stayed there for a long minute, eyeing it with an expression of uneasy fascination on his face. Yes, thought Mara, Slevin has chosen well. I’ll be able to see as well as listen. Hopefully, Ardal, who was quick-witted, would lead them all well into the enclosure. She had not told him what they had found, but if the absence of Hans Kaufmann from his sanctuary had been discovered, then he would have a shrewd idea of why she had sent for him to bring everyone to this spot.
‘Psst!’ exclaimed Domhnall and Finbar jumped – much to the amusement of the other two.
‘The
púca
are here,’ wailed Slevin.
‘That’s enough,’ said Mara. Her ear was caught by the sound of horse hoofs from Roughan Hill – someone was riding at breakneck speed towards them. It couldn’t be Nuala already. In any case, Nuala was a cool, calm, collected young woman who would never ride like that. She listened with half an ear to Finbar telling her that he had given her note to Ardal O’Lochlainn and then assuring Domhnall and Slevin that he had known it was they all the time and that he didn’t believe in ghosts or the
púca
, but her mind was on that horse getting nearer by the minute. She climbed on a tall boulder at the edge of the enclosure and then sighed with a mixture of annoyance and relief.
‘Cormac,’ she said with exasperation. ‘What on earth are you doing back here?’
‘Art didn’t want to go back to Brigid; he wanted Mama. He said he was sick and he started to cry so Fachtnan dropped him off at
Dat
’s place.’
‘And you?’ Fachtnan had probably made the right decision about Art, to bring him back to his mother, but she was surprised that he had allowed Cormac to come back. He would surely have guessed that she was only too pleased to get both nine-year-old boys away from this gruesome murder. She would have expected that Fachtnan would either have left him with his foster mother or else returned him to Brigid at the law school.
Cormac’s eyes fell before hers. ‘Well, I stayed with Art for a while, but then I told
Mam
that you … then I said that I had to get back … that you would need me.’
‘I see,’ said Mara, repressing strongly the slight feelings of jealousy that always arose when Cormac referred to his foster mother by the affectionate familiar name of
Mam
and his foster father as
Dat
. He had, after all, spent his first five years of life with them, she told herself. It was reasonable that he had a strong affection for them, but reason didn’t always shut out jealousy.
‘Stand over there, Cormac, behind me, and don’t breathe a word,’ said Domhnall sternly. Cormac was, in fact, Domhnall’s uncle, but Domhnall kept an effortless authority over the younger boys and Cormac meekly did as he was told. Mara promised herself to have a stern word with her son afterwards, but in the meantime there were more important matters to be dealt with. This murder had to be solved and solved quickly. The pilgrims could not be detained for long. They had a right to be allowed to proceed on their pilgrimage to Aran and to celebrate the feast day of the saint that they had come to honour.
‘They’re coming,’ said Domhnall in a low murmur.
It took a minute, but then Mara heard them – the high-pitched tones of the prioress, the sibilant Latin of Father Miguel, Father MacMahon agitated and appealing to Ardal to tell him why the church was empty, Sorley grumbling, Nechtan explaining that he, Ardal, Ardal’s steward and his men had patrolled the boundaries of the
termon
all night and that the German’s horse was still in the stable; there was a confused medley of voices and languages. She stayed very still and was pleased to note that the truant Cormac was solemn-faced and standing meekly behind Domhnall.
It was unfortunate, but perhaps inevitable that the prioress was first. The men had all conceded precedence to the ladies, and, just as Slevin had predicted, she threw a fit.
Mara made no move to step
‘Psst!’ exclaimed Domhnall and Finbar jumped – much to the amusement of the other two.
‘The
púca
are here,’ wailed Slevin.
‘That’s enough,’ said Mara. Her ear was caught by the sound of horse hoofs from Roughan Hill – someone was riding at breakneck speed towards them. It couldn’t be Nuala already. In any case, Nuala was a cool, calm, collected young woman who would never ride like that. She listened with half an ear to Finbar telling her that he had given her note to Ardal O’Lochlainn and then assuring Domhnall and Slevin that he had known it was they all the time and that he didn’t believe in ghosts or the
púca
, but her mind was on that horse getting nearer by the minute. She climbed on a tall boulder at the edge of the enclosure and then sighed with a mixture of annoyance and relief.
‘Cormac,’ she said with exasperation. ‘What on earth are you doing back here?’
‘Art didn’t want to go back to Brigid; he wanted Mama. He said he was sick and he started to cry so Fachtnan dropped him off at
Dat
’s place.’
‘And you?’ Fachtnan had probably made the right decision about Art, to bring him back to his mother, but she was surprised that he had allowed Cormac to come back. He would surely have guessed that she was only too pleased to get both nine-year-old boys away from this gruesome murder. She would have expected that Fachtnan would either have left him with his foster mother or else returned him to Brigid at the law school.
Cormac’s eyes fell before hers. ‘Well, I stayed with Art for a while, but then I told
Mam
that you … then I said that I had to get back … that you would need me.’
‘I see,’ said Mara, repressing strongly the slight feelings of jealousy that always arose when Cormac referred to his foster mother by the affectionate familiar name of
Mam
and his foster father as
Dat
. He had, after all, spent his first five years of life with them, she told herself. It was reasonable that he had a strong affection for them, but reason didn’t always shut out jealousy.
‘Stand over there, Cormac, behind me, and don’t breathe a word,’ said Domhnall sternly. Cormac was, in fact, Domhnall’s uncle, but Domhnall kept an effortless authority over the younger boys and Cormac meekly did as he was told. Mara promised herself to have a stern word with her son afterwards, but in the meantime there were more important matters to be dealt with. This murder had to be solved and solved quickly. The pilgrims could not be detained for long. They had a right to be allowed to proceed on their pilgrimage to Aran and to celebrate the feast day of the saint that they had come to honour.
‘They’re coming,’ said Domhnall in a low murmur.
It took a minute, but then Mara heard them – the high-pitched tones of the prioress, the sibilant Latin of Father Miguel, Father MacMahon agitated and appealing to Ardal to tell him why the church was empty, Sorley grumbling, Nechtan explaining that he, Ardal, Ardal’s steward and his men had patrolled the boundaries of the
termon
all night and that the German’s horse was still in the stable; there was a confused medley of voices and languages. She stayed very still and was pleased to note that the truant Cormac was solemn-faced and standing meekly behind Domhnall.
It was unfortunate, but perhaps inevitable that the prioress was first. The men had all conceded precedence to the ladies, and, just as Slevin had predicted, she threw a fit.
Mara made no move to step
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