Turning, Riona saw a man pushing a small cart toward them.
“Excuse me, good people, but I’m looking for a traveling troupe of a man by the name o’ Dallan.”
Finella rose and put her hands on her hips, eyeing the wares displayed in the vehicle. “Well, you’ve found them, sirrah. But we’ve no need for dry goods.”
The vendor scowled. Taking off his knit hat, he scratched his shaggy head as though to clear his obvious confusion. “But the lord of Gleannmara gave me a sum for a young man’s brat and sent me here for his lady or the young master himself to pick out the cloth.”
Astonished, Riona turned to Fynn, who returned her look with one just as blank.
Finella took charge with her usual aplomb and slapped a hand on Fynn’s shoulder. “Then bring the cart over, man, for here’s the young master himself.”
NINETEEN
The size of a small village and built for hospitality, the Lion’s Tooth was well prepared, with both private and public accommodations for the inundation of guests. Spread over a great expanse on the well-tended green near the fairgrounds, it brimmed with the comings and goings of its wealthy guests and their retinues at the great hall and its sundry private lodges, including the extra cottars erected on its perimeter for the unusual influx of people brought in by the synod.
Servants scurried to and fro with platters of food from the massive kitchen. Boys tended additional cook fires outside, over which entire sides of venison, beef, and pork roasted. One was protected from rain by a thatched dome, where a massive mechanical spit turned at least thirty wild fowl at once, all under the watchful eyes of the cook staff.
Inside the great hall, skins and kegs of ale were distributed by serving wenches along the low tables and benches, where trencher after trencher of food continued to come in full and leave empty. Dogs growled, establishing their dominion under the tabletops for the sake of the stray cat that braved to enter, while laughter and lively conversation engaged all around.
In a new brat of variegated cloth that boasted all the colors of autumn and a bronze clasp, Fynn walked in among the bruden’s revelers, strutting like a prince, his wonder-filled siblings flanking him. This was the kind of scene they may have viewed from the outside while their parents performed in a raised balcony above the floor level, but never from amid the audience itself. Riona doubted they’d even eaten at a table until coming to the abbey.
The heat of so many bodies and the lingering warmth of the late spring day was enough to rob one of breath, she thought as she looked among the revelers for Kieran. Thankfully, she’d been settled with the children in a small, private lodge assigned to the king of Gleannmara’s company. They were to join her foster brother in the main hall for their meal.
Across the expanse of the hall, she spied Finella playing her harp. The clear strains of her voice and the notes of the instrument were a contrast to the raucous gaiety of the guests. Just before entering, Riona had seen Dallan and Marcus strolling through the adjoining courtyard, but they’d been too intent on earning coin to notice her.
Feeling decidedly dowdy in her good dress, which was the least worn of her two garments, Riona surreptitiously watched the ladies seemingly float about in their finery. Her limited wardrobe was all she’d needed in the past months she’d spent at Kilmare, although a lady of her station was entitled to at least three times that in size by law. But that was the Brehon Law, not God’s, she reminded herself humbly. How easy it was to be distracted by earthly wants rather than needs outside the abbey.
A fair brought out the child in everyone, and she was no different from the children, who’d found a company of merchants vacating a table and were waving her over. At the same moment, she heard Kieran call out to her above the din.
“Riona!”
Seated among a group of richly bedecked peers and not the least self-conscious of his plain travel attire, the lord of Gleannmara rose and left on the table behind him the golden bracelet he wore about his forearm to reserve his place for his return. Shoving his brat behind him so that it hung more in capelike adornment of his leine than for unneeded warmth, he wove his way toward her. A comely red-haired serving maid braved the fierce but fading blue paint on his face and intercepted him. She filled the cup he carried to the brim, offering him even more with her seductive smile.
He took the flirtation in polite stride, but the fleeting glance he cast in Riona’s direction betrayed his awkwardness. It secretly pleased her, even though she intended to assure him he owed her no allegiance other than that of a friend. As such she’d risked much to come to Drumceatt to help him clear his name. Riona would count on his friendship and protection in enabling her to provide a home for the children. To ask more, even though he’d graciously given it in providing the little ones with costly brats fit for noble fosterage, was unthinkable. God’s direction was to take only what was needed that there might be enough for others.
“The bruden’s master is pleased with Dallan’s people, though should an honored bard decide to entertain of his own accord, the opportunity for such an honor would not go untaken,” Kieran stipulated.
“I’m certain our gleemen are grateful for yours and Aidan’s help in placing them with this generous audience.” Indeed, the performers would make more here, where mostly scholars of music and poetry frequented, than from their usual lot of entertaining the merchant class and peasantry.
“I pay my debts,” her foster brother reminded her. “And I am beholden to them. Two days ago, I wondered that I’d live to see this.”
“Finella has a gift with herbs,” Riona agreed, “but do not overexert yourself.” She traced the faint lines of strain about his eyes with her fingers. “You look weary.”
Would that she looked as fine. In a similar state, she could well imagine her haggard appearance. God surely favored men in strain and aging, perhaps because they didn’t have enough sense to take care of themselves. With children and men to watch over, women often didn’t have the choice.
“Wait,” she called out, upon seeing the children tear into the platter of succulent ribs that a boy about Fynn’s age placed before them. “We have much to give thanks for,” she chided softly.
Drawing back greasy fingers in obedience, they licked them as they bowed their heads. The small spot in the big room grew painfully silent as each one waited for the other to ask the blessing. Leila giggled, which set Liex off. Fynn, reveling in the role of young master, gave both siblings a lofty scowl instead of his usual cuff on the head.
Her little family. Pride mingled with delight tugged at the corners of Riona’s lips as she bowed her head. “Heavenly Father, Your benevolence overwhelms us. You bring us safe and sound to this place, place a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our bellies, and nourish our souls with Your boundless love. May all this be proclaimed in your glory. Amen.”
“Amen,” Liex and Fynn chimed in.
Leila bobbed her head, then looked up and grinned at Kieran.
Hastily, Riona added. “And we thank You, Lord, for Kieran’s healing and for his protection and generosity.”
“I was beginning to wonder if I’d get credit for any of our blessings,” her foster brother remarked dourly. “It comes fast enough when something goes awry.”
Riona gave him an understanding smile. “Aye, I’m sure God feels the same way all too often.”
Instead of a quick retort, Kieran pondered her words a moment but was distracted by the mad scramble for food beside him. “Here, here,” he warned. “No one is going to take it away until you’ve had your fill. Now take a flat of bread and put what you want to eat upon it. Don’t eat from the charger.”
As if to start over, Leila offered him a large roasted rib with one small bite nibbled from its middle, then primly pulled a round of bread from the stack next to the meat platter.
“You eat it,” he chuckled. “I’ve had my fill. Fynn, my lad, keep an eye on our charges. I’ll be with Aidan’s company for a while and will meet
you all at the lodging later.”
If Fynn swelled any more with himself, he’d burst, Riona thought.
“Not much later,” she reminded Kieran.
“Aye, maithar dearest.” With a mocking bow, he danced backward like Marcus and headed to the place held by his armband.
“Hah! He called you mother,” Liex chortled with glee.
“When I’m grown,” Fynn observed, ignoring his sibling’s outburst, “I’ll bet I have the ladies trailing after me like Gleannmara does.” Envy burned in his dark eyes as he watched yet another serving maid try to fill the lord’s already brimming cup.
“Why? Women are a nuisance,” Liex objected with all the authority of his six years. “They pinch and give wet kisses. Most of them,” he added, remembering Riona’s presence. “Mothers’ kisses are okay.”
Riona laughed out loud. “I am much relieved, sir.” Leaning over, she kissed the ruddy-cheeked lad atop the head.
The ribs were rubbed in herbs and basted in a tasty vinaigrette, so good that Riona ate more than she was accustomed to. Wild greens and parsnips, venison pastries, and puddings of every description were enough to make even her eyes widen with wonder.
“Let’s not forget the alms baskets,” she said at the end of the meal, feeling guilty for eating so much. Liex, who was about to toss the rest of his trencher of bread under the table to the mongrel that had already been overcome with tasty bones, dutifully put the remainder in the basket set aside for the poor. There was one at every table. Periodically, the servants replaced them when they were filled. The food would be carried out and distributed to the needy.
“We’ve always been on the other side of the basket,” Fynn remarked, taking a moment to reflect upon his good fortune. He looked at Riona with something akin to worship. Suddenly, he yelped as Liex elbowed him in the ribs. “What, wart?” he said testily.
White showing all around the blue of his eyes, Liex pointed to the entrance. At the head of his party, Lord Maille of Kilmare walked in and casually surveyed the room. He said something to one of the maids and a few moments later, the brewy himself appeared. Kieran watched with interest from his table of comrades, but the wink he gave Riona told her he was not overly anxious.
As far as she was concerned, an enemy in their midst was like a spark on a rug. Aye, it might mean nothing at all. Then again, it could be deadly to all in the household.
The brewy shook his head as if in apology and invited the lord and his party to partake of the victuals. With a stiff nod, Maille turned toward the mass of tables and benches and walked straight to where Riona and the children sat. Riona stiffened as he approached.
“I bid you good day, milady.”
“And you, sir,” she said, keeping both feet planted on the floor, rather than lifting a polite knee in deference. “I wasn’t aware you had friends among the Dalraidi camp.”
“Rather no room, I fear,” he answered, twirling one of the two forks of his beard around a manicured finger.
She tried not to make the association with a snake’s tongue, but given his betrayal of justice, it was impossible. All the man needed was a lisp. Her thoughts scattered in search of a polite and truthful reply, but none that came to her qualified, which only prolonged the silent awkwardness.
“We have a fine guest house,” Fynn informed him smugly.
The twins looked about to dive under the table with the mongrel they’d been feeding, but their elder brother refused to be intimidated by the lord.
The smile Maille brandished at the lad’s reply put Riona to mind of a dog’s raised lip. “How incredible, considering you travel with a redhand.”
“Gleannmara is no murderer!” Riona protested before she could stop herself.
“The swine yearns for lavender, when all he has is mud to wallow in,” Kieran injected wryly. She hadn’t even seen him cross the room, yet there he stood beside her, tall and unbending as a sacred oak. “Indeed, the stench of his deceit grows old, but no less offensive.”
Maille’s pack of men closed ranks around him at the insult. Likewise, the men who’d been making merry at Kieran’s table watched silent and poised to spring at the slightest provocation. The hush was infectious, spreading from table to table until everyone in the lodge was aware of the friction. To break the nonviolent code of the fair was to court not just disfavor but possible death. The crisp, clear notes of Finella’s harp marked off the time in heavenly measure of a hellish situation.
Knowing the short wick of her foster brother’s temper and the calculation of her distant relative’s, Riona rose. “Gentlemen, this matter is to be settled before the high king and his brehons. Until then, it’s best that each of you keep to your own camp, unless you trespass with the intention of provoking the other into breaking the law.”
Kieran’s brow shot up, as if the idea were preposterous. “Crom’s toes, is that why you and your wolf pack have come here?”
Maille was unflinching at the mockery. “I assure you … and all your friends,” he added for the benefit of the formidable group of Dalraidi warlords, “that I came to inquire about lodgings only and stopped to ask my cousin’s child how she has fared.”
“She’s fared well.” Kieran’s flat-out remark punctuated the conclusion of, at least, Maille’s alleged concern.
Maille acknowledged with a stiff nod, but the calculation in his beady gaze raced unchecked.
The spark had not gone out, of that Riona was certain. What more could the man want? What course did he have, now that the avenue of his intent had been blockaded within sight and sound of all?
“If there’s nothing else, milord …” Kieran’s pause affected Riona’s breath as well. “But of course there is!” Kieran motioned toward the table where his comrades sat. “I would be remiss if I didn’t invite you and yours to a drink with my good fellows,” he bellowed in his most gregarious manner.
Insult Maille expected. This he was clearly not prepared for. “No, I … we …”
“Bring us cups, ladies,” Kieran insisted, grinning like a cat with feather in its mouth.
“No,” Maille countered with an impatient snap that gave the twins a start. Leila slid off her bench and buried her face in the folds of Kieran’s brat. Liex sidled closer to Fynn, who was as ready to leap into action as any of Gleannmara’s able allies.
The harp strings counted … one … two … three … four …
“I thank you for your hospitality, but we need to find suitable lodging for our company,” Maille finished with an upturn of relief in his voice.
Fynn proved it premature. “Your lodgings are at the Boars Head, milord, where you’ve been these last two days. Or have ye lost your way?”
Snickers echoed throughout the room, triggering a rise of color to Maille’s neck and face. He aimed a daggerlike stare at Fynn, but the boy was as intoxicated with smug bravado as Gleannmara. Riona wanted to shake them both for baiting Maille like a couple of bristling hounds with a bear. Maille was no bear. He’d never charge headlong into them. He’d lie in wait like a serpent and strike when they least expected it.
“How is it that a lowly gleeman’s orphan sups with the nobles?” The words were minced with the acid of Maille’s voice.
There was a short scramble of notes from the harp above before it picked up melody once more.
With a sly tug of his lips, Kieran rallied. “I invited him as my guest, no different than you.”
The war of words about to erupt was more than Riona could handle alone. Heavenly Father! she prayed, eyes wide shut.
Maille let the insult slide. “You can dress them any way you wish, Gleannmara, but their blood’s still that of a gleeman, the same as yours is a redhand whether it bears royal rings or a serf’s calluses.”
Kieran moved toward Maille, his broad grin all that allowed Riona her next heartbeat. Clapping the man on the back, he started walking the lord toward the door. “I bid you luck in finding that lavender, Kilmare, for you’re in sore need of it.”
&nbs
p; Fynn started to make a snorting noise, but Riona seized his nose, pinching it off. “Ow!” he gasped, but further objection was silenced by her warning glare.
As the men of Kilmare made their departure without further incident, Riona gathered up the children. “Come along now. We’ve real beds tonight and a bath awaits.”
“We can’t all bathe at the same time.” Fynn’s practicality was sound, but his reason remained to be seen. Not that Riona couldn’t guess. He wanted to remain with the men a while.
“Now there’s an entertaining thought.” Kieran’s wicked whisper startled Riona from behind.
She gave him a sharp look. “Say no more, milord, for I’m annoyed with you enough as it is.”
The man looked dumbstruck. “Why? Did we not send Maille scampering off with his tail tucked between his legs?”
“His tail was not between his legs, Kieran, he was gnawing on it and plotting to get even, and you with a prideful head long on tongue and short on wit.” At Fynn’s snicker, she nailed him as well. “And this foolish pup one bark from the same.” She narrowed her gaze at the lad. “Do you think you can chase your tail and stay clear of trouble till Leila and I are done with our bathing?”
“Aye,” Fynn replied, looking at the floor. Liex bobbed his head solemnly.
Satisfied, Riona gave Kieran one last piece of her mind. “You are accountable to the example you set for these children, sir. Make it a good one.”
“They are not my brood. Besides, they need know how to stand up for themselves.”
How could he be so self-absorbed? She’d so hoped his heart was changing toward the children. His flippant dismissal added sting to her reply. “Nay, but you are a king,” she reminded him sharply, “one, it appears, who needs learn the difference between standing up for himself and openly inviting his own downfall. Good night, sir.” With a defiant tilt of her chin, she spun away, herding Leila toward the door and leaving Kieran of Gleannmara to the ribbing of his companions.
The grounds outside the great hall of the bruden were aglow with soft light from strategically placed lanterns. The mingle of oil and wood smoke filled the night air with an assuring presence Riona hadn’t known since leaving Kilmare. As she and Leila approached the guest house, with its own faint wisp of warm welcome hovering above the roof, one of the servants hailed them.
Riona Page 20
