The Forbidden Land (7 page)

‘The prionnsachan have a sworn duty to the Rìgh o’ the land as well,’ Enit said gently, a subtle lift of her finger keeping angry words from spilling from Finn’s lips. ‘The MacRuraich clan have sworn fealty to the MacCuinns and are obliged to answer his call. I’m afraid there is no-one else who can do what Finn can do. Her peculiar combination o’ talents is rare indeed, as ye must ken.’

Spots of hectic colour burned in Gwyneth’s cheeks. ‘And what o’ the Rìgh’s obligations to his vassals?’ she replied quietly, her hands clenched together. ‘We sent troops to the aid o’ the MacCuinn and the MacFóghnan in the winning back o’ Arran, yet still we have received little aid in the repelling o’ the Fairgean from our shores. When is the Rìgh going to wipe out the sea-faeries once and for all?’

Enit’s dark face was troubled. ‘The human population o’ Eileanan needs to be united and at peace afore the Rìgh can be dealing with the problem o’ the Fairgean,’ she answered. ‘Ye ken we canna be fighting two wars at once.’

‘Yet we have been beset on all sides ever since my husband helped Lachlan the Winged to the throne,’ Gwyneth said bitterly. ‘We have had the Fairgean swarming in the seas, seekers hiding in the villages, the uprising of Siantan against our rule and the dissolution o’ the Double Throne, riots for bread in the countryside, famine and pestilence and the need to feed thousands o’ refugees from the coast and rivers. When is the MacCuinn going to come to our aid?’

‘His Highness has sent ye men and arms …’

‘A scant five hundred, and all o’ them hungry!’

‘Indeed the Rìgh kens ye have had a hard struggle the past few years. He has no’ been idle, ye must ken that. There has been much to do since the Tìrsoilleirean were driven from southern Eileanan. I shall tell him your concerns and ask that more relief soldiers and supplies be sent.’

Gwyneth was silent, though the colour in her face had drained away, leaving her white and haggard. Enit played with her amber beads, which glowed like trapped firelight. ‘Your daughter has particular skills that the Rìgh is in dire need o’.’

‘Aye, thieving and deceiving and sneaking about like that wicked cat o’ hers,’ Gwyneth said with bitter shame in her voice. ‘Very well, take her. She does no’ wish to be here anyway.’

Gwyneth rose, clutching the plaid about her shoulders. Finn stared at her in dismay but her mother did not meet her eyes, sweeping out of the drawing room with her head held high. After a moment Brangaine followed, and a murmur of speculation rose. Finn bent and picked up the cat winding about her ankles, and cuddled her under her chin, staring round at the whispering crowd with fierce, defiant eyes.

The jongleurs drove out the very next day.

Finn was left behind, though secret arrangements were made for her to join Enit Silverthroat’s caravan a week later at the border with Tìreich. Enit had insisted that none must know that Finn was to travel in the jongleurs’ company. ‘Too many o’ our Rìgh’s plans have unravelled at the seams,’ the old jongleur had told Gwyneth. ‘There are enemy spies everywhere. Even the son o’ one o’ the Rionnagan dukes has been tried as a traitor, Eà curse his black heart. The MacCuinn has insisted that as few as possible ken your daughter has left Rurach. Tales o’ the banprionnsa who can climb like a cat have travelled far and wide.’

‘Tales o’ the banprionnsa trained as a thief,’ Gwyneth had said.

‘We canna risk anyone wondering why the Rìgh has need o’ Finn’s particular talents. No-one must ken, and I mean no-one. Ye mun make up some excuse. Say ye are sending her away for safekeeping, or to punish her for her wildness. Whatever ye say, make sure it rings true. Tell no-one the truth.’

‘But how can I? I would no’ send Fionnghal away without her maid and some men-at-arms to guard her, at the very least. What tale can I tell that would be believed?’

‘Ye are better able to judge that than me,’ Enit had replied.

‘We could pretend I’d run away,’ Finn piped up. ‘I could tie together all my blankets and hang them out the window, then leave some scraps o’ cloth on a tree in the forest …’

Her mother had looked at her coldly. ‘Aye, so I would have to send out search parties to
pretend
to look for ye, when your father needs every man he can get to help him drive off the Fairgean. Do no’ be foolish, Fionnghal. The idea is to draw as little attention to yourself as possible. That way the whole countryside would be buzzing with rumours and every eye on the lookout for ye.’

‘Tell them ye’re sending me to the auld witches’ tower in the mountains,’ Finn had suggested with a grin. ‘So all the ghosts will frighten the foolishness out o’ me.’

‘That’s enough, Fionnghal. Take that evil-eyed cat o’ yours and go look over your history book, for I am sure ye will no’ do any studying once ye’ve gone.’

Finn had picked up Goblin, stroking her triangular head lovingly. ‘She doesna have evil eyes,’ she protested. ‘They’re bonny!’

Gwyneth had sighed. ‘Please, Fionnghal, do as I bid for once.’

‘Aye, mam,’ Finn had answered meekly, too excited about her impending escape to protest. She gave a little curtsy and left the room, Goblin riding in the crook of her arm as usual.

Two days after the jongleurs had left, a foam-flecked horse galloped up the steep, winding road to the castle, bearing a messenger from the army. He carried frightening news. The MacRuraich’s troops had been driven back and the Fairgean had swarmed up the river and into Loch Crossmaglen, the fifth loch from the sea. Not once since Castle Rurach had been built had the Fairgean penetrated so deep into the countryside. They were little more than a day’s ride away from Loch Kintyre and the castle itself.

That night Finn was shaken awake in the dark of midnight by her mother. Gwyneth’s face was haggard in the light of the lantern she held in one hand. ‘Pack quickly, my bairn,’ she said, her voice shaky with repressed tears. ‘It is time for ye to go. Take only what is most necessary. I shall see ye downstairs.’

When Finn came bounding down the stairs a few minutes later, she carried only a small bag, her crossbow and a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder. The elven cat leapt along behind her like a living shadow.

She came to an abrupt halt at the sight of her mother standing in the great hall, little Aindrew clinging close to her side. Next to her stood Brangaine in travelling clothes—a riding dress of blue serge with a long matching coat over the top and her plaid pinned round her shoulders. By her feet was a small trunk. Behind her stood Ashlin the Piper, his beloved bagpipes in the cradle of his arm, and Donald the Gillie, beaming at Finn, his unlit pipe in his hand.

‘What is Brangaine doing all dressed up?’ Finn cried, undisguised hostility in her voice. ‘Look at her, fine as a proud laird’s bastard!’

‘I have decided what is the best thing to do,’ Gwyneth replied curtly, her hands gripping each other. ‘I am going to send ye all to safety to your father’s hunting-lodge, high in the mountains.’

She held up a hand to still Finn’s protest. ‘Your father’s auld nurse lives up there with her son and his wife. If the Fairgean win through to Lock Kintyre we shall be in a state o’ siege. It is quite reasonable o’ me to want to keep ye and my wee laddie safe. Ye shall ride out with a small number o’ guards and once ye are clear o’ the castle, ye and Brangaine shall leave them and make your way down through the forest to meet up with the jongleurs on the far side o’ the river.’

‘Brangaine!’ Finn cried. ‘Why her?’

‘Your cousin has offered to accompany ye on your journey,’ Gwyneth said coolly. ‘She will be able to watch over ye and make sure ye mind your manners.’

‘Nay!’ her daughter cried hotly. ‘I do no’ want her! She’ll ruin everything.’

‘If Brangaine stays, so do ye,’ Gwyneth replied. ‘I have had a message from your father, and he agrees with me that she should go to watch over ye. He has sent Ashlin and Donald back to accompany ye also. They will serve ye both and guard ye. I would have liked to send more but your father needs every man he has to hold back the Fairgean. Besides, Enit says it is imperative that none but the most trusted ken ye travel in the Rìgh’s service. It seems the tales of Finn the Cat-Thief have spread.’ Her voice was bitter.

‘But Lachlan doesna want Brangaine!’ Finn cried. ‘What use will she be on an adventure? She’d be worried about getting her hair mussed, for Eà’s sake!’

Colour rose in Brangaine’s cheeks. ‘I have the NicSian Talent,’ she said with a tremor of anger in her voice. ‘A talent with weather is always o’ use.’

‘Brangaine has offered to keep up your lessons in courtly demeanour,’ Gwyneth said coolly, ‘and make sure ye do naught to disgrace your name. It is very thoughtful o’ her to offer to go when she must be made uncomfortable.’

‘What a dray-load o’ dragon dung!’ Finn cried. ‘She just wants to go so she can ruin it all for me …’

‘If ye do no’ like it, go to the hunting-lodge with Aindrew,’ her mother said tersely. ‘Though I ken ye will do anything to shake the dust o’ Rurach from your shoes.’

Finn flushed crimson. She had to press her lips together to stop angry words from spilling out. The little cat hissed and arched her back.

Suddenly Gwyneth softened. ‘Och, Fionnghal, have a care for yourself and come home safe to me!’ she cried and pulled Finn to her. Finn stood stiffly within her mother’s sweet-scented embrace until at last Gwyneth let her go.

The banprionnsa said rather shakily to Donald, ‘I put my wee lassie’s safety in your care, Donald. I ken I can rely on ye to keep her safe.’

‘That ye can,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘Do no’ fear for us, my lady, Eà shall shine her bright face upon us.’

‘I hope so,’ Gwyneth said, her voice thick with tears. She stood alone in the huge shadowy hall, her plaid pulled close about her, watching as Brangaine, Aindrew and Finn followed Donald and Ashlin out into the inner bailey, where horses and men waited. Aindrew pulled back against Brangaine’s hand, crying for his mother, but Finn did not look back.

Finn sat on the step of the caravan, eating her porridge and staring out over the plains, which undulated away as far as the eye could see. The long grass swayed, waves of silvery colour rippling away as the wind swept past. The only feature in all the wide landscape was a great tree on the far horizon, its shape silhouetted against a brilliant blue sky.

It was hot. Finn wore only a thin linen shirt and a pair of shabby breeches which tied under the knee, leaving her calves and feet bare and caked with dust. Her hair was dragged back into a bunch at the back of her neck, and her sleeves were rolled up past the elbow. She could smell a tang of wood-smoke in the air but otherwise there was only the clean strong wind and the sharp scent of the herbs growing in the grass. Finn scraped her bowl clean and put it down with a sigh. She was happy.

The four caravans were drawn up in a semi-circle around the fire, the horses hobbled nearby. Dide sat on the step of his caravan, strumming his guitar and talking to Jay and Ashlin, who were eating bannocks with honey. Brun the cluricaun was fussing around the fire, making a fresh pot of tea for Donald as he fletched his arrows. Nina was sewing up a rent in her skirt and Enit was talking with some birds that had fluttered down to perch on her knees. Despite the warmth, the old woman wore a crimson shawl wrapped close about her thin form. Lying back in the grass was Dide’s father Morrell, smoking his pipe and blowing perfect smoke-rings up into the sky, where they were torn apart by the wind.

Finn groped around in the pocket of her breeches and pulled out her own pipe and pouch of tobacco. Nimbly her fingers went about their work while her eyes roamed about the camp, enjoying the colour and activity. She stuck the pipe in the corner of her mouth and tried to catch a spark from her flint, but the breeze was too strong. She wandered down to the fire to drag out a burning twig with which to light her pipe. Morrell saw her and beckoned to her lazily.

‘Come amuse me, lassie, an’ I’ll light it for ye.’

Finn sat down next to him and he conjured flame with a snap of his fingers and held it to the bowl of her pipe. Fragrant smoke billowed up and he said with a wink, ‘By the stink o’ that, it’s Fair Isles smokeweed ye’re puffing on. Could ye be sparing a man a pinch o’ that, by any chance? Sick to death I am o’ smoking dried grass, which is all they’ll sell a man in the marketplace these days.’

Rather reluctantly Finn gave him a pinch of her tobacco, conscious of how thin her pouch was growing. Morrell knocked out his pipe, packed it again cheerfully, lit it with his thumb and drew back greedily. ‘Aye, that’s the stuff!’ he sighed and drew out a battered silver flask from his pocket which he unscrewed and drank from deeply. ‘Och, naught like a wee dram and a lungful o’ smokeweed!’

He amused her by breathing out his smoke from his nostrils in two long streams like a dragon, then showed her how to send one smoke ring drifting through the centre of another, until six blue hazy hoops hung above them in ever-widening concentric circles. Finn lay back in the grass to practise, Goblin curling up on her stomach. She suddenly became aware of a long blue skirt towering over her. She shaded her eyes with her hand and peered up through the smoke. Brangaine stood over her, her face stern with disapproval. As always, she was clean and neat, her fair hair tied back in a plait, her boots shiny.

‘I do no’ think your mother would approve o’ ye smoking a pipe,’ Brangaine said.

‘Well, mam is no’ here, is she?’ Finn replied mockingly.

Her cousin’s lips thinned. ‘Ye look like naught but a beggar lass.’

‘Why, thank ye, my dear,’ Finn replied. ‘That was exactly the look I was going for.’

Brangaine breathed through her nose in exasperation, the sound far too genteel to be described as a snort. She turned on her well-polished heel and marched over to the fire, where she helped Brun wash up the breakfast plates, the griddle and the porridge pot.

‘Och, a braw lassie,’ Morrell said admiringly. ‘And wi’ such bonny manners.’

‘There be too much o’ the stink o’ sanctity about her for my taste,’ Finn replied morosely.

‘Aye, well, happen if ye were a laddie ye’d sing a different tune,’ Morrell replied with a wink, before settling down in the grass again, his cap pulled over his eyes.

Finn smoked the rest of her pipe in silence, then got up and went down to the fire, the elven cat at her heels. Not looking at Brangaine, she said to the cluricaun, ‘Is there aught I can do to help?’

‘Nay, thank ye kindly,’ he replied in his gruff voice, looking up at her with bright brown eyes set in a furry triangular face. His ears were exceptionally large and pricked forward with eagerness. Dressed in the rough clothes of a farm lad, he had cut a hole in the trousers for the long tail which he used rather like another hand, picking up spoons to be polished or some kindling to fling on the fire. ‘Bonny Brangaine has done it all.’

Brangaine smiled at him.

‘Is she no’ the sweetest thing?’ Finn showed her cousin her teeth.

Brangaine’s smile faltered for a moment then she answered as sweetly, ‘Aren’t I?’

‘Indeed ye are,’ Brun assured her with absolutely no trace of sarcasm. Brangaine laughed and said, ‘Thank ye,’ and Finn walked away, shoving her hands in her pockets.

To her surprise Enit looked up as she passed, saying softly, ‘Why do ye beat each other wi’ nettles, ye two? Are there no’ stings enough in this world?’

Finn did not answer. The old woman stroked the head of the bird perched on her knee. ‘Jealousy cuts both ways, lassie.’

Finn flushed scarlet. Her pace quickened, Goblin protesting as she bounded along at her heels. Soon the camp was left behind and the strong, sweet-smelling wind was blowing through her. The heat in her cheeks subsided and with it her embarrassment and anger. She climbed up the hill to stand in the shade of the tree, Goblin leaping up her body to crouch on her shoulder. Together they looked out over the rolling plains. Far away was a thin wavering line of purple mountains, with nothing between but smooth silver-green hills. Finn smiled and stroked the elven cat’s soft fur, the last of her resentment vanishing. Indeed, Brangaine had not been nearly as bad as Finn had imagined she would be. Finn could almost imagine she had been trying her hardest to be conciliatory.

Despite the slow pace of the caravans, Finn had been very content these past few weeks. She spent her days riding her pony Cinders across the plains, hunting birds and coneys with Donald for their evening meal, or sitting up on the driver’s seat with Jay or Dide as they taught her how to drive the caravan. Every night they sat around the campfire, singing and cracking jokes and playing cards. Despite all Finn’s attempts to find out more about the purpose of her journey, none of the jongleurs would tell her a thing.

‘Dinna keep asking me, Finn! Ye’ll be told when the time is right,’ Dide had answered one evening.

‘But why will ye no’ tell me?’ Finn had demanded. ‘What harm could it do to tell me now?’

‘Ye never ken when a spy may be listening,’ Dide answered, his voice very soft. Finn stared round at the empty plains scornfully, saying, ‘But there’s no’ a soul for miles!’

‘That ye can see,’ Dide answered. ‘These plains are deceiving. They look flat but really they undulate like a sea serpent’s back. A whole train o’ caravans could be concealed just beyond the next rise and one o’ their outriders lying in the grass watching right now. The Tìreichan outriders are trained to creep through these grasses without anyone seeing.’

Finn stared around. ‘I dinna believe it! No-one could creep up on the Cat without me kenning!’

Dide grinned at her. ‘And what about a bird or a mouse? See that raven sitting on the roof o’ my caravan? Who is to say that it is no’ the familiar o’ some witch, listening to every word we say? Meghan o’ the Beasts is no’ the only witch who can talk to birds and animals.’

Finn had stared at the raven uneasily and it had stared back with its round yellow-ringed eye. ‘But can ravens understand our language? When Isabeau talks to animals, she talks in their language.’ Unconsciously she lowered her voice to a whisper.

‘No’ always, if the animal has lived among humans for a long time. And I notice ye talk to your wee elven cat in human language and she seems to understand every word ye say.’

Finn had stroked Goblin’s silky head complacently, saying, ‘Aye, that be true.’

‘So will ye stop asking me questions all the time that I canna answer and that may give the game away if someone overheard?’ Dide said sternly, no trace of laughter in his face or voice. ‘I canna tell ye how important it is that none ken o’ your mission, Finn. Whoever the spy in the Rìgh’s camp is, he or she has already cost us the lives o’ many hundreds o’ good men. I do no’ want to add yours to them.’

So Finn had given up trying to learn the purpose of her journey and thrown herself into the role of a jongleur lass with enthusiasm. Nina had begun teaching her how to walk on her hands, a skill Finn had always longed to learn, and the young banprionnsa revelled in running barefoot and having her hair in a tangle with no-one to care or reprimand her.

Sudden movement caught Finn’s eye. She shaded her face with her hand, staring out at the plains. A bay horse was cantering along the shallow valley on the far side of the hill, a rider crouched low on its back. Finn watched until it swerved down the curve of the slope and out of sight. It had been a beautiful beast and the first sign of human life since they had left the last village in Rurach.

Her curiosity sparked, Finn put down the elven cat and quietly followed the curve of the hill down, Goblin silent as ever at her heels.

The horse was cropping grass at the bottom of the valley. It wore no bridle or saddle and its luxuriant mane and tail had never been trimmed. Finn crouched in the grass and scanned the hills closely. At last she saw a slight break in the flowing ripples of grass at the crest of the bank overlooking the jongleurs’ camp. Stealthily she crept along the slope, then wriggled up through the grass.

A girl was lying on the hill crest, watching the camp below. She wore dusty leather breeches and long boots, and her vigorous brown hair was tied back in a thick plait.

Finn crept up behind her, then, without warning, pinned her to the ground with one arm twisted behind her back. The girl did not shriek out, as Finn had expected, but struggled to be free. Finn had to press her face firmly into the dust, her knees clamped hard into the girl’s side.

‘What do ye think ye’re doing, spying on us like that?’ she hissed in the girl’s ear. The stranger did not reply, just tried to heave Finn’s weight off her back. Finn twisted her arm harder.

‘I be an outrider,’ the girl panted. ‘It’s my job! Get off me, ye great lump!’

‘An outrider for whom?’ Finn snapped.

The girl said nothing. Finn dragged her to her feet and began to force her down the slope towards the camp, keeping her arm twisted up her back. The girl moved abruptly and Finn found herself sailing over her shoulder, landing with a thump in the grass. She lay still for a second, more dazed by the unexpectedness of the manouevre than by the fall. Then she was on her feet, throwing herself at the girl. They hit the ground hard, rolling down the slope as they wrestled. Finn was surprised to find herself well matched and exerted herself more fiercely. An elbow in her ribcage winded her and she grunted, seizing the girl around the neck and grinding her face in the ground. The girl managed to twist over and then it was Finn who was tasting dirt. Goblin leapt at the girl’s face, claws raking, and she started back, swearing, so that Finn was able to wrest herself free.

Over and over they tumbled, panting and swearing. Finn threw her to the ground with a cross-buttock, then pinned her there with the girl’s head locked within her elbow.

The girl gave a breathless whistle. Finn heard the thunder of hooves and then the bay was rearing over them, his black mane tossing. Finn had to spring aside to avoid being struck by the unshod hooves. In that instant the girl had rolled over and leapt on the horse’s back. She gave a mocking cry, then the horse wheeled and galloped away, his tail held up proudly.

Finn swore and dusted herself off. Her shirt was torn and grass-stained, her hair was in a tangle, and she was conscious of aches and pains where she had been pummelled. ‘Some lassie,’ she said admiringly, watching as the racing horse and rider disappeared over the horizon.

She limped back down to the camp, Goblin marching before her, tail erect.

Donald was filling a bucket with water from the stream and looked up at her without his usual twinkle. ‘Wha’ be the matter, lassie? Ye look like ye’ve been wrestling wi’ a woolly bear!’

‘Some strange lass was spying on us!’ Finn said with heat. ‘She was watching from yon hill. I tried to make her tell what she was doing but she got away, the bluidy bullying beast!’

Donald was frowning. ‘Happen we’d best tell Enit,’ he said. ‘It probably means naught but we do no’ wish anyone spying on us and carrying tales about what we do.’

Finn nodded. ‘That’s what I thought.’

She helped him carry the dripping bucket back to the camp and then told Enit what had happened with some excitement. The others gathered round her and she demonstrated the holds she had used and how the girl had got free of them, her audience exclaiming and laughing. Brangaine stood at the edge of the group, a slight frown of disapproval on her face.

‘An outrider,’ Dide said. ‘I wonder which caravan?’

‘Get your chores finished, my bairns,’ Enit called. ‘We shall be having guests soon, by the sound o’ it.’

‘Guests?’ Finn asked, rather disappointed at the old woman’s placidity.

‘Aye,’ Enit replied. ‘Your spy would have been an outrider for one o’ the horse-caravans, wondering who it was that travelled through their lands. No’ all travellers are friends, ye ken, in these troubled times. The jongleurs are always welcome, though, so we have naught to fear, although they may be annoyed at one o’ their outriders being beaten up.’

Finn was a little crestfallen. ‘How was I to ken?’ she demanded. ‘All I saw was some strange lassie sneaking up on the camp. It could’ve been anyone.’