Riona

by Linda Windsor

  “Have you ever fined a man or his clan with an eric?”

  Kieran nodded to the boy. “After consultation with my brehon I have.”

  “You ever kill somebody?” Liex asked.

  Kieran paused with an awkward glance at Riona. “Aye, I have killed my share of men on the battlefield. Men who would not be stopped by the law.”

  “Was it exciting?”

  Riona waited for Kieran’s answer with bated breath. She’d so often wondered how such a good man could take another’s life. Not that she was so naive as to think it never had to be done. There was self-defense at least.

  “At the time,” Kieran said at last. “But it plays on a man’s mind later, so that he remembers only the glory and shuts away the bloody grimness of it. When you get older you’ll learn that having to fight and seeking to fight aren’t always the same. There’s no glory or honor in fighting for the sake of fighting. It wounds more than just those on the battlefield. Like the ripples, the pain travels on and on, to loved ones and friends.” He looked at Leila and smiled. “All the way to heaven.”

  Later that evening, Kieran’s answer still played like a balm on Riona’s mind. He had changed … or at least was earnestly trying. The quick-tempered warrior who fought first and questioned later seemed to be gone.

  When Fynn asked her to pray with him after she’d tucked her three foundlings into beds on the crowded floor of the now dark hostel, she said another prayer of thanksgiving for God’s goodness in bringing their lonely souls through evil into a warm and loving family. She meant every word, especially when she asked that heaven sustain their family and guide Kieran as a new king, husband, and father. As she rose to a small chorus of amens, a sharp pain invaded her knee.

  “What’s this?” she exclaimed, feeling amid the blankets and pallets for the offending object. It was Liex’s sling and pouch of stones. “Now, why isn’t this in your bag?”

  “A man needs to be prepared for danger,” the lad told her grimly.

  Riona glanced at him askance. “Well, this little man needs be prepared for sleep. Between God, your father, and me …” Your father and me … It sounded so strange, yet so right. “We’ll keep an eye out for you,” she added as she slipped into the makeshift bed beside him. The scent of the pine and straw stuffing in the pallet stirred beneath her weight.

  “You’ll not be needing that in here,” Kieran agreed. She tucked the weapon under her pillow and mimicked Liex’s grave manner. “A girl has to be prepared for danger.”

  Chuckling deep from within, Kieran drew her to him as though she was the most precious thing in the world to him. After a moment, he whispered against the top of her head. “I felt ill at ease when I became king of Gleannmara, but I was trained for that. Yet tonight, this new role as husband and father has overwhelmed me. There’s no school for that, no champion to teach this art.”

  The forlorn words clenched at Riona’s heart. Turning in his embrace, she looked up at his face in the blackness and framed it in her hands. “What greater champion than the Father Himself, beloved? Or what better text than that of His Word?”

  Their lips touched. Riona felt his smile of acceptance as his arms snaked around her, drawing her closer. The room was filled with travelers from all walks of life. Maille and part of his retinue were a short distance away; the bulk of his soldiers were encamped outside about the funeral cart. Yet the noise of humanity faded in her ears as the smile became a kiss, and the only words she heard came straight from her husband’s heart to her own. The hall was now too dark to even cast shadows, but it wasn’t blackness that blinded Riona.

  It was light—the light of their love.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The room was filled with the murmur of sleep—a lullaby in itself, with the steady, high wheeze of some and the rumbling deep snores of others, all seeming to blend into a lulling melody. Occasionally a log chewed thin by the flameless coals slipped and fell on the hearth. Sparks lifted toward the opening in the roof, briefly illuminating the pitch-blackness of the room.

  Riona heard it all through the thin veil of sleep. Wrapped in Kieran’s arms, she felt his heartbeat against her back and his soft breath upon her neck, an unconscious balm of his love. It was inviting enough to draw her into a deeper rest, yet she resisted. She didn’t know why, and it frustrated her no end, for it had been a long day’s journey—and would be again tomorrow.

  But instead of sleeping, she compared her heartbeat to Kieran’s. Hers was faster, perhaps because she stewed about being awake. She toyed with the slingshot. Fynn had made it for his younger brother and worked it smooth as a tabletop. No splinters here, not even in the cradle of the Y. She fiddled with the stones in the boy’s bag, counting them. Ten. As she fingered the last, it worked its way out of the sack.

  Riona frowned. Oh bother. She eased away from Kieran and sought to stuff it back in the pouch when a floorboard creaked unnaturally close. She blinked in the darkness. Her pulse accelerated, even as she told herself she was being ridiculous. She was overtired.

  Blankets and a mattress rustled, no doubt someone turning over. Feeling foolish, she took up the sling and slipped the stone into the leather patch, laying it ready on her stomach. If Kieran woke up and found her at point with the sling, he’d laugh himself silly. Still, Riona didn’t put the weapon aside. Something was not in harmony with the rest of the room. There was discord in the lullaby, and that instilled the same in her. She never slept well in hostelries or brewies, huddled with strangers—

  A log broke in two pieces and pitched into the coals beneath it. A glittering display of sparks leapt toward the domed ceiling, giving definition to her surroundings. Why was Fynn awake and standing over Liex?

  No, wait. It wasn’t Fynn. The lad wore trews. A tunic hung over the trim legs of this shadow … this shadow of a man reaching for the sleeping Liex’s head. Without thinking, Riona pulled back the sling and let the stone fly, just as the last of the sparks over the hearth flickered and faded into the pitch of night.

  A startled yelp affirmed a hit. Scrambling of feet confirmed malintent. Those who were not stirred by the first awoke to an ungodly howl, followed by a fierce curse. Kieran bolted out of a deep sleep to his feet, shedding blankets and nearly stepping on Riona. She heard the drag of his sword, which he’d kept beside him on the floor, then the sound of other weapons being unsheathed, metal abandoning leather.

  Someone had the presence of mind to light a lantern. Several people were standing at the ready, weapons of every kind brandished, their expressions ranging from half asleep to irritated to totally stupefied.

  Two men scuffled near the door of the hostelry. Kieran leapt nimbly across the beds and bodies still on the floor and was upon them in an instant. He wrung the knife from the hand of the assailant and slung him to the custody of one of Maille’s soldiers. Then he seized the other man and hauled him to his feet by his tunic.

  “Colga!” Gleannmara frowned. “What the devil is going on?”

  “I caught ’im as he run for the door,” the other man shouted. Riona recognized him as a trader of small goods, coarse in speech and dress but friendly. “He tripped over me wife.”

  “I was just on my way out to relieve myself,” Colga protested, “when someone or something bit me.”

  Riona felt blood rush to her face. Self-conscious she buried the sling beneath the tangle of blankets her husband had abandoned. Father in heaven, what had she done?

  “Hey, that’s my bag,” Liex exclaimed, pointing to the sack in Colga’s hand.

  Colga looked at the bag as if he’d seen it for the first time. “I … I thought it was mine in the dark.”

  “What, do ye take a change of clothes when ye relieve yourself?” the trader accused, tongue in cheek.

  Those awake enough to appreciate the humor laughed, but neither embarrassment nor the indignation in his voice colored Colga’s face. It grew whiter by the moment. “It’s none of your flumin’ business how I—”

  “Give the
lad back his sack.” Kieran leaned on the hilt of the sword he’d made ready to use, its tip balanced lightly on the floor, as though the matter were settled. The calculation and suspicion in his eyes told another tale.

  Straightening his tunic, Colga reached across some of the guests who’d not risen yet and handed Liex the bag but in the process dumped the contents.

  “Sorry, lad,” he said, hastily jumping in to help the boy pick up the belongings.

  “Well, that’s that. I suggest we put the drunkard next to the door so we all can get some sleep,” Lord Maille said from across the room, his gaze narrowed on the spilled contents of the bag.

  The resulting laughter abruptly halted at the sound of Leila’s shriek. Distraught to tears, the child held up Lady Gray’s basket. The hinge of its lid had been broken—but worse, it was empty.

  Assured that the unholy howl that had awakened them belonged to nothing more dangerous than an outraged kitten, helpful travelers joined in the search for Lady Gray. Colga must have stepped on the basket in his startled retreat. “Hey, what’s one of my stones doing over here?” Liex said, giving Riona a disparaging look, as if to say I can’t trust you with anything.

  Guiltily, Riona handed over the sling, which the boy tucked into his sack atop the belongings Colga had helped stuff inside.

  Kieran burst out laughing. “I think I know what bit you, Dromin.”

  Colga stared at Riona in disbelief.

  “I’m sorry, Colga. I didn’t know it was you. I just saw a shadow over the children and …” She giggled in spite of her genuine contrition. First he was stung, then Lady Gray shrieked. Sure, the poor soul must have thought a spirit had him.

  “Here’s your pooka, Dromin,” an Ulster guard taunted. He drew a thoroughly disgruntled Lady Gray from her hiding place in the woodpile.

  “Well, I shall sleep better knowing that I’m protected by a cat and a lady with a slingshot,” Maille snorted. His words evoked another ripple of merriment, but the look he gave Riona was enough to curdle blood.

  Oblivious to the undercurrent, Leila ran to claim her kitten. She gave the mustached man a thank-you peck on the cheek that melted his gruff expression.

  “Good as a watchdog, that one,” he told her, producing a friendly, uneven display of teeth.

  With the candle left lit near the door, Colga took his leave. Gradually, the guests settled back in their beds to salvage what was left of the night. Instead of going into her basket, Lady Gray snuggled contentedly against Leila. Riona tucked the children in and gave each one a kiss.

  “What was Colga doing anyway?” Fynn asked after getting his motherly due.

  “I think he was disoriented in the dark, like he said, and grabbed the wrong bag on his way outside.”

  “Who takes his bag to the privy?”

  “One who has had more than his share of heath fruit,” she answered. She caressed the boy’s face, where manly bristle would someday replace the near invisible down of his youth. “Now get some sleep.”

  “Nice shot,” he called after her as she climbed into the bed next to her husband.

  “You may not slay giants, but you sure scared the soul out of your cousin,” Kieran chuckled softly as she settled against him. He nuzzled her nose with his, voice full of mischief. “Tell me, lass, does the God who disapproves of the sword approve of the slingshot?”

  Condemned already by her violent although well-intentioned act, Riona compounded her guilt. She pinched his ear soundly and then hastened to do penance with a contrite kiss.

  The rise of earthworks and rooflines above the abbey’s buildings took shape in the afternoon mist, pervading the landscape of the last leg of their journey from Dublin’s bridge over the black ford. Riona looked forward to changing into dry clothing and a night in her old bed with her new husband. Kieran could take the chill out of a mountain stream, she thought, glancing over to where Gray Macha proudly carried his lord. The lord himself sat straight in the saddle with Liex slumped against him in the cradle of his arms.

  The child had fallen asleep and nearly fallen off the pony a little earlier. Fynn caught him by the seat of the pants and shook him, but Kieran rode up and scooped the sleepy youngster up on Gray Macha’s back. He’d slipped into the role of fatherhood as naturally as that of a husband. She could not pinpoint exactly when this transformation had occurred, but she thanked God for it.

  Brother Domnall was in the outer rath when they rode through the gate. With a hearty hail, he ran toward them, Leila’s calf trotting at his heels. What a grand reunion it was. Riona was so excited that she hardly knew which of the many brethren hugged and congratulated her. They came from within and without the rath to greet the fugitives they’d helped escape and sustained with prayer.

  “This is our father,” Liex, who’d come wide-awake, called out, pointing with pride to Kieran. “He married us and the lady.”

  Domnall’s eyes twinkled as they turned to Riona. “Well, I must say, milady, that becoming a wife and mother is becoming.” His usually stern countenance erupted in laughter at his play on words, but he quickly recovered himself, raising a reproachful finger at her. “I always said you had no place in the abbey … rambunctious as the children, you are.”

  He meant no offense and Riona took none. Instead, she hugged him and planted a loud kiss on his cheek. “Life would have been easier on all of us if I’d listened,” she admitted.

  The boisterous welcome grew subdued as Brother Ninian told his compatriots about Bishop Senan’s ill fate. Riona watched their faces register shock and misgiving. Domnall and a few others showed no astonishment at all, as if they’d suspected Senan’s hidden nature all along.

  “He left a trail of misdeed and treachery to his end,” Domnall remarked as he escorted Riona and the children to her old quarters while Kieran saw to Gray Macha. The grooms remembered the stallion from his last visit and remained shy of it.

  “Milady!”

  Riona stiffened as Lord Maille hailed her. The Ulster lord carried an ornate box toward them. “These are the bishop’s personal things. I’m wondering where they should go.”

  “And you couldn’t ask Ninian?” Domnall queried impatiently. “Everyone knows Ninian was Fintan’s and Senan’s clerk, and heaven knows you’ve given him enough words to write to know as much.”

  Maille narrowed his gaze at Domnall and then turned it on Fynn. “Then here, lad. Would you be so kind as to take this to Brother Ninian’s office?”

  Fynn glanced at Riona uncertainly. She nodded. “I’ll put your things away.”

  Handing over his travel sack to her, Fynn took the large, silver-chased casket. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.

  Maille brushed his hands together, as though ridding them of dirt. “Well then, I’ll leave you to refresh yourselves before supper.”

  “Vespers first,” Riona reminded him politely.

  He nodded with a wooden smile and took his leave. She looked after him, feeling somehow vilified by the contact.

  “I know it’s wrong to despise someone,” she began, “but—”

  “Heaven’s saints themselves would be hard-pressed to love that one,” Domnall interrupted in the same crusty humor that had caused him to be removed from the scribes’ repository and relegated to the barns. As he realized his transgression, he crossed himself.

  Lips twitching, Riona did the same. She dearly loved the man, even more so since he’d been so instrumental in helping Kieran. His manner was often flawed, but his heart was pure as gold.

  “Look, mind you, you bleating bother, that’s not a barn,” he railed at the calf that followed Leila inside the dwelling. “It thinks it’s a pup, the way it follows me about. ’Tis no small wonder I haven’t fallen and broken a bone.”

  After herding the animal out, the priest reached inside the slit in his robe and drew out a crumbling piece of scone. Instantly attentive, the calf nuzzled his hand and brushed against him. “What is to become of me?” Domnall complained. “As if I’ve time to mothe
r you.” He looked up at Riona suddenly. “Will you be taking the child’s calf to Gleannmara on the morrow?”

  The alarm on his weathered face nearly broke Riona’s heart. “Perhaps you’d keep it for her, now that she has a kitten to occupy her time … unless it’s too much trouble.”

  Domnall nodded. “Aye, I suppose I could. The journey might be a bit much on its young legs, what with how they were twisted at birth.”

  Riona hugged the man on impulse. Tears stung her eyes as she drew away.

  “If it’s going to upset you, lass—”

  “No, no.” She shook her head. “It’s just that … that I’ll miss you and Ninian and … and everyone. You were all the family I had for so long.”

  The brother sniffed and wiped the tickle from his nose. “With three young ones, a strappin’ husband, and a home to see to, I doubt you’ll be missing me or that nose-aggravating barn. I’ve died a thousand deaths sneezing.” He rubbed his nose again for good measure. “I’ll be seeing you at vespers. Try not to be late.”

  Riona laughed. How well Domnall knew her. In spite of her best intentions, the handbell that called the order to prayer was often already put away by the time she hurried into the chapel for evening prayers. “I will, I promise.”

  Leila took a short nap with Riona while the boys fell into their normal routines. When they showed up at the guest house with Kieran, she knew where all three had been. Hay clung to Kieran’s and Liex’s clothing, while wood shavings littered Fynn’s new brat. Hurriedly, Riona and Leila brushed them to make them fit for the service.

  The bell ringer was just stepping inside as the family entered the chapel for an hour of reverence. Prayers were offered for Senan. Unlike his brother, Fintan, the bishop would be interred in a burial place removed from holy ground. While the earthly placement of his remains may have been fitting, the company prayed for his soul nonetheless.

  The service over, the Gleannmara guests made their way to the hall where Fintan had received Tadgh and Mebh weeks before. Riona and her family joined the brethren in the refectory, while, to Riona’s relief, Ulster’s company dined at its encampment in the outer rath. The way Lord Maille watched her family, as if waiting to do his worst, did nothing to aid her digestion when he was within sight.