The Hart and the Harp

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  Claire gave her consent then.

  Shive ordered, “All right, everyone who's leaving, follow Mother Superior and go now. All those who are staying to fight, come over here by Padraig, and listen to his instructions.”

  Padraig soon had the nuns making arrows, bringing the stones up onto the parapets, and blockading the gates with anything heavy they could find. The tables and chairs and chests were all brought out into the courtyard, and whatever wasn’t used to blockade the gate was carried up to be throw down on the attackers.

  There were several bows, some swords, spears and shields. But Shive knew it would only be a matter of time before the gates burst open. Then they would have to engage in hand to hand combat. But at least it would buy enough time for her to save her son.

  Shive could see Claire was reluctant to leave the convent which had been her home for so many years, and equally reluctant to leave her young sister-in-law behind.

  “Are you sure you won’t come with us, Shive? Tiernan would be heartbroken if anything were to happen to you, I’m sure.”

  “I have to stay, don’t you see? Even your nuns are willing to stay to protect my son. Please, Claire, take good care of him for me, and I’ll see you soon,” Shive said firmly, trying to hold back her tears as the older woman offered to let her hold Fiachra one last time.

  Shive kissed her child on the forehead, and stroked his thick, lush raven hair. The child opened his violet eyes and gurgled.

  Claire smiled fondly. “Fiachra looks just like Tiernan did as a child, except for the eyes. I’ll guard him with my life, you know that.”

  Shive nodded. “I’ll come with you now, and then close up the secret passage again behind you.”

  “Aren’t you going to follow after us when they break through the gates?” Claire asked, wide-eyed.

  Shive shook her head. “We can’t, don’t you see? If they find out about the passage they'll come after you. No, we must hold them off until you reach safety. That means closing this escape route now.”

  “If we can’t get through to Tullycarn, what then?”

  “Wait in the passage until you think it’s safe to come out. They will move on again in a few days. I’ll tell the men in case they're captured or escape to make sure they come to let you out in case you're trapped. It isn’t much, but it is the best we can do. Go now, and remember, don’t make a noise if you’re trapped.”

  Shive said her farewells and thanks to the brave nuns and then kissed her son one last time. “Go, now, and God bless you all.”

  “God bless you, Shive,” Claire said as she hugged her sister-in-law to her. She moved away, her torch glowing brightly in the dark tunnel gradually becoming a distant speck.

  Shive closed up the entrance way with a sigh and with the help of Oran and a couple of the other men, moved back into place the heavy dresser which had concealed the passageway for so many years. Then she went up the stairs to join the rest of her small band of twenty men, women and children.

  Oran called out, “They’re coming. Everyone get into their places!”

  Shive at least had the advantage of surprise, for firstly the men did not know it was a convent they were attacking, and secondly, from their vantage point on the parapet, they were able to kill several men before the Scots even knew where the arrows had come from.

  As the arrows rained down on them they took cover, but many of the injured could be heard groaning in the woods. Oran took the chance of firing into the trees in the hopes of hitting someone. The nuns continued to fletch arrows as rapidly as they could, sending goose feathers scattering to the four winds. Shive gave orders for the buckets of scalding water to be drawn up to the parapets by the rope and pulley system she had hastily rigged up in preparation for the siege.

  The three little boys and Tomas the old shepherd ferried the buckets to the bottom of the parapet, and tied them to the rope one at a time, while Eithne hauled them up and another of the nuns passed them along the walls. They had to be especially careful of the buckets of boiling oil, and more than once the little boys cried out in pain as the hot viscous substance splashed onto their tender flesh.

  The Scots, meanwhile, had regrouped, and were creating some makeshift ladders hastily in case they should have to scale the walls. Oran continued firing his arrows, and the few men who tried to get close to the castle walls were coshed on the head by the rocks the men threw down.

  “We’re all right at the moment, but they’re going to come out of those woods in a minute,” Padraig warned. “Get ready, everyone!”

  Shive trained her sights on the clearing nearest the castle, and waited. Within a few minutes, several darkly-clad figures charged out of the thicket. Shive managed to pick off three of them, while the nuns hurled rocks at the others.

  A few minutes later, there was a further assault from the woods.

  Shive said astutely, “They are trying to keep us distracted here while they attempt to circle around. Padraig, Brendan, get up on top of the roof of the convent, and see what you can see.”

  Padraig called out a few moments later, “They're all around us, trying to get in some back way.”

  Shive, called, “All right, keep calm. Stay up there and try to pick them off. I’ll come around to the back.”

  Shive and the others fought as hard as they could to fend off the attackers as they tried to climb over the walls. She knew it was only a matter of time before they broke down the gates and swarmed in.

  “Eithne, boiling oil down on the gates!” she called, and sucked in her breath sharply as an arrow grazed her left shoulder.

  Soon they all began to tire, and worse still, their arrows and other projectiles began to dwindle almost to nothing.

  Oran argued, “I’ll protect you as long as I can, Shive, but you must get out of here. Climb over the wall by the rope and pulley system.”

  “I’m not leaving you all here to die!”

  “They'll kill you if they have anything to do with Muireadach!”

  “The same fate will await you all. I can’t leave you here to die. Not after all we’ve been through together.”

  “Then you're a fool, Shive MacDermot O’Hara!”

  “I can live with that, if I do survive. But I couldn’t live with myself if I abandoned you."

  “Can’t you at least try to take refuge in the tunnel with the other nuns?”

  “They must have some idea of how many we are from the number of times we’ve thrown down their ladders. If they don’t see us lying dead here in the convent, they'll know we’ve escaped by some other route, and will turn his place upside down to look for it. We would be putting everyone at risk.

  “Besides, there are no guarantees that Claire and Fiachra will make it to safety at Tullycarn. The tunnel could well be blocked after so many years, and we’d all be caught like rats in a trap,” Shive argued breathlessly as she heaved a chest over the wall onto the men down below.

  A huge thumping at the gates told them the Scots were making their final assault on the convent. Shive ordered, “Run, girls. Run, lads. Into the cells and lock yourselves in. Barricade the doors with the last of the furniture.”

  “We’re staying,” Eithne said. “We can use a sword or dagger if need be. We won't leave you alone here.”

  “Eithne, these are professional killers. Please, take the boys to safety, and go yourselves.”

  “We all stand together or fall together,” Eithne vowed, tugging off her veil to show her fiery red hair.

  Oran and Shive looked at each other.

  "Let her stay," Oran advised in a low whisper. "A quick death now might be better than a long slow one at the hands of a man."

  The dreadful thought had already crossed Shive's mind with regard to her own fate. But she had endured torture at the hands of the O'Rourkes before. She would endure it again if need be, if it meant finding her son and being reunited with the husband she adored.

  The wooden gate began to splinter inward. Shive called all the men down from the pa
rapets. Some of the men were injured, while others looked simply exhausted. She knew it was only a matter of time before they were cut down, since they were in no condition to fight. Their only chance of survival was to surrender and hope for a chance to escape if they weren’t killed outright.

  “Oran, tell the men to put down their swords. Hide them in the straw just by us here. We shall all stand here and wait.”

  “But Shive, we'll be defenceless!”

  “Let them think that. We might be able to escape if they don’t kill us. If we try to fight now, we’ll all die.”

  Brendan shrieked from up above just then, and landed squarely in the courtyard at Shive’s feet. An arrow jutted out from his chest. He twitched briefly, and then lay still.

  “They’re coming through, Shive! What should we do?” Padraig and Oran both shouted at her simultaneously.

  Shive’s mouth went dry as she looked at Brendan’s corpse. She thought of Tiernan and their son. God give me the strength to do what’s best, she prayed silently as the gates began to give way.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Shive stared at the body of her dead comrade as though paralysed, and ordered again, “Put your weapons own before we all end up like poor Brendan here.”

  Two of the men stooped to drag Brendan out of the way. Another arrow entered the compound and struck one of the other men in the leg. Shive pushed all of her comrades behind her as the gate gave way at last, and dozens of Scots came swarming in.

  They were prepared for a fight of huge proportions, and could only blink in surprise as they were allowed to enter the enclosure unimpeded.

  One of the men gave a signal to halt. They all parted, fanning out to look for hidden assailants, and when they saw none, waited expectantly for someone else to arrive.

  A huge man, well over six foot six, came into the enclosure, and looked around him as if in a dazed. He was clean-shaven, with light brown hair and piercing sea-green eyes. Shive thought him the handsomest man she had ever seen apart from Tiernan. He was very like her cousin Ruairi, except for a deep cleft in his chin, and the wildness of his hair, which was tied into several thick locks which framed his handsome face nobly.

  The Scots leader took several more tentative steps into the compound, every muscle rippling with raw power. He signalled to his men to look in all the buildings in case there was a trap.

  Only then did he seem to notice the small group crowding with their backs to the far wall of the convent, and in particular, he sighted the beautiful girl with hair the color of fine wine standing at the head of the group, dressed simply in breeches, boots and blood-bespattered shirt.

  The Scots mercenary strode towards Shive decisively, and shook her angrily by the shoulders.

  “All this for a convent full of nuns and boys! Who are you?” he demanded in Gaelic, which was similar enough to Shive’s Irish for her to be able to understand him.

  Shive remained silent.

  The furious Scot shook her again. “Who are you, and why have you fought us? Speak now, or I shall kill you where you stand.”

  “I am Shive MacDermot O’Hara, the head of my clan and the wife of Tiernan O’Hara. We will both reward you if you treat me and my comrades here well,” Shive offered boldly, though Oran tried to prevent her from revealing her true identity.

  The Scots man laughed then, his green eyes shining, but without mirth. “You are the head of you clan? A woman? You have fought well, I grant you, but here you stand now, waiting to be taken prisoner. That is not the way for a true warrior to behave.”

  “An intelligent warrior knows it's pointless to throw away the lives of his friends and family on a hopeless cause,” Shive retorted. “At any rate, my leg is injured, and I've just had a child. I haven’t given you quite the battle I might otherwise have.”

  Shive lifted her chin proudly as the Scots men continued to stare at her as though she had three heads.

  “I am Maolmordha O’Donnell, of Eriskay,” the stranger declared. “I have never before disgraced myself by fighting women! Why did you battle us?”

  “You are invaders, my lord. As for the disgrace, I imagine it must be, that a handful of women and children and injured soldiers could do such damage to your army, since you now have more wounded than fit men in your band,” Shive said with an arrogant toss of her head.

  Maolmordha, losing all patience at this unexpected turn of events, slapped Shive across the face with the back of his hand and shoved her to the ground, where she landed heavily with a thud.

  Oran made to defend Shive, but he was knocked aside by one of the other Scots. He was held back at sword point from protecting her.

  Maolmordha began to bark his orders. “You two, close those gates as best you can, tend to the wounded and find something for us eat. Put the prisoners over there in that corner, and tie them all up. All except her.”

  He bent to pull Shive up off the ground by her collar. “She stays with me. She will be worth a fine ransom, assuming of course that there is anything left once I’m done with her.” He grinned evilly, and all the men laughed heartily and patted Maolmordha on the back as he dragged her away into the cool cloister.

  Shive struggled like wildcat, but Maolmordha, towering over her, just held her at arm’s length, and dragged her into the room Claire had used as her study and living quarters. He flung her down unceremoniously on the bed, and began to remove his sword belt. Shive immediately made a dive for the sword, and the two of them were sent sprawling on the ground as they struggled for the weapon.

  Just then, one of the Scots entered through the door, and stomped on her wrist before kicking the sword out of Shive’s grasp.

  Shive gasped in pain as her left hand began to throb.

  The newcomer joked, “That’s the way to treat her, Maolmordha. For a moment there we thought you’d lost your touch. I’m glad to see you know how to show a woman who’s in control.”

  Shive was still crushed under the weight of the huge Scot. Maolmordha now pinned her wrists up over her head. “Aye, I do, but I don’t perform in front of an audience, and this one is mine. So get out, and tell the men if they harm a single nun, they’ll have me to answer to. At this point all I want is a fine ransom for them.”

  “And this one?”

  “This one will pay for what she did to the men,” Maolmordha threatened, grinding his hips against her.

  Shive became terrified of imminent rape.

  “Get out, Kenneth, now!”

  As soon as the man called Kenneth had gone, Maolmordha eased up the pressure on her stomach a bit and hissed in her ear, “Scream, now!”

  “What did you say?” Shive whispered in stunned surprise.

  “Scream!” Maolmordha ordered. For effect he tore her shirt sleeve with a vicious tug.

  Shive did scream then, more in outrage than fear, but it was enough to convince Kenneth, standing on the other side of the door, that Maolmordha was indeed carrying out his threat.

  Maolmordha and Shive heard him laugh coarsely, and then listened carefully amid Maolmordha’s precisely timed grunting sounds to make sure he went away down the corridor.

  Once he was sure it was safe for them both, Maolmordha lifted himself off Shive, grabbed his sword, and locked the door behind them both.

  “I’m sorry about that. Are you badly bruised?”

  “I’ll live,” Shive replied shortly as she tucked her loose-flowing shirt under her arm to make sure her breast was covered. Then she reluctantly accepted the hand Maolmordha offered to help her up.

  “Your shoulder is bleeding pretty badly. Would you like me to have a look?” Maolmordha offered a trifle more kindly.

  Shive stooped to pick up her ruined sleeve, and nodded. “I can use some of this for a bandage.”

  Shive undid the top of her shirt, and Maolmordha studied the wound.

  “It’s deep enough, but it got you in the fleshiest part, and the blood doesn’t seem to be spurting. I think you’ll be fine.”

  He poured s
ome water from a jug sitting on a small table in the corner, and bandaged her wound neatly.

  “Now can you please do the same for me?” he asked, shrugging off his tunic and undoing his shirt to bare his midriff and reveal an arrow wound which passed straight through his side.

  Shive’s eyes widened. She immediately hastened to clean it and seal it with Maolmordha’s dagger, which he put to heat in the tiny fireplace, where a couple of meager coals were still burning hot enough to help her cauterize the wound.