Riona

by Linda Windsor

  “What?” Her mind began to race at the pain-filled rush of words. Bran had said as much, but for Colga to admit it to her face—

  “I was vilely tricked,” he went on. “I should have been guarding the rear flank with Heber, but was lured away in the fog, baited by a few, while the many swarmed down upon him from the other side of the glen. When the mist cleared, it was too late. Riona—” he gave her an earnest shake—“as God is my witness, I did not mean for Heber to die. I beg you to forgive me.”

  “Colga, I—”

  Riona broke off, at a loss as to what to think, much less say. Never would she understand a warrior’s mind, but she’d already forgiven Kieran and thusly, Colga, and all the men who’d sallied forth for the glory of battle and profit. Their hearts were good.

  “Of course you’re forgiven, Colga, but in truth, I have never held you accountable for Heber’s death. It was just a shock to see the Dromin brooch … just a shock,” she echoed weakly.

  “You will have a place of honor in the Dromin chief’s lodge for as long as you wish.”

  It was a generous offer, one Colga was under no obligation to make. The lodge went with the title, neither passed on solely from inheritance, but by election.

  “I have property of my own, sir. Besides, it is your right, not mine.”

  “God bless you, cousin!” Colga embraced her tightly and held her in his relieved enthusiasm an undetermined time before she felt a tug on her skirt.

  Riona closed her hand over Leila’s as a sign for the child to wait. “And what of Bran? Have you heard from him?”

  Colga shook his head. “Not until Kieran told us of him. We left as soon as Ninian’s courier arrived.” He added with a chuckle, “Bran the bard in a boatload of orphans. Would that I’d seen that. It must have settled on him sorely not to come to Drumceatt.”

  Riona remembered Bran’s baleful look as the captain shoved the wickerwork boat from the shore. He and Siony would be at Gleannmara by now, and Kieran’s rechtaire would take it all in his stride.

  Leila tugged on her skirt again, this time earning Riona’s full attention. The child pointed into the partitioned imda containing the two beds. On the boys’ was a familiar trunk, laid open, but on the one she shared with Leila was a beautiful flocked shift with a sky blue overdress embroidered with tiny-petaled flowers boasting sapphire centers. Never worn, it was as breathtaking as the last time she’d seen it—as part of the bride price wardrobe Gleannmara had brought with him to ask her hand in marriage. When she’d refused him, Kieran vowed to burn the gown, the chest, and its contents, yet here they were, carefully tended and as lovely as ever.

  Good and faithful Benin thought of everything and everyone, she reflected, grateful for the steward’s consideration of her as well as of his lord. The blade in Riona’s throat cut many ways, reflecting the myriad emotions welling within. Pain, joy, melancholy, thanksgiving … all struggled for dominance. Leila picked up the hem of the bridal dress and rubbed it against her cheek, marveling at the softness.

  “The colors pale in comparison to your eyes, milady, but this is the best attempt by man to match them.”

  Riona turned toward Kieran’s voice, her eyes so blurred that she could not really see him. She wiped them with her sleeve in frustration, wondering that a single tear remained after last evening’s debacle.

  “My heartfelt thanks, milord, to both you and Benin.”

  It was right to step into his arms, to lay her head upon the rich fabric covering his chest. It soaked up her tears thirstily, as though made for just that purpose. She didn’t resist as his arms closed around her. She fit against him as if by God’s design.

  “You are most welcome, lass.” Pride swelled Kieran’s chest beneath her cheek and infected his announcement. “I had the banns posted this morning, sweetling. We’ll be wed after the hearing at the week’s end.”

  His lips brushed the top of her head, but Riona hardly felt them. His words consumed her, not his actions. Banns? Wed? She couldn’t believe her ears. Stepping away, she looked up at his face. He grinned like a dog chewing brambles.

  “Banns,” she repeated in unbelief.

  He nodded, pleased beyond himself.

  “Wed?”

  “In less than a week, the little one will have to sleep alone,” he answered wickedly.

  Riona’s heart did a quick pirouette in concert with the dance in his gaze, yet her nostrils flared with her growing incredulity. Shoving his hands away from her waist, she marched to the bed.

  Uncertain of anything except that the lady was upset, Leila scampered out of the way as Riona snatched up the gown, wadded it in a ball and stuffed it back into the chest. Liex flinched as she slammed the lid shut.

  “Colga, remove this box from my quarters this instant.”

  Recovering with a scowl, Kieran moved forward. “What is this about?”

  Riona put her hand on the trunk and cocked her chin up at him in defiance. “It’s about a fool who thinks he can buy a bride with a box of pretty clothes.”

  “ ’Tis a gift, not a purchase.”

  “A gift is it?”

  He met her challenge, lowering his head so that his nose nearly touched hers. “Aye, a gift,” he growled lowly.

  Riona refused to be daunted. “You need banns to give a gift?”

  “Nay, I need banns,” he mimicked with indignation, “to marry you.”

  “And who says I’d do such a fool thing?” Riona’s voice rose in volume as well as pitch.

  Apparently a ready answer failed him. Kieran’s expression went blank, as if it never occurred to him to think that she wouldn’t agree. Bewilderment possessed him and his answer. “You said you forgave me.”

  “I said I forgave Colga, too, but I’m not going to marry him.” Riona rolled her eyes toward the dark hollow of the roof overhead as anger clipped the endings off her words. “Marriage is more than postin’ banns and dressin’ a girl in pretties to get her into your bed, Kieran O’Kyle Mac Niall of Gleannmara. Faith, just when I think ye have a chance of bein’ a reasonable man, ye play the fool like you were born to the role.”

  “Woman, no man can hold on to reason round the likes of a mulish lass such as yourself, with temper sharp as her tongue. No man!”

  Kieran reached past her and picked up the trunk, hoisting it over his head.

  “You don’t want the dresses? Fine. You don’t want me? Fine.” In a black rage, he pivoted and stalked outside to a nearby fire built to warm bath water. With a curse fit for neither man nor beast, he tossed the trunk onto the smoldering coals and stomped away.

  Riona’s heart lurched at the sight of the flames and sparks lapping around its polished metal trappings. Why it didn’t burst upon the rocks, she had no idea. With a shriek, she ran to the hearth, torn between rescue and condemnation as she shook her fist in the air.

  “Well, if you won’t burn with ’em,” she shouted after him, “then it’s a waste of a good fire!” Turning in a temper-mottled panic, she redressed her silent cousin standing among the curious onlookers who’d ventured closer to see what was amiss. “Well, don’t just stand there gaping like a witless ninny; help me get this out of the bloomin’ flames before it catches.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Kieran hadn’t come back since he’d stormed off that afternoon. That evening Riona and the children attended vespers, then shared a meal in the guest cottage without him. As soon as she tucked the twins into bed, she sent Fynn out to look for him while she wallowed in remorse.

  When a knock sounded on the door a while later, Riona jerked it open, half-hoping, half-dreading, that it might be Kieran. It was Cromyn. The guilt that had plagued her since her loss of temper rose sharper than ever. She dropped to her knees before the priest. “O Father, I have sinned.”

  “My souls!” Cromyn exclaimed, taken back at the impetuous confession. He grasped Riona gently by the shoulders and helped her to her feet. “Come, child, I can’t believe it’s as bad as all that.”

 
“If I’d seen it coming, I’d have confessed aforehand,” Riona said haplessly. Her eyes brimmed. Stepping aside to allow her guest entry, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve in annoyance. “I vow, a demon accompanies that man, and it possesses me whenever Gleannmara and I are near one another.”

  The priest’s brow lifted in surprise as he coaxed each of the birds on his shoulders to respective pegs reserved for cloaks. “A demon, is it?”

  “It must be true. I turn from a pious sister in Christ to a raving lunatic or worse, a wanton harlot. And I know it isn’t Kieran alone.” She rambled as though to convince herself. “He’s a good man by the measure of most. That’s why I couldn’t see him hanged for a murder I know he didn’t commit. Not that I wouldn’t have tried to aid any man in such a circumstance, but—”

  Cromyn put his finger to her lips. “Hush, child. This penitent floodtide drowns me in bewilderment.” He looked about, glancing first at the imda where the twins slept and then at the Kieran’s empty one. “Have you done away with your foster brother?”

  “Nay, but … ach, Father, I don’t know what to think. I’m remorseful one moment and angry the next. You see, I forgave him for leading Heber off to his death. Father Fintan was right,” she admitted. “Kieran didn’t force Heber to go, even though it was Gleannmara’s idea … and a foolish one at that.” Faith, would this inner debate never end? “I know that war and battle are sometimes unavoidable, but the one that claimed Heber’s life was not. Gleannmara was prosperous enough without hiring out to Aidan for reward. ’Twas all so unnecessary.”

  Cromyn shook his head. “The king and his men ousted pirates who’ve been plaguing our shipping routes, both here and in Scotia Minor,” he pointed out. “Those rogues were a menace to all men. It made no difference to them who wore a cross. Only its value was of concern, not that of a human life.”

  “Perhaps,” she conceded slowly. Marching over to the slightly charred trunk that Colga had helped her retrieve from the fire and gaining steam once more, she lifted the catch with deft fingers and opened it. “And then he gave me this.”

  She lifted out the blue dress. Holding it to her, she swung around, reveling in the rich material clutched in her fingers. “I thought it the kindest, most thoughtful gesture … perhaps done in return for helping him escape Maille’s and Senan’s false persecution … or in gratitude for my forgiveness regarding Heber … or simply because we were longtime friends who’d come through a difficult time together.”

  “A comely token of esteem to be sure,” Cromyn remarked tactfully.

  “But tell me, what has forgiveness to do with the acceptance of a proposal of marriage?”

  The priest’s bemused scowl reinforced Riona’s own confusion. “Precisely my thoughts.”

  Cromyn held up his hand. “Wait, child. I am not certain my thoughts and yours share the same course.” He took the dress from her and gently placed it back in the trunk. “Now sit down.”

  Riona started for the bench, then paused, remembering her manners. Kieran could befuddle her even in absentia! “Forgive me, Father. May I pour you some drink?” She rushed to the small table near the door where a flagon of ale left over from supper sat next to her untouched meal.

  “Dear niece, you’d do me most service by sitting in one place and calming thyself. ’Tis like talking to a hummingbird.”

  Folding Riona’s hand between his, Cromyn led her to the bench. She took the seat, embarrassed by her uncharacteristic behavior. Or perhaps it was not uncharacteristic at all. Not of late.

  “Father, I have not put off anger, wrath, and malice as commanded by the Word, but have come to chew upon them daily since Kieran has returned. And the taste is bitter.”

  Would that she could swallow the things she’d said, bilious as they were, but they were out and could not be called back. Misery overwhelmed her at the thought that she’d challenged Kieran to be a good example for the little ones and then acted the worse herself.

  “I know not what I do these days. I do not know this ranting shrew consumed with anger or the wanton wench who melts at the thought of his kiss. All I know is that I like neither.”

  “Gleannmara has kissed you?”

  “Most assuredly and most thoroughly. I did not want it, yet a part of me wished it to last forever.”

  “The heart has its own mind, to be sure.”

  Her uncle’s understanding smile brought Riona’s tumble of thoughts to a halt. “Aye, I love Kieran, but as a foster brother, as kin—”

  “Have you ever wished the kiss of kin to last forever?”

  Heat from the thought of Kieran’s kiss mingled with that of chagrin. “Nay, never.”

  “Then you do not think of Kieran as kin, child, but as a man.”

  “But I don’t want a man!”

  The words rang as false to her ear as they did her heart—the heart with a mind of its own. Dismay fell over her like a suffocating mantle.

  “Father, what am I to do with a head and a heart that don’t agree?”

  Cromyn laughed gently. “That is a question of the ages, Riona. Consider it in prayer. That is my only suggestion. Now that you recognize the nature of your quandary, you can deal with it.”

  “He wants me to marry him.” Riona rebelled against the idea. “That’s what the dress is for. It wasn’t a gift from his heart, as I’d thought. It was part of a bride price … as if a commitment for life can be bought.”

  “It has been before and will be again.”

  “But not mine, Father. My love cannot be bought or bargained for … or pledged by someone else.”

  “And you think that Kieran of Gleannmara’s can?”

  Of course not. While decidedly more reckless, Kieran was as independent in spirit as she. He acted upon nothing in which he did not believe. But did he believe in marriage as a means to an heir or as a lifetime commitment to love come what may?

  Cromyn patted Riona on the arm. “Think on it and pray, Riona. I think you have your answer already. You need to be at peace with it, and only God can give you that.”

  Riona rose as he turned toward the door. “Wait, Father. I’ve babbled like a fool without giving you a breath to say what brought you here. Has our audience with the high king been moved ahead?”

  Or dare she hope that the abbot of Iona might see her? Father, forgive me for being so self-absorbed.

  “Oh, yes, I nearly forgot.” Cromyn reached into his belt and withdrew a small piece of parchment. “I was to deliver this to you … from the holy Father of Iona.”

  Awe numbed Riona’s tongue. The Word said God wanted His children to ask the least of things, but what she had asked for was by no means small. She’d asked for a miracle. Riona glanced at Leila as she tore open the wax seal and unfolded the paper with shaking hands. The hair on her arms and neck prickled as she read the single sentence. It was written in a bold, clear hand, not unlike Iona’s voice. She could almost hear his answer.

  Milady, the girl child will be healed, but in God’s time, not ours and by His hand, not mine.

  Tears anew sprang to her eyes. How foolish she’d been to count so much on the touch or blessing of the abbot of lona when she’d already asked the only One who could grant her wish.

  “Is everything all right, child?” Cromyn’s features showed his concern. “I thought it strange when the abbot’s clerk asked me to deliver this to you.”

  Riona looked up suddenly. “You haven’t asked him about Leila? But this—” Her voice broke. She handed the missive over to her uncle, unable to speak right away.

  The holy man read it and crossed his chest, murmuring in prayer.

  “Everything is fine, Father.” A cross between a chuckle and a sob escaped. She felt so foolish, so unworthy. “In all that has happened of late and in the excitement of seeing his holiness of Iona, I’d lost my focus as to Who was in control. I’ve made such a fiasco of it on my own that God sent me a … a reminder, first in you and now in this.”

  Riona raised up on tiptoe and gave h
er uncle a kiss on the cheek.

  “Thank you, uncle.”

  “I’m just a servant, child.” Cromyn gathered his pets. With a ruffled flap of their wings, they settled on his shoulders. He laughed. “My friends are not used to my being about so late after vespers.”

  He started through the door and stopped, turning back to Riona. “If it’s any consolation, Riona, know that even those such as I wrestle with decisions regarding their future. God seems to be leading me in a direction that is in conflict with the service I intended to perform for Him.”

  Riona put her own quandary aside. “Then perhaps I might convince you to share with me as I have with you, for you have truly been a godsend in my hour of confusion.”

  Cromyn shook his head. “I’ve a long trek back to the abbey. Suffice it to say, I may be leaving the peace and solitude of Iona for a more active role that God would have me fill.”

  Since his wife’s death shortly after Bran was born, Cromyn, a young priest then, had dreamed of serving as one of Columcille’s twelve in the isolation at Iona. It was an insulation, too, Riona thought, understanding all too well—a refuge from grief.

  “You’re leaving Iona? But where will you go?”

  “That is for God to decide and for me to wait until His will is clear. With the changes anticipated from this summer’s convention, I am to serve on the front lines.”

  “Would that He’d write it out as He did for Moses,” she reflected in exasperation.

  Cromyn’s eyes twinkled as he glanced at the missive in her hand. “Sometimes He does.”

  Aye, Riona thought as she stared at the paper after her uncle left. Leila would be healed. She blinked away the blur of relief from her eyes and walked into the imda where the little girl slept peacefully. It appeared that she, too, would serve on a front line, as a mother and wife to God’s children, both big and small.

  Kneeling in the space between the two beds, she placed her hands on each of the sleeping babes, feeling the rise and fall of their small chests.

  Thy will be done, Father, in Thy time. Meanwhile, I come to You with a frightful temper and stubborn will, asking that You remove them, for they are like sores upon my flesh that give me only despair. I will abandon my plan to serve Thee at the abbey to be mother to these little ones, whom death deprived of parents. But am I to provide them a father as well?