‘Goodbye, Mistress — Constance — O’More.’
Constance’s face was drained of colour as she pulled on her gloves. ‘Goodbye, Brigid,’ she said through stiff lips, realising now just how much the girl resented her. Maybe it was because a vestige of the evil that Sil had wrought remained? Or perhaps she could not help feeling slightly jealous? But she had told her nothing that she did not already know. Constance stepped out into the rain, and the O’Tooles followed.
‘I’ll see that the cows are looked after,’ Brigid surprised her by saying. ‘Brother Michael said that Grannia and her mother are willing to come up here when I go.’ She slammed the door in Constance’s face.
A moment later, it was opened again, and Dougal’s head popped out. ‘Forgive her, sister, but she was fond of my brother,’ he said in a concerned voice. ‘I’ll come back as soon as I can.’ The door closed again.
Constance suddenly had a wild urge to laugh, but instead accepted a hand to mount, and soberly made her plans. If only she could escape the watchful eyes of her guards, she would make her move!
It was still raining at suppertime when they arrived back at the house, so after she had changed her clothes, Constance called to the O’Tooles to come inside out of the rain. They came, huddling near the door, dripping water on the floor. All their faces expres
sed their misery. Then suddenly bliss showed on their faces, and their noses wrinkled as they sniffed the rabbit stewing in the pot.
After several minutes, she told them to come closer to the fire. They came, standing with their mantles steaming, watching her ladle stew into bowls set on the new trestle table. When she indicated that they sit down on the benches, they hurried forward.
She sat opposite them and took up the first man’s cup. ‘Whiskey?’ she offered, holding up the container that Grannia had brought a few nights earlier for Niall. The three of them nodded, thanking her as their faces brightened.
Constance left the pitcher on the table, and later, after finishing her meal, she went to the chest and took out a pair of Niall’s old trews. Then she took up her needle, and sitting on a stool near the fire, she mended a tear in them, pushing to the back of her mind any second thoughts she might have of wearing them herself.
The dangers of travelling alone had made her remember how she had worn the page’s clothes and given her the idea of wearing Niall’s trews and tunic and mantle, even though they might be on the large side. She watched the men out of the corner of her eye. An hour must have passed before she heard them singing and clashing their cups together. How powerfully strong a whole pitcher of whiskey was! The men were lolling over the table, their eyes bleary.
She rose, and going over, peered inside the pitcher. ‘More whiskey?’ she asked, holding the pitcher upside down to show them that it was empty.
They nodded, and the middle one put his arm about her waist. Gazing into her face, he began to warble. A bubble of laughter surfaced inside her because he looked quite ridiculous, but she hoped that her opinion did not show in her expression. She knew too well how violent men in drink could be if crossed. So she removed his hand, smiling, and tapping the pitcher with her finger, repeated the words, ‘More whiskey?’
