Riona

by Linda Windsor

  “Father Fintan—”

  “My answer to Drumceatt’s call,” he said, placing his seal on the missive before him. He sighed heavily and placed it in the box. “I fear that, like many of the bards, I’ve outlived my usefulness.”

  Stricken by the melancholy in the elder churchman’s voice, Riona protested. “Oh no, Father. That could never be. Your devotion to God’s service is a testimony to us all.” Fintan’s frame was bent with age, but the fires of his faith kept him involved in all the abbey’s work and worship.

  “Nonetheless, I shall send Bishop Senan in my stead with commentary on the fate of the bards and other issues at hand. Change is in the air, child. Like myself, the bards have outgrown their usefulness, at least by today’s standards.” A melancholy grazed the gray of his gaze. “Many have grown demanding and spiteful. They sow dismay rather than joy.”

  Or enough of that learned class did so, earning contempt for their innocent brethren, Riona added silently. It was a travesty the way they imposed upon people’s hospitality and paid them with biting satire and curses, as if immune to God Himself. “I do not envy the high king in deciding their fate, for the nobles scream banishment.”

  “And how do you feel about them, Riona?”

  Unlike many of the brethren, Fintan never acted as though a woman’s opinion was of no import. Many was the night he’d challenge her as to what a particular reading meant to her. Usually she rallied with enthusiasm, but this night was not one of them. She thought a moment.

  “I should hate to see them banished, for indeed they preserve our past and present with their gift of words, but some means of restraint should be enacted upon them for their brash misuse of rank and privilege.”

  “Hm.” Her answer pleased him. It showed in the tilt of his mouth as he reached into the casket and drew out something. As he held it before the lamp, she saw it was a jeweled, silver-encased vial strung on a silk cord. “Holy water from the well at Kildare,” he explained, “intended for the high king to drink for wisdom in his decisions.” He cocked a bushy gray brow at her. “Think it will help?”

  She wanted to say “the devil take the water,” but she reined in her impatience to tell him about Tadgh. She’d enough to repent for as it was.

  “It is God’s creation,” she answered thoughtfully. “The saints have blessed it. I think it’s time man gave God credit for His wonderful works rather than devil’s spawn.”

  “So you think it has power.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “If God intends it to, aye. But only the heavenly Father knows that for certain. Like the power of prayer, the result may not be what we expect, but God can make the best of it if we accept and believe He makes no mistakes.”

  Riona tried to think of a way to tie this strand of conversation to her purpose for coming without being rude or stepping out of her place. “For instance, I’ve prayed tonight for an answer to my quandary regarding the children and—”

  “God sent you a husband.”

  Riona’s jaw dropped, leaving her mouth agape in stupor. A husband! How could Abbot Fintan possibly—

  “I met your cousin Bran at the chapel, where he was giving thanks for the safe arrival of himself and Gleannmara’s king.” Fintan leaned forward, compassion kindling in his gaze. “I know of our Heber’s loss, child. I know why you’re here.”

  “Th … the children?” she stammered, beginning to wonder herself. This wasn’t at all what she intended to discuss.

  “A husband may not be what you prayed for, Riona, but it’s what God sent you, and just in time.”

  This was too much. Riona shook her head. “No, not a husband. That isn’t why I’m here.”

  “But you have my blessing and, even in death, your brother’s as well,” Fintan pointed out. “That God can take such a terrible tragedy and turn it to good use—” the abbot clasped his frail, palsied hands around the vial—“I never cease to marvel at His goodness. I’ve been much concerned over you, you know.”

  Her brain was as shaken by the abbot’s words as the water in the jeweled casing. It couldn’t be as he said. How could she—?

  “How could I marry the man who led Heber to his death?” she blurted out. “Heber would not have gone if Kieran had not. It wasn’t even their war.”

  The abbot’s smile faded. “Surely you don’t mean that! Heber was a man of his own mind. It was his choice to go to battle, to fight another man’s enemies.”

  “But it was Kieran’s idea.” Riona threw up her hands. “He’s always full of war talk, war games … sure, he dreams of war at night! How could I wed such a man when I seek God’s peace, not war?” Her chin trembled with emotion. “You know what my mother went through with my father. Would you wish that upon me?”

  “Riona, child—”

  A knock on the door cut the elderly man off. At Fintan’s acknowledgment, Brother Ninian peeked inside. “I heard raised voices,” he said with an apologetic look at Riona. “I thought something might be wrong.”

  “I’m sorry, Brother Ninian,” Riona apologized. “I’ve had the most tragic news and fear I became overly agitated.”

  “We are fine, Ninian. Thank you for your concern,” the father added with genuine affection. His venerated station demanded such attentions, yet Fintan accepted them with a humility that endeared him even more to his junior clergy. “I will not need you any more this evening.”

  “Very well. I’ll be retiring then. Good night, Father. Lady Riona.”

  As Ninian closed the door, Fintan pushed up from his desk and hobbled around to where Riona struggled with her despair. He opened his arms, and she walked into them. Pain in all its wretchedness was wrung from her throat in hiccups. Where did such depth of emotion come from? How much more was left to tear her apart so mercilessly? Heber was lost, buried in a godforsaken land, and with him a part of her childhood. As for Kieran …

  “You are not only your mother’s child, Riona, but your father’s, too. There is a restlessness in you that will never be content here. I’ve waited for you to see it, for I believe you sense it as well as I. Listen for God’s calling. He will show you the way.”

  Riona backed away. “But not with a man who has turned away from God Himself! Kieran believed once, long ago. But now … now he has contempt for faith in an unseen God.”

  “The tree is barren now, child, but dig around it as the gardener did in Christ’s parable and nourish it with love.” Fintan curled his ringed finger beneath her chin, lifting it. “The gleeman’s offspring were as void of faith as yon Kieran when they first came here. Like them, Kieran’s faith was laid barren by loss of all dear to him, save one, and that is you. But under your loving care the young ones grow like seedlings toward the sun. Your stalwart love for the Father and His children is your gift. The king needs it as much as the pauper’s children do. But for the grace of second chance, we’d all be lost.”

  “But …”

  “Pray on it this night. God will show you what you must do.”

  Riona let her shoulders drop along with her resistance. She was so weary, too weary to think clearly. Heber’s death, Kieran’s proposal, the children’s fate … and now Father Fintan’s suggestion that she might not be suited to a life at the abbey. It was all too much too fast to take in, much less fathom, God’s part in this horrible muddle. Only one thing made sense, and that was that the children needed her.

  The children!

  “Father, that man Tadgh—”

  “I’ll not allow the children to go with the freeman and his wife when I see a good home for them with you and Gleannmara’s king.”

  “The man intends to send the children to the Bristol slave market. He’s a slaver from Dublin called Silver Tooth. The children recognized him.”

  Abbot Fintan drew back sharply. “Are you certain of this? That is a serious charge, milady.”

  “Fynn saw his silver tooth. He swears on his life.”

  The older man turned and made his way back to his desk, where he
dropped heavily onto the bench. “This is too serious a claim to base on young Fynn’s testimony. His mind is set on your taking him and his siblings to raise. How can we know if it’s true or one of the lad’s schemes? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s lied to his own end.”

  “Perhaps we might ask Bishop Senan how he came to meet the couple. Perhaps he knows more about them. If these people are selling our orphans into slavery, they need to be dealt with.”

  “Aye, that they must.” Fintan gathered up the pile of letters from other churches and put them back in the gilded casket, placing the silver-encased holy water on top. “But let us think on these things tonight. We’ve both more than a mind full to ponder. Tomorrow, if need be, I’ll ask Kieran of Gleannmara and your cousin Bran to convey this man to the Maille tuath. The lord there can hear his case. For now, the children are safe.”

  Riona reached across the table and drew Abbot Fintan’s gnarled, arthritic hands to her lips, kissing first one and then the other. “Good night, dearest anmchara.”

  Fintan’s benevolent smile took years away from his wizened face. “Good night, child.”

  Drawing slowly away, Riona turned and lifted the latch to the outer chamber.

  “And remember, Riona lass, when all else confounds you, follow your heart, for it is noble and good.”

  Follow her heart. The kindly abbot’s words echoed in Riona’s mind as she stepped through the outer door. At the moment, her heart pained her so that it offered no direction. She glanced up at the moon, as if some direction might be shining in the beautiful night sky, then turned the corner of the building, and she plowed into a familiar robed figure.

  “Lady Riona!”

  “Bishop Senan!” She clutched at her chest where her heart skipped to a halt.

  “Now I know the reason my brother’s light burns so late. The two of you have been solving the problems of heaven and earth again,” he accused gently.

  “More discussing them than solving, I fear,” Riona hesitated, wondering if she should broach the subject of Tadgh tonight or wait as Abbot Fintan suggested until the morning.

  Wait.

  She obeyed the inner voice. “We gave out before arriving at any solution.”

  “Then I shall see if the father would like his warm milk and honey. Seems to rest his bones in the damp of the night.” Almost as an afterthought, he added. “And you have my deepest sympathies regarding your brother’s death. Such a tragedy.”

  Riona swallowed hard, refusing to let her grief well again. Faith, there was no end to it.

  Instead, she nodded and rushed around the side of the building toward the garden where Fynn waited. Except he was nowhere to be seen among the moonlit trellises and arbors. Straining to see, she caught a movement in the shadow of the abbot’s lodgings. As a tall, lanky frame moved out into the clearing, she let her frozen breath go.

  “You were eavesdropping,” she said as the boy walked toward her.

  “Aye, as much as I could.”

  How could she scold him when he was honest? “Well, it’s impolite and smacks of deceit, but I appreciate your honesty.” Slipping an arm behind the lad’s back, she ushered him along with her toward the sleeping quarters. “Fynn, you are absolutely certain about Tadgh and his silver tooth, aren’t you?”

  “On my life, I swear it.”

  Riona nodded. “Then I believe you. We’ll confront them in the morning after the abbot speaks to Bishop Senan.”

  “Now he’s a sneak.”

  “Oh?” She stopped, waiting for her companion to go on.

  “I saw ’im with his head against the door like his ear had been nailed there. When he heard you coming, he stepped around the corner so’s to look as if he’d just arrived.”

  Frowning, Riona started forward again. Her confession had been a personal thing between her and Abbot Fintan, but she supposed there was no harm in Senan’s hearing it. It was more annoying than anything.

  “Even bishops have their faults, I suppose,” Riona mumbled as much to herself as to her companion. “Let’s get the twins in their beds before they take a chill.” It wasn’t particularly cold; Riona just felt that way.

  They found Liex and Leila curled in the fresh hay next to Nessa. Riona managed to lift Leila, amazed at how a child so little could weigh so much when dead with sleep. At first she opened her eyes wide with fright, but upon seeing it was Riona who held her, she laid her head against Riona’s chest and closed her eyes in complete trust. Meanwhile, Fynn hauled Liex over his shoulder like a sack, but the little boy slept so soundly that he did little more than grunt. With a few grunts of effort of their own, they managed to carry the little ones back into the main compound to Riona’s lodging.

  Riona whispered good-night to Fynn, leaving him to take Liex to the enclosed stall attached to the back of her lodge. Carefully, she sidled through the door to the small, wattle-and-daub dwelling and put Leila down on the stuffed mattress.

  Fynn cried out like a whipped hound.

  “Stay here!” She tossed a blanket over the groggy child in haste as an unholy commotion ensued outside, fierce with growling and shouting, topped with Liex’s hysterical shriek. Armed with nothing but motherly instinct, Riona raced around the stall behind her shelter, only to be bowled over by a body tossed from its dark entrance.

  Down she went, the body on top of her. In the frantic scramble to untangle, she realized it was Fynn. Before she could ask what was amiss, a towering mass of warrior appeared over them, reaching for the boy.

  “All right, you thieving cur, where is the ring?”

  Riona knew that voice. She grabbed at Fynn’s waist, adding her weight to the boy’s as Kieran of Gleannmara hauled them both up. “Kieran, let him go!”

  “Not till he gives me back the ring.”

  “I dunno what he’s talkin’ about,” Fynn bellowed. “He grabbed me in the dark, causin’ me to drop Liex.”

  “Ssshhh!” she hissed loudly. “You’ll wake the entire abbey.”

  But it was too late. The clapper of the handbell used to sound alarm clanged loudly through the quiet compound. Riona used the advantage of the surprise to insert herself between Kieran and Fynn. With a sound stomp on his instep, she sent the larger man hopping backward. She’d learned long ago that Gleannmara’s prince had a tender foot.

  Within moments, the inner grounds filled with sleepy and confused monks from one side and women clucking like riled hens from the other. In the senseless babble, no one paid heed to Riona and her companions. The ceaseless ringing bell called them elsewhere. Relatively certain that the fray had abated, at least for the moment, Liex bolted out of the darkness of the enclosure straight to Riona.

  “It’s all right, little one,” she assured him, as he tried to hide himself from Kieran in the folds of her dress. Leila peeped sheepishly around the corner, a blanket clutched to her small bosom, so Riona motioned her over as well. It appeared no one was going to sleep after all.

  Loud whispers and shouts relayed a ripple of rumor over the gathering throng until it reached the spot where Riona and her companions stood.

  The abbot is dead!

  Murder!

  Father Fintan’s dead.

  Oh, foulest of foul!

  Dead!

  They echoed over and over, punctuated by cries of despair and woe. The dreadful message hammered and hammered against Riona’s disbelief. It couldn’t be! She’d just left him. She placed her hands hard against her ears, refusing to hear, but the horrible pounding continued driving in the horror of it all until there was but one escape.

  Oblivion.

  SIX

  With the break of the soft gray dawn, sounds of mourning burdened the prayers and hymns of the abbey. Abbot Fintan lay dead in his bedchamber, his body awaiting preparation for burial. Riona trudged from the chapel, oblivious to the gentle rain. Mud grabbed at her hem and stuck to her slippered feet despite the fresh-cut wattling laid to make the walkway passable. A hearing had been scheduled in the refectory, which
would hold more people than the reception area the abbot used for private audiences. It was hoped that some sense might be made of last night’s murder and mayhem.

  “Don’t worry about the children, milady,” one of the sisters assured her. “They’re fresh scrubbed and with Brother Domnall at the dairy. When I left, he was telling them Jonah’s story, though I fear he’s having a hard time convincing them that a fish so large as to swallow a man can exist.”

  “Sea dragon.”

  The gray-clad sister gave Riona a quizzical look. “Milady?”

  “He could call it a sea dragon. They’d understand that.”

  Riona’s voice held as much life as she felt, which was none. She was moving. She felt her blood pulsing through her veins. She heard herself speak. Yet it was as if she wasn’t really there inside her body but somewhere apart, watching this woman who was acting on her behalf. Maybe when she came back to herself, she would find this was all some terrible nightmare.

  A stoop-mouthed man-at-arms stepped out to meet her as she approached the entrance to the refectory. “I’m sorry, milady—” he twisted the sharp upturn of his moustache self-consciously—“but only them witnesses involved in the abbot’s death can go in.”

  Men-at-arms from the Maille chief of the neighboring tuath were at the outer gates before the sun rose. Riona assumed Senan had sent straight for the leather tunics last evening. Before breakfast, the lord Gadra Mac Maille himself arrived with more men. To see armed soldiers milling about the abbey grounds was a contradiction of the senses. But then, so was Fintan’s death.

  “I was with the Father Abbot last night just before he was … murdered.” The word curdled in Riona’s mouth so that she was hard pressed to get it out.

  “Oh, all right then. In with ye.” The soldier stepped back to let her in.

  “Would you have me come with you, sister?” her companion asked. “You’re pale as a bled goose. I’ve salts in my apron—”

  “I will not faint. Last night …” Riona couldn’t say she slept well. Sleep visited elsewhere while she tossed and turned. “I’m much more collected today after a good breakfast.” It had gone down like the mud clinging to her feet, but Riona had forced herself to eat rather than argue with her kindly benefactress. “Just keep an eye on the children. They sometimes are overmuch for Brother Domnall.”