Deed of Murder by Cora Harrison Page B

reacted like that. It just struck me as strange, and you know I’m a bit like Bran here.’ She looked down at the huge, grey wolfhound loping tirelessly beside the horse. ‘My hackles go up and I start sniffing around when anything strikes me as strange while I am investigating a secret crime.’
    ‘Could it just be idle gossip?’
    Mara shook her head. ‘Muiris is not that kind of man,’ she said firmly.
    ‘That’s why I said tell me about him,’ said Fiona.
    Mara smiled but did not reply for a moment, sifting through all the facts that she knew about Muiris. There were the facts that everyone knew, a few that not many people knew and one about how he killed his brutal father that was told to her in great confidence and which she would have to keep locked away in her mind from everyone else.
    ‘Muiris had a poor start in life,’ she said eventually. ‘He worked for the O’Lochlainn, the father of Ardal O’Lochlainn – Nuala’s uncle. He was a very good worker and when he was a teenage boy he saved the life of a cow and her calf and the O’Lochlainn gave him a present of the two animals, saying that the stockman had given up all hope and without Muiris they both would have died. And when Muiris was about sixteen he gave him a few acres of land – nothing worth much.’
    ‘And that was the beginning of his good fortune.’ Fiona nodded thoughtfully.
    ‘That’s right. No one is sure how Muiris managed to do it, but everything went right for him. He bought more and more land. Built himself a house with the labour of his own hands – well, you’ve seen the house.’
    ‘And now he is a bóaire.’ Mara knew from Fiona’s thoughtful face that she was visualizing the large house, made from well-cut blocks of stone thatched with durable reeds, the cow cabins in the well-scrubbed yard whitewashed inside and out, the emerald-green fields around the house, grazed by fat contented cows and enclosed by well-built walls.
    ‘Everything he touches turns to gold, that’s what Cumhal says, and you know what a good farmer Cumhal, himself, is.’
    ‘And now Muiris wants to be a flax manager.’
    ‘That’s right – but I can’t for the life of me think why he asked that question about an honour price,’ said Mara. She always liked to be completely honest with her scholars. She turned to the girl at her side, reining in her lively mare who was trying to get ahead of Fiona’s pony. ‘Who do you think killed Eamon?’ she asked and then when she got no reply, added after a long minute, ‘Do you fear that it might have been Fachtnan?’
    Now it was out in the open. Fiona gave a startled gasp and her pony shied, causing Mara’s high-bred Arabian mare to dance on her back legs for a moment. Bran moved neatly into the hedge to avoid both horses and after a minute all was under control again.
    However, the words had been spoken and Mara waited for a reply. What would the girl say? Deny? Prevaricate? Feign innocence?
    ‘I think he might have,’ said Fiona in a low voice.
    ‘You think it was he that followed you?’
    Fiona’s silence gave a good answer to that question. Mara looked back over her shoulder and saw her look ahead with a troubled expression on her face.
    ‘Why did he do it?’ she said eventually, and then added quickly, ‘I don’t mean why did he kill Eamon. I mean why did he follow us?’
    Mara thought about this question, but decided not to answer it. The path was narrow and she had to ride ahead of Fiona. She would postpone this conversation, she decided.
    ‘There’s Ballinalacken,’ she said. ‘Let’s get in and stable our horses, then we can talk in peace. The visitors won’t be back from Kilfenora Cathedral for an hour or so. The bishop has promised them some refreshments after the service.’
    A light wind was blowing as they scaled the steep path that wound up to the castle, which had been a wedding present to Mara from her husband King Turlough Donn. Ballinalacken Castle was built on a