Their first stop was Newtown Castle, an ancient fortress on the shores of large, round Lough Gill.
"It was once a stronghold of the O'Rourkes, from about the sixteenth century, though I suspect there was an older castle here before that," Lochlainn explained to her as she admired the tall, imposing building made of a rare golden-colored stone.
Then they returned to the main road, and headed west towards Sligo. The sun shone down, sparkling all along the valley to the east. The glorious mountains on either side of the road were illuminated, making them look like something out of a fabulous landscape painting. Except that they were real, Muireann thought, awe-struck.
"What's that odd-looking mountain?" Muireann asked curiously.
It was a long plain, with some curious protrusions jutting from the top and sides. "It's called Ben Bulben. There are all sorts of ancient myths associated with it. It is said to be the place where Diarmuid was finally killed by Finn Mac Cool's men after eloping with Grainne."
"And who are Diarmuid and Grainne?" Muireann asked as she stared at the flat-topped mountain.
"Two famous lovers from our ancient myths."
"What mountain is that?" she asked, pointing to another vast hill with a huge round structure on top.
"That's Knocknarea, The King's Mountain. It's said to be a monument to Queen Maeve, a great female warrior from the century after Christ's birth. She was a very brave and clever woman, who was said to be possessed of magic spells, and so beautiful that every man desired her," he explained, looking down at Muireann with glowing gray eyes.
"Look! I can see the Atlantic Ocean," Muireann suddenly exclaimed.
Lochlainn put his arm around Muireann and hugged her close, glad to be sharing in her delight at her new country.
Soon he ordered Patrick, "Stop here."
Lochlainn lifted Muireann from the wagon, and strolled with her down the hill. They saw a small path over to their left. They made their way through a field full of sheep. In the distance Muireann could see a huge plume of water soaring over the granite cliff-face and down into the valley below.
As they grew closer, she could see the water gushing into a pure blue pool. Two herons were fishing in it. They stood stock still when Lochlainn and Muireann drew closer, and Muireann gasped her admiration.
"They're lovely!"
"Haven't you ever seen a heron before?" Lochlainn whispered in her ear.
"Never so close," she admitted in awed tones, marveling their silvery gray plumage and yellow eyes. Each bird caught a fish, darting their beaks into the water, rapier-like, before bringing up their catch and flying off with a massive beat of wings.
They went right up to the foot of the waterfall. The roaring in Muireann's ears prevented them from hearing what the other was trying to say. They laughed at their difficulty, and Lochlainn bent down and kissed her.
Muireann allowed herself to lean into his warm, hard body for a brief moment, savoring his warmth, and the joy his kisses always filled her with. She reached up and stroked his cheek. Eventually she had to pull away though, for time was pressing, and she knew that as pleasurable as the contact was, it was too much, too soon between them, and could lead to a great deal more in such a romantic setting if she wasn't careful.
So she smiled up at him, and taking hold of his hand, she tugged him back down the path.
"I said, thank you for taking me here. It's glorious."
"Thank you for coming with me. I haven't been to Glencar for years. I had almost forgotten how lovely it was."
"Well, Sligo certainly looks gorgeous from here. So let's go, or we'll never get to market," Muireann said as she led the way back up the path.
Muireann, Lochlainn and Patrick eventually reached Sligo, a charming town overlooking a large bay which led beyond to the vast Atlantic.
They had an incredibly successful day at the market. Muireann managed to sell all the books, while Lochlainn and Patrick sold the rest of the goods in next to no time. The three of them met up for a quick cup of tea, and counted their money carefully.
"Did you see any good milch cows on the green?" Muireann asked excitedly as she counted their cash one last time.
"There were several there that looked like they might do for us, but I would need to get a move on," Lochlainn said worriedly.
"In that case, I'll go get us all something to eat. You can meet me back here as soon as you're done."
"Don't you want to help me pick them?" Lochlainn asked.
"You're my agent. Earn your keep," she teased.
Lochlainn did as he was instructed, and soon chose the sixteen best beasts, which he yoked together with rope and drove on with Patrick towards the wall upon which they had left Muireann sitting.
She offered them a meat pie each, and the three of them sat and ate their meal, passing around a bottle of milk as they gazed at the hustle and bustle of the fair.
"What else do we have to do before we head back?" Lochlainn asked.
"We can certainly use more oats and flour. I'd like to try a few of those sea fish we saw on the stall over there. Some of them don't look familiar at all but they're very inexpensive. And there's a mountain of oysters. They would be good in a sort of stew, and they're certainly cheap enough," Muireann observed, looking at the prices chalked on the fishmonger's blackboard.
"That looks a good price for mussels as well. And I need some varnish for the tables and chairs I'm making, and some more nails. The men are doing their best to mend all the cottages and the roof of the mansion, but it's heavy going. They also need to close up all the mouse holes. I think we'll have to put down some poison as well to finally get rid of them all."
"It seems so cruel. We could just get a cat," Muireann suggested.
Or a dog," Lochlainn said thoughtfully, chewing on his pie slowly.
"What's wrong? You look odd again. Bad thoughts?" Muireann queried softly.
"No, I just had a splendid idea, that's all. But I can't tell you. It would spoil the surprise. When is your birthday?"
"My what?"
"Your birthday," Lochlainn repeated.
"At the end of April. Why?"
"Perfect." He grinned, and refused to say any more, even when she threatened to make him take the cattle home, while she rode back with Patrick.
Lochlainn smiled, flashing his even white teeth. "You wouldn't dream of it. You need me to keep an eye on you."
Muireann marveled at how handsome he was, and shyly peeped at him from under her long thick dark lashes and lapsed into silence.
They finished their impromptu dinner, and Lochlainn helped Muireann dust the pastry flakes off herself before taking her arm.
"Patrick, you start walking the cattle back. We'll see you on the road as soon as we've finished shopping," Lochlainn ordered him.
Muireann and Lochlainn hurried to complete their errands, since darkness was already beginning to descend upon the town, and they needed to get back to Barnakilla that night.
Once they had finished in the market, Muireann helped load up the cart and mounted the box. She volunteered to drive, and to pass time until they had to change their horses at Manorhamilton again, Muireann suggested they sing.
"No, no, I couldn't," Lochlainn said, coloring with embarrassment.
"Nonsense, the Irish who used to work on our estate always sang."
"Well, I can't," he said moodily.
Lochlainn was surprised that she could even think of singing after she had been so recently widowed. But then everything about this young slip of a girl was astonishing. If it made her feel better, passed the time, and kept their minds off the bitter cold now setting in, then it was all right with him.
"You can sing, if you like."
"I'll sing one that I learnt from some of the workers," Muireann offered.
"What's is called?"
"The Flower of Magherally."
Lochlainn thought for a moment. "Magherally, that's over in the east."
"That's where they were from. Cou
nty Down, isn't it?"
"Yes, you're right," Lochlainn confirmed, as he put his arm around her to protect her against the cold.
"Anyway, just hope I can remember the words and carry the tune," she said, and began to sing.
"One pleasant summer's morning, when all the flowers were springing O!
Nature was adorning, and the wee birds sweetly singing O!
I met my love near Banbridge Town, my charming blue-eyed Sally O!
She's the queen of the county Down, and the flower of Magherally O!
With admiration did I gaze, upon this blue-eyed maiden O!
Adam wasn't half so much plazed, when he met Eve in Eden O!
Her skin was like the lily white that grows in yonder valley O!
She's my queen and my heart's delight, and the flower of Magherally O!
Her yellow hair in ringlets clung, her shoes were Spanish leather O!
Her bonnet with blue ribbons strung, her scarlet cap and feather O!
Like Venus bright did she appear, my charming blue-eyed Sally O!
She's the girl that I love dear, the flower of Magherally O!
I hope the say will surely come, when we'll join hands together O!
It's then I'll bring my darling home, in spite of wind and weather O!
And let them all say what they will, and let them reel and rally O!
For I shall wed the girl I love, she's the flower of Magherally O!
"That's a lovely song," Lochlainn praised when she had finished, and he asked her to recite the words for him more slowly.
"It always reminds me of my sister Alice. She's blond-haired and blue-eyed, and very beautiful."
"Tara was the same, like a Venus. But beauty is of course only skin-deep, isn't it? A person could be lovely on the outside, but spiteful and cruel on the inside," Lochlainn said, his face morose once more.
"I'm sorry. I seem to have remind you of her again."
"No, not really. You don't remind me of her in the least," Lochlainn said candidly, his admiration of Muireann plain to be seen.
Muireann looked at him for a few seconds as the last rays of the sun glowed along the horizon, and smiled.
"I'm relieved to hear it. Now, are you going to sing for me or not?"
Lochlainn wracked his brain, and in the end he said, "I do have one song, but it's in Irish."
"It doesn't matter. I can still appreciate the tune, even if I don't get the words. But Irish is very similar to Scots Gaelic, so I don't think I should have too much trouble," she said encouragingly.
"It's called ‘Tá mé ‘mo shuí,' which you can translate into ‘I am sitting up.'"
"I understood that. Go on."
Tá mé ‘mo shuí ó d'eirigh'n ghealach aréir
Ag curteine síos go buan is á fadó go géar
Tá bunadh a' tí ‘na luí is tá mise lion féin
Tá na coiligh ag glaoch ‘san saol ‘na gcoladh ach mé.
‘Sheacht mh'anam déag do bhéal do mhala is do ghrua
Do shúil ghorm ghlé-gheal fár thréig mé íonnach na lúb
Le cumha do diaidh ní léir dom an bealach a shiúil
Is a charaid mo chléibh tá na slíbhte ‘dul idir meís tú
Deiridh lucht léinn gur claoite an galar an grá
Char admaigh mé is é índiaidh mo chroí istigh a chrá
Aicid ró-ghear, faraor nár sheachin mé ‘
Is go gcuireann s' arraing is Ciaraád go géar trí cheart-lár mo chroí
Casadh bean-tsí dom th'os ag Lios Bhál an Átha
D'fiafraigh mé di an scaoilfeadh glas ar bith grá
Is é duirt sí gos iseal I mbriathra soineannta sáimh
"An grá a théid fán chroí ní scaoiltear as é go bráth.
"That was beautiful," Muireann admired at the end of the song. "I understood most of that, but could you do it once more, so I can translate it fully? Then you can check my translation?"
"All right. It's a good way to pass the time, and singing certainly keeps you warm."
So Lochlainn sang it a second time, and Muireann translated each of the verses.
I am sitting up since the moon arose last night
Putting down a fire again and again and keeping it lit,
The family is in bed and here am I by myself,
The cocks are crowing and the country is asleep but me.
I love your mouth, your eyebrows and your cheeks,
Your bright eyes for whose sake I stopped hunting the wily fox,
In longing for you I cannot see to walk the road
Deaest of my heart, the mountains lie between you and me.
Learned men say that love is a fatal sickness
I never admitted it until now that my heart is broken:
It's a very painful illness, alas, I have not avoided it,
It sends a hundred arrows through the core of my heart.
I met a fairy woman at the Rath of Beal an Atha,
I asked her would any key unlock the love in my heart
And she said in soft simple language
When love enters the heart it will never be driven from it.
"Very good," Lochlainn praised. "I had no idea you could speak Gaelic."
"Why not?"
"Well, none of the landlords around here ever did. The aunt who raised myself and Ciara spoke it, of course, but we were discouraged from speaking it. People over here say it's an inferior language."
"But it's our language, one that has survived thousands of years, or so the scholars tell us," Muireann defended her native tongue vigorously. "I must admit my parents frowned on it, but we used to have a summer home up on the Isle of Skye when I was young, and that's where I learned it. I'm proud to be a Gaelic speaker."
"We should practice on each other. As you say, they don't seem to be all that different."
The time passed even more quickly as they compared words and laughed good-naturedly over their varying pronunciations, which sounded quite strange to the other.
Soon they could see Patrick and the cows up ahead, and they told him to hop on the cart. Lochlainn drove on to Manorhamilton, where they changed back to their original set of horses, now well rested, and had a tasty hot meal of soup and fresh bread with cheese and ham for supper.
Muireann warmed herself by the fire of the inn with a steaming cup of tea, before Lochlainn told her they had to go on.
"Why don't you lie down in the back of the wagon? We can wrap you up in all the blankets and you can get some sleep. It's been a long day, and you'll be done in tomorrow."
"No, I'm fine. Besides, you need someone to chat with to stay awake, and Patrick has to sit at the back to keep an eye on the cows."
Thus they once more resumed their places in the cart, and again passed the time singing and chatting. Muireann rested her head wearily on Lochlainn's broad shoulder, and with his arm securely around her, they gazed up at the stars.
"I had no idea it would be so, so lovely, stirring." She smiled softly up at him as they neared Barnakilla. "Thank you for taking me to Sligo today."
"You see, it's not all doom and gloom here, you know. "
"I never said it was. It will take time you know, Lochlainn, but I'm willing to try. And I do like it here, even if things are so difficult at times that we can't even be sure we where the next meal is coming from."
"Don't worry, Muireann. We know that full well. We can keep going for at least another month, thanks to your clever head for business. Things will improve, I'm sure," he promised her.
He was still uneasy about her apparent calmness, however, so that he commented by way of a test, "But I'm glad you're happy despite everything."
"Well, it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but at the same time, I haven't any choice, now have I?"
"You could always go back to Fintry," Lochlainn reminded her, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"I don't think so." She shook her head. She looked up at the stars for a moment, and then said, "We ha
ve a fairy tale in Scotland, about a woman who was asked to choose whether she wished to have a happy youth, a happy middle age, or a happy old age. I've already had the happy youth, and while I'm not saying I think that my allocation of happiness has now been used up, I just think a price always has to be paid for it."
"Are you sure you were happy there?" Lochlainn asked suddenly. "I mean, you didn't go back."
"Well, it wasn't perfect for me, but I can't complain. It was just me who was at fault, not my parents."
Lochlainn grinned broadly. "Too wild and headstrong, weren't you, my girl."
"Something like that," she admitted, trying to stifle a yawn. Her eyes began to close, and soon she was fast asleep.
Call Home the Heart Page 15
