Riona gave Fynn’s shoulder a squeeze as the lad left the cover of the hedgerow that formed the northern wall of the brewy enclosure. Quiet as a mouse, and just as quick, the lad scooted toward the barn as the guards made their return trek toward the bridge. She didn’t realize she’d held her breath until he reached the cover and disappeared within.
Inhaling deeply, she turned and edged her way around through the thick growth of scrub tree and briars to where Kieran and Bran waited. If they were discovered, the gleeman’s son was to scatter the horses before the soldiers could assemble for a chase. She raised her hand to signal that Fynn was in place when a cord of briar caught her ankle and sent her sprawling into the undergrowth. Hurriedly, she tore away from its clutch, ignoring the petty slashes the mother bush made at her cheeks, and jumped to her feet. She waved, assuring the men who started toward her that she was fine.
Now it was her turn. She made straight for the kitchen end of the lodge and emerged from its shadow in a casual walk toward the building that Siony said held the children. Although no one could be seen guarding it, there might be someone inside who could sound a warning. Her heart beating three times to each step, Riona approached the door of the wattle-walled confine. Made of plank, it had a slide bolt with a dowel run through so that the wooden bar could be moved from inside or out.
She tapped lightly on the door and leaned her ear against it. There was a rustling from within, followed by a woman’s voice.
“Whaddya be wantin’ this hour o’ the night?”
Riona instantly recognized the whining quality of the voice: Mebh.
“The cook’s bankin’ the fires and wants to know if them mites’d want some o’ the bread scraps afore the dogs have their pick.”
The bolt slid back from the keeper with a dull thud. Riona tugged the hood of her cloak further over her face. The chances Mebh would recognize her were unlikely, but she took no chance. The door opened just a crack, and Mebh’s round face appeared, her uncombed hair, ratty with straw, framing her scowl.
“Got any gravy left?”
“I think so. If there is, I’ll bring it.” Riona rose on tiptoe, looking over the woman’s shoulder. “And what about them?”
“Sleepin’, the lot of ’em. Better we feed ’em good in the mornin’, cause they’ll be heavin’ their bellies out through their gab once’t shipboard.” Mebh snorted. “An’ bring me some ale.” She smacked her lips together. “I’ll wager ole Taddy Tooth’s not half as dry as me and sleepin’ in twice the comfort.”
Riona’s mind raced. Taddy Tooth. It sounded like a pet name. Perhaps there was a way to get rid of Mebh without knocking her lights out, as Kieran had suggested.
“Aye, as long as that redheaded wench keeps his cup filled and warms his lap.”
The door flew wide open, and Mebh filled it with her swelling rage. “What’s that ye say?”
“I only meant …” Riona stumbled back a step. Mebh looked bigger than she had in the abbot’s quarters, and was nearly twice Riona’s width. “It’s like a man to take his pleasure and leave his woman to make do as she can.”
The angry woman strong-armed her aside. “Shut the door and stay here till I come back, wench. I’ll fetch me own vittles and drink.”
Like a thundercloud on a blast of wind, Mebh marched toward the hall. Riona waited just long enough for her to disappear through the kitchen entrance before rushing in to wake the children.
“Naal? Naal, are you in here? I need your help,” she whispered urgently.
“Here,” came a sleepy voice from a corner.
“Siony sent me. Help me wake the others. We must hurry away before we’re caught.”
Riona counted seven children in all by the time she and the boy had roused them. They were bewildered at first but came to full alert on realizing that rescue was at hand.
Kieran appeared at the door. “What the devil possessed her? She moved too quick for me to take her.”
“She’ll give us all the distraction we need inside,” Riona assured him. “Now, everyone hold hands and follow me. We’re going to run to the church nearby, and we can’t stop for anything. Understand?”
A childlike chorus of whispers carried affirmation. Taking a child by the hand, Riona paused by the open door as a shout erupted from inside the lodging. It was followed by the crash of furniture and more shouts of outrage. The two guards who’d been walking toward the stables doubled back in a run toward the hall to see the nature of the commotion. As soon as they were out of sight, Riona led the little ones out into the rear yard, straight for the hedgerow.
From the corner of her eye, she spied Kieran draw his sword but dared not stop. What was he doing? They’d agreed it was too risky to lure Tadgh out, that they’d leave the children at the monastery and move on to Drumceatt to seek a fair hearing. On reaching the trees, Riona looked back but saw no sign of Gleannmara’s lord.
“Where did he go?” she asked Bran as he ushered the little ones toward the road leading to the holy well.
“Around the front of the hall. A plague on his stubborn hide.” Her cousin swore under his breath. “Keep on with the children and stop for nothing. I’ll signal the lad.”
Riona nodded reluctantly. It was all going so smoothly … Mebh was making enough of an uproar to give them a window of time to escape. So help her, she’d kill Kieran herself—if someone didn’t beat her to the task.
“Naal, take the lead. It’s not a long way, children. Just keep running.”
Riona brought up the rear of the small troop, stopping here and there to pick up some of the younger ones when they stumbled. She half expected them to cry, but even the youngest—a little girl she guessed to be about five years old—seemed to sense the need for silence as well as swiftness.
The third time the girl stumbled, Riona picked her up. Her own legs ached from the intensity of the run. She could imagine how the child’s must feel. Perhaps the mile to the monastery was too much. Perhaps …
“Naal!”
At the outcry in the distance, Riona lifted her face and stared ahead in disbelief. There on the narrow road ahead, was a small cart drawn by the dun pony Bran had procured. A man in a robe rushed toward them, along with Siony. Half dragging, half pushing, they managed to get the seven children into the cart. Riona pulled herself up last and held on to the wickerwork sides as it jolted away.
“We’re off to the shore,” Siony told her breathlessly. “Maille’s soldiers will not honor sanctuary, but the brothers know of a ship bound for Wicklow on the tide. They’ll take us and the children to safety.”
“But what about the men?” Riona cast a look over her shoulder, hoping she’d see Kieran, Bran, and Fynn riding through the narrow opening between the hedgerow surrounding the brewy. Nothing.
A commotion in the cart drew Riona’s attention to a small, blond head bobbing through the menagerie. A second followed. In a moment, Liex and Leila were clinging to her, hugging her again and again.
“It’s going to be all right, milady,” Liex assured her. “Seargal is with them.”
Riona kissed first the lad atop his head and then Leila. As she drew away, Leila smiled up at her, her eyes bright as the stars overhead. How Riona loved them! As for Seargal, more than ever she wanted to believe in the little girl’s invisible friend.
The brothers’ coracle, no more than a wicker frame with hides stretched over it, served to take the first half of the children with Siony and her brother toward the moored trade ship belonging to a cousin of the local bishop. They had been dining together when Siony arrived and informed them of their plight.
Riona paced the shingled shore, continually searching the rise of forest to the west for any sign of the men, while the remaining orphans huddled under a blanket one of the priests provided. From Wicklow they could make their way to safety at Dromin. It wasn’t the answer to all their problems, of course, for Wicklow was a far cry from the high king and a fair hearing for Kieran, but at least the little ones would be safe.
As for Kieran …
Riona shuddered, recalling his contempt. Father, please spare him.
“The tide’s favoring you, milady,” the captain remarked, drawing Riona from her quiet plea. “The prayers of the righteous have made it linger longer than I expected, but we must soon be away.”
Before Riona could reply, she thought she caught movement among the shadows of the trees beyond the beachhead. Staring as if sheer will might produce Kieran and his company, she held her reply on the tip of her tongue. Whether the result of her will or a far more powerful one, a horse and rider broke free of the forest’s cloak, followed by another. The steeds made short work of the distance, and before long, Gray Macha’s hooves scattered clods of moss and sand on the shore as Kieran pulled the reins up short.
Riona rushed up to him and leaped into his arms. “Thank God you’re safe! I’d begun to think the worst.”
Kieran held her suspended, her toes brushing the damp earth, before lowering her with a reluctant sigh. “We rode to the church first. The brothers sent us here.”
Bran swung a long leg over his horse’s head and dismounted, while Fynn slid off the back. The lad rushed over to Riona, his voice filled with excitement.
“You should have seen it, milady!” He pointed at Kieran. “He was running in and amongst the soldiers shouting, ‘There they go! No, there!’ until they were running into each other. For all they knew he was one of their own, what with that tunic.”
“Half their horses are on their way to Kilmare, and the other half will take the rest of the night to find them in the woods,” Bran chimed in, face flushed with the excitement.
“An’ Silver Tooth is swearin’ and cursin’ at all of them till he runs up on Gleannmara’s sword.”
Riona spun at Kieran, incredulous. “We agreed that taking Tadgh was too risky.”
Kieran shrugged. “He ran right to me.”
Weakness spiraled through her belly. “And you killed him?”
“Not exactly.” Kieran sucked in his cheeks to check the smile pulling at his mouth. “ ’Twas his decision to swim in the river.”
“I never seen a man his size run so fast.” Fynn laughed. “An’ milord here swattin’ at ’is heels, with fat Mebh after him with a hay fork.” The lad’s estimation of Kieran had definitely escalated. He looked at the warrior as if the sun rode on one broad shoulder and the moon on the other. “The last we saw ’im, he was headed for sea.”
Riona’s lips thinned to a bloodless line. She’d escaped alone into the night with small children, her heart lodged in her throat with fear that they’d all wind up at Maille’s mercy. She’d paced and fretted, worrying that the men had not been as lucky as she to get away unscathed. And all the while, they’d risked capture to make a great adventure out of the affair, having fun with the slaver and Maille’s henchmen. It was more than her frazzled nerves would bear.
“Boils eat your worthless hide!” She stomped the instep of the unsuspecting warrior.
Startled by her outburst, Kieran grabbed his foot with a gasp, whereupon Riona shoved him soundly into the gentle lap of the tide. He landed with a bellow and splash.
“I prayed for you!” she shouted, kicking at him in her indignation. “I thought you and the lot were at the mercy of the soldiers.” When that would not assuage her ire, she turned and unsheathed the sword from Gray Macha’s tack.
“Milady!” Fynn exclaimed, reaching to stay her arm.
“And you think he’s a hero?” Riona demanded, pulling away. “Well, here’s what I think of your hero.” She drew back the sword and swung it with all her might.
“Riona!” Kieran leaped backward, dodging the broadside of the blade.
“Gleannmara has met his match,” Bran chortled. He danced away as the weight of the sword carried Riona about full circle.
She silenced the bard with a glare and wrenched the sword from where it was buried in the sand. With a grunt, she raised it again and turned to take up her chase, but Kieran wasn’t there. Viselike fingers grasped her wrists from behind but not soon enough to offset the upswing of the blade over her head. Riona felt it strike and heard Kieran’s cry of pain.
He stumbled backward, taking her and the sword with him. As they struck the beach, the impact knocked the wind out of her. Stunned, she rolled away and grasped the friendly hands Bran and Fynn offered. The seawater soaking her skirts seemed to add half again as much weight to sustain on legs already overtaxed. She swayed against Bran and looked over to where Fynn helped Kieran to his feet.
His hand laying across his forehead, the soaked lord of Gleannmara took the sword the lad fetched from the beach and leaned upon it. As he lowered his arm, a smear of dark blood streaked his furrowed brow.
“Faith, woman, you’ve wounded me!”
“I meant worse,” Riona huffed. “But since God’s seen fit to spare you, I will as well.”
“I don’t mean to interfere, good people, but I leave with the tide.”
The captain’s interruption fell upon Riona like a cooling shower.
“Them that will go, best come now,” the man said. He held out his hand to Riona. “Milady?”
“I can’t go to Wicklow, Riona.” Kieran told her. “ ’Twill only invite my trouble to Gleannmara. My men are weary of war and have gone to their homes. I’m off to Drumceatt.”
“Near Derry?” the captain asked.
“Aye, to the synod of the high king. It’s my only chance to be heard fairly … and for that I’ll be needing your testimony, milady. You know where I was when the abbot was murdered.”
“And me,” Fynn spoke up. “I’ve the knot on my head to prove it.”
“And us.” Liex stepped up, tugging a nodding Leila with him. “He’s going to be our father. We have to save him.”
Kieran shot a disconcerted look at the twins. “I never said I’d be anyone’s father. I don’t care what that invisible friend of hers says.”
Liex’s face fell.
If Riona had had the sword in her hands, she could have run him through. How could her foster brother be so heartless when the plague had inflicted the same loss on him?
“Who needs you anyways,” Fynn said flippantly. “We belong to Lady Riona, and it’s clear she has no intentions of taking you to husband.” The lad tugged Liex and Leila over to where Riona stood, the pain of his disillusionment with his hero ringing bitter in his voice. “But the fact o’ the matter is, ’tis you that needs us.”
“And we’ll go to Drumceatt to save your arrogant, insensitive skin, Kieran of Gleannmara, but then we’re done with you.” Riona turned her back to the disgruntled warrior to put a plaintive hand on Bran’s sleeve. “But someone needs to take Siony and the youngsters to Dromin. They’ll know no one there.”
Looking as if a rogue wave had slapped him full in the face, Bran threw his hands up in protest. “Why me? I’m a bard, not a nursemaid.”
“Bran, please. It’s safe passage home—”
“Not with that kicking banshee.”
“But they’ll need a man with them. You’re known—”
“What makes you think that anyone in Dromin will receive them with Heber gone?”
It was a valid point. There would be quarrel enough to elect a new lord. Riona could not count on Kieran as the overking to allow her sovereignty, even if she won the favor of her clan.
“Declare your interest in becoming chief. You’ve as much right as Colga and are far more well liked,” Kieran put in. “ ’Twould save all a lot of grief.”
“I wonder which of you is more daft.” Bran shook his head. “I’m neither chief nor nursemaid.”
“Take them to Gleannmara then,” Kieran said impatiently.
Riona’s eyes widened. “You’d take them?”
“We’ll decide what to do with the lot after we return.”
Bran spared the lord a dour look. “If you return. When those soldiers regroup, they’ll be after blood.”
“Which is why we need to be off.” As if the decis
ion were made for all, Kieran pointed to Riona’s children. “And why it’s safest for them to go with the others,” he told her. “We’ll discuss your keeping them later.”
The three youngsters stepped closer to Riona. They’d not be separated without a fight, and, in her current humor, she was fully with them. The gall of the man. To think that for even the span of a breath she’d believed Kieran was softening when he offered safe harbor at Gleannmara. This was more of a plan to rid himself of what he considered excess baggage.
She put a reassuring hand on Fynn’s shoulder. “They’re my children, and I’ll decide what’s best for them, not a glory-seeking oaf with a sword sharp with folly.” She plied her cousin again. “Bran, I am not thrilled with my present calling to help Gleannmara any more than you are to aid the orphans, but I am obliged by duty to do so. Kieran needs our testimony. The homeless need you. How could you, in good conscience, refuse?”
With a groan, Bran looked away and ran his fingers through his dark shock of hair. “I hate it when my conscience is thrown in my face. Mine is a free spirit. Faith, I might as well return to the monastery.”
Riona stepped up and kissed her cousin on the cheek. For all his bluster, Bran had the tender heart of a poet. “God will reward you richly. You know it.”
“We’re off, all that’s going,” the captain impatiently called out from the coracle. Inside were the remaining orphans, bobbing with the tide.
Bran looked as if he would protest once more but then slapped Kieran on the back. “Well, my backside would delight in a break from the horse, that’s certain. I know not which adventure will make the most fascinating rhyme, yours or mine.” He fetched his sack from Bantan’s back and blew a kiss to Riona before jogging toward the coracle. “God’s speed to us all!”
Riona watched him wade into the water, where one of the brothers and the captain hauled the bard into the craft. For all his effort to look otherwise, he appeared as though he were off to an execution. In truth, she felt little better at the prospect of her own journey.
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