THE FAERIE HILLS (A Muirteach MacPhee Mystery Book 2)

by Susan McDuffie

  We returned to Dun Evin that night, and late it was when we got there. The next day I sent a message to Islay asking for the Beaton or his daughter to come to Colonsay, but it was a good week later before I saw Mariota. Autumn squalls had made sailing across the sound too dangerous, and we waited for fair weather and a boat to arrive from the Rinns.

  I say we waited, but the days had been busy with activity. Despite the rain, I had searched more caves near the Tràigh Bàn, and felt thoroughly filthy and damp to my marrow with the effort of it. In one we found a rough campsite, an old hearth and some bones of a rabbit and perhaps some birds, but in no cave did we find any trace of Niall. It was indeed as if the faerie had stolen him away.

  No one claimed to know anything about the infant bones we had found. But one old man, Eachann Beag, who lived in a little cottage off the track towards Balnahard, claimed to have passed a stranger one evening about a month earlier as he was looking for a lost goat.

  “It was near Beinn Beag, right enough,” he said. “And the moon was just close to full, and starting to rise, and so it was close to a month ago that it was. I was looking for that Muireal. She is a great one for wandering as high as she can get, and I was thinking she had gone up to Carnan Eoin, for sometimes she is finding grazing there, and I was worried for her. So I was walking that way, and had just passed Beinn Beag, and that old ruined house that is up there, and what should I see coming but a stranger down from the mountain. Indeed he was a stranger.”

  “Not a Colonsay man?”

  Eachann shook his gray head emphatically. I do not know why he was called Beag, for small he was not. Despite his age, Eachann had broad shoulders and was somewhat stout.

  “Indeed and he was not,” he repeated. “I had never seen him before. He was thick through the shoulders and looked to be strong. I am thinking his hair was red, but in the moonlight it is hard to be knowing for sure. I greeted him pleasantly enough, but he did not answer me and walked past. And then I was thinking perhaps he was not a good man himself, and I let him walk on, just, and went on to look for my goat.”

  “He was alone?”

  Eachann nodded. “And then I watched him, and he went down towards the Tràigh Bàn. I am thinking he had a boat there, and that is how he came here.”

  “Why is it you are thinking that?” I asked.

  “However else would he have come, and no one seen him or known him here?”

  Eachann had seen the strange man a good three weeks before Niall had vanished.

  “And you have not seen him again?” I asked, hoping he had.

  “No. For my Muireal has not strayed again, and so I have not gone out looking for her in the moonlight.”

  So here was another mystery to add to my growing store of them. I thanked him, but either the old man saw people invisible to everyone else, or the stranger had been very sly. No one else I spoke with claimed to have seen him, not even old Àine, whom I visited again one afternoon when the sun shone and a mild breeze blew in from the sea. As the day was so fine, we sat outside her cottage, and I drank a mether of her ale. Somerled settled himself at my feet and slept in the sun while we talked.

  I told her of the small skeleton we had found, and asked if she knew of any local girls who had been with child.

  “That girl from Loch Fada, who was handfasted to Hamish. She is second cousin to my niece on the other side. She had twin bairns, but they are thriving and learning to walk now. And I am thinking that she and Hamish will be married proper in the church very soon. He was away, you see, fighting in Ireland. He has relatives with the Mhic Suibhne, and he was not knowing of it all until he was coming back this summer.”

  “There are many other other young girls on the island.”

  “Yes, but they are well behaved.”

  I doubted that all of them were so well behaved as all that, but if an island girl had been with child and successfully concealed it, and then gone to such lengths to rid herself of the baby, I supposed it was possible no one would know of the pregnancy.

  Suddenly old Àine crossed herself. “It will be a changeling, that is what it will be,” she said abruptly.

  “What are you saying?” Of course I had heard of changelings, but never of one left dead in a cave carefully swaddled in linen.

  “When the sithichean take a baby, they will be leaving a changeling. And you can never be feeding it enough. It will be crying and wailing night and day, day and night. And you must put some iron in the cradle to protect the baby, otherwise they will be stealing it away.”

  I nodded, for I had heard the same myself. The faerie are said to detest iron.

  “You must also be seeing the faerie doctor, if you can be finding one. For they will know the ways to get your own child back.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “It will be someone who knows about the faerie, who knows the charms to say against them and who can find the medicines to make the sithichean give back the child. Old Gillean, he will be one of them.”

  “And where does he bide?”

  “Over near the Lochan Gammhich. He was getting his skills from his own mother.”

  I took another sip of the ale, somewhat puzzled. “But how is that explaining the bones in the cave, Àine?”

  The old woman looked confused. “What bones are you speaking of?”

  “The bones I found in the cave, the ones you said were of a changeling?”

  “I was saying no such thing. I was telling you of the sithichean,” Àine replied, and as she seemed to get more and more confused the longer we spoke, I drank the last of my ale, roused Somerled, and took my leave, remembering how Fergus had complained of her forgetfulness.

  * * * * *

  Somerled and I walked back to Scalasaig. I wondered about the girl from Loch Fada, but that did little to solve the question of what had become of Niall. And it was with great misgiving that I saw several boats in the harbor, what with the letup of the squalls and the arrival of better weather. Sure enough, one birlinn was from Benbecula, and it had carried Niall’s father and mother on it, grieving parents I had no answers for. But I was much happier to hear another ship had arrived, a small boat from Islay with Mariota Beaton aboard it.

  It seemed Mariota had already disembarked. Upon questioning, it turned out she had not gone up to Dun Evin, as might have been expected, but had gone into Scalasaig to visit Aorig, whose cottage was next to the dilapidated hut I had lived in there. I decided to stop by, reasoning that Mariota might want company on her way to the dun, where I assumed she would be staying.

  My old hut, next to Aorig’s neat holding, was not looking the better for the neglect I had bestowed upon it these last months. I thought I should be getting someone to live there before the winter set in, but I walked right by the tattered and bedraggled thatch, and knocked on the wall of Aorig’s house, hearing feminine voices chattering inside amid the clatter of cooking and the noise of children.

  “Ah, it is Muirteach,” said Aorig easily, as she answered the door. “And you have your dog with you as well. I was wondering when we might be seeing you both. Is it Seamus you’re seeking, then? He is off hunting with his father. I am not expecting them back until tomorrow.” Her face grew more serious as she added, “You’ve found nothing yet, then? I was just telling Mariota of the whole sad business.”

  She ushered me inside, and sat me down on a stool near the hearth. Three children, the littlest just learning to crawl, played in the cottage. They were my own half brothers and sister, although how they came to be living with Aorig is another tale entirely.

  “Perhaps I can be finding you some ale,” Aorig said, pretending not to notice when the middle child, Sean, and his older sister came and clambered into my lap with cries of “Muirteach!” The boy was out of my lap just as quickly, and began chasing Somerled around the cottage, knocking over a bench in the process. Aorig quickly told the boy to take my dog outside.

  I looked for Mariota and found her sitting on another stool, smili
ng a little, and I wondered suddenly what she found so laughable about the situation.

  “I can see that great dog of yours is doing well. Is it terrorizing the Rinns entirely he is?” asked Aorig, as she handed me the ale. “And why is it you were sending for Mariota?” she continued without giving me time enough to answer the first question.

  I explained about the bones we had found in the cave, and how I hoped someone with some healing skill might be able to tell me something of them. Aorig just shook her head, her eyes twinkling.

  “I do not know what she could be telling you about those old bones, Muirteach. I am thinking there is some other reason you were sending for her.” Her voice had laughter hiding in it. “Perhaps you have not been feeling too well and were wanting a doctor. Is it a sore throat you’ve got, then?”

  Mariota turned unaccountably red at this comment, but fortunately, the baby, whom Mariota had put down on the bed, tumbled down and began to cry, and Aorig’s comment was forgotten. At least I hoped it had been.

  * * * * *

  I had no chance to speak with Mariota privately until I walked with her up the hill to my uncle’s dun a little later. The sun was setting and the evening grew chill as we climbed, while Somerled alternately lagged behind, running after rabbits, then caught up with us. Mariota wrapped her mantle more tightly around her. For some reason the silence between us hung heavily in the evening air, at least it felt so to me.

  “You must not be minding Aorig,” I said to break the silence.

  “I was not minding her at all,” replied Mariota, and she kept walking.

  “Mariota,” I added, after another long pause, “it is good to see you again.”

  “And you also, Muirteach.”

  Just about then we reached the entrance to the dun and were admitted by one of my uncle’s men.

  “My aunt will be glad to see you,” I continued, somewhat awkwardly. “Aorig was as well.” Just then Somerled and my uncle’s hounds started yapping at each other, and the noise made it difficult to talk.

  We walked towards the hall, where the evening meal was in progress. The torches had been lit against the dark of the evening, and from the doorway we could see the firelight of the hearth. As we drew somewhat closer we heard noise, an uproar of voices, somewhat louder than was the usual at my uncle’s hall.

  We entered, but no one noticed us. All attention was focused on the center of the hall. The two MacRuaris had drawn their daggers, while across the hearth a well-dressed man I did not recognize sprang to his feet. A white-faced woman in tears stood behind him.

  The MacRuaris stood as well, and knocked over the trestle table in a clatter of pitchers, methers, and food dishes. The women cried out and I saw members of the luchd-tighe rush to restrain the three men. Then the dogs began barking again, in earnest, adding to the chaos, and I saw one of them running to the corner with a large leg of mutton.

  “What is it?” I shouted to Fergus, above the babble.

  “That is young Niall’s father, from Benbecula. The son of His Lordship. And he is saying that the others have killed his son.”

  Chapter 5

  It took some time for things to quiet down, and by the end of it Niall’s father, Ranald, and the MacRuaris were under guard in two separate outbuildings while my uncle and I tried to piece together what had happened. The wife of the Benbecula MacDonald proved helpful in untangling the coil. It seemed that some fifteen years back, her husband had shot Raghnall MacRuari’s son in a hunting accident and there had been bad blood ever since then between the two families.

  “Indeed and they were saying nothing of it to me,” Gillespic said to her. “They were even helping to look for the boy.”

  “And a fine thing, wouldn’t it be,” retorted the Benbecula MacDonald’s wife, whose name was Sìne. She spoke with a pinched, taut look to her mouth. “The murderers themselves to be helping to look for my poor Niall, and themselves knowing where not to look so as not to be finding him.” She burst into tears and my aunt tried to comfort her. “No, no, it’s murdered him, they have. And the honor price was paid long ago, and all should be forgotten by now.”

  Her sobbing took over and I went with Gillespic to speak with the MacRuaris, where my uncle was holding them in the byre.

  “We were not telling you of that,” said Raghnall bitterly, after my uncle confronted them with Sìne’s accusations, “thinking it made no matter, because we were not hurting the young lad.”

  “And haven’t we sat at your table, and eaten your bread and drunk of your wine,” added Griogair, glaring at one of my uncle’s tallest and strongest bodyguards who stood, arms crossed, blocking the entrance to the byre. “Are you thinking we are barbarians, then, to be flouting the laws of hospitality in such a way?”

  “Although you were out hunting the day the lad disappeared,” my uncle said mildly.

  “Yes, we were hunting. But not hunting children. We do not quarrel with children.”

  “No,” added the other, a black look on him, “but we will be quarreling with the lad’s father, right enough, after this accusation.”

  “Well, let me just be sorting it out a bit, then,” said my uncle placatingly, using the charm he was so noted for. “Fine I am knowing how you helped search for the lad. I am not accusing you of anything. But I can not have you drawing your swords on each other here in my dun. I might need to be keeping your weapons a wee while, just until this is settled.”

  Grudgingly, the MacRuaris agreed to this proposal, and my uncle went to speak with the MacDonald.

  “The men were with me most of the day that Niall disappeared,” my uncle said. “But they did go out hunting later in the day.”

  “And found the quarry they were after—” interposed the MacDonald, darkly.

  “Na, na,” said my uncle soothingly. “You must not be thinking it was like that. They helped search for the lad, and I have Muirteach looking for him now as well. And you must be knowing how he solved that mystery for His Lordship himself, your own father, in the summer.”

  “Well, he has not solved this one, has he? But I myself am knowing who the guilty parties are,” said the MacDonald. “And my father, your overlord, will be seeing justice is done, if you do not,” he added in a threatening tone.

  It was a while before my uncle could coax the man Ranald into a less bloodthirsty frame of mind, and later still before I could eat and speak again with Mariota, who was helping my aunt repair the damage caused by the melee in the hall.

  “Och, what a mess. What great lummoxes men are, with their fighting and quarreling,” said my aunt as she picked up the shards of a broken pitcher and took them out to the midden. It was not the first time she had done so in my uncle’s hall.

  “What a reception your uncle arranged,” said Mariota with a nervous laugh. “Sure, it was quite unexpected.”

  “You were not hurt?” Something in her tone of voice made me think that she had been.

  “No, Muirteach.” She bent her head to pick up some wooden bowls that lay scattered on the floor. “No, I am not hurt. It is just that since last summer I find myself unaccountably sensitive. My humors seem unbalanced, but I am not knowing why.”

  Thinking back to those events on the Oa last June, in which Mariota had nearly lost her life, it did not surprise me altogether that she was skittish now. But the thought of what my stupidity and foolishness had put her through, and how it had affected her, hurt me like an unexpected knife thrust in my gut.

  “It’s sorry I am about that, mo chridhe,” I said, surprising both her and myself with the endearment.

  “No now,” Mariota said in a lighter tone as she saw my face. “It’s fine I am, Muirteach. You do not need to be worrying yourself about me. I am thinking we should both be worrying about that Niall. And what is all this you were saying back at Aorig’s about bones? Your message was not all that clear.”

  It had been so long since I had sent the message that I could not remember. “What was I saying then?”

&nb
sp; “You asked if either I or my father could come look at some bones. And it was a lucky thing I was not at Balinaby when the messenger arrived, for we have often been in Finlaggan this summer.”

  “I am knowing that,” I said, a little churlishly.

  “Muirteach, I was thinking I might be seeing more of you, now that you are living in the Rinns, but my father was needing me at Finlaggan.” She hesitated a bit. “And I found I did not want to stay alone at Balinaby.”

  “Your cousin is there—”

  “I know. But there is more activity at Finlaggan.”

  “I am knowing that,” I retorted. “That is why I was so careful to be staying at the Rinns. I was not wanting His Lordship to be finding me.” I righted a table that had been kicked to the floor in the fight.

  We both laughed and the tone grew easier.

  “I am thinking he’d be finding you easily enough, as it was Himself who was giving you the property.”

  I explained to her about the swaddled bundle of bones we had found in the cave and about Niall’s disappearance. “I have looked everywhere, Mariota, and no one can find a trace of him.”

  “Maybe he is not on the island. Perhaps he was taken someplace.”

  “Then he could be anyplace,” I said darkly, picking up a bench. “We must first be figuring who could have been wanting to harm the lad. Or steal him.”

  “There are the MacRuaris. And who else was on the island visiting your uncle?”

  “Just that Liam MacLean from Mull. But I do not think he would be wanting to hurt an eight-year-old boy he does not know.”

  “And what have others seen?”

  “A man was seeing a stranger near where the boy disappeared, late in the night. He said it was not a Colonsay man. But that was some weeks earlier, and he was not seeing him again.”

  “But what would a stranger be doing on the island in the middle of the night? Visiting Columcille’s well?”

  The hall by now was looking more to rights, and Euluasaid was pleasantly surprised when she came in again.