instrument. He tossed it aside and stood up as it sailed to the ground with the rest of Bran’s things.
“Ye’ve no weapon at all?” the ranking soldier demanded.
A wicked glint settled in the bard’s eye. “None but this.” He stuck out his tongue. “Would you like me to demonstrate the power of a bard’s word?”
The soldier shook his head. “Save it for talkin’ down a hungry wolf. Come on, Oife.”
For all his bravado, the man’s retreat was nearly as hasty as his coming. It led one to think he was more leery of a bard’s satire than he let on. Old superstitions died hard, Riona supposed, especially where faith was sown thin.
While Bran gathered his belongings and put them back in the sack, Brother Domnall came out of the stable with a bundle tucked under his arm. Next came Fynn, leading Bran’s shaggy horse, with Liex and Leila skipping alongside.
“Well, this young man’s either a gifted diviner or has the keenest ears in the abbey,” Bran said, taking the reins from Fynn. “Either way, I thank you, sir.”
“Good ears.” Fynn gave him a sheepish grin. “I’d have brought the stallion, but he nearly blew me over the way he snorted through his nose. I’d half a mind to see fire comin’ out of it.”
“Hah!” Bran laughed. “If you’d managed him, then
you’d
be the man to ride to Drumceatt, not I. His temperament is as contrary as his master’s, but like Kieran, he has a noble heart.”
“I can believe it,” the lad professed with whole heart.
Riona hadn’t seen Fynn since she’d pulled him and Kieran apart. He’d vanished in the confusion and wasn’t in his bed when she rose to dress for morning prayers. “And just where have you been, Fynn?”
“Around.”
“He waked me up to see the soldiers this mornin’,” his younger brothersupplied helpfully. “An’ then he was away. To mischief more likely.”
Fynn started to give his younger brother a playful cuff on the back of the head, but Riona caught his wrist.
“I didn’t think you cared what might happen to Kieran after last night. What’s made you decide to help?”
Fynn scuffed his heel against his leg and tried to look indifferent. “He’s innocent, even if I don’t like him, which I don’t, but I like even less me and the twins being called a little band of chronic liars.” At Riona’s sharp intake of breath, he went on, clearly pleased by her reaction. His ability to hide or blend into his surroundings undetected was a ceaseless source of delight to the lad. “Aye, I heard it all from my perch in the rafters. And that weasel-eyed Senan had no right to call you a liar. I wish the lord had peeled ’is bobbin’ apple instead of handin’ over his knife.”
“The talk this lad has,” Brother Domnall scolded. He handed Bran the linen bundle. “Take this, son. ’Tis some cheese and bread the twins gathered from the kitchen while Fynn and I readied your steed. God speed you to the high king and holy fathers at Drumceatt.”
Riona gathered the little ones in her arms, sparing the elder Fynn such an embarrassment, and gave them a big hug.
“I don’t know what Senan is up to, but I can see now he hasn’t got a chance against the lot of you.” After securing his belongings on the horse’s back, Bran mounted up. But before he could ride off, Brother Ninian ran through the gate and shouted at him to wait.
“I begin to feel like Cuchulain, riding off to battle with this sendoff. A fair lady, soldiers, brothers, children …”
Another time Riona might have cut him off with sarcastic wit, but Brother Ninian’s approach bode ill. She felt it in her bones. Even the hair on her arms lifted, stroked by icy dread. As Ninian reached them, he took a moment to catch his breath. The exercise had forced more blood to the sedentary cleric’s face than Riona had ever seen.
“You ride in vain, Bran,” the brother told his friend. “Kieran of Gleannmara will be hanged before you reach
“Ye’ve no weapon at all?” the ranking soldier demanded.
A wicked glint settled in the bard’s eye. “None but this.” He stuck out his tongue. “Would you like me to demonstrate the power of a bard’s word?”
The soldier shook his head. “Save it for talkin’ down a hungry wolf. Come on, Oife.”
For all his bravado, the man’s retreat was nearly as hasty as his coming. It led one to think he was more leery of a bard’s satire than he let on. Old superstitions died hard, Riona supposed, especially where faith was sown thin.
While Bran gathered his belongings and put them back in the sack, Brother Domnall came out of the stable with a bundle tucked under his arm. Next came Fynn, leading Bran’s shaggy horse, with Liex and Leila skipping alongside.
“Well, this young man’s either a gifted diviner or has the keenest ears in the abbey,” Bran said, taking the reins from Fynn. “Either way, I thank you, sir.”
“Good ears.” Fynn gave him a sheepish grin. “I’d have brought the stallion, but he nearly blew me over the way he snorted through his nose. I’d half a mind to see fire comin’ out of it.”
“Hah!” Bran laughed. “If you’d managed him, then
you’d
be the man to ride to Drumceatt, not I. His temperament is as contrary as his master’s, but like Kieran, he has a noble heart.”
“I can believe it,” the lad professed with whole heart.
Riona hadn’t seen Fynn since she’d pulled him and Kieran apart. He’d vanished in the confusion and wasn’t in his bed when she rose to dress for morning prayers. “And just where have you been, Fynn?”
“Around.”
“He waked me up to see the soldiers this mornin’,” his younger brothersupplied helpfully. “An’ then he was away. To mischief more likely.”
Fynn started to give his younger brother a playful cuff on the back of the head, but Riona caught his wrist.
“I didn’t think you cared what might happen to Kieran after last night. What’s made you decide to help?”
Fynn scuffed his heel against his leg and tried to look indifferent. “He’s innocent, even if I don’t like him, which I don’t, but I like even less me and the twins being called a little band of chronic liars.” At Riona’s sharp intake of breath, he went on, clearly pleased by her reaction. His ability to hide or blend into his surroundings undetected was a ceaseless source of delight to the lad. “Aye, I heard it all from my perch in the rafters. And that weasel-eyed Senan had no right to call you a liar. I wish the lord had peeled ’is bobbin’ apple instead of handin’ over his knife.”
“The talk this lad has,” Brother Domnall scolded. He handed Bran the linen bundle. “Take this, son. ’Tis some cheese and bread the twins gathered from the kitchen while Fynn and I readied your steed. God speed you to the high king and holy fathers at Drumceatt.”
Riona gathered the little ones in her arms, sparing the elder Fynn such an embarrassment, and gave them a big hug.
“I don’t know what Senan is up to, but I can see now he hasn’t got a chance against the lot of you.” After securing his belongings on the horse’s back, Bran mounted up. But before he could ride off, Brother Ninian ran through the gate and shouted at him to wait.
“I begin to feel like Cuchulain, riding off to battle with this sendoff. A fair lady, soldiers, brothers, children …”
Another time Riona might have cut him off with sarcastic wit, but Brother Ninian’s approach bode ill. She felt it in her bones. Even the hair on her arms lifted, stroked by icy dread. As Ninian reached them, he took a moment to catch his breath. The exercise had forced more blood to the sedentary cleric’s face than Riona had ever seen.
“You ride in vain, Bran,” the brother told his friend. “Kieran of Gleannmara will be hanged before you reach
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