“Say your grandmother cooks a fish stew tonight. She uses lots of garlic in the stew. Do you like garlic?”
Maelan nodded his head vigorously. The child practically chewed on raw garlic cloves when Étaín allowed it.
Odhar laughed. “Good, good! Then you enjoy the stew tonight, right? Do you think it’s the perfect stew? Should your grandmother make garlic stew every night?”
Maelan considered this and wrinkled his brow. “I might get bored with it after a while.”
“Then it’s not exactly perfect, then?”
Maelan shook his head.
“What if she makes something else the next night…” He looked to Étaín, raising his eyebrows.
Did he want something Maelan liked or disliked? She decided he needed a contrast, so she said, “Kale.”
Maelan stuck out his tongue.
“Kale—she makes a stew with lots of kale. Do you like this stew, Maelan?”
“I hate kale!”
Odhar stood, walking over to Étaín and putting his hand on her shoulder. She steeled herself not to flinch. His touch was gentle and the warmth radiated through to her skin. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “But what if she adds garlic to it? So much garlic you can’t taste the kale?”
Maelan didn’t answer. He looked to the left and to the right, obviously considering several points. Finally, he said, “I might like it a little. I’d at least try it.”
“Excellent! Yes, that’s exactly it. It might not be what you want, what you think is the best, but you’re willing to try it because it tastes a little like your favorite. It’s the same with the Christian religion and the saints. Many have lives and associations like those of the old Gaelic gods. Therefore, it’s easier for people to hold them sacred. After they’ve learned about these saints, which are like their old gods, they can learn about Christ. It’s easier for them to convert to the True religion because it tastes like their old religion. Do you understand now?”
Maelan’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded.
“Excellent, now, you go write for me a list of correspondences. Which saints do you think match up with Gaelic gods?”
The child shuffled off to the table to gather stylus and wax tablet.
Odhar still had his hand on Étaín’s shoulder. His fingers felt warm. She should tell him to remove it, but it comforted her. She felt every inch of his hand on her shoulder, especially where her léine ended and her skin began. Goosebumps rose on her arm.
“Thank you, my lady, for helping me with my lesson. That’s exactly the information I needed. We work well together.”
She shrugged and grinned. “I can’t say the pagan gods would particularly care to be likened to garlic.”
With a hearty laugh, he squeezed her shoulder. “We can but hope they take no offense. Perhaps I should leave out some sweet cream and garlic in apology? I’m sure my lord Christ wouldn’t object to some savvy diplomacy.”
She wanted to put her hand over his, but she didn’t dare. She’d opened her mouth to ask him to remove it when Airtre stepped into the roundhouse.
His face grew dark and his eyes sparked with anger, worse than she’d ever seen. Even when he’d beaten her so badly she couldn’t see out of either eye, his face hadn’t been this stormy, nor his skin this purple. It took only six long strides for her husband to reach them and smack Odhar’s hand away. He gripped her shoulder so tightly she cried out, unable to hold back the sound.
Odhar reached out. “Here now, Airtre, there’s no need…”
The backhanded smack quieted the younger monk, and Airtre dragged Étaín out of the roundhouse and into the courtyard. Maelan’s squeak of protest quickly became drowned by outside noise.
People stared as her husband hauled her along the path to the abbey gate. Workers stopped chiseling stone. Women stopped gossiping. A lone monk stared at them, mouth open in silent protest.
Étaín gave up trying to regain her feet and allowed her husband to pull her down the long, muddy path to their house, his hand still in an iron grip on her shoulder. The pain was white-hot, and she forced herself not to cry out. Her feet scraped in the mud and gravel, leaving a shameful furrow. A few people shouted, but he didn’t halt. Étaín understood what awaited her at home and prayed she’d survive, for Maelan’s sake if for no other reason.
“Grandfather! Grandfather, you must stop!” Maelan ran up to them, and stood before Airtre, hands out.
Airtre shoved past him, making Maelan stagger to the side. “Boy, get out of my way. This is no concern of yours.”
After a moment of suppressed rage, Maelan regained his balance and inserted himself once again in his grandfather’s path with a shout. “No, Grandfather! I can’t let you do this! She did nothing wrong and doesn’t deserve punishment!”
The boy stood like a miniature statue, refusing to move. Étaín wanted to tell him to let his grandfather pass. She had no strength to keep Airtre from striking the child. She remembered Airtre’s berserk frenzy the night before and shivered, imagining such violence visited on her beloved Maelan.
A panting Odhar reached them, his hand pressed into his side, and Cadhla trailed behind. Odhar reached Maelan first and put a hand on the child’s shoulder. “The boy is right, Airtre. She did nothing. I acted overly familiar. If you must beat someone to feel like a man, take it out on me, not her.”
Cadhla stood next to Odhar. He simply crossed his arms and glared at Airtre with lowered brows.
With a visceral growl and a cruel squeeze on her shoulder, Airtre glared between his best friend and his grandson’s tutor. Neither budged in their stance. Airtre yanked Étaín up and set his shoulders as if preparing to deliver a blow, but a shout from Cadhla made him stop. With a growl of disgust, Airtre flung Étaín toward Maelan. She collapsed in an exhausted pile at his feet. “Fine. You take care of your grandmother, boy. Don’t expect any help from me. Ungrateful whelp.” He swept them with one lingering look of pure frustration and swung his fist at an oak tree. The leaves shook at the impact, and the bark crackled. He grunted and stalked down the path, toward the abbey.
Étaín couldn’t move. He hadn’t hit her, but her shoulder felt on fire where his strong hand had pinched her bones. It throbbed with every beat of her heart.
Cadhla scooped her into his strong arms and nodded to the others. Together they brought her home.
With much rustle and bustle, they arranged her in her sleeping alcove. Against her protests, they made food and drink and insisted she take it in bed. She drew the line at them taking her léine off for a sleeping garment.
She told Maelan to go finish his evening work, while the two men murmured amongst themselves in the main room. They spoke too low to discern most words, but she heard Airtre’s name more than once. Étaín just wanted to sleep, to rest, but she must get up soon to fix supper for her husband. She wandered into consciousness after an endless struggle of dozing. As she strained to sit up, a tray they’d placed over her clattered to the ground, and both men jumped up to help her.
Cadhla touched her shoulder, the same one Airtre had injured. She cried out in a sob, and he pulled back, instantly contrite. “I’m so sorry, Étaín, but you must stay abed. You’re gray, quite ashen. Shall I send Odhar to get the apothecary?”
“No, no apothecary.” Her voice didn’t sound quite her own. Distant, echoing as if from far away. Did she even speak?
Odhar asked, “Does this happen often?”
“Not often, but enough. I’ll tend her, then. I’m a fully-trained midach, and besides, I won’t charge a full calf for my work. If I know Airtre, Étaín is concerned about the cost. I must go fetch my medicines.”
Cool touched her forehead. Someone must have dipped a cloth in water. A droplet slid into her ear and tickled, but she couldn’t muster the strength to flick it away. The weakness had never been this acute. Étaín couldn’t tell if the exhaustion stemmed from her aging magic, the stress of the day, or both. Whatever the cause, she couldn’t be strong any longer. He
r ability to cope failed. She must leave, and leave soon.
The sky had purpled to dusk before Cadhla returned. Étaín watched the older man open a large wooden box, rows of tiny clay bottles with colored stoppers lined on small shelves. He knelt by her bed with creaking knees.
Cadhla peered into her eyes and up her nose and listened to her heart. “Have you tired yourself out, now, my child? Hmm, yes, indeed.”
After poking her in various body parts, he sniffed her breath and asked after her urine.
“No problems with that.”
“Hmm, yes, well. Yes.” He stood and rifled through his box, pulling out a blue-stoppered bottle and holding it up to the light. “No, not this, not this.” He replaced it and then pulled one with a rose stopper with drips of red wax on the side. “Ah, yes, just the thing. A touch of sleep will do you no harm, and just might do a world of good.”
Cadhla poured a couple drops of the elixir into a mug and added milk. “Now, you be a good lass and drink this. All of it, mind you. In the morning you should be greatly improved. Not ready to wrestle lions, mind, but better than you are now.”
She pushed it away with weak arms. “I can’t sleep. I have to make supper.” Étaín struggled once again to sit up, but he pushed her gently back.
“God save us from industrious women! Under no circumstances are you to rise from your bed, do you understand me? I will stay this evening and ensure your obedience. Uppity women are so difficult to treat. They try to do it all, and none but our Lord is omnipotent.”
He slammed his box and strode to the hearth. Étaín stared at the swirling liquid in her mug. It had turned the milk a deep sanguine color which looked faintly sinister.
Odhar glanced at Cadhla. “Between the two of us—three if you count Maelan—we can take care of getting food ready for Airtre. If he even bothers coming home. Isn’t that right, Cadhla?”
The midach poked his head around the corner. “Absolutely. You drink, now, Étaín. Now. We shan’t move until it’s all gone, you realize.”
She had no will to fight any longer. She drank down the sickly sweet drink and grimaced. Cadhla took the mug and peered in to ensure none remained. With a nod, he and Odhar got up and left her alcove, drawing the curtain across for privacy.
The murmur of their voices lulled her into a deep, untroubled sleep.
Chapter 6
The next day, she slept until at least noon. It felt sinfully luxurious. Cadhla was beside her when she awoke.
Her shoulder hurt horribly as he examined it. The bruises looked dark and angry, purple and black, but at least she could move it, albeit with pain. Cadhla tsked over the sight and fashioned a sling to keep her from moving it too much too quickly.
She’d expected Airtre to be home, as today marked his day of rest from the hostelry, but Cadhla explained.
“Airtre left for the day and said he’d be home this evening. He didn’t say where he meant to go, but it’s better he’s gone for the day, don’t you think?”
Étaín nodded, but still didn’t look forward to seeing Airtre when he returned. She truly didn’t wish to be alone. Cadhla must have seen her apprehension, for he took her hands in his. “I shall stay here as long as you’d like me to, Étaín. While it’s Airtre’s right and duty to correct you, I cannot abide such things in any man, much less a holy man. It goes against everything our Christ taught. There is no need to injure a person in teaching them a lesson.”
Cadhla’s kindness startled her. She told herself she mustn’t say a thing. If she spoke, she’d be undone, and she’d shed far too many tears over the last several moons.
“Maelan! Is he at his lessons already?”
Cadhla laughed. “He didn’t want to leave you, but yes, he’s well and away. I cleared and cleaned the morning dishes, milked and fed the animals. I even sheared one of your sheep, though to be honest, I’d rather have left it for another day. He’s become a stubborn cuss! But with your shoulder, you’re not to attempt such work, do you understand?”
Meekly, she nodded and managed a weak smile.
He laughed, clapped her on her good shoulder, and stood. “Then I will be up on the roof. You have a couple thin places in the thatch which need tending. You do light work here. Spinning, perhaps, or mending; nothing strenuous. If you grow at all faint or tired, you’re to sit and rest. Real rest, mind you.”
Cadhla seems like such a caring man. Why didn’t I choose someone like him to marry?
When Étaín had first come to Cluain Mhic Nóis, she came in search of a relative, her father’s cousin. The man had been someone far enough removed that he wouldn’t recognize her, nor question her young age. He’d passed away and willed to her a lifetime tenancy in his farm. The land must go to someone in his dearbhfhine, a close family group who shared a great-grandfather. As the only remaining survivor in this kin group, Étaín received the land.
As a woman, Étaín couldn’t own the land outright, but she had the right to live there for life, in a tenancy. However, the law and reality differed greatly. She’d lived in fear every day the church or a neighbor would forcibly buy her property from her. She’d be unable to resist such a hostile seizure, so she needed to find a husband to guard her interests.
As she’d just come to the parish, she had no friends yet. The property had been in dismal shape and had been neglected for winters. She’d had to travel to market daily to get the things she needed to repair, stock, and furnish the place. By growing and preparing herbs, then selling them at the market, she earned enough to trade for supplies. The property had a large roundhouse and a good farm, but the kine had grown thin and the sheep scraggly.
When Étaín had finally got most of the furnishings set, and the animals cared for, she’d worked at stocking her larder. When she’d tried to carry back an over-stuffed basket of fruit, she’d tripped.
She’d fallen, heels over head, sprawled out on the forest path. Pears and apples rolled all around her, and she cursed the ungrateful things roundly. She considered turning time back just a few minutes to correct her fall, but she balked at the wasteful use of magic. It always drained her, and such mundane uses just weren’t worth the cost.
A man stood over her. “Here, let me help you with that.”
Étaín looked up to find a solid young man in a plain unbleached léine with thinning brown hair and intense green eyes. He put his hand out to help her up, and she accepted. “I’m afraid I’ve made a mess of things.”
He smiled. “No mess we can’t fix. You take the other side of the path, and I’ll gather everything on this side.”
The young priest called on her several times in the next few moons. He helped her with the more strenuous repairs on the roundhouse, gave her advice on a sick cow, and in general, made himself invaluable. It seemed logical to marry him. They did so with little fuss or ceremony, and before long she became pregnant with their first child.
Étaín never loved Airtre, but she’d been fond of him. With so many lifetimes lived, she recognized true love, and neither of them felt such intense affection for each other. Due to her many lives, she no longer clung to the idea she must find someone she loved with all her heart. Such love remained rare. However, she had married for convenience or safety before, and it made sense to marry Airtre. She kept her property, and he got a family. A priest without a family wouldn’t get far in an Irish abbey.
A rattle and a curse on the roof brought her back from her memory. Cadhla must not have fallen, as she heard no thump or yell following the curse. Étaín chuckled and finished shelling the peas for the night’s supper. With Cadhla’s admonishment in mind, she left them to soak and turned her attention to mending.
Maelan did have a particular talent for ripping his clothing. She grimaced at his blue léine. However, had he ripped it there?
As if the thought of him had summoned the child, her grandson rushed into the house in a whirl of nervous activity. He took a long look at his grandmother, head cocked in a comically serious pose before he no
dded. “Good. I worried you’d be doing too much today.”
She put her mending down and pursed her lips. “Cadhla made certain I took it slow, child. Did you have lessons as well as practice today? Is it already None?”
He nodded, grabbing an apple from the table and biting into it. The white juice dribbled on his chin, and he wiped at it. “It is. Isn’t Grandfather home yet? He hasn’t been at the abbey at all today. I wished to speak to him.”
Étaín narrowed her eyes at both his information and his statement. It was an adult thing to say he wished to speak with his grandfather. It boded ill for both of them. Where had Airtre been all day if not at the abbey?
The normal time for supper came and went with no word from her husband. Cadhla finished his roof repairs and joined them in their wait. The sunlight outside dimmed toward dusk before Étaín decided she needed to do something. She pushed the bench away from the wooden table and stood.
“Cadhla, will you mind the boy while I find my husband?”
He frowned. “Alone? I’d rather you not wander about in the dark this night, especially after his show of temper.”
She pressed her lips together. “He’s unlikely to beat me further. His temper is strong, but it’s short-lived most days. I’m worried about his absence, though. He’s a creature of habit, and missing supper is most assuredly against his habit.” Then she remembered the late nights he’d taken and wasn’t so certain. She also recalled the naked fury on his face and reconsidered her need to find him.
“Nonetheless, it would be against my own good sense to let you out on your own. The forest is dark and full of dangers.” He pushed himself away from the table, and both glanced at Maelan.
The boy pouted. “I suppose I’m to stay here and mind the animals?”
Étaín nodded. “In case Airtre should come home while we’re out searching for him, yes. He hasn’t been home in a while, and I don’t want him to think disaster has struck. It’s an important task, Maelan, and I trust you to do it well.”
Misfortune of Time Page 8
