The guard at the gate said he remembered her walking out with Eolande not a quarter hour earlier, down to the village. Curse the girl, she might be anywhere by now. With growing anger and frustration, Maelan stalked down the hill.
Maelan nodded to several people as he searched for her, asking the baker, the tanner, and the weaver. None had glimpsed her. The weaver had remembered a girl, though.
“The white-haired lass? Aye, she passed by here just a few minutes ago. She was alone, I’ll swear it.”
Maelan frowned. Eolande had been with Orlagh, but she must have left her somewhere. “From where did she come and where did she go?”
The weaver pointed toward the guest roundhouses. “From there, I’m fair certain. She was headed back to the hillfort. She looked t’ be in a hurry, she did.”
With a dark glance at the hillfort, Maelan thanked the man and marched to the guest quarters. The bards were quartered there, and Orlagh had been looking at the one with moon-eyes. He didn’t like the possibilities careening through his mind.
Orlagh was a woman, but she was so young in mind. She was the child of his heart, ever since her parents had died. She’d been such a wee thing at the time, barely five winters old. Maelan had been both mother and father to her. He couldn’t bear to think of what the bard was doing to his granddaughter.
The older bard was whittling outside one roundhouse. Maelan growled, “Where’s Orlagh?”
He didn’t look up from his carving. “Orlagh? Who’s that then?”
Maelan reminded himself the man wasn’t rude on purpose. He mustn’t hit a guest. With barely controlled anger, he said, “My granddaughter. She sang with your group last night.”
“Oh, the blonde youngster? Aye, she’s in there.” He gestured with his knife to the third roundhouse, the largest of the three, still without looking up.
The door was shut, but Maelan quickly corrected that.
* * *
Temuirr gently lay Orlagh down just as the door slammed open.
Her grandfather stood silhouetted in the late afternoon sun. His fists were clenched and his shoulders hunched. “Get your hands off her!”
Dread flooded through Orlagh. She was rooted on the bed while Temuirr stood slowly, hands up in surrender. She fumbled for her discarded cloak and snatched it over her over-exposed bosom.
“I’ve not hurt the lass, good man.”
Her grandfather walked into the small guest house and out from the light. His face was an angry red. “I know exactly what you’re planning to do with the lass. She’s my granddaughter, and you will not touch her.”
“I do beg your pardon, honored warrior. May I help her up?” Temuirr didn’t take his eyes off the intruder, but slowly stretched out his hand. She took it and stood, straightening her skirts. She couldn’t look at her grandfather. Shame flooded through her blood, and her face grew warm.
Her grandfather had locked eyes with Temuirr. “Get to your room, Orlagh. I will speak to you shortly.”
Orlagh hastened away, both eager to escape and concerned for her lover’s fate. Could she call him her lover if they’d only kissed? She decided she could. Picking up her skirts, she ran through the village and up the hill. She was out of breath by the time she reached the fort. The startled guard opened the gate for her, and she rushed into her roundhouse. Her face dripped with sweat, and her léine was filthy with mud.
She panted for several moments before her heart calmed. Looking down at her léine, she grimaced. She’d best change and quickly. Opting for work clothes, she found a sturdy undecorated léine. Her grandfather was sure to punish her for her truancy, and she’d best be prepared. Time moved slowly, and she began to think he wouldn’t come for her after all.
When he did arrive, he said nothing. He simply stood, his arms crossed and his feet wide, staring at her. She grew more and more anxious with each passing, silent moment. Why wouldn’t he yell at her and get it over with?
His eyes thundered in the quiet. Her grandfather seemed to grow taller with each eternal moment, and Orlagh tried to shrink and hide from his anger. She must speak. Anything to break the building tension.
“I…”
His words snapped out. “You will say nothing, Orlagh.”
Chastened, she bowed her head.
“You have brought shame to our family, granddaughter. You have shamed me. You have disappointed me.”
She opened her mouth again, but he growled, and she hastily shut it.
“You will wait here.”
He left, and Orlagh sat on her bed. She waited, and she waited.
She didn’t know how long it was, but the first pangs of hunger hit before she looked out her door. The sun was setting, so it must be getting near meal time. Yet her grandfather did not return.
She spied Eolande crossing the courtyard and gestured wildly for her. Her friend scurried over, glancing over her shoulder several times.
“I mustn’t be here, Orlagh. No one is to come to you. But here, I managed to get this for you.” Her friend shoved a small wrapped bundle in her hands before running away.
Orlagh shut the door and opened the fabric bundle. A warm loaf of fresh barley bread stuffed with goat cheese was the prize. With gratitude for her thoughtful friend, she savored several bites before tucking the rest back into the fabric and secreting it in a drawer. She wanted to eat the whole thing, but she had no idea how long her grandfather would make her wait. Best save the rest for later.
Sounds of the evening feast filtered in, including sweet music and song. She was certain she recognized Temuirr’s voice, and a cold constriction eased from her heart. Her grandfather hadn’t killed the bard, then, or even seriously injured him. She’d never known her grandfather to harm an innocent man, but he had a terrible temper. He probably didn’t consider Temuirr to be all that innocent, either. At least one of her fears were calmed.
She closed her eyes, savoring the snippets of sound from her beloved bard. He sang a sad tune, one of love long lost. A tear fell unchecked down her cheek, chilled by the coming night air. She sat by the window well past moonrise, confessing her fears and desires to the pale, sweet face in the midnight sky.
* * *
When Orlagh woke the next morning, she was clothed in the work léine. She must have fallen asleep waiting for her grandfather to return. She washed her face in the water basin near the door and poked her head out. It was silent and still. Dawn had just risen, and the only people out and about were caring for animals. Not even the weapon master stirred yet.
Did she dare emerge? Surely her grandfather had forgotten her. However, after remembering the thunder in his face the day before, she was reluctant to incur his wrath yet again. She still hadn’t received her punishment for her transgression, but the anticipation was horrible. Best wait until he returned, lest it be worse.
Orlagh retrieved the now cold loaf of bread and took several more bites. She wished for some fresh water to wash it down, but all she had was the washing water, which was none too clean.
Had she done wrong, going to Temuirr? Surely not. She was a woman grown, and surely capable of making her own decisions in love, as with anything else. Gaelic women had the freedom to make their own choices. No one could force her to marry someone else unless she was a slave. She most certainly was not a slave. She straightened her back, once again certain of her actions.
If she must stay in her roundhouse, she might as well be useful. She set about cleaning, straightening, and when that was done, mending. There were three outfits with unraveling seams which would benefit from some attention. She hated mending, but it was better than being idle and feeling sorry for herself.
By this time, more folk were working outside. The clang of weapons practice and the call of herdsmen going out to collect their flocks filled the air. A couple of bangs and then the tink tink tink of the blacksmith’s hammer drifted in.
When her mending was finished, she cast about for another project. Perhaps she could work on some embroidery? But
her current project, a half-completed border on her summer cloak, was sitting in Eolande’s roundhouse, as they’d been working together on it the other day.
There was little else to do but think. What should she consider? The way Temuirr’s hands felt on her cheek, or his lips on hers. Orlagh smiled at the memory. She could still feel the warmth of his hand on her skin and the tickle of his curly hair on her bosom as he kissed between her breasts.
However, each time she tried to imagine the logical next step, her grandfather’s untimely entrance interrupted. His face, a storm of anger, filled her mind. She tried to banish the image, but it kept intruding on her daydream. Bah. This is no good. I must get out and do something.
When she opened her door to step outside with resolute determination, she was stopped dead in her tracks by her grandfather. He towered over her in the small doorway. She backed up while he ducked to come in.
His words echoed loudly in the quiet room. “And where were you going, young lady? I told you to stay put.”
Orlagh’s voice sounded inadequate and meek after his booming question. “I thought… perhaps you’d forgotten me.”
“How could I forget you? You, the granddaughter who would rather shame me than obey? The granddaughter who soils my good name, her dead parents’ good name, and the honor of the family? What did you think would happen, Orlagh? That he had lands hidden away, and he would take you away and make you his good wife in a marriage of the first degree?”
She ached to say yes, that’s exactly what she’d imagined, but she could tell he wasn’t looking for an answer.
“All he wanted was to take your innocence. At best a fifth degree union; more likely a seventh. He would promptly leave you and return to his own woman.”
“She’s not his woman, she’s his sister!”
He paced in the small room, his hand casually knocking the stool into the wall. She flinched at the noise. “Do you think that matters? He probably lies with her anyhow. Traveling folk like that heed no laws, but themselves. You cannot trust them.”
She stood next to the bed, her own fists clenched in frustration. “How do you know, Grandfa? You’ve never met them before!”
“I’ve met their like, many times in my life. You will have nothing further to do with them, do you hear? I’ve already asked the chief to send them on their way. Now, you stay here the rest of the day and think upon what you’ve done. Think about what it means to your good name, your family, and your duties.”
She pursed her lips. “I’ve already thought about all that. I won’t stay locked up like a child! I’m a grown woman!”
“You’re my granddaughter, and you will obey!”
Stomping her foot, she shouted, “I will not!”
Her grandfather took a step toward her with a balled fist, and then turned and smashed it into the wall. The wood did not give or shatter, but the entire roundhouse shook. He did this several more times while Orlagh glared at him, mentally daring him to hit her instead. Such action would give her plenty of excuse for legal redress.
With a growl, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.
With panting breath, Orlagh sat on her bed, tears pushing out into a broken sob. How could he do this to her? It was so unfair!
A raven with white eyes swooped to her window and out again quickly. Several minutes later, a timid knock on her door made her look up to see Eolande peeking in. “Is it safe? Is he gone?”
Orlagh nodded, and her friend slipped in, closing the door behind her.
Her friend’s eyes darted several times to the door before Orlagh asked, “Did you hear it all?”
Eolande nodded and held out her hand. Each hand held an apple, and Orlagh took the one proffered. Its texture was slightly grainy. It must have been from an early crop. She didn’t care. The sweet juice dribbled down her chin.
“Everyone heard it, Orlagh. His voice carries.”
God’s Bones. The entire roundhouse would be talking about her fight with her grandfather. She would never be able to slip out to find Temuirr now, not with everyone watching. Most would be happy to play spy for her grandfather.
“Eolande, I must go to him!”
Her friend shook her head, her white-blond hair shimmering in the late morning light. “You can’t leave, not yet. It would be quite unwise. Let me try to get him in to visit you before you try anything rash.”
“Fine. For now. But in the meantime, could you fetch my embroidery project? I am going mad here with nothing to do.”
Eolande giggled. “I never thought I’d see the day you were eager to sew.”
Orlagh laughed with her, though with a hint of desperation. Eolande gripped her hand, squeezed, and rushed out into the now-busy courtyard.
Chapter 4
Maelan had no idea how to proceed. He sat on a bench outside the feast hall watching people go by on their daily routines as he contemplated the solution.
He couldn’t keep Orlagh in her roundhouse indefinitely. He must let her out some time, and she would only run back into the arms of that bard. How would he keep her from throwing away her life and her honor to the degenerate creature?
He detested bards. He remembered one, long ago when he still lived with his grandmother. A homeless man sometimes sang for alms outside the abbey. He frightened Maelan’s grandmother so bad she cried. They were horrible creatures, and he wouldn’t stand for one touching his granddaughter.
Chief Diarmait said he would certainly ask them to move on, but Gaelic guest-right forbade him from making them leave. Maelan couldn’t argue. Guest-right remained a basic rule of Brehon Law, after all.
What if he distracted Orlagh? He might get her involved in a project to the point she’d forget her childish infatuation. Failing that, he might arrange for her to marry someone else. She must agree, of course. No Gaelic daughter could be forced to marry against her will. He would make the arrangements. She’d grown old enough to be married and start a family of her own. He’d coddled her too long.
Two women approached, laughing loud and chattering. They noticed him and instantly glanced down, walking past with silent haste.
Who would be a good match for her? He ran through the list of eligible young men. The pickings were scarce. He’d told the chief many young men grew bored in this quiet area and went off to fight in the wars. Others answered the increasing call of God and bound themselves to the Church. After Diarmait’s brother, Murtough Ua Briain, gifted the family fortress at Cashel to the Church fifteen winters before, young men had been flocking to the Church in droves. No longer would small, isolated monastic enclaves suffice. Big communities, practically towns unto themselves, were being built all over the island.
Those communities remained almost exclusively male, and they didn’t help his current quandary. Rowdy shouts drifted from the warrior practice field, but Maelan paid them no mind. The practice groups must be changing over from one group to another. He couldn’t glimpse the field from his current vantage point, but it lay over several conical roofs to the left. Sure enough, several sweaty, red-faced young lads walked through, chatting with good-natured exuberance.
He only recognized a few. Most had been recent recruits from neighboring chiefs, fostered here to increase their knowledge and to form bonds with other families. Conn, the chief’s fosterling, was a young snot. Maelan had previously had several unhappy encounters with the arrogant young man. He’d never ask Orlagh to marry such a boor.
He considered Fionn, but the lad was Conn’s lackey and did nothing without his friend’s approval. Eógan’s own son, Caiside, came next. Now, there was a possibility. The lad was quiet and seldom acted with initiative, but that often came of one so young. Especially one who lived in his father’s larger-than-life shadow. Eógan had so many tales of heroism and adventure, the boy surely felt inadequate next to such a living legend.
Maelan snorted. Half of Eógan’s tales were exaggerated nonsense. He’d been there for most of them. Far be it from him to rob Eógan of his devot
ed followers. His friend had a whole bevy of females eager to wait on his every word, to regale them of his escapades. No wonder young Caiside paled in comparison.
Perhaps the lad just needed some confidence. A wife would surely help in such a matter, and Orlagh would be a good wife. She’d grown into a clever and ambitious young woman, and certainly manipulative enough to wrap him around her finger in no time. The lad would benefit from a strong wife to guide him. She would surely be better for a loyal, steady husband. One who had a good name and family honor.
Happy with his decision, Maelan placed his hands on his knees and rose from the bench. He must find Eógan to approve the match, of course, but Eógan would offer no argument. Eógan would deny Maelan nothing, not after all they’d been through together.
The morning sun had passed its zenith and dipped well into afternoon before he found his friend. He hadn’t been at the practice yard, or in the feast hall. He wasn’t at the leathersmith’s workshop, a place he often frequented. With a sigh, Maelan had gone to the only place left to look—and truly, the most likely place for Eógan to be.
This area of the village had fewer residents than the rest. Scruffy children scurried through the mud and under his feet as he walked to the small roundhouse at the edge of the woods. He wished the folk here would take better care of the younglings. They deserved a better start in life. A brief memory of his own childhood clouded his mind, but shook his head to clear the image.
He paused at the door, listening for obvious sounds, but discerned none. A fine misty drizzle began just as he knocked.
A husky woman’s voice answered. “A moment!”
The door opened to reveal a muscular, tanned woman with raised eyebrows, dressed only in a large blanket. The cloth was rich, but it was tattered at the edges and had seen better days. She stood almost as tall as Maelan, and he was certain he didn’t want to meet her in a dark wood.
Her face fell when she recognized him. “Oh, you must want Eógan.” She disappeared again, her dark braid flicking behind her as she whipped around. The door shut again.
Misfortune of Song: Druid's Brooch Series: #5 Page 6
