Nay, Kieran swore silently, give him the sword song for victory today, not a chant reserved for the next life. Today was for the living. Tomorrow was for dreamers.
True to Kieran’s prediction, he and Gray Macha were waiting by the ford when Bran and his smaller steed caught up with them.
“If you keep this up, Kieran, I’ll be looking for yet another mount before we reach Kilmare,” Bran complained. “Mayhap another friend as well.”
Slinging one leg over the short neck of the smaller horse, the poet slid to the ground. Taking up the reins, he led it over to the water’s edge, where Kieran let Gray graze on the new grass.
“He’s bred to these hills, sure of foot,” Kieran consoled, letting Bran’s latter remark slide. His companion would not.
“And you’re baptized in the church, though painfully short of faith.”
Kieran rolled his eyes. “So it’s St. Bran now, is it?”
“Far from it, sir. I am not the son I should be and I may not agree with all God permits, like any child with any father, but I don’t take kindly to others ridiculing Him. If you’ve no regard for the Father, then at least have regard for my right to revere Him.”
Kieran met Bran’s solemn gaze and nodded as guilt warmed his face. Heber had had a way of making him feel the same with regard to his faith—or lack of it. It vexed Kieran how Heber had accepted the death of his father in battle—and the resulting suicide of his mother—as the will of a loving God. It was beyond him
“You have my sincere apology, bard, so long as you don’t start telling me how He’s my father, too. I’ve said it before—” Kieran increased the volume in his voice in warning when Bran started to speak—“a father wouldn’t treat His Son the way I’ve been treated.”
“Are you better than His own Son, who also prayed to be spared an unthinkable death, yet was denied?”
Kieran shook his head. “No, as far as I see it, He let His own Son down, too.”
“No, it was all part—” Bran broke off at the sharp look Kieran gave him.
Good. Heber hadn’t been so easily dissuaded when he’d felt the urge to preach God’s goodness.
“But if you keep on this track—” clearly Bran was not finished after all—“you’ll make no headway with Riona.”
Riona. Back to the second of Heber’s last wishes. Kieran exhaled a long, weary breath.
“Riona will have no choice in the matter. I gave Heber my word as his anmchara in life and death.”
“It will take more than a promise to a soul mate to make Riona change her mind about you. She turned you down once when she had no reason.”
Kieran winced at the reminder. Was there anything harder to tolerate than a smug poet? The new king of Gleannmara needed to take a wife to provide heirs. Any lass in the kingdom and more would leap at the chance to become the bride of such a prosperous tuath, and Riona was not only the choice of logic, but of his heart as well. Kieran had always adored her as his precocious foster sister, but when she returned from her schooling at Kilmare for his parents’ funeral, he’d fallen in love with the woman she’d become. At least he thought it was love. No beauty before or since consumed his mind day and night. Especially the nights.
I cannot give you my heart, dear brother, for it belongs to God.
Kieran’s mouth tightened and his teeth clenched until the tide of anger, hurt, and humiliation from the past ebbed. Jerking Gray’s head up with the reins, he sprang up on the startled stallion’s back.
It took a moment to calm the horse. Once Gray stood statue still and ready for his command, Kieran spoke his mind. “Aye, then she had no reason,” he conceded with ominous overtone. “Now she has no choice.”
THREE
It was the busiest time of year in the dairy, but Riona loved it. Spring was a time of rebirth. The sun, allotted more time by the changing season, coaxed seedlings bullied into hiding by winter’s chill out of the ground with the promise of even more light and warmth to come. New life flourished all around. Calves, lambs, and piglets suckled their mothers, growing stronger and sturdier of foot by the day. And here she was, a lady by birthright, performing a dairymaid’s chores in their midst.
Still, Riona would far rather be outside than closed within the walls of the abbey. Her energies were too ambitious to be satisfied closeted with needlework and prayer. While her banishment to the dairy wasn’t intentional on her part, penance proved a blessing in disguise. At least if mischief sneaked up on her again and she found herself absently humming a bawdy bardic tune she’d learned from cousin Bran, neither cow nor calf would mind.
“Leila wants you to tell us that story again.”
Startled from her milking, Riona realized the rascal Mischief had used her own reflections to its end. She crossed herself in remorse. Truly she’d intended to repeat the morning prayers that had been so abruptly interrupted when her six-year-old bedmate wet the bed. And there were thanks to offer that the orphan’s regressions happened less and less, now that she and her homeless siblings were growing used to the abbey.
“Does she now?” she asked, looking past Liex, Leila’s six-year-old twin brother, to his feminine version.
The only time Leila spoke it was in a childish tongue to her twin and an imaginary friend named Seargal. Only Liex understood her. The children belonged to gleemen, entertainers who traveled the country performing in the markets and courts for their livelihood. At her parents’ death, they’d been run out of the village for carrying the dreaded disease into its midst, the wagon that had been their home torched.
They wandered into the abbey, trusting neither God nor man. It was Riona’s hope to teach them faith for comfort and the skills to provide for themselves with hard work rather than the thievery they’d been reduced to. Even now, their elder brother, Fynn, worked with Brother Clemens, learning that knives, in addition to being thrown to amuse an audience, could be used to create useful items, such as trenchers and cups.
“I think that somewhere behind those twitching lips there lies the voice of an angel who longs to sing and speak. Do you think she’d sing with us? Or mayhap Seargal. Do you think he’d sing?”
Leila cast her pale, gray gaze toward the loft of the milking shed.
“So he’s up there today, is he?”
Ignoring Riona, Leila murmured something to her brother.
“Seargal wants to listen,” Liex translated. He stood the shovel he’d been cleaning the stalls with against the barrow of manure he’d collected.
Clearly, he wanted to tease Leila, but Riona had chided both him and Fynn for antagonizing their sister. There was something special about Leila, she told them, something God would reveal to them when the time was right. When a calf was crippled at birth and Domnall, one of the abbey’s brothers, was going to kill it as was the custom, Leila refused to leave the animal. She rubbed its twisted leg and prayed ceaselessly, so that even crusty Brother Domnall was reluctant to intervene. He gave her one night for her miracle—and that was all it took. The following morning, the calf was walking like the others.
“Bring Nessa over for a drink,” Riona offered, smiling at the pink-nosed calfling that had become Leila’s shadow.
“Don’t forget the song,” Liex reminded her.
Riona cleared the dust from her throat. Would that it would clear from her skirts as easily as Nessa greedily suckled the milk cow. “Remember, if you or Seargal can chime in, I’d be glad for help.”
Riona opened her mouth to sing a ballad when a voice chortled from the loft, more startling than melodic.
Fourteen-year-old Fynn jumped down to the dirt floor and rolled into Liex. The twin went down with a howl and in a flash entangled in a brawl with his dark-haired sibling. Nessa darted beneath the milk cow, which, with a bellow, bolted as far as its rope tie would allow.
“Boys, enough!” Riona snatched up the teetering pail of milk before wide-eyed Nessa plowed over it. The milk was saved, but the calf struck Riona with such force as to send her sprawling backwar
d into the burrow—which was nicely mounded with manure.
“Ach, Father save us,” she cried as the milk sloshed up on her face and chest.
The words, as close to an oath as the three siblings ever heard uttered from their benefactress’s lips, separated the boys and sent Leila scrambling up the stick ladder to safety with her imaginary friend. Further embellishment of Riona’s ire was checked by the voice of Brother Domnall.
“Like as not, the good Lord’ll have nothing to do with this lot of ragmullions, much less a lady wallowing in cattle dung.” The bent cleric peered at Riona and her charges from beneath the gray hedges of his eyebrows in utter contempt. “Mayhap ’tis penance for glorifying that heathen lore.”
“Mayhap Brother Domnall will share a story then, while I rid myself of stench and filth.” Riona shook out her dress in dismay.
Domnall started. “Oh, what with all the commotion, I near forgot. His Holiness, the Abbot, and Bishop Senan wish to see you at once in the hall. Them as well. All of them,” he added, casting a glance at the top of the ladder where Leila watched.
“Why would the holy fathers wish to see the children?” Riona was fearful of the answer. Homes had been found for most of the orphans in her care. These three were the last, afterthoughts of the plague that had swept across Erin two years earlier.
“There’s a couple from Dinwiddy who’d have a look at them.” Brother Domnall’s answer was sympathetic. So, the little ones had gotten to him, just as they had Riona.
“You mean we’ll have a look at them,” Fynn said, squaring a mulish chin. “We won’t go with them if we don’t like their looks.”
“Of course you won’t.” Riona brushed off her clothing as best she could, stewing inside with dread.
There was so much she wanted to do with these foundlings.
Oh, Lord, show me Thy will. If this couple is truly needy of this little family, then so be it. I know I can accept the role of a sister in Christ to these foundlings with as much joy as that of a mother.
“Brother Clemens says I’m a fast learner,” Fynn spoke up. “Maybe it won’t be long before I can provide for the twins and we won’t need parents.”
Riona smiled. He wanted so to be a man, when most of his tall, lanky frame was still boy. “That well may be, but for now let’s see what God provides for us.”
I want the best for them, Lord, I truly do. Riona herded her brood like a mother hen across the short plank bridge over the fosse. A gray-robed brother opened the door to the reception hall as Riona and her entourage approached.
Gathering a twin under each arm, Riona stepped inside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the inside lighting of the hall after being in the afternoon sun. She focused on a humbly dressed couple, neither of whom looked to have gone more than a few hours without food. Freemen, perhaps?
“Ah, Lady Riona, I—” Abbot Fintan stumbled over his greeting upon seeing her—“we welcome you and your charges into our presence.”
“My lord brother,” Bishop Senan exclaimed in equal shock. “What malady has befallen the Lady O’Cuillin since I was away?”
“None of consequence, your holiness.”
Riona rushed forward to kneel before the abbot’s elaborately carved chair, the only furniture in the room, save the desk and stool where Brother Ninian recorded the hearings. The paved floor was cold to her knees. Bishop Senan, the abbot’s younger half brother, offered her a hand in rising so that she could return to where Leila, Liex, and Fynn held back in wary silence.
“My Lord Abbot,” Riona ventured, “may I ask what this is about?”
Senan motioned toward the children with a grandiose sweep of the arm. “It is about placing these foundlings in a good home with Tadgh here and his good wife Mebh.”
“Only the little ones, milord bishop,” the man of the couple stipulated quickly.
Riona’s heart sank, but there was no time to indulge it, for a veritable outcry ensued.
“We’re not leavin’ Fynn!” Liex grabbed at his elder brother’s hand and pulled him closer to Riona as if she could protect them all.
“And I’m not handing the twins over to anyone,” Fynn declared.
Leila practically disappeared in the fold of Riona’s dress, nearly knocking her over.
“I … I must protest, Father Abbot,” she stammered, regaining her footing. Fintan was a good-hearted man, and Riona was one of his favorites. He had to listen to her. “These children should not be separated on any account. Their family has been broken enough.”
The abbot stared at Riona again as if he still could not believe it was his sister’s noble granddaughter. Self-conscious, she lowered her gaze and took a step back. Humility might prevail where her ladylike demeanor did not. Only a bath would rid her of the stable stench.
“I must agree with Lady Riona. I can’t believe it is in the children’s interest to separate them. However—” the abbot raised his voice, cutting off Bishop Senan’s rising objection—“perhaps this couple would reconsider taking the older lad as well. He’s healthy and strong, certainly a boon to any freeman who works the land.”
“If ye let me finish out this year with Brother Clemens, I’ll be able to take care of myself and the twins, making wares for the table,” Fynn announced. “Ask ’im! He says I learn fast and have a keen way with a blade.”
“Look at the little dears, Taddy.” The farmer’s wife rushed over to Leila and fingered her long, straight hair. “So much like the babes we lost, e’en tho they was both lads. But I always wanted a girl. Surely we can take the eldest, too.” She cast a pleading look at her husband.
“ ’E’s a gleeman’s son, born to steal. The little ones aren’t old enough to be tainted with their parents’ way, but ’e is. I can see it in them eyes.”
If looks were blades, Fynn would have slain Tadgh then and there. Instead, the lad heeded the subtle warning in Riona’s gaze and stood, neck muscles strained red with his effort to remain silent.
“But I want the babies. I’ll have no peace without ’em.” From the stand taken in Mebh’s voice, neither would Tadgh.
All eyes went to the freeman, who looked to Senan as if for help. Clearly uncertain as to which stand best benefited him, the bishop offered him neither support nor condemnation.
“Surely young Fynn will more than earn his keep,” the abbot suggested hopefully. “What say you, lad? Would you go with your brother and sister as son of these good people?”
The stubborn set of Fynn’s chin said it all. He wanted nothing to do with them. His respect for the man who’d welcomed him and his siblings into the abbey and given them food and shelter was all that held his tongue.
“Three mouths to feed, is that what you want, woman?” Tadgh exclaimed. “Three, when we could barely feed the two we had.”
“But look at her,” Mebh pleaded, turning Leila toward him. “Like a little angel, she is.”
Apparently, were the decision left to Tadgh, none of the children would be taken. His aversion to Fynn, indeed, his wife’s failure to make a whit of fuss over Liex did not bode well at all.
Riona started forward. “Father Fintan—”
“All right then,” Tadgh conceded, cutting her off. “We’ll take the lot.”
Fynn could hold back no longer. “What makes you think you have the final say? We’re not slaves. We needn’t go with you if we don’t want, and I don’t want.”
“Me, neither,” Liex declared, digging in beside his brother.
Leila tugged away from Riona and marched to stand on Fynn’s other side, arms crossed, leaving no doubt as to what she thought of the proposition.
Tadgh turned on Senan. “Ye said they was ours for the claimin’. I paid ye well enough for their findin’.”
“They are,” the bishop assured him hastily. “We are not an orphanage, your holiness,” he reminded his superior. “We’ve carried these children through the winter.”
“Paid?” The abbot’s question riveted Senan to the spot.
> “A donation to the abbey, nothing more.”
“Ah.” The slight upward curl of the senior priest’s mouth betrayed the same doubt that Riona felt. Had it not been mentioned, Senan’s pocket would hold the money rather than the church coffers.
Do it. The conviction came to Riona as sure as the compassion she felt for the frightened orphans. “My lord abbot, if I may be so bold …”
The abbot turned to Riona, clearly relieved to have another opinion. “By all means, milady, share your thoughts. You have invested too much time and affection in this matter to be ignored.”
She took the step off the precipice into thin air, praying she would not fall and take the little ones with her. “I ask my lord abbot to consider allowing me to take the children to Dromin.”
Her brother would not turn away three orphans. Heber’s was a tender heart.
“But you’ve no husband,” Senan pointed out, taken aback. “And what of your pledge to the church? Why on the way home from Kells, I pondered how well you’ve adapted to life here in God’s service. I intended to discuss it with my brother, but this matter has preempted it.”
Riona foundered. It was her heart’s desire to serve God at the abbey, but these children needed a mother, which was exactly what she’d been to them since their coming. She loved each of them for his or her own special way.
“Perhaps the abbey’s particular service to God is not Lady Riona’s calling. The call of motherhood is a noble pursuit as well. Teaching children God’s way is its own ministry.”
Fintan smiled at Riona. Her mother’s favorite uncle had come to know her well since she came to Kilmare. Unlike Senan, who coveted Riona’s property more than her happiness, the abbot encouraged her to explore all her options before making a lasting commitment.
“Her own children, yes,” the bishop agreed, “but what man of property, much less of noble blood, would have another’s foundlings to keep?”
Riona Page 3
