The Faithful Heart

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  The rabbit and squirrel stew was pronounced to be a great success by all who sat at the table in the great hall. Morgana had served it up with some great chunks of freshly baked bread, and large bowls of parsnips and cabbage. Though it was simple, it was filling, and the O’Donnells brothers elected to go out for another hunt with Ruairc and their father while Niamh and Morgana sat down with a mountain of sewing by the fire.

  Morgan ventured out of his room for the first time in nearly a month to join them, and admired Morgana’s handiwork.

  “Where on earth did you learn how to do such fine stitches? Surely Aofa’s mother didn’t teach you? I’ve never seen either of them ever make anything half so fine,” he praised.

  “I taught myself, Father, with some leftover threads and a bit of guidance from Mary,” Morgana said proudly. She showed him the fine leaf pattern she was finishing on one of his shirts.

  “And you can cook as well! Not to mention sit a horse like a champion, fight like the noblest warrior, and hunt like a man.”

  “Father, really, your compliments are excessive, and embarrassing in front of company,” Morgana blushed, though secretly she was very pleased with her father’s words.

  She waited until he had finished chatting to Niamh, and asked quietly, “Father, would you have any objection to my going through Conor’s room now? It has been over two years, and I am sure that many of the men could use some of his clothes.”

  “Morgana, really!” her father huffed.

  But Morgana argued gently, “Surely it is better to remember him as he was, full of life, than let his things moulder away until they are fit for only the moths to eat?”

  “You have a point, I suppose,” Morgan admitted grudgingly.

  As soon as Morgana had finished her shirt, she left Niamh with her father as she fetched some cleaning things, and made a start on the room.

  Conor’s room hadn’t been used for over two years, yet it looked spotlessly clean, Morgana noted to herself as she ran her fingers over one of the chests to check for dust.

  All of the clothes were folded neatly inside the presses, and were clean and in excellent repair. Morgana wondered who on earth would have taken the trouble over a dead man’s things when there was so much to do and all was in such disrepair. But with a shrug she began to clear the room of all of its books and decorative objects. The books she put in the study, while the objects which lay around the room she made plans to sell the following day at the market in Clogher. Then she took the clothes out of the presses, and stuffed them into several pillowcases, which she brought down to the tailor in the village.

  “Good day to you, Matthew. I have many things here, shirts and so on, which once belonged to my brother. I know there is much want in the village, and so I wish you to send word to the men that they are welcome to any of these items. Try to make sure the MacMahons who are here get some things as well.”

  “I tell you what, I will count up the number of things, calculate the sizes for the tunics and so on, and distribute them from house to house as fairly as I can.”

  “I’ll have some clothes for the women as well,” Morgana said, recalling Aofa’s wardrobe as she was about to leave.

  “We will all be very grateful for anything you can spare, Morgana,” Matthew reassured her.

  Morgana returned to the castle, and with Niamh’s help, they left Aofa with only four gowns, while the rest went into about a dozen pillowcases.

  “She will be out of her mind with fury when she finds out what you’ve done,” Niamh remarked as she crammed the last of the day gowns into a bag. .

  “She's lucky I’ve left her as many as four. I only have two myself. And aren’t you ashamed, with twelve for your wedding,” Morgana teased.

  “Most of these are fairly ordinary day gowns, though, Morgana. Now are you sure about these dresses? The women in the village can certainly use them, but they are very fine, and rather expensive. Even worse, Aofa will be furious about the bejewelled ones.”

  “They were never meant for her in the first place. Not to mention the fact that her being in possession of you trousseau proves to me that she and that slimy toad Fergus MacGee have in fact encouraged our men to commit acts of piracy against Irish ships, and maybe even Spanish and Dutch ones. We can’t afford to have bad relations with either country, or else we won’t be able to get iron and alum and spices, or trade our hides and fleeces with them.

  "I have no way of returning the dresses, since I have no idea where they came from, so the next best thing is to sell them, and use the jewels to buy what we need. Will you come and help me pick them out?”

  Niamh nodded, though she remarked sadly, “It’s such a pity. They are lovely.”

  “Do not give in to temptation, friend!” Morgana scolded in her best priest’s voice, and they fell to giggling.

  After an hour of unpicking the jewels from the gowns, the O’Donnell men and Ruairc returned with several foxes, a wild boar, three deer, and dozens of rabbits, hares and game birds.

  “The dogs certainly are in fine shape, even if the rest of this place is falling apart,” Ronan complimented Morgan jovially.

  “Sure, Ronan, it was only because the things were starving themselves that we had such a good hunt! They’d have eaten most of what they killed if we hadn’t stopped them,” Ruairc laughed.

  “Well, make sure they get a good meal tonight, or they won’t be fit for going out again for days,” Morgan advised.

  “Morgana has the innards from dinner on to boil for them, so I’ll go feed them now,” Ruairc offered, and disappeared down the stairs to the kitchens.

  Morgana went down to prepare the wild boar, which they would roast on a spit over the fire for several days, and then began to skin the hares to make into a pie.

  “Make sure the rest are hung in the larder,” she called to the servants as she went into the store to get flour and suet to make a fine pastry crust.

  The O’Donnells had followed her and Ruairc down into the kitchen, and after proudly showing her the carcasses, hung them up for her. Then they worked as a team to skin the foxes, and put the meat on to boil for the hounds, and also threw in the rabbit and hare guts.

  “Where do you want the skins?” Tomas asked.

  “In that small storeroom there. We will get good money for them, and thank you for all your efforts,” Morgana said gratefully.

  “Anything else you’d like us to do to help?” Declan offered with a broad smile, and Morgana could see he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

  “Have you ever milked a cow?” she asked.

  “I have indeed, though please don’t tell Father. He would be disgusted at my willingness to do manual labour,” Declan whispered.

  “Well, there are the buckets, so go do the milking,” Morgana indicated.

  “And I’ll muck out the stables and feed the horses,“ Tomas offered. After stripping off his fine tunic, he followed his brother out of the room, whistling happily to himself.

  As Morgana placed the huge steaming hare pie in front to her guests that night, she reflected on the successful day she had had. She had worked hard, but all her efforts haad been in the sure knowledge that she could help the Maguire clan return to its former glory. The O’Donnells had supported her, her father was on the mend, and everyone had lent a hand willingly.

  Morgana decided she would draw up a list of all the people in the village able to work, and set them to various assigned tasks as soon as she returned from her expedition to Clogher.

  The conversation at the table sparkled, and Morgana raised her eyes to glance at Ruairc who sat across from her at the table. Emerald eyes mingled intimately with violet as Ruairc returned her gaze, and Morgana felt the blood rush to her cheeks. His green eyes seemed to penetrate into her soul, and she could hear the words almost as though he had spoken them aloud. I love you too, Ruairc, Morgana longed to say aloud in front of the whole room.

  But Declan broke the spell by standing to recite a satirical poem he had hea
rd.

  Morgana decided that tomorrow she would make the most of her trip with Ruairc. She loved him. What was the sense of pretending otherwise any longer?

  All the same, she had a grim sense of foreboding which even the jollity of the O’Donnells could do nothing to dispel. When she finally retired to her room that night, sleep was a long time coming.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The day of Morgana’s shopping trip to Clogher dawned bright and sunny. Morgana’s spirits lifted in spite of her worries of the previous few days. She rose again at four, and began her baking, then attended to the animals and made plans with one of the men to stop feeding the pigs so they could be killed for meat the next day. It would make the unpleasant job that much cleaner. She hated to do it, but they all needed to eat, and nothing went to waste on a pig. Even the bristles were used for scrubbing brushes.

  Morgana brought in the milk and began to make porridge, and checked her cheeses from the day before. She took more salt fish out of the barrel andput the last of the bacon on to heat, and laid out the last of yesterday’s bread. She made enough food for the family and the carters who were going to accompany Ruairc and herself on their trip.

  They would also have to bring several herdsmen, so she took out a dozen slabs of salt pork, and left them to soak to remove the saltiness. Then she cut up the last of the remaining squirrel and rabbits for her father’s and the rest of the household’s dinner that afternoon.

  Morgana basted the wild boar roasting on the fire, and then scrubbed and sliced the vegetables for the stew. Finally she tested the candles in the moulds to see if they had set overnight, and began to removed them from the metal casings to sit in a big basket in one of the stores. By then the entire household was up, and they discussed their plans for the day around the table in the great hall.

  The O’Donnells were going to stay one more day to hunt and fish, and Niamh was going to look after Morgan in their absence. A timely shriek from Aofa down in the dungeons reminded Morgana that she should let her sister out. She gave that unenviable task to Mary to perform once she was safely away from the castle.

  After the large group’s hearty breakfast, the oxen and carts were readied.

  Morgana swung up into the saddle on the back of her favourite horse, Darkie, a fine stallion whom she had trained as a foal. He had lost some of his wildness with age and deprivation since she had been gone, but he could still read his mistress’ moods easily. He trotted along almost jauntily despite his obvious thinness as Morgana began to sing a rousing tune at the top of her lungs, much to the amusement of the rest of the company.

  "You haven't lost your voice, my love," Ruairc commented with a smile at one point when she fell back to talk with him for a moment.

  "Of course not. All that hymn singing." She winked.

  "Ah, yes."

  "Well, it was one of the few times we didn't have to be silent."

  "I'm sorry for what you suffered. I only wish—"

  She shook her head. "I was far more fortunate than most. And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride." She clapped her mount on his mane, and promised him a good grooming very soon. "Just don't be blaming yourself for anything that wasn't your fault." Then she spurred her horse on to the head of the expedition once more.

  They arrived in Clogher at midday, just as the main trading for livestock was about to take place. Morgana relied upon the advice of her herders, and bought every animal which they deemed suitable. Then she turned her attention to the horses, and she and Ruairc and Owen, the head of the stables, examined each carefully before finally arriving at their decisions. Next were the sheep, and lambs, and finally the pigs and chickens and geese were auctioned.

  “But you haven’t got a poultry yard,” Ruairc reminded her.

  “I know that, but it’s about time we kept chickens ourselves. We can always make a run. The eggs will be useful, as will all the birds, for food. They don’t take much looking after, and won’t eat very much either.”

  She bought thirty hens and a rooster, and ten geese and a gander. The men finally managed to get them penned and onto the back of the carts.

  “What else do we need?” Ruairc asked.

  “Grain, lots of it, and milled flour,” Morgana said, after consulting her long list.

  “You will have to pay dearly,” one of the men warned.

  “It doesn’t matter, I have the money the O’Donnells minted,” Morgana replied airily, clinking the heavy purse, which despite all her purchases so far, still bulged.

  She purchased a dozen bushels of flour and wheat apiece, and all the oats she could lay hands on for the animals as well as people in the household.

  “My dear, you look like you’re going to feed an army,” Ruairc scolded.

  Morgana remained silent.Clever man, isn’t he, she remarked to herself. She longed to confide everything in him as she had always done, but caution made her reticent about her plans for Lisleavan, and especially her other two castles at Tulach and Ma Niadh.

  “We need to keep ourselves fed until the next harvest, and even then there is no guarantee that it will be a good one,” she argued.

  Ruairc couldn't find fault with her reasoning, so he remained silent. All the same, from the way she avoided looking at him, it was clear she had something on her mind.

  She still doesn't trust me. What is it going to take….

  Moving on to the stall which sold furniture, Morgana purchased four cart loads of chests, long tables and benches, and a small mountain of feather mattresses.

  Ruairc said nothing, but he watched Morgana’s every move closely.

  Their next stop was at the blacksmith’s, where they bought three dozen wrought-iron braziers and several sacks of coal and wood blocks for the fires. Morgana also purchased some well-seasoned timber, and watched the men as they loaded it all onto three more carts.

  “Only one more to fill. What shall we get?” Ruairc asked, seemingly casually.

  “Seeds, farming tools, root vegetables,” Morgana listed.

  He watched her as she sifted through the bushels of seed with her hands, digging down far enough to make sure there was no spoiled or spouted grain buried below. Certainly no detail missed her eagle eye. So how could she possibly have ever thought he had killed Conor. Why had she not dug deeper two years ago, and spared all of them the misery they had endured?

  He recollected his aunt saying she had felt guilty for being so happy in his arms, while her brother was lying dead outin the woods until his body had finally been discovered. Was it really all to do with sexual guilt? Or was there something more? Mayhap she had wanted him to be guilty, because she didn't think she deserved to be happy? Until his body had finally been discovered….

  That phrase needled him, but he filed it in the back of his mind for the moment in order to be able to keep up with his whirlwind of a woman.

  Once she was satisfied with the quality of each bushel of seed, she made her purchases, and then bought all the vegetables and implements in the market.

  “Are you sure you have everything?” Ruairc remarked with an impish grin as they laboured to load the final cart.

  “I’m sure.” Morgana smiled.“We're going to plough, sow, and plant starting tomorrow. I want every man, woman and child out in the field to take advantage of the good weather. In fact, we can start this evening. The days are getting longer now, so we can work until well after dusk.”

  “Hold on, it will be rather late by the time we get back tonight, so how about a compromise? Why don't we all start first thing tomorrow morning?”

  “All right, Ruairc,” Morgana agreed, and moved to where she had tethered her horse.

  “What about a bite to eat and something to drink over at the tavern before we go home?” Ruairc suggested.

  “But the carts,” Morgana reminded him.

  “They're so slow that we can easily catch up to them after we’ve had something. You haven’t eaten since this morning. Please say yes.” Ruairc gave a small smile.


  Morgana eventually nodded, and quietly issued instructions for the furniture carts to go to Tulach and Ma Niadh, while the rest would drive on ahead to Lisleavan along with all the livestock.

  Then she took Ruairc’s arm and entered the small dark inn, where he ordered wine and stew for both of them.

  “It isn’t as tasty as yours,” Ruairc opined after taking a mouthful, “but it fills the belly.”

  Morgana ate heartily, surprised to find that she was famished after all.

  “Would you like more?” Ruairc offered, as he looked at her empty trencher of bread, which she had already begun to gnaw at.