I knew he was speaking sense, though my mind and body were gripped by the urge to act. Maraid must not be hurt as I had been. I could not let it happen.
“We’d best put in an appearance out there,” Fidelma said,“just to reassure Maeve.”
I came abruptly back to the here and now.The wedding day; Maeve; the house full of guests. “Donal, I can’t expect you to do this today. And how can I ask Fidelma and Brendan to leave so soon? Poor Maeve. I’ve spoiled everything.”
“Not at all,” said Donal. “Maeve knows how things are likely to be from now on. It’s my great good fortune that she’s taken me on in spite of that. As for these two, if they didn’t want to go with you they’d say so, believe me.”
“Nonetheless,” put in Fidelma, “we should all go out and join in the festivities, if only for a little. And you, Donal, might reassure your wife that you’ll set aside only an hour or so before supper to explain these legal matters to Caitrin. Maeve will want you to be present for supper, and for dancing afterwards.You mustn’t disappoint her.”
The lawman gave his leprechaun grin. “You’re a paragon of practicality and tact, Fidelma. I quite understand why my brother wed you. And I won’t disappoint Maeve in any way at all, I trust.” He became suddenly serious. “Caitrin, you’ve had bad news and you’ve a great deal to think about. I imagine you’ll be wanting quiet and solitude.”
“All in good time,” Fidelma said. “Some food and drink first, I think, and you might have a little word with Maeve yourself, Caitrin. She may well understand what being a lawman’s wife means, but there’s a limit to the tolerance even of a saint.”
We were three days on the road. Two nights we spent in the houses of folk known to Donal. Aengus soon proved his worth, smoothing the way for us with his quietly insistent manner. What that did not achieve, his intimidating bulk did. Fidelma and Brendan kept me company without asking too many questions. I could not sleep.As the miles passed, I thought of the house at Market Cross, and the long time of darkness I had spent there seemed to outweigh the happy years that had gone before. I should be brave. I had a guard. I had friends. I had a doctor who would vouch for my competence and a lawyer whom I could call upon for help. But Cillian had hurt me, and his shadow was a long one. When I thought of Ita, I remembered weeping before her, pleading with her, and I heard her saying,
I was still rationing myself to one page of Anluan’s book each morning. On the day when we expected to reach Market Cross, I read these lines:
Can a split quill write fair script?
Can a blunt axe cut wood for the fire?
Can a cripple please a lady?
That shocked me so much I broke my self-imposed rule and turned to the next page. There, so familiar I thought I could remember every word of the conversation Anluan and I had shared that morning, was a scrap cut from the parchment sheet on which he’d first attempted the new method of writing.
A cripple. I had never thought of him in that way, except perhaps on that very first day when he had lurched across the garden and frightened me. I could swear that none of his household even saw the disability anymore. “You would please me,” I murmured, remembering the mirror of might-have-been, the rise of my body, the thrust of his, the power and rhythm of it. “I know you would.” But perhaps that was foolish. Muirne had more or less told me Anluan was incapable of the act of love. How she had learned this, I could not imagine, but I was becoming convinced this was his main reason for sending me away so abruptly. I could not doubt his feelings for me, not after reading this book with its tenderness, its passion, its confusion.
