“You?” queried someone with a chuckle.“That leg of yours can’t even walk straight behind a plough, let alone charge into battle against a line of mounted gray shirts. But maybe you fancy a quick and bloody death.”
“I suppose a man with a damaged leg can still use a bow,” I said with somewhat more emphasis than I had intended. “Or throw stones. Or perform a hundred other essential tasks.” I looked the would-be warrior in the eye. “I commend your courage,” I said.
Now everyone was staring at me, not as if they believed my speech odd, but as if they were interested in why I had made it; as if they wanted to hear my story. But I could not tell it. I picked up my ale and took a mouthful, eyes downcast, cheeks burning.
“Well, Caitrin,” said Fidelma quietly, “if you want more information about this Stephen de Courcy, you couldn’t do better than Brendan’s brother Donal. When we reach Stony Ford, why don’t you stay with us a few nights? You can talk to him and enjoy some good hospitality at the same time. Unless you must move on straightaway, of course.”
“Isn’t it Donal who’s getting married?” I’d heard them talking about it: how Brendan’s brother, a confirmed bachelor close to forty years old, had astonished everyone by deciding to wed a widow with three little girls.“I’d be in the way, surely.”
“Not at all. The place will be full of guests; one more will make no difference. And Donal carries out his legal practice in a separate area of the house.Think about it, at least.”
So Donal was a lawman. This was not simply an opportunity to rest and recover before setting off to find Maraid. It was a chance to begin putting my affairs and hers to rights; the next step in facing my own hardest challenge. My belly crawled at the thought. I did not know if I could be brave enough. Speaking to this man of the law would set me on course for a confrontation with Ita and Cillian. Sooner or later this road must lead me back to Market Cross.
By the time we reached the township of Stony Ford I had seen the sense in accepting Fidelma’s invitation, at least for as long as it took me to get an idea of where Maraid and Shea might be. The purse of silver was not bottomless, and I might have to travel quite some way further. An offer of hospitality in a safe house among good people was not to be refused.
Brendan’s brother proved to be not at all the austere, strict kind of man I had expected, but small and cheery, with sparse mousy hair and twinkling eyes. He delighted in teasing Brendan about anything and everything—the bond of love between them was plain, and it reminded me sharply of Rioghan and Eichri, whose jibes and jests had so unsettled me until I had realized it was all in a spirit of friendship.
The widow and her children were already living in Donal’s house, which was a fine sprawling place of mud and thatch, with a well-tended garden and stabling for three horses. But softly spoken Maeve was not sharing Donal’s chamber at night; she slept in her daughters’ room. This was not from any lack of enthusiasm for the marriage bed, I thought, noting the way Donal reached to touch her plump arm as she served his breakfast porridge, her quick blush as he caught her eye in passing, the sweetness in their voices as they spoke to each other. They would be wed on the fifth day after our arrival; either they were waiting for their wedding night, or the presence of so many guests in the house had made discretion necessary until then.Two of Maeve’s sisters were there with their husbands and a total of seven children, as well as various other kinsfolk. Maeve’s mother, who lived nearby, came over every day with pies or puddings to complement her daughter’s cookery. It was a busy, happy home.
I found myself sharing a bedchamber with a pair of nieces a few years my junior.Watching them put finishing touches to gowns, dress each other’s hair or run outdoors to be children again for a while, I felt a hundred years old.
Donal’s clients kept coming. He and Brendan had both chosen professions in which there was no such thing as a rest, Fidelma pointed out dryly. Despite the steady stream of folk going in to see the lawman each morning, he found time for me on the second day. His study was a haven of quiet after the bustle and noise. He sat at a big desk, on which there were two bound books, a sheet of parchment and a pot of ink. A single quill lay beside this, with a little dish of sand for drying. The walls of the chamber were lined with shelves on which rested numerous documents, set out so tidily that I was quite certain the lawman knew exactly where to find any given item.There was a smaller desk in a corner, today untenanted. On the window sill an earthenware pot held freshly picked wildflowers, purple, pink and blue—the widow’s touch.
