The Hart and the Harp

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  “I pray it will be so. I don’t think I can stand much more of these beatings, even though Muireadach hasn’t paid me too many visits recently.” Shive grimaced as she rubbed her throbbing head.

  Oran gave her a small piece of raw meat for her blackened eye, but Shive was so hungry that after a few minutes of applying it as a compress, she could stand it no longer and ate it.

  “I’m sorry I can’t get you any more food, but Orla isn't exactly known for her open-handed housekeeping toward any of us. She counts every last grain of wheat and oats in this holding.”

  “I know you’ve been sharing out your own food with me, Oran, and for that I'm very grateful. But my babe needs nourishment, and soon. I pray it's not already too late. I know we are risking everything, but you know what will happen to me if he finds out about the babe. When do you can we leave?”

  “The watch changes at midnight every night. We can pass ourselves off as one of the relief guards at the tower nearest the main gate, and flee.”

  “I’m not sure I can walk, let alone ride,” Shive warned him.

  “I know you're right. For the sake of the child you must get out of here. And as much as you fear Muireadach, his sister hates you even more. Once he's gone, there’s no telling what Orla and Lasaran will do with you,” Oran warned.

  Oran was quite correct in his assessment, for Orla was doing her best to gain power for herself by luring Tiernan into her bed. After an initially fruitless two weeks of pursuit, she began thinking of more drastic means to get close to Tiernan.

  Finally she complained that her own room was draughty and full of mice.

  “We shall have to get you another suite of rooms,” Tiernan said politely.

  But Orla complained about each chamber that was offered until at last Tiernan grew impatient and exclaimed, “Take whichever room you like apart from my own, then, and have done with it!”

  Orla congratulated herself on her ploy, and immediately moved into Shive’s old rooms. She then started discarding the carved furniture Cian and Mahon had made so lovingly for Tiernan and Shive with their own two hands. Gone were the hart and harp as Orla got rid of all reminders of Tiernan’s wife and filched the best pieces of furniture Cian had made, as well as the finest tapestries and linens from the other rooms in the castle. She stayed in her chamber all day indulging in luxurious baths for hours, and worrying only about her toilette, the better to lure Tiernan into her bed, confident that all her plans were falling into place at last.

  The lovely furniture suite was spilt up to replace the things Orla had taken from the other chambers, and Shive’s other things were thrown out into the courtyard to be shared out amongst the residents of the castle.

  It was only when Tiernan returned after a three-day hunting trip that he discovered what Orla had done. By then the furniture had disappeared, and hardly a trace of Shive’s personal belongings were to be found.

  “Where are Shive’s clothes and personal things?” Tiernan demanded. “We could at least send them to Rathnamagh to Mahon,”

  “They were tiny little dresses, hardly the size of a child’s napkin,” said the buxom Orla. “Poor child, wearing rags from her girlhood, no doubt. But since they were rags, no one would want them anyway. Especially not Shive when she’s getting married to Ruairi, one of the wealthiest men in Ireland.”

  Tiernan was crushed as he stared at the completely altered room where he had once passed some of his happiest times. His last reminders of Shive were all gone. He recalled fondly the Christmas they had spent together, exchanging presents. How he had had those gowns made specially for Shive because she hadn’t owned a single one. How she had loved wearing them, until her destiny had made her head of her clan. She had looked like a queen in each of them. Yet Orla had the nerve to call them rags?

  Tiernan managed to find one dress which hadn’t been taken by the women in the castle. It was the black one, a seemingly unlucky color for some, but Tiernan could remember as though it were yesterday the times she had worn it, on New Year’s Day after they had made love for the first time, and the morning after he had made love to her all night for the first time, just before he had left to survey his lands so many weeks ago. It had set off her beauty to such perfection...

  “She’s gone, it’s all gone. It was all a dream. Mayhap even a lie on her part. And perhaps even on mine. It never happened,” Tiernan muttered, balling up the treasured gown in his fist and throwing it into a corner of his room. “I just have to let her go. End this aching love. Try not to dwell on losing her, though I could kill them both for doing this to me.”

  For the first time, Tiernan acknowledged to himself just how deeply he loved Shive. Not just body, but soul too. It was not the love he thought he had experienced for Grainne. He had desired her, true, but it hadn’t taken him long to realise she was more interested in him as an escape from her overbearing family than as the love of her life.

  When he compared what he had shared with Shive to what he had had with Grainne, the memory of his past infatuation faded to dust. Having lived with Shive, day and night, made love to her, been nurse and companion to her for so long, how could he have not loved her? Shive had been generous, kind, devoted, and the most exciting woman he had ever met. Not to mention brave, intelligent, a bride worthy of admiration. He had never thought her capable of guile—how could she have eloped, unless he had driven her to it?

  He thought back to his own actions. “I was a fool. If only I’d admitted it to myself sooner, then maybe she wouldn’t have fled,” Tiernan berated himself. He rose to rescue the velvet gown from the corner where he had hurled it, and smoothed the velvet out lovingly with trembling hands.

  The knowledge of his own faults in their marriage stung him bitterly. So too did Shive’s seeming defection. Tiernan wanted to be able to do the noble thing. To tell Ruairi and Shive that he understood, and that he wanted them both to be happy. At the same time, his resentment of Ruairi and jealousy was simmering just below the surface. More than once he began to head down to the stables to fetch his horse, determined to go after Shive, talk to her, and see if he could win her back from his rival.

  But the thought of how foolish he would look, as well his doubts about Shive’s feelings for him, restrained him from doing so. “After all, it’s not as though she ever said she loved me or anything,” Tiernan admitted to himself sadly, as he cradled the gown in his arms, wishing it were his wife instead.

  “I know she tried hard to be a good wife, but there was so much at stake then. Now she’s head of the MacDermots. She can marry where she chooses. Hundreds of men would vie for her hand. I only hope Ruairi hasn’t done this to use her and her influence in his bid for the highkingship.”

  All the same, though Tiernan tried to be philosophical about it, his sense of betrayal ran deep. Try as he might, his gorge rose every time he thought of her promise to return, and her then turning to another man. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to forgive her, no matter how hard he tried.

  Worst of all, he was sure he would never forgive himself for losing the greatest love of his life.

  Chapter Thirty

  Shive continued to languish in the cellar at Bothandun, trying to rest herself after her beatings, and forcing herself to eat the meager and often stale food she was given by Oran. She was weary, and in need of a good meal and some proper rest in a nice soft bed, rather than being forced to sleep on a dripping, freezing stone floor with no bedding, only a thin covering of filthy straw.

  At last, on the eighth of August, Oran whispered, “Tonight when the moon is up, I’ll come for you.”

  “Can you try to get me my weapon back? It was a present from my brother. I wouldn’t like to leave without it or my dagger.”

  “Impossible. If it were of any value, Muireadach or Lasaran or Orla would have taken it long ago. But I shall get you a sword, though you look far too weak to even lift it, let alone fight with it.”

  “Trust me. To get out of here, Oran, I would fight with the v
ery devil himself!”

  “You may have to if Muireadach is around anywhere,” Oran predicted.

  “I thought you said he was getting ready to leave?”

  “Aye, he left this morning, but it’s still risky. I heard some of the men saying you’re unlucky, that your mother was a witch, and that as soon as Muireadach comes back from his survey of the north, he'll kill you.”

  Shive absorbed this knowledge silently, knowing it could mean only one thing. What ever was happening in the north was giving Muireadach enough confidence to make his final move in the bid for the highkingship.

  Ruairi had to be warned. Only she knew where he had gone, off to be married in order to forge an alliance with his new bride’s clan. With the MacRannell chief’s surprise backing and some help from herself and Tiernan, they might be able to swing the balance of power her cousin’s way.

  But who or what lay in the north? Shive tried to think of the number of families who might be persuaded to support Muireadach in his bid for absolute power. It didn’t really make much sense to her. Muireadach’s father had been a heavy-handed savage with his so-called under-clans at the best of times. Shive couldn’t imagine many of them wanting to help Muireadach become ruler of all Ireland.

  Still, Shive was practical enough to know that if the price were right, most of the families would probably support him. Fear of punishment at Muireadach’s hands would also be a powerful motive.

  On the other hand, Shive herself had been trying to improve trade relations in the region recently, and Ruairi was very popular personally. Could she persuade them to support Ruairi when the time came?

  While Shive sat in the cellar making plans in her head, the time for escape drew ever nearer. The thought of helping Ruairi and seeing Tiernan again spurred Shive on, even though she knew she was weak and injured. Also, she was determined that no matter what, her baby would live. Above all, she was determined that Muireadach O’Rourke would not become ard ri of all Ireland if she could help it.

  Oran came just before the end of the first watch with a long woolen cloak which enveloped Shive’s figure. She put it on hastily, and attached the swordbelt around her swollen waist, before following Oran’s lead as she ascending the ladder to the upper story cautiously. True to Oran’s predictions, the watch was about to be changed, and all was quiet as the men waited restlessly to be relieved from their duties.

  “You’ve come early,” one of the other men commented as he pulled the ropes which heaved the huge heavy gates of the keep to and fro, and shut the massive portal.

  “I couldn’t sleep. It’s very bright with the moon shining,” Oran lied smoothly, and then threw a few more coals in the brazier to warm up Shive, who was shivering noticeably.

  “Well, I have no such trouble sleeping,” the other man laughed, as he and his companion strolled down the stairs and headed for the living quarters for the guards.

  At last Shive and Oran were on their own. “I’m going to go into the stables to get the horses. Wait here until all the watches have changed. Then we’ll open the gates and run for it,” Oran instructed quietly.

  Shive bobbed up and down at her station for a few moments, her legs like jelly, shivering with cold and nerves. Soon Oran nodded to her and descended to the stables.

  But suddenly the men who were really meant to be on watch appeared to take over, and Shive was forced to bluff her way out of it.

  “You’ve been relieved for the moment, Orla O’Rourke’s orders.”

  “So she thinks she can lord it over us now her brother is out of the way, does she? It’s bad enough she has that idiot O’Hara wrapped around her little finger. She would now seek to be high queen of Ireland herself if she could,” the older of the two men spat.

  “I know nothing of that, only that she said to go into the armoury and count the weapons,” Shive said hastily.

  “But we only just did that the other day,” the younger man grumbled.

  “I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me,” Shive replied quickly. “I’m only telling you what she said.”

  “Well, she did just get back from the O’Hara stronghold, and is probably just making sure of everything being secure in Muireadach’s absence. Come along, lad, we’ll go count them again. It’s better than standing here with that wind whipping around us on the battlements. Good night, and thank you for for your pains, lad,” the older man said. He disappeared down the stairs with his comrade.

  Shive called good night softly.

  She was relieved to see Oran had been hiding in the shadows just in case anything had gone wrong with the two guards.

  “That was fast thinking, lass,” he praised, before running back to the stables to fetch the horses.

  Oran tied them to a post near the gates. Shive and he heaved with all their might to pull open the doors. Just as they got them open a crack, however, they could hear hooves approaching from outside the stronghold.

  “Quick, hide the horses over in the blacksmith’s shed!” Oran instructed as he tugged the gate open further.

  “Halt, who goes there!” he called out into the darkness.

  “Riders with messages for Orla O’Rourke from her brother Muireadach,” came the reply.

  Shive made a small movement in the dark, and Oran said, “Dismount and I’ll take you to her.”

  The two unsuspecting riders did as they were told. Shive came up behind the first man and stabbed him through the side. Oran slit the throat of the other man with a neat efficiency which impressed Shive, though it worried her as well how quickly he had changed loyalties.

  “Grab their dispatch pouches. We’ll put the bodies in the blacksmith’s shop and ride like the wind,” Shive commanded, tugging the papers from the messenger’s pouch, and then dragging the corpse as best she could.

  “Here, I’ll do that, Shive. You search the other man’s pouch.”

  Shive did as she was bidden, and grasped the second man’s ankles to help Oran haul him into the hut. Then she helped swing the first gate shut, and tied a rope to the latch of the second one.

  “If we leave the gates open, they’ll know we’re gone almost immediately. But if we close the gate, they won’t think to look for us for some time,” Shive reasoned.

  Oran agreed with her plan, and they soon got the second portal shut tightly with the help of Shive’s horse and a bit of tugging and pulling.

  Then they rode as fast as the horses could carry them to Castlegarren.

  Shive was convinced that it was the safest place for her for the time being, since she knew Orla was back at Bothandun, and Tiernan needed to know about the treachery of his brother Lasaran.

  But it was with great difficulty that they were finally admitted into the O’Hara citadel, and only because Cian happened to still be awake working in his carpentry shop when he heard a commotion at the inner gate.

  “Shive, what on earth are you doing here at this hour of the night? My God, look at your clothes and face! What’s on happened to you, and who is this stranger?” Cian exclaimed as Shive practically fell from her saddle into his waiting arms.

  “I’ll tell you and Tiernan all my news as soon as I get something to eat and can sit down and rest for a few moments,” Shive panted. “I’m exhausted, and I have a terrible stitch in my side.”

  Shive went into the castle wearily, and trudged up the ladder to her old suite of rooms, though Cian tried to stop her.

  “Won’t you sit down in the hall, or come to my room? I have some very fine wine,” Cian declared as he tried to stall her.

  But before he could prevent her, Shive had entered the room and struck the tinder box, lighting as many candles as she could find by her bedside.

  But one look at the room was enough to tell her that some very material changes had taken place at Castlegarren since she had last been there. All of her furniture and things were gone. She saw all of the expensive tapestries, the different furniture, and above all the rich gowns strewn all about the room which Orla had scattered ab
out the chamber in her haste to lord it over the O’Rourke clan in her brother’s absence.

  There was no doubt in Shive’s mind as to who was now occupying her old suite of rooms. It could only mean one thing...

  Shive paled, and would have sat on the edge of the bed in sheer exhaustion. Just then the adjoining door opened. “Is that you, Orla? I thought I heard a noise. But you said wouldn’t be back for a few days...”

  Tiernan raised his candle higher, and at last recognised Shive as the bedraggled and bruised figure in her all-enveloping cloak.

  Tiernan’s mouth became a thin line as he demanded, “What are you doing here?”

  “This was my home, my room, the last time I spoke to you,” Shive said numbly.

  “Well, it isn’t now. I know where you’ve been. Did Ruairi sicken of you already and throw you out? I would never have taken him for a woman-beater, but you are certainly wilful enough to try the patience of any man.”