The Hart and the Harp

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  “And you’ve been nursing me all this time? How long have I been here?”

  “Four days,” Tiernan replied truthfully.

  “Four days,” Shive exclaimed, then leaned back on the pillows as her throat throbbed again.

  “Now, don’t try to talk anymore. Drink the rest of this milk, and I’ll go see what’s keeping Mairead.” He refilled the cup.

  “No, don’t go, Tiernan, please,” Shive begged, clinging to his arm weakly as he tried to rise from the bed. “I want to say how sorry I am for ruining the feast, and being such a burden to you. Especially since you went to so much trouble to give me a special day.”

  Tiernan shrugged as if trying to make light of his enormous generosity. “To give us a special day, Shive. After all, it’s not every day one gets married. We needed a good feast to cheer us up after this dull November and December we’ve had to endure.”

  “All the same, I spoiled it. I should have admitted I was ill the whole day.”

  “I won't have you taking the blame for something which wasn't your fault,” Tiernan said gruffly, looking away from her to gaze into the crackling fire burning in the hearth.

  Shive blushed. “I was afraid you might think I was just making excuses.”

  Tiernan frowned, turning his attention back to her. “Why would I think that?”

  “You have little enough reason to like me or trust me.”

  Tiernan sighed. “I'm not so much of a monster that I visit the sins of the father upon the daughter, Shive. In any case, we must never forget that your father believes he has just cause to hate me. There’s no way of appealing to his reason in the matter, so I must make the best of a bad situation. If this marriage to you will settle things with him, then I shall be content.

  “You need have no fears that I shall take it out of your hide, Shive, just because you’re a MacDermot. After all, you're Fiachra’s sister. He was my best friend, no matter what anyone says to the contrary. I pride myself on being a fair man, and I shall judge you according to your own merits.

  “I will tell you now, however, so that there will be no misunderstanding or uneasiness between us, that you are a guest in this house, and can go about your daily life as if the marriage had never taken place. I have never felt in need of a wife. I’m sure you never wanted me of all people for a husband.”

  Shive opened her mouth to deny this bald statement.

  Tiernan cut her off. “No, don’t bother to lie or try to flatter me. Everyone thinks me guilty of your brother’s murder, and I well know it. Don’t play me for a fool. If you always tell me the truth, as you were so wont to do when you were a young girl, at least we'll always know where we stand with one another. If, however, you have turned into a lying and conniving female who accepted this marriage to get revenge upon me for Fiachra’s death, well, I shall find that out too, make no mistake,” Tiernan threatened.

  “You said I was to be honest at all times. So the answer is no, I didn’t marry you for revenge. But may I ask, does the rule about always being honest apply to you as well?” Shive challenged with a boldness she didn’t really feel.

  Tiernan shifted uncomfortably. “No, it doesn’t. There are some things you'd simply be better off not knowing, Shive. I’m sorry, but there’s an end to it,” he insisted as he rose and headed for the door.

  “Now, if you’re certain you'll be all right on your own for a few minutes, I'll take the liberty of ordering some food and a bath to be brought up to you. I shall also attend to my own ablutions, since, as you quite rightly pointed out, I look and smell terrible.”

  With a small bow, Tiernan looked coolly at Shive once more, and left her alone in the huge bedchamber.

  Once Tiernan's overwhelming presence no longer filled the room, Shive looked more carefully at her surroundings, taking in the bright light which glowed from the windows covered with horn. The bareness of the chamber, with its plain furnishings and no tapestries or wall hangings to add any comfort to the room, was quite noticeable. She recalled having seen a colorful counterpane and wonderful ornaments, and began to wonder uneasily if she had displaced Tiernan from his own room. She noticed two doors, one through which Tiernan had left, and the other which led who knew where. Was her room next to his? Or was this a dressing chamber of some sort?

  Shive wanted to satisfy her curiosity, but knew her legs would never carry her more than a few steps. The ignominy of being found sprawled naked on the floor was worse somehow than the knowledge that Tiernan had looked after her himself for the last few days. So she tucked the covers more firmly around herself, and then picked up the vellum manuscript which Tiernan had been reading as he sat by her side. It was a book of Irish poems, and Shive was stunned to find that most of them were on the theme of love.

  She saw in the manuscript two of her favorites, one which seemed to describe Tiernan perfectly, and the other which struck her a trifle cynically as applicable to their marriage.

  “Amharc”

  Duibhe id mhailghibh, grios id ghruadhaibh,

  gunna id roscaibh, réidhe it fholt,

  gaoth ag iomramh do chœil chraobhaigh,

  œidh fhionnbhan an aonaigh ort.

  Mna fear nach aidmheochadh t’fh’achain

  ar th’aghaidh ag fighe a bhfolt;

  slighe ag m’raibh tré dhlaoi dhaghfhuilt

  ag mnaoi ag dé anaimh amhairc ort.

  A Glance

  Black of brow, with cheeks aglow,

  blue of eye, with hair so smooth,

  wind rowing through your parted locks-

  fine women at the fair are watching.

  Wives, pretending not to look,

  plait their hair in front of you.

  With fingers through her lovely hair,

  one of them is studying you.

  She could well imagine many women admiring her handsome husband, tall dark, and dashing as he was.

  But the next poem carried a potent warning about being careful about whom one could trust. They might be beautiful on the outside, but it was within their nature to be dangerous.

  ‘Cumann Do Cheangail An Corr’

  Cumann do cheangail an corr

  agus sionnach Br’ Ghobhann

  do gheall an sionnach don gcorr

  nach brisfeadh choidhche an cumann.

  Dob aimhghlic, is é ar fásach,

  taobhadh ris mar chompnach;

  d’éis a bheith i bhfad gan bhiadh,

  mairg do bh’ ar iocht Uilliam.

  An corr ‘na codladh mar thuit,

  do rug sé uirthi ar bhrághaid;

  n’ leanabh air, is é shuim,

  gur scar a ceann re a colainn.

  Dar leat is ‘do roinne,

  soraidh dár mnaoi chumainne;

  ise an sionnach, mise an corr,

  cosmhail re chéile ar gcumann.

  They Tied the Loving Knot

  They tied the loving knot: a crane

  and the fox from Bri Ghobann.

  The fox vowed to the crane

  their knot would never break.

  Unwise, in such a wilderness,

  to cleave to such a mate...

  When he’s been fasting a while,

  put not your trust in William.

  The crane soon fell asleep;

  He caught her by the throat;

  I won’t go on. In short,

  he parted her head from her body.

  Know it was she who did it,

  and goodbye to my ladylove!

  She the fox and I the crane,

  and our loving much the same.

  She was certain she would never betray him, but what if he should prove to be an unscrupulous fox?

  But wasn’t it better to give him a chance to show his true character, before she began to fear being devoured? After all, nothing had made any sense since she had arrived at Castlegarren. Tiernan had been charming, thoughtful, even affectionate, she reflected, thinking of their intimate fiery kiss. Somehow Tiernan reading romantic poetry did not match
her image of him as a great warlord. But then nothing about him apart from his face had been familiar to her since her arrival at Castlegarren.

  Perhaps it’s because I'm older and braver, Shive reflected. Tiernan hasn’t changed, I have. I can now appreciate him more for what he really is. Make judgments for myself instead of relying upon the opinions of others. He’s certainly not the monster that my father and the others painted him to be.

  Just them the door from the hallway opened, and her youngest cousin Mahon popped his head around the door.

  “Tiernan told me you were awake. Thank God, Shive,” Mahon said.

  She was stunned to see he was close to tears.

  His blond brother Ernin wasn’t far behind, and they enthusiastically praised the wedding feast and the estate, doing all the talking so as to save her from using her ravaged throat. Shive also noticed that they glanced from one to the other occasionally in a way which made her, for the first time ever, feel excluded from their confidences.

  “What’s wrong, Ernin? There’s something you’re not telling me,” Shive demanded when their stream of conversation had begun to fade to a thin trickle.

  “No, no, not at all. It’s just that Tiernan warned us to not overtax your strength. If you’re tired, we’ll leave you to sleep,” Ernin said in a strained tone.

  “No, it’s quite all right. I want to enjoy your company before you both head back to Skeard. And I suppose Ruairi has gone home by now?” she added, vaguely disappointed that her favorite cousin did not seem to be too concerned about her illness, but all the while knowing it to be for the best.

  “He had important business in Limerick, Shive, do you not remember?” Mahon reminded her. “But don’t worry, you won’t be getting rid of us that easily. Tiernan has offered to let us stay for as long as we like. We shall certainly remain until you're back on your feet. Then after that, who knows? A place in Tiernan’s army in the summer campaigns? He said he could use two loyal and discreet allies like ourselves. It isn’t as if Parthalan and Fergus can’t do without us back at Skeard.”

  An uneasy feeling gnawed at the back of Shive’s mind as Mahon announced his plans. Mahon and Ernin loved Skeard. To talk about leaving their family home so lightly was odd, but surely not as peculiar as the way they both kept looking at her.

  “Mahon, please, enough of these games. Tell me what's going on.”

  “When you're stronger, really, Shive,” Ernin said, pulling his brother out of the door hastily, and leaving her alone with her anxious thoughts.

  Shive ran her fingers though her hair in frustration, but suddenly let out a squeal of dismay. Her waist-length locks had all been shorn, leaving her with a closely cropped head of curls which nevertheless felt sticky and grimy. No wonder they had been staring at her oddly!

  After the initial shock, Shive reasoned they must have cut them off at the advice of the apothecary. Though she felt she had lost her one great beauty, in the end she was determined to be philosophical about it. It would be far easier to keep clean, and in any case, it would all grow back eventually.

  Just then, Tiernan entered the room from the second door to the chamber, and saw her toying with her newly discovered curls. He stopped short and practically dropped the trunk he was carrying. For the first time ever Shive thought he looked discomfited.

  “I’m sorry, Shive,” he apologized hastily. “We had to cut it. It was...”

  “Too long and unruly. No, really Tiernan, you did the right thing. I’m not upset, merely surprised.”

  Shive smiled as she saw his face take on an expression of pure relief.

  “My aunt always forbid me to cut my hair. She said I was far too boyish as it was,” Shive recollected with a fond sigh as she snuggled back down under the covers.

  “Strong, yes, brave, yes. Boyish, never,” Tiernan said as he set the trunk down at the foot of the bed next to a much smaller one that was already there.

  There was a tap at the outer door. Tiernan let in two servants, who came bearing a large tub. A short time later, a procession of servants carrying buckets entered the room to fill the tub with boiling water. Then they left some buckets of hot and cold, and shut the door behind them.

  Tiernan tested the water, and asked Shive, “How hot do you like it?”

  “Boiling, please,” Shive asked as she tugged at her grimy hair again.

  Tiernan smiled lopsidedly, so that Shive could see his elusive dimple peeping out of his cheek. “I think I’ll add a little cold just to be on the safe side.”

  Shive watched him as he poured water in and then tested it with his hand, before approaching the bed.

  “Now, if you’ll permit me, I shall carry you over to the tub.”

  He tucked the sheet around her gently to allow her to preserve a relative degree of modesty. He lifted her tall slender frame up into his arms as though she were as light as a feather. Then he let her slip one foot into the tub, and when she indicated that it was not too hot, he put her feet down, unwound the sheet, and laid her gently in the tub.

  He moved over to the bed to begin stripping off all the soiled linens. Shive submerged her head and began to lather her hair with the fine soap Tiernan had left on a small table for her. She sat back against the side of the tub with a sigh. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wander.

  But Tiernan’s presence in the room was a distraction. She couldn’t help but watch him as he remade the bed expertly, and then began to open all the trunks, evidently searching for something.

  After a few minutes he gazed at her with a puzzled expression. “I don’t understand. There must have been some mistake with the baggage. Could they have given me one of your cousin’s trunks instead?”

  “What do you mean?” Shive asked sleepily. Too late she realized what Tiernan had been looking for.

  “These are all men’s clothes. I thought you might like some clean undergarments and a fresh gown to put on, but all I see here are shirts and breeches,” he said, puzzled.

  Shive covered her face with her hand for a moment and groaned.

  Tiernan ran over to the tub. “Your not going to be sick again, are you?” He was already reaching for a basin.

  Shive dared to meet his stormy blue stare. “No, not sick, just embarrassed. It’s just that, well....”

  “What is it, Shive?” Tiernan prompted when the words failed her and she lapsed again into an awkward silence.

  “The painful truth is that I don’t really own more than one or two gowns. The rest of the clothes I have are, well, as you can see, shirts and breeches.”

  Tiernan sat back on his heels, his face inscrutable. “I see. You’ve been allowed to run a bit wild since your aunt died, perhaps?” Tiernan smiled gently.

  “Not really, Tiernan. It’s a case of being practical. Breeches are warmer, and with all I did on the estate at Skeard, skirts would have just got in the way. Not to mention the labor of washing yards and yards of fabric.”

  “In that case then, I can just pick any shirt, and I’ll look through and find the warmest tunic and leggings I can. The weather has been biting hard the past few days. Even with all the fires going, this can be a drafty old place.”

  “'Tis warm and snug in here, I assure you. I hope you haven’t been too put out by my being here. This isn’t the same room I was in before. It had a different bed and counterpane.”

  “This was my mother’s room. I put you in here because it was closest to my own, so I could keep an eye on you. I hope it's warm enough for you. It hasn’t been used much in recent years, hence the lack of fine furnishings. The other room was mine.

  "I must confess to you, the rest of the castle isn’t much better than this. Certainly not as fine as what you would be used to at Skeard or Rathnamagh. But with me campaigning so much and no women in the household, the niceties have not really been observed around here of late.”

  She could see his own appearance had suffered the same fate, though she had the feeling he would be strikingly handsome even in a hair
shirt. “I’m not used to the niceties as you call them, Tiernan. Perhaps that's something I can work on while I’m here. I'm deft at weaving, sewing and cooking. I could perhaps give the place a good spring cleaning when I'm a bit better,” Shive offered.

  “If it would make you happy,” Tiernan said, seemingly without interest. He transferred his attention back to the trunks without looking at her.

  “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you, Tiernan," Shive whispered timidly.

  Tiernan’s head shot up. “Why would you think that?”

  She swallowed hard and winced at the pain. “You yourself said you had never felt the need for a wife, yet now you’re stuck with me.”

  “You, yes. What about you?”

  “Well, to begin with, I’m a MacDermot. As if that weren’t bad enough, I’m also barely eighteen. I’m young, inexperienced, not as gracious a homemaker as you might wish. To top it all off I’m a disgrace you, wearing men’s clothes and generally lacking in property as well as propriety.”