Riona

by Linda Windsor

  She shook off the thought. After weeks fraught with danger and anxiety she should not be searching for more unrest but enjoying the hot porridge and bread, followed by a dish of stewed fresh and dried fruit for dessert.

  Riona looked with dismay at the twins’ brats, which had caught whatever their eager mouths had missed of the syrupy concoction, while Kieran and Colga talked about the morning’s departure. The latter, sober since his arrival at the abbey, looked horrid.

  The good meal would do him wonders, Riona thought, for despite their uncle Cromyn’s efforts to keep him away from it, Colga had leaned more toward drink than food the last few days. If only her cousin would give up this demon that blackened his humor and gnawed at him. But as Father Cromyn observed, Colga was set on condemning himself more than his heavenly Father was. Until the young man came to terms with himself, there was nothing any of them could do for him. What went unsaid was the fear that her cousin might go to the same extreme as Senan.

  “I tell you now, nothing in all my life will look better to me than Gleannmara on the morrow’s eve,” Kieran vowed with a wink for her benefit, “unless it’s my wife. Take my word, man, what you need is a good woman.” He clapped Colga on the back, winning a hint of a smile, nothing more.

  “Good is subjective … cousin Riona excluded of course,” Colga acknowledged politely. “For the most part, to believe in what is good is to open one’s mind to disappointment.”

  “God is good, nephew,” Cromyn reminded him. “And there is no subjectivity regarding His goodness. He was, He is, and He always will be good.”

  “For you perhaps, uncle,” Colga remarked on a cryptic note. “And maybe for those who have tried to do His will. But some of us have outright crossed it.”

  “Like the thief on the cross?” Cromyn countered. “Son—”

  The door to the reception hall burst open, cutting the priest off. Two of Maille’s soldiers preceded the Ulster lord inside and stood to his flank. Mailles maleficent gaze gnawed at the room, table by table, man by man, until he spied Fynn.

  “There he is. There’s the thief,” he proclaimed in righteous indignation.

  Fynn was so taken back that his answer was no more than a blank look.

  “What in the name of mischief are you up to now, Maille?” Kieran thundered, jumping to his feet so suddenly that the bench upon which he and Riona were seated nearly toppled with her on it.

  “Catching a thief,” Maille replied. “Where is it, lad?”

  “Wh … where’s what?” Fynn stammered, gaze darting from Riona to his siblings, as if they might enlighten him.

  “The silver encased vial you stole from that casket.” Maille marched to where Fynn sat and yanked the boy to his feet.

  In less than the time it took her heartbeat to echo, Kieran took the lad back, shoving him behind him. “Touch this boy again, and I’ll skin you like the weasel you are.”

  Maille’s guards remained at the door, weapons sheathed, for Kieran’s men of Dromin were on their feet. It was a rude guest who carried weapons to his host’s table, so they had nothing to fight with other than will and their dining knives. Still, Maille’s party was outmatched.

  “You disrespect me in my own tuath?” Maille growled in toothless threat.

  “I have little respect for you anywhere, milord, but this land is God’s, not yours,” Kieran told him. “The last time I yielded to your sovereignty, I was met by injustice … which is what is afoot now. On what grounds do you accuse my foster son?”

  “I entrusted Senan’s casket of belongings to him earlier. The vial was in the casket then.”

  “That’s a lie!” All eyes swung to Fynn at his vehement denial. “I … I took it to the abbot’s offices just like you asked. Father Clemens was with me. Just ask him. I didn’t take anything out of it.”

  “What’s this vial to you anyway?” Kieran asked. “It belongs to the church.”

  “Senan was long a friend of mine. I gave it to him,” Maille informed them smugly. “But when I asked Brother Ninian to open the box so that I might take it back, it was missing.”

  “And you immediately thought young Fynn here took it.” Kieran’s remark was no question. It was a statement of ridicule.

  “His father was a thief. It runs in the blood.”

  “He was not!” His dining knife brandished, Fynn lunged at Maille.

  Colga caught the lad by the collar and pulled him back. “Here, boy. He toys with you like a cat with a mouse. Don’t play his low game.”

  “ ‘The sins of the father …’ ” Maille taunted. “If you’re innocent, empty your sack and prove it.”

  “He’ll empty nothing for you. If he says he doesn’t have it, he doesn’t,” Kieran said, chin jutting in defiance.

  It was a familiar stubbornness Riona recognized, unmovable. Maille might as well negotiate with a statue. Fynn assumed the same posture. Another time the imitation might have warmed her. Now all Riona felt was dread. Cold dread. Was this the darkness Finella warned about?

  A fierce battle of wills between two lords of the land waged in loud silence as each assessed the other. Kieran’s hands were fisted at his side, his eyes afire with warning. One of Maille’s rested dangerously close to the hilt of his short sword, his demeanor black and hard as onyx. After what seemed to Riona an eternity, stone gave way to fire. Maille stepped back and conceded with a nod.

  “Very well then, Gleannmara. But I’d watch these little light-fingers closely if I were you.”

  “Maille, your only salvation at this moment is that you stand on God’s ground. To impeach their honor is to impeach that of Gleannmara. I’d suggest you take your men and leave before I dwell overmuch upon it.”

  A vein bulged at Kieran’s temple as he rocked on ready foot, watching as Maille led his men from the room. A collective sigh of relief erupted with the closing of the door behind them. A few of the brethren made hasty crosses.

  “I suppose we should be thankful our meal is over. Elsewise, our appetites might have been ruined by the foulness of Maille’s presence,” Kieran quipped wryly. He made a magnanimous sweep of his arm, acknowledging his hosts and companions. “And now, good brothers and gentlemen of Dromin, my family and I bid you good night.”

  “I just don’t like that man,” Liex grumbled on the way to the stone dwelling that had been Riona’s home since her mother died. “I feel like maggots are crawling on my neck when I see ’im.”

  Riona shuddered at the graphic description, relating too well to the feeling. “I suppose we need to pray for him, not condemn him,” Riona reflected aloud, as much for herself as for Liex. “It’s not up to us to judge one another.” Even as she said it, she knew it was easier said than done. “Although I need God’s help to pray for the likes of Maille. I’m not as strong as Jesus was when He asked that his enemies be forgiven because they knew not what they did. Think how hard that must have been.”

  “Maille knows what he does,” Kieran grumbled. “His every move has a calculated purpose, but this time his greed has made him reckless.”

  “Reckless?” Riona questioned, hesitating at the oaken door for the twins to precede her. Once inside, she placed the small lamp she carried on a shelf.

  “While I was grooming Gray Macha, Domnall told me that Maille’s men took this place apart after we escaped, even tearing open the pillows and mattresses. Sound familiar?”

  Riona eased down on the mattress beside Liex, knees taken out by Kieran’s news. “You think Maille ransacked our guest house at the bruden?” What on earth was he after? Riona wondered, helping Leila out of her dress. She gave the little girl a kiss on the tip of her nose and tucked her in, sparing Lady Gray her due as well—a gentle scratch behind the ears. The kitten yawned imperiously, bored with the entire conversation.

  “I’d wager Gleannmara’s brooch on it,” Kieran answered, fingering the royal clasp thoughtfully.

  “And I my new brat,” Fynn agreed.

  “A silver-encased vial,” Riona murmur
ed aloud, thinking back in time. A picture came to her mind of Fintan holding up just such a vial.

  “Think of it,” Kieran speculated. “Our belongings were riffled through. Leila’s travel sack was stolen. Colga nearly made off with Liex’s sack in the dead of the night.”

  “But that was a drunken mistake,” Riona pointed out. Knowing Colga’s disdain for Maille, the two should not be mentioned in the same breath. “Still …”

  “Still what?” her husband asked.

  All eyes were upon her, waiting. It was probably of no consequence, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell them, she decided, taking Finella’s advice of caution. “Fintan showed me such a vial the night he was murdered. But it didn’t come from Maille. It was holy water brought by Senan from Kildare and among the gifts to be presented to Columcille at Drumceatt.”

  Kieran snorted. “What need would Maille have of holy water?”

  “Drinkin’ the Red Sea itself wouldn’t save his likes,” Fynn agreed, adding with no small hint of mischief, “though it would do well to drown ’im in it.”

  Riona gave her foster son a reproachful look and was rewarded by an irascible grin. Now where had she seen such a face, she thought, glancing at her husband. Mayhap the boy never completely left the man.

  “But as for Colga’s being caught with Liex’s bag,” Kieran said, returning to his first line of deduction, “perhaps Colga and Maille are somehow connected.” He turned abruptly to Fynn. “Hand over your sack, lad.”

  Fynn looked thunderstruck. “What?”

  “I said let’s have a look in that sack.”

  “Are ye accusin’ me of bein’ a thief?”

  Riona cringed as Fynn leaped to his feet, indignant. She felt the hurt lying beneath his bravado.

  Kieran shook his head. “Nay, I’m just asking to see what’s in that sack.”

  “No!” Fynn stepped backward into the night, as if prepared to run. His hidden pain surfaced, grazing voice and features. “I thought you trusted me.”

  Kieran gave no sign that he either did or did not.

  “Of course, we trust you,” Riona assured the boy, hopefully for the both of them.

  “What would you do in my place, lad?” Kieran challenged. “People you love have been threatened for reasons unknown. Your enemy has admitted that he believes the object of his sinister search is in that bag.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully, giving Fynn time to consider his words. “Wouldn’t it make sense to tell the man that the bag doesn’t contain his confounded vial of holy water?”

  “I did, for all the good it did,” Fynn challenged. “What makes you different?”

  “I will give my word as king of Gleannmara, on the honor of my mother and father and theirs before them.”

  The word of a king carried great weight in any court. While Kieran’s temper was well known, his word was of equal repute. Riona glanced from one to the other, not knowing what to expect. Kieran would see what was in that bag. She knew it. Just how was up to Fynn.

  Evidently Fynn came to the same conclusion. Angrily, he handed the sack over. “Take the fumin’ thing,” he ground out in a cracked voice, then ran out into the night, slamming the plank door against the side of the one-room dwelling.

  Riona jumped up to follow him, but Kieran stopped her.

  “Leave the lad to cool his hackles. I need you here.” He untied the cord cinching the sack. “Let’s pray we see no silver-encased vial.”

  “You don’t have to pray,” Liex volunteered from the foot of the bed, where he petted Lady Gray. “It’s not in Fynn’s sack.” At Riona’s questioning look, he explained. “I go in it all the time. I’d have found it if it was.” He motioned to the bed. “Go on. Dump it. I bet I can tell you everything in it. It has a spare shirt and his old stockings with the holes in the toes, the rings Marcus gave him, his darts, a …”

  Liex named every item to the last that fell from the emptied travel sack, including a scarf that belonged to the adopted daughter of the fisherman who’d helped them travel around Dublin by sea.

  “That’s why he didn’t want anybody lookin’ in there, I’ll bet,” the younger boy announced, rocking back and forth on his heels with a wide, satisfied grin. “Fynn’s in love.”

  “Well, that’s that,” Riona claimed, shaking out a blanket that lay folded at the foot of the bed. “You’ll most likely find Fynn in the garden behind the abbot’s quarters,” she suggested to Kieran. “Just look for his glowing ears. They always turn beet red when he’s embarrassed.”

  “Why should I go after him? I’m not the one who tore out of here in a temper.”

  Riona motioned Liex back onto his pallet and tucked him in. “No,” she conceded, without looking at her husband, “but you of all people should know how it feels to make a fool of oneself when it comes to mixing matters of the heart with a short temper. Like as not, the lad’s feeling quite the fool now and could use some words of comfort.”

  Kieran clung to his rebellion. “I never got any.”

  She couldn’t help the devilment that infected her voice. “No, but you’re accustomed to acting the fool. This is new for the lad.”

  Foul humor abating, Kieran raised a warning finger at her. “I’ll remember that when I return, milady.”

  With a tinkling laugh, Riona jerked her head meaningfully toward Leila’s and Liex’s pallets. “And you’d best remember our company as well.”

  Thwarted yet again, Kieran rolled his eyes heavenward and stepped out of the small enclosure with a frustrated sigh. “Now I know the real reason folks wait to have children after they’re wed, and it has nothing to do with being holy.”

  THIRTY

  The brethren heralded the new day with song, not unlike their druid predecessors, except that they sang to the Creator rather than the creation. It was a peaceful sound that lulled birds in nearby trees to sing along, not the least intimidated by the presence of Maille’s encampment or the party preparing to depart at last for Gleannmara. Even Gray Macha seemed soothed by it. The stallion stood still, ears pricked, as Kieran brushed his silvery coat. No impatient stomping of the hooves or derisive snorts this morning.

  In the next stall of the stable, Fynn worked on Bantan, and beyond him the twins groomed the small pony. Kieran intended that each child would have his or her own steed to care for, Leila as well. As his foster father had told him when he protested that he was a prince and above such tasks, caring for what one had made one appreciate it all the more. And when Kieran got to be king, he’d appreciate the man who took over the chore for him, which allowed him time for his royal duties. Murtagh had been a good foster father, a good example. Kieran hoped to follow in his footsteps with these three halflings.

  A loud sneeze from Leila followed by a giggle made him smile. Perhaps he used the term halfling too liberally with the twins, slight as they were.

  “Bless you, sweetling,” he called to her.

  She babbled something that Kieran took to be a thank-you. Almighty God, if everything happens for a purpose or can be used by You to some good farther along the way, what possible benefit can come of Leila’s affliction?

  God?

  Kieran stopped running the brush along Gray Macha’s shank. Had he just prayed without forethought? Faith, he’d asked the question as if His Maker were in the next stall. Cromyn said God lived in a man’s heart. Riona walked and talked with Him about as Leila did her invisible friend. Until now, Kieran had thought it a bit strange. He wasn’t certain of the hows and whys of God, just of His existence and loving protection.

  It wasn’t like Kieran to ponder such things. It made him uncomfortable, like socializing with someone he’d wronged in error, feeling guilty despite knowing he was forgiven. For now, there were other things more pressing. Tucking the quandary in the back of his mind, Kieran put aside the grooming brush.

  “Bantan is fit for the lady,” Fynn announced, pleased with his work. “Shall I fetch Lady Riona?”

  “Nay, let the twins bring the lady. We’ve one las
t thing to do.”

  The boy rounded Gray Macha’s flank, his face set, without emotion. The alarm in his dark eyes betrayed his true feelings. “It’s done. There’s no need to say a word.”

  Kieran disagreed. “Maille has hounded us looking for that confounded vial. I intend to let him know on my honor that none of my party has it. And I will die for that honor. He knows that.”

  “I wouldn’t waste time on ’im.”

  For a moment, Kieran saw a familiar rebellion. Not long ago, he would have agreed with the lad, but he hadn’t had a family to protect then. He hadn’t cared what sort of example he set.

  “He’s wronged us. We’ll give him a chance to apologize and we’ll let it go … er … forgive him, I suppose. Like Cromyn said last night over supper, what good’s honor in man’s eyes without it in God’s also?” Kieran grimaced. “You forgave me last night when I apologized. It takes a real man to forgive and forget.”

  “You ain’t Maille.”

  “Ha, praise the Lord for that!”

  Instead of laughing as Kieran intended, Fynn looked away, still uncomfortable with the idea. He scuffed his feet. “It sounds right, well enough, but it sure don’t feel it.”

  Kieran clapped the boy on the shoulder, well able to relate. “Now that we can agree on, lad.” He wanted to do what was right in God’s eyes. As a Christian king, one that heaven had surely delivered of late, it was his duty. It set well with his heart but not his gut. When the two were at odds, his mind staggered in the dust of the fray. Men of war he understood. Men—and women—of peace were something of a different nature.

  “He’ll act like the hind end of a bull on green apples.”

  Kieran’s step faltered with his chuckle at the image. The more he knew of Fynn, the more he liked the boy. “Aye, he’ll sputter and spout, like as not, but at least we’ll have done what’s right.”

  Although Kieran walked and acted in grace, he was no fool. He took a few of the Dromin warriors with him in case Maille was bolder and madder than he thought. Fynn walked stiffly beside him as they entered the black-and-red-bannered encampment. One of the guards hastened into a tent. By the time the Gleannmara presence had everyone’s attention, Lord Maille emerged, his barber trailing him.