A Secret and Unlawful Killing by Cora Harrison

Ragnall and biffed him. He might not even have meant to do it, but once he had done it, he took the candlesticks.’
    ‘How did Fintan get Ragnall to go into the churchyard?’ asked Shane. ‘Ragnall must have been in the churchyard when he was murdered. No one could have murdered him in front of all of the people at the market.’
    ‘That’s easy,’ said Enda scornfully. ‘He just hung around until Ragnall went in of his own accord to … Well, you know,’ he finished with a quick glance at Mara.

    Mara considered this. Of course, that was the most likely way that things had happened. It was unfortunate, but true, that most people at the Noughaval market used the churchyard, with its sheltering trees and bushes, as a private place to urinate. Up to now, she had assumed that Ragnall had withdrawn into the churchyard to meet his murderer. If it were true that it was just by chance, then the killer might possibly be Fintan. He would be a man who would find it hard to judge the strength of a blow. But would he have picked up the stone cross? Wouldn’t he be more likely to use his own powerful fist?
    ‘How were the candlesticks stolen then?’ she asked. ‘The cart remained in the same place, in the corner of the market-place, until Niall MacNamara arrived to take it away.’
    ‘What about Fintan getting a few people to help him?’ asked Shane. ‘Three or four of the clan could have stood around the cart to hide someone else who could slip the candlesticks into a bag or something.’
    ‘Yes, no one would have taken any notice of MacNamaras around the cart,’ said Enda enthusiastically. ‘I vote that we consider him a suspect … in the privacy of this field, of course,’ he added hastily.
     
     
    There was a stream of people on horseback, or on foot, winding their way up the hill towards the MacNamara castle when they arrived at Carron. Mara noticed the tall figure of Ardal, taoiseach of the O‘Lochlainns, beside the small round figure of Teige O’Brien. Teige’s son, Donal, was not with them, she noticed. It was a couple of months since she had visited this castle, the home of the chief of the MacNamara
clan, and she looked at it with interest. There seemed to be very little difference on the outside; it was still rather grim with its tiny windows and its castellated roof. The limestone blocks in the walls were carelessly hewed and were irregular and propped up by numerous small stones. It was no wonder that Garrett’s new wife desired to make changes.
    The small entry passage, with the guard’s chamber leading off it, still looked the same as well. There was no new oaken furniture, nor wall hangings to soften the cold grey of the stone. The spiral staircase had been hollowed with the tread of many feet, and the icy chill in the air of this late September evening moistened the stone walls with winding rivulets of condensation.
    The great hall, however, glowed with the warmth of braziers filled with orange and black heaps of burning charcoal. These walls were covered almost entirely with painted leather hangings, and a new dais had been built at the top of the hall with a magnificent oak table running the length of it. The benches on either side of the table were covered with heavy linen cloths and at the head of the table were two magnificently carved oak chairs, heaped with velvet cushions. The new wife, Slaney, had certainly begun to make an impression on this run-down castle of her husband’s. Mara looked around her with interest, but of Slaney herself nothing was to be seen. Rumour told that she spent much of her time in Galway, visiting her family and inspecting goods from merchants.
    The body of the steward, Ragnall, was laid out on a trestle table at the far end of the hall, away from the braziers and the rich furniture. His face showed a strange brooding dignity in death which he had not displayed during his
lifetime. There were no mourners beside the body. On a bench by the wall, his pretty little