Brigid of Ireland (Daughters of Ireland Book 1) (9 page)

Brigid prayed with the new mother. When she turned to leave, the woman stopped her once more.

“May God deliver ye, Brigid.”

“Where is she, then?” Cook’s voice trembled. She and Brian had ridden all day to get to Aghade where they met Philib beside the river.

“The white devil came to get her.” Philib was on his knees praying to God for protection.

Brian pulled him to his feet. “What are ye mumbling ’bout? Tell us where Brigid is, man.”

The monk pulled away and flung himself back to the ground. “Oh, God, shield us from the Evil One.”

Cook motioned to Brian to return to the horses. “Something bad has happened to drive him mad. We’d better get to the habitation right away.”

Cook’s old bones complained about the riding, but her fear for the life of the girl she had sworn to protect overruled her body’s protest. A small fire led them to the monks, who were huddling together praying. They heard the horses and embraced each other as though they expected an army to come to slaughter them.

Brian rode in close. “What’s going on here? Where’s Brigid?”

One monk stepped forward and lowered his brown hood. He was nearly hairless from his circular head to his chin. “I am Cillian, tutor to Brigid.”

A girl trailed after him.

“Where is she?” Brian jumped down from his horse. “Ardan, Dunlaing’s druid, came for her just as night was falling. I had gone for my evening walk. Had I been here, I would have taken care of that white-robed devil myself. Without me, my brothers were unsure what was safe to do. They assure me the druid did not harm her and led her peacefully away. Please, come to the fire.”

One of the brothers helped Cook off her horse. His hands were shaking. None of the monks would return her gaze. Had Brigid been killed? Oh, why had she allowed Brigid to go off alone with Dubthach to see the king that day? She’d worried constantly since then. She should have come looking for Brigid herself after that, instead of sending Brian. He was just a young lad who knew nothing of the evil that could take root in the fear of the unsaved.

Cook warmed herself by the fire and tried to steady her trembling hands and listen to the monk tell about a time when white-robed druids had attacked his fellow monks. He explained that ever since that day they’d hidden themselves as much as possible. When Ardan came seeking Brigid, they knew they’d been exposed.

Brian wagged his head. “Don’t be foolish, man. Ye’ve been here for years. Everyone knows where ye are. If the druids meant ye harm, they’d have come for ye long before Brigid arrived.”

“But the massacre. What of that?” Philib emerged from the woods, still shuddering.

Cillian went to him and offered an arm. He escorted the monk to the fire and Brian continued. “When ye first came, the druids feared ye. Thought ye’d take their powers. It was a shame what they did, but I don’t think it has anything to do with this. Where did Ardan take Brigid?”

Philib piped up. “To the MacFirbis house to help with a birth.”

Brian smiled. “Well, then. Ye see? ’Twas nothing sinister.” Cook tapped her forehead. “MacFirbis. There’s something ’bout that name. I’ve heard something ’bout that clan.” It was important. She knew it was.
Please God, let this old woman

remember!

The monks were calmed by Brian’s pronouncement and headed off to their beds. The little lass followed too, slipping into a tiny hut. Only Cillian was left to aid the visitors.

Brian towered over the monk. “Do ye know where the MacFirbis home is?”

“Aye, but I don’t trust that Ardan. How can he be any different from the other druids – if it were not he himself who brutally killed my brothers in the Lord?”

Cook interrupted. “I think I remember something, Brian.

MacFirbis is relation somehow to Troya. I just know it.” Cillian’s eyebrows shot up. “Troya of Bran Coill?”

“Ye know her?” Cook’s stomach tightened like a rock in a sling. She could not control the quiver developing in her lower lip.

“Not really. I heard some folks call her a witch. So that’s what Ardan has to do with this.”

Brian headed to his horse. “What do ye mean?”

Cillian pulled his cloak back over his head as though he was trying to distance himself from the revelation. “Ardan, the druid, and Troya, the druidess. People say they work together to coax evil up from the waters. Word has it that Troya was so evil her own husband kicked her out.”

“Dubthach!” Cook didn’t know how she had managed it, but she was on her horse before Brian had time to mount. “Point us toward this druidess, monk. We must save Brigid from her clutches.”

Chapter 10

“Go n-eiri an bothar leat. May the road rise to meet you.”

Old Irish blessing

Brigid praised God that the MacFirbis woman had given her a horse and told her which direction to ride. Brigid’s first foolish thought was to confront the woman called Troya, the one who had separated Brigid and Brocca. But good sense won, and she fled for her life. The monks’ habitation offered little protection, so she headed toward Munster where Dunlaing’s dominion ended. A woman traveling alone would not be required to pay admittance to the province. Sometimes being female had its privileges.

God is good.
Her mother was somewhere in Munster.

By midday Brigid figured the threat was past. No one, as far as she could tell, had followed her. The landscape was less rocky now. A high patch of green grass topped by limestone boulders stood before her. She stopped to admire the steep ascent when a horse and rider appeared on the road behind her. Her horse sidestepped until she successfully wriggled his head toward the encroacher. She chastised herself for being careless.

A young lad, not a white-robed druid, was gaining on her.

What could he want?

“Greetings!” he called out.

Brigid shifted in her saddle and the reins in her hands turned slippery with sweat. “Who are ye?”

She stood as still as stone until he drew near. A wooden pole attached to his saddle carried the flag of the Leinster king. What was Dunlaing’s messenger doing out here?

He brought his spotted horse nose to nose with hers. “I’ve come to bid King Aenghus of Munster greetings from the great King Dunlaing who approaches one day hence. Tell yer people, good woman!”

He thought she was a citizen of Munster. She would not correct him. “Dunlaing? Are ye quite sure?”

The fellow chuckled and rode off toward the rising hill, the blue and white flag flapping in his wake.

Brigid gazed in the direction the messenger had come. The king’s entourage was one day behind. Had Dunlaing followed her or did he have business with the reigning king? She wiped her clammy hands on her tunic-covered thighs. If Dunlaing was coming, would he bring Ardan, the king’s druid, and Troya, Ardan’s cohort?

Her body felt like a bag of rocks after riding through the night and half the day. Her sides ached, if not from hunger then from the excitement of being free enough to decide where she’d go and where she’d lay her head.

She’d best avoid the king’s residence and trust God that she followed the right path. She’d find shelter and food and move westward again in the morn.

Brigid dropped from her horse and led him at a leisurely pace. Dunlaing and his attendants could not find her today. Both she and her horse were glad to be free from the jarring rapid escape.

Wait a minute.

She looked again at the rise in the land. Its prominence seemed to signify importance. She cast her gaze to the top of the hill. A rock barrier surrounded it. Would Dunlaing come in peace? Better to be hidden in the woods.

The smell of charred wood mixed with the sounds of harps and drums indicated a gathering was nearby. She tied her horse to a sturdy elm and headed toward the revelry.

Brigid blended with a crowd of people who had gathered to hear a man tell a story. She soon ascertained, however, that this wasn’t the usual spinning of a yarn. The storyteller was a simple-minded fellow who had trouble forming his words. His frustration was apparent in his flushed cheeks and bulging eyes. His eyes darted around the crowd. He spotted her and pulled her to the front.

“P-p-lease, miss, tell it for me!”

She struggled to understand him but finally determined that he had gotten himself into a plight at the king’s residence and needed help.

“Best we not be fooling with that king,” one woman said. Brigid turned to her. “The king from the clan of Eoghanachta? I have heard from the people in Leinster that he is a Christian.”

The woman cleared her throat. “Whether Patrick baptized the king of Munster or nay, ’tis of no concern in this matter. This fool,” she pointed to the stuttering man, “runs from the visiting king.”

Brigid reached for the woman’s hand. “Dunlaing?”

The man’s face went white at the sound of the name. He nodded, but would say nothing more.

The gathering started to break up, looking for fresh entertainment. Some left to dance, others crowded together for warmth around the fire. But the man would not let Brigid leave.

“They’ll k-k-kill me cuz I k-k-killed the king’s fox.”

The man clutched her arm with the grip of a wolf’s jaw. She patted his hand. “Why would the king bother with a fox?”

“’Twas his pet. Did tricks. I di… di… didn’t know.”

Brigid tried to ignore the perspiration dripping down her back. Although she wished to avoid Dunlaing, this poor man needed help and none of the woodsfolk would do anything. “I’ll go with ye to see the king tomorrow. I know King Dunlaing. He’ll listen to me.”

“Thank ye much. P-p-please come with me to my brother’s home. Name’s Liam. He’ll p-p-put ye up there.”

While the shelter and dinner of lamb’s leg was more than Brigid had hoped for, she pondered the wisdom of the offer she’d made. The royal druids from Leinster might come to Munster, might even be with Dunlaing at that very moment. But was it right to worry about her own safety when someone was in danger and she had the power to help him?

Liam, the master of the house, was a Christian. He had offered prayers before dinner. Liam’s family was large. Brigid’s spot to sleep was the only one left, near the door, but she didn’t mind. He was kind and truly worried about his brother. His eyes pleaded like the starving people she was accustomed to helping. “My brother is a good man, Miz Brigid. Why this king comes, we do not know. There was a bloody battle one moon ago and my brother fought for our king. We thought peace had returned to our land. Now a messenger brings news of another king’s approach.” Liam paused, looking toward his brother who was busy ripping meat from a drumstick with his teeth. “He may be a simple man, but he knows right from wrong. He would never have taken revenge on someone’s pet.” Brigid lifted a tin pitcher engraved with frolicking deer and poured cider for herself. “We’ll make Dunlaing understand. How did your brother encounter Dunlaing when he has not yet arrived?”

Liam gulped his own cider then leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “My brother was hunting yesterday a half day’s horse ride from here. The king, Dunlaing, had his fox traveling with his band. No one could have known he had such a pet. I’m praising God that king allowed my brother to return to his family to make arrangements. He ordered my brother to appear at Cashel in two days. It was no use to hide in the hills. We’d be found, I’m sure. We’ll see the king, but I’m fearing what he’ll ask. There will be an honor price, and for a king that will be most all my cattle. With the size of my family, I can scarce afford it.” His face paled. “If I do not pay it, the king can ask for my brother’s life instead.”

Brigid leaned her elbows on the table. “He seems to be a fair king. I’m sure he won’t… ”

“I’d feel better having ye there to speak on our behalf, Miz Brigid.”

What could she say?

She held her hand to her forehead.
A half day’s ride away.
Of course. Dunlaing had set up camp at a respectable distance to allow for the announcement of his arrival. She turned to the accused man. “I must ask, does this king have a resident druid?”

Liam’s brother shrugged his shoulders.

Liam rubbed his thumbs along his pale whiskers. “I heard no mention of one, not from my brother or from the other hunters there.” He turned toward his wife. “Have you, darlin’?” The mistress of the house paused from her task of covering children sleeping on the floor. She whispered, “I’ve heard of no druid present, though I have heard tale he employs a wicked one. The man’s traveling apart from the king, as druids do. He’s not around at the moment, so I hear.”

Liam grinned. “The wife knows all. The way the ladies talk.” Brigid gathered up her dishes and prepared to take them outside for washing. She nodded at her host. “I appreciate the information. It will make my task much easier.”

The next day Brigid boarded a wagon driven by Liam and filled with his family, including the unfortunate brother. Chilling winds kicked in clouds from the southern sky. She snuggled up with three children under a woolen blanket. Their little faces gazed at her until they could contain their curiosity no longer.

“Where are ye from?” “Do ye have a husband?”

She told them she was just passing through, and they questioned her on that too. She changed the subject. “Can anyone tell me something about this pet King Dunlaing had?”

“Aye.” A boy about ten years old stood up. “I was with my uncle when I saw him first.”

Liam’s wife pointed her finger at him. “Sit down, child.”

The lad plopped to the wagon bed. “The fox could do tricks, run to and fro, leap in the air and twist itself full circle before landing on the ground.”

“Aye, aye!” the children chorused, clapping their hands together as though they could envision the performance.

Brigid held up her hand, and they quieted. “Suppose we could find another fox. I wonder if we could satisfy the king with a replacement.”

The simple man nodded his head and motioned for his brother to stop the rig.

Liam retrieved a spear from the wagon’s side. “Catching a fox is no easy task, but my brother always amazes me. Seems God replaced what he’s lacking in words with his hunting skills.”

“Don’t kill it!” Brigid wiggled free of the children and joined the men outside the wagon.

Liam wagged his head. “We should be able to corner it. These woods right here hide a fox den. Seamus, come with us.” He stopped short and tapped his fingers on his temples. “What are ye going to do, Miz Brigid? Teach a wild fox to do tricks in one day?”

“I’m not exactly knowing what I’ll do.” Brigid often didn’t have a plan when she decided to help someone. Matters always had a way of working out. “I just trust the Lord.”

The boy sprang up from his corner of the rig and trotted off with his father and uncle, snickering as he went. The hunters hustled toward a wooded area. Seeing that Brigid hesitated, the children started in again.

“What’s yer name?” “How old are ye?”

“Do ye know how to spin? My mamai’s got a new loom.”

She smiled at them. “I’ll tell ye later.” Brigid hoisted her tunic above her ankles and hurried after the men.

The hunters seemed to know just where to go and were soon standing around a fix earth, just like they said.

Brigid snuck close to Liam. “I don’t think it’s necessary to frighten the animals.”

Seamus spoke. “Shush. What do women know ’bout hunting?”

His father pulled him aside. “Seamus, ye don’t know anything ’bout this lass. If yer smart, ye’ll keep quiet till ye do.” Liam turned to Brigid with his finger over his lips. “Think ye can nab one?”

“Let me try.” She scooted close to the opening in the rock.

She muttered not words, but soft sounds.

A red paw emerged, then disappeared. She continued. Seamus sighed loudly. Moments later a full-grown fox poked his head out and blinked in the filtered sunlight. He curled up in Brigid’s cloak and she drew him to her heart. He was warm and reminded her of Puddin.

The hunting party traipsed back to the wagon in silence. Seamus had to be tugged along by his uncle. The boy’s jaw hung open like the mouth of a slain boar.

The Eoghanachtan king’s castle was under construction. A guard stopped them just short of the stone ring encasing it.

The fox trailed Brigid as she approached the gangling man who gazed down at her.

“What’s yer business?”

“A fox for King Dunlaing. Has he arrived?”

The guarded snapped his chin upward. “He has. If ye have a gift, ye can leave it with me.”

“Oh, nay. ’Tis important I speak to him myself.” “Ye have business with him?”

Brigid sighed. Had she not said so? She bowed her head slightly. “Most certainly. Tell him Brigid of Glasgleann brings the fox he lacks.” Dunlaing knew she didn’t live at Glasgleann any longer, but he’d recognize the name.