THE FAERIE HILLS (A Muirteach MacPhee Mystery Book 2)

by Susan McDuffie

  The man nodded but did not speak.

  “Are you knowing when she will be returning?” asked Mariota.

  The man nodded a second time, and motioned for us to enter the cave. Then he left us, still without having spoken a word. Outside we could hear noise as he strung the deer up and started to skin it.

  We stood uncomfortably for a few moments, then finally sat on the wooden stools and waited.

  “Perhaps he will be her servant. He is an odd one, that man,” said Aorig, a little nervously I thought.

  “Yes. He must be mute,” commented Mariota.

  While we waited I looked around at the old witch’s cave. The chest she had taken the silver bowl from on our first visit lay open, and I was curious as to what lay inside it.

  Gormal appeared soon after that.

  “You are back again,” she said to me. “Whatever it is you are searching for, you will not find it here.”

  Mariota interjected, “Please do not be minding him. It was doing me a favor he was entirely, to bring me to you. I am Fearchar Beaton’s daughter—the physician from Islay. You have heard of him?”

  Gormal’s manner softened a little. “He is a good man. He has visited me here. Twice he came.”

  “I am his daughter,” Mariota continued. “And when I heard Muirteach had seen you before, nothing would do but that he must bring me myself to meet you. For you see I also am a healer, and I have much to learn, being young.”

  “You could not be learning from your father then?” asked Gormal.

  “I have learned much from him. But I was hearing you had a remedy for the falling sickness, and other remedies—”

  “Indeed. I have many remedies for many things. But I may not be sharing them with every woman who fancies she is a healer, even if she is one of the famous Beatons.”

  Mariota said nothing to that, but I could tell from the way she bit upon her lip that the woman’s words had stung her.

  It was Aorig who broke the silence.

  “Were you hearing of the young boy missing on Colonsay?”

  “Indeed. For that one,” and she gestured to me, “was here, with the boy’s mother.”

  Aorig nodded. “That was the way of it. But were you hearing the last?”

  “It’s little enough news I hear here, quiet as it is. And little enough news I care to hear. I just wish to live here undisturbed. By the likes of you.”

  “But the lad was found dead,” Seamus blurted out. “Under a cairn. It is said the sithichean killed him.”

  “Well, I am knowing nothing of that. And nothing of the sithichean, either. As he knows full well.” Gormal motioned again towards me. “The scrying did not work that day, and I will not try again in that matter. And if none of you are needing any remedies, it’s little enough I have to say to you, except that the winds will soon be changing, and if you are not leaving soon it’s a hard time you will have getting back to Colonsay.”

  At this a draft whistled through the cave, and I felt a sudden chill. I wondered if she was putting the evil eye upon us or on our boat, or summoning up a storm to confound us. I stood up to leave, for I was not liking this.

  “Come, let us be going.” I gave her a coin. “We are sorry to have bothered you, and I am not liking to trouble you for nothing. Thank you for your ale.”

  Gormal took the coin and nodded at this, and the others stood. We left and returned to our boat.

  “I am sorry, mo chridhe, that you were learning nothing of her cures,” I said to Mariota as we embarked.

  “She was not forthcoming, was she? Perhaps she is right. I am but a young amadain, and will never make a true healer.” Mariota appeared to be close to tears. Keeping her eyes carefully fixed on the horizon, she wrapped her blue mantle tightly against her as the sea wind blew and we entered the strait between Colonsay and Jura.

  “You have a fine touch with the healing,” I said, trying to comfort her. “Do not be taking her words to heart. She is just a bitter old woman who lives alone in the caves there.” I did not add that I prayed the bitter old woman had not set the evil eye on us for disturbing her as we did.

  It seemed she had not, for we had a fine enough trip back to Colonsay but arrived well after dark. There were torches flaring and a group of people milled around the landing site at Scalasaig. I wondered what had happened—this time of year most people were snug inside by their hearths in the dark evenings.

  I found out soon enough for as we beached the boat, a friend of Seamus’s came running towards us.

  “You are back at last,” he cried.

  “Whatever is it then?”

  The lad paused, then excitedly announced his news. “It is that Liam MacLean, the one from Mull. The one who was drinking with you that night at Donald Dubh’s. And riding that great big gray horse around here and there, all over the island.”

  “Yes, what of him?” I asked, interrupting.

  “He was found up by Balnahard, knocked from his horse, senseless.”

  Chapter 12

  “Is he dead?” I asked.

  The lad shook his head. “No, no, but he is sore injured and may die soon enough. He is up at the dun with your auntie and the MacPhee.”

  And so it was quickly enough that we made our way there after leaving Aorig and Seamus in the village.

  Euluasaid met us in the hall.

  “Indeed, and you were already hearing of it then? A sin and a sad thing it is, and himself so witty and handsome and always such a friend to Niall and Dòmhnall.” Euluasaid’s voice came near to breaking as she spoke Niall’s name, but after a moment she steadied herself and continued. “And a shame on our island, it is, that such things are happening here. In truth, I think the world has gone mad this year.”

  Liam lay senseless on my aunt’s second-best bedstead, his breathing even, but with no recognition or awareness in his eyes. He seemed to be in a deep sleep. Mariota examined him while the rest of us looked on. But she seemed hesitant when she finally spoke.

  “I am wishing I knew more—I am wishing my father was here. I have only seen one case of something like this. A man slipped out on the cliffs as he looked for bird’s eggs, and got a fearsome blow to the head. He never woke. But he did not die. It was as though his soul was caught between the living and the dead.”

  “What finally happened?” I asked.

  “His wife nursed him, but he never woke or spoke, not for years. Although he would open his eyes and swallow the gruel she spooned into his mouth, he never knew her. The poor woman thought the faerie had stolen him, but then one day, after some five years had passed, he did wake and recognize her. But he did not know his child, for his child had grown older. And the man could not walk well, his joints had stiffened so.”

  “But he did wake.”

  “Aye. But he died thereafter, of the lung fever. It was sad. And my father did not know how to wake him, and I do not know what to be doing for Liam now.” Mariota saw to the poultices and looked at the blow to his head. “How was he injured?”

  “That Eachann Beag found him,” replied my uncle. “The old man was out looking for his wandering goat.”

  “That would be Muireal,” I added, remembering the old man.

  “Well, I am not knowing the name of the goat. But Eachann Beag found him lying in a ravine.”

  Liam did not look so handsome as he lay there senseless. It was easy enough to see the large bloodied wound to the back of his skull.

  “And they were thinking he fell from his horse?” I asked Gillespic.

  My uncle nodded. “Well, the horse was found nearby grazing as happy as you please. And there are no other wounds. So what were they to think?”

  Mariota shook her head. “I do not think this wound was made from a fall. I think someone struck him hard from behind. See here on his trews, the mud on the knees? Perhaps he was kneeling down.”

  “Perhaps,” I said. “But there is mud enough on this island to get some on your trews easy enough.”

  “Well,
that is what I am thinking,” said Mariota, sounding a little hurt. “But I am young and not knowing all of it, and perhaps I am wrong. That old hag on Jura would not trust my judgment. So why should you be trusting what I say?”

  I looked at her and thought I saw her lip quivering, although I was surprised she would take affront at my words.

  “I was just saying, Mariota, that he might not have been kneeling. Perhaps he did fall from his horse.”

  “Indeed,” Mariota replied, the quaver in her voice replaced by a harder note, “you must have the right of it, Muirteach.”

  “So you were visiting the witch, were you?” asked Gillespic. “And how was that?”

  “She was not overly gracious,” I replied, and that matter was dropped.

  “But who would be wanting to hurt that MacLean?” mused my uncle. “He does not know that many people here.”

  “Although who knows where he went when he was off riding? He said he was hunting, but it’s little enough the game he brought back to the dun. For such a talker as he was, with all the stories of his deer on Mull, you would expect him to be having more success with the hunt here.”

  “Perhaps he was frightening them away with his chattering.”

  “He was a talkative one. Perhaps he met someone on the island, and they grew angry over something. Then they fought and the other person struck him.”

  I found I could easily imagine that, as I had not enjoyed Liam’s stories overmuch myself. But I felt guilty for such thoughts with him lying there senseless and pale. Although he continued to breathe shallowly, he did not rouse to our voices. And there were no scratches or other bruises on Liam’s body that would indicate a fight had gone on, although in the candlelight it was difficult to tell for certain.

  “What of the MacRuaris?” I asked. “Where were they?”

  “They were away back to Benbecula just this morning, early. They had been planning to leave for some days, but the weather had not been good for sailing. But it cleared this morning as you know, for you yourselves went to Jura.”

  “But Liam would have been injured the day before that. So they could have done it and left before he was found.”

  “Well,” Gillespic said grudgingly, for he liked the MacRuaris, “I can be sending some men after them to see if they know anything of the matter. But what reason would they have to be attacking Liam MacLean?”

  I had no answer for that question.

  * * * * *

  The morning light did not reveal anything new, and Liam’s condition did not improve. After a time I set out for the north of the island.

  I stopped by Eachann Beag’s home. The old man was glad enough to take a break from the work he was doing in the byre and invited me to sit down and have a dram with him. Soon enough the talk turned to Liam, and nothing would do but that the old man would tell me every detail of what he had been doing when he found him.

  “It was that Muireal again that I was looking for. She is a wanderer, that one. But it was a lucky chance I came upon him that day. A pity it was he fell from his horse in such a way.”

  “So you are thinking he fell then?” I asked.

  “Indeed yes. We’ve no murderers here,” Eachann insisted stubbornly. “The sithichean were taking that young boy that was found in their hill and the other one, too, from that village. And this one fell from his horse.”

  How he could believe that I did not know, but I let it pass.

  “And were you seeing faerie lights that night? Or have you seen any more strangers?”

  Whatever or whoever had injured Liam, I did not think it was the sithichean. Nor did I think for one minute that Liam had fallen from his horse. But whoever attacked him might have carried a torch.

  Eachann shook his head no. “But the rain was such that I was not going outside. I brought the animals in—all except that Muireal, that goat I was not finding until the next day—and I sat by the fire that night. I told her, just, that she would have to be out in the rain all the long night as she was wandering so.”

  I thanked him for the drink, took my leave, and continued back towards Carnan Eoin, where Liam’s body had been found. I had not liked the man overmuch; in truth I had envied him his looks and his strength, but today he lay unconscious, almost like the dead, and I was hale and hearty. I told myself I would make amends for my earlier envy by finding his attacker. For I did not for one instant believe he had fallen from his horse.

  I rode leisurely in the direction of Carnan Eoin, and when I got to the gully where Liam had been found I dismounted. I found a rock, traces of blood still remaining in the clefts of it. Eachann had told me Liam had been lying facedown and, from the look of him, Mariota had thought that someone had hit him at the base of the skull with the stone. Here was the rock itself to prove her right. Nearby I saw some depressions in the ground, perhaps the marks of someone kneeling on the wet ground. But who had struck him, and why? Why had Liam dismounted? What had he seen? Somehow I did not think it was the red deer he had been tracking that day, but a much more dangerous and elusive quarry, one that had cost him his life’s blood.

  I thought of Liam and his boastful manner of speaking. If he had kept quieter, I mused, he might still be uninjured. For I was beginning to have an idea as to why he had been attacked if not who had done it. It was an ugly idea, indeed.

  When I arrived back at the dun, I sought out Mariota. I felt I had offended her the night before and wanted to tell her of the rock I had seen. I found Mariota, along with Euluasaid, gathering some herbs together in my aunt’s storeroom.”

  “Muirteach, you must be accompanying me back up to the nunnery at Cill Chaitrìona,” she told me abruptly before I had the chance to tell her my news. She would not meet my eyes.

  “And why is that?” I asked, my heart sinking like a stone falling into deep loch waters.

  “I am going back to the sisters, for another retreat.”

  Euluasaid looked apologetically at me.

  “Muirteach, she is wanting to go…” Her voice trailed off as she saw the look in my eyes. “I will leave Muirteach here to help you with the herbs,” she continued after a pause in a brisk tone. And with that my aunt left us alone.

  “Mo chridhe,” I said. “Why must you do this?”

  Mariota did not meet my eyes.

  “It is just,” she finally said, “I feel safe there. Oh, Muirteach, can you not understand? But why should you? Even I do not understand myself at all since last June. I dream of the church and the rope around my neck. And all that water—. I can not stand to be alone, and yet I can not stand the noise of large gatherings. I startle for no reason. My heart pounds like a wild thing, and I can not stop it. All I can do is listen to it hammering in my chest. And now that woman Gormal is saying I will never be a healer, and it is believing her I am, for I can not even heal myself.”

  “And what is your father saying of all of this?” I asked. “For he is a fine healer, and mayhap he can help you.”

  “I can not tell him, Muirteach. He was so grateful to have me back unharmed by that madman. How can I tell him of it at all, at all? I could not be worrying him so.”

  My heart sank again at her words. For wasn’t it my own foolishness that had put her in such danger last summer, when we had followed that madman through the whirlpool and over to Islay?

  “But what of Liam? Surely my aunt will be needing you to help nurse him?”

  Mariota was adamant. “She can nurse him as well herself. I am no healer. That old witch spoke truly.”

  I sat down on a bench and gestured for her to sit next to me. To my surprise, she did.

  “Mo chridhe, it is sorry I am to hear about all this. I failed you there on Mull.”

  Mariota started to cry.

  “No, Muirteach, you did not. You saved me on the Oa. He would have taken me over the cliffs with him.”

  Haltingly I reached out and put my arm around her while she sobbed. I had never held her so close before. I breathed in the elderflower scent she
used, feeling her trembling next to me with her crying, and I felt like weeping myself for the ruins of all that might have been between us, and now would not be.

  “And so you are going to Cill Chaitrìona?”

  “Aye, for I do not know what else to do.”

  I turned to face her. Her lovely face was just inches from me. Awkwardly, I put my hand up to caress her hair. In the dim light of the storeroom, I fancied it shone like the sun shining through the clouds after a wet day. After a moment she pulled away from me a bit. We remained sitting side by side on the bench.

  I took hold of her hand and held it, massaging her palm with my fingers. Mariota did not pull away from my touch.

  “But what of your father? Surely you can not be running off to a nunnery without his permission.”

  Mariota bristled at this. I could feel it in the sudden tension in her hand, but I did not let go.

  “I am of age. I can do as I wish.”

  “But will it not worry him?”

  “I hope not.”

  I felt her relax a little as I continued to hold her hand.

  “I—I will write him and tell him of my plans and of my reasons for going.” Mariota looked at me, and started to smile. “Muirteach, I am only going a few miles away. I am not becoming an anchoress! Surely they will let me see my father and explain myself. Certainly before I take my final vows.”

  Cill Chaitrìona might have been only a few miles away on this very same small island of Colonsay, yet I felt Mariota might have been going instead to far-off Constantinople. But how could I gainsay her? I had no right. And especially not as it was my own poor judgment last summer that had wounded her so.

  “Well then, go if you must.” But my heart was not in the words, and I bent my head towards hers and tenderly kissed her on the lips.

  She put her arms around me and drew me closer to her. We kissed gently for a moment, and although I had dreamed of kissing her before, this kiss had more of a farewell in it than the happiness I had dreamed of.

  After a moment we drew apart.

  “I am sorry, dear heart,” I finally said, awkward again. “But if you are to be a nun, I could not let you go without at least one kiss.”