Heart of the Glen

Chapter 2

2

Saoirse pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders as the wind kicked up. Though the sky was pitch-black, she could tell a storm was on the way by the mist thrashing her cheeks. No lights flickered ahead or behind her, nor to the north or the south. She slowed her steps and let her gaze sweep the dark horizon, fighting the sense of panic rising in her chest.

“Lord, help me.” The whispered prayer startled her as it escaped her lips. She’d not bothered talking to the Good Laird since that fateful day. Certainly the God who created and sanctified life had closed His ears to her after what she’d done—just one more tally mark in a long line of offenses. Though this was the worst of the lot, to be sure. No matter now though. The words were already winding their way on the wind somewhere else, anyway. She ducked her head against the elements and continued her slog. At least, she presumed she was still heading the same direction she was before she stopped. In the distance somewhere, a sheep bleated, and for a moment, Saoirse considered lumbering across the hills to find the beast and hunker down with its warmth. But common sense won out. Chances were the skittish animal would just run from her anyhow.

A deep rumbling pulled her attention to the road behind her. At the crest of the hill she’d just come down, a faint light flickered and swayed as the dull, almost thunder-like sound drew nearer. Her pulse quickened and, torn between fear of a predator and relief at possible transportation, she spun this way and that, looking for a place to hide. Squinting into the inky night, she could just make out the silhouette of a lone figure sitting atop a jaunty car. It wasn’t overlarge and could have been a feminine form, but the hooded cloak made it difficult to tell.

The rig rolled to a stop next to Saoirse. “Lands alive, lass, what’re ya doin’ out here by yerself?”

Saoirse huffed a sigh of relief at the woman’s voice. “I’m afraid that’s a rather long story.”

The shrouded figure shifted over and waved her aboard. “ Tsk ! Well, get on up here, wouldja? Ye’ll catch yer death of a cold if ya stay out all night.”

Glancing around once more, Saoirse stepped up onto the open-top carriage and relief flooded her body as she sat on the wooden bench. “Thank ya.” She adjusted her cape around her. “Very much.”

A gloved hand slipped in front of Saoirse. “I’m Aileen. Aileen McCready.”

Saoirse shook the offered hand. “Saoirse Fagan.”

Aileen snapped the reins and, with a jolt, they were off. “Where’re ya headed? I can drop ya on the way.”

From the side of her eye, Saoirse studied the woman who appeared to be roughly the same age as herself. She shrugged. “Not sure.”

“ Wheesht ! Ya hafta know where ye’re goin’.” She shook her head, chuckling as if Saoirse was trying to play a joke on her.

“Nope.” Saoirse pulled in a deep breath. “I was to start at Drumboe Castle today—”

Aileen tipped her head. “I thought I’d heard the lord had passed away,” she said, crossing herself before adding, “God rest his soul.”

Saoirse nodded. “He did. Or so I’ve just been told.”

“Och, they didn’t send word to ya?”

Saoirse shrugged. “If they did, it didn’t reach me in time. But I suspect the Widow Hayes was too distraught to think of it.”

“’Magine.” Aileen shook her head, her gaze trained on the road ahead of them. “So, ya really don’t know where ye’re headed. Will ya not go back home in the morn?”

Saoirse studied Aileen’s profile, trying to decide how much she wanted to tell the veritable stranger next to her. “No,” she finally said, opting for the safety of ambiguity. “There’s nothing for me back there.”

Aileen turned fully toward Saoirse for the first time. She was quiet for a moment, studying her more closely, as though weighing what she would say next. Even in the scant light from the lantern swinging on a hook, a war shone in the woman’s eyes.

“Right,” Aileen said at last, startling Saoirse. “Ye’ll come home wit’ me.”

Saoirse’s jaw fell slack, and she shook her head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

A sarcastic laugh puffed from Aileen’s lips. “What, ya have somewheres else to be?” When Saoirse didn’t answer, Aileen tugged on the reins until the horse slowed to a halt. “Look, it won’t be forever. And I’m afraid ye’ll have to settle for the barn tonight. We can deal with my brother in the morning. Goodness knows it’s late enough already. But ya can’t stay out here alone all night. At least in the barn ye’ll be warm, dry, and safe.”

Mulling the woman’s argument over in her mind, Saoirse tried to find a reason to decline the offer but none came to mind.

Ya don’t deserve it, that’s the reason.

She shook the unwanted thought away, true though it was. The fact remained, however, that Saoirse had nowhere to go, and she wasn’t going to figure things out in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. A biting gust of wind cut through her cloak, chilling her to the bone. If nothing else, she needed out of the elements or she’d never make it anyway. Sighing, she agreed. “Thanks a million. I owe ya.”

“Grand, so!” With another snap of the reins, they were off once again.

The next hour passed pleasantly, with the two women discovering they had more in common than Saoirse would’ve guessed. It was as if they’d been friends their whole lives.

That’s ’cause she doesn’t know what ya did.

Granted, Saoirse’s carefully crafted answers to Aileen’s questions about her past painted a rosier picture than her current reality. Not that she was lying, so much as just not being ready to divulge her darkest truths to the woman. If she did, she’d surely be back where she started, left on the side of the road with nowhere to go and no way to get there.

At long last, just when Saoirse’s eyes had grown almost too heavy to keep open, the jaunty car veered a sharp right, bringing into view her home for the evening. A small, thatched cottage, with windows glowing orange from the turf fire within, sat nestled against a small knoll. The roof of the barn peeked over the knoll as lantern light forced its way through the tiny spaces between the roof slats. Her vision blurred at the idyllic sight so much like the home she left behind. Well, not exactly like she left it. But nonetheless, the sight stirred an ache so deep in her soul, it threatened to steal her breath. That, combined with the relief of being done traveling—even if only for the night—settled on her like a sleep-spelled tune from Dagda’s harp.

The carriage followed the narrow road around the knoll and over to the entrance of the barn. Aileen tugged on the reins, then turned to Saoirse.

“Alright, I’ll go chat with Owen. He’s a grumpy one, but he’ll not leave ya stranded in the middle o’ Donegal overnight.” She reached out and gently squeezed Saoirse’s shoulder. “Just wait here and I’ll come get ya in a wee while.”

Saoirse nodded, pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, and watched Aileen scurry down from the bench and disappear into the dark night.

****

Owen, head lolled to one side, didn’t stir when he heard the door scrape open, certain it was his sister back from her trip to Donegal Town. Next to him, Stout’s tail thwapped the floor three times, confirming his sleep-laden assumption.

“Och!”

Aileen’s screech jolted him fully awake. In a flash, she was kneeling before him, horror etched on her face.

“Owen Sean McCready! What’s happened to ye? Are ya alright?” Her hand hovered over his bandaged one, and she scanned the rest of him as though she could determine if he had any other injuries with just a glance.

Shifting under her intense scrutiny, his chest rumbled with a low growl. “ Tóraithe ,” he mumbled.

Aileen tsked. “Someone ought to do somethin’ about those bandits. Haggerty again?”

He nodded.

She winced as she met his gaze. “How many did they get?”

Owen managed a weak smile, lifted his bandaged hand, and waved it gently. “Just me.”

His sister puffed out a breath and sat back on her haunches. “Thanks be to God for that.” She stared off for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought, while she absently scratched Stout’s head. Owen guessed that she was calculating how much money they’d have lost if the band of thieves had been successful.

Blinking suddenly, she reached for his injured hand. “Lemme take a look at this.” She scowled at the bandage as she carefully turned his hand over and over, looking for the end of the cloth. “Ye’ve made a right mess of this dressin’, I’ll tell ya that.” Though worry clouded her eyes, humor laced her voice.

“Oh, I dunno,” he replied. “I thought I did pretty well considerin’ I only had one paw to work with.” He couldn’t help the chuckle that rattled in his chest.

“Now, I’ll be the judge o’ that.” She unwound the bandage and examined the wound. “Looks like ya cleaned it pretty well, and it doesn’t look too deep.”

“I told ya it wasn’t so bad.” He wiggled his fingers and winced. “Hurts though.”

Aileen sighed and met his gaze. “How long till ya think ye can weave?”

A pit settled firm in Owen’s gut. He’d forgotten all about Murphy’s. “Did we get an order?”

She leveled a heavy gaze on him. Whether that meant there was no order and they’d be hard-pressed for cash this quarter, or they hit her with a doozy of an order, he couldn’t tell. “Well?” He raised his brows high.

“Aye, we did.” She crossed to the hearth and grabbed some dried flowers that hung upside-down there. Feverfew , he thought she’d said one time. She crumbled them into a bowl and poured some hot water from the kettle into it, then left the mixture to steep. “Owen, it’s massive.”

She returned to sit in the chair across from him. “They loved this batch ya just sent. They, of course, love your signature barleycorn pattern. And even more so for the colors. McKean said the bluish hue with the flecks of purple put him in mind of summer on Mackoght Mountain when the heather has just started to bloom.”

Owen’s mouth tipped up in a smile, but the reality quickly hit of what such an order actually meant for him—and his injury. He reached up and scratched his head with his good hand. “I was afraid o’ that,” he mumbled to himself, though deep down pride warmed him at the core. He’d found a new combination of local flora to use in the dyes, and it pleased him to know it had paid off. He flexed his fingers and cringed. “We’ll make it work. Ya can tell me all the details in the morning. I’m too tired tonight.”

Sighing, Aileen crossed to the kitchen again and dunked the bandage in the tea-like substance she’d made, wrung it out, and returned to his side. Stout roused and sat up as though studying how to wrap the injury in case he had to do it himself later. His sister tenderly wound the damp fabric around his hand, then a horse’s whinny echoed outside.

Owen shot to his feet. “Och! Did ya not stable the horse?”

Aileen fell back a step, her eyes grew wide, and she clapped a hand on her forehead. “Land sakes, I completely forgot!”

“How d’ya forget to stable a horse when ya park him right next to the barn?”

“Wheesht!” The remark, intended to make him hush, was her typical response when she had no feasible reply. She made quick work of finishing the bandaging, then rushed outside, leaving the door open behind her.

Owen looked to Stout, who stared back at him. “I know, buddy. Women, eh?” The black-and-white border collie huffed, licked his nose, and circled around to settle in his spot. “Don’ worry,” Owen called after his sister, “I’ll get the door!”

****

Saoirse sighed and slid down from the seat of the rig. How long had she been left sitting out here? The night was pitch-black, and other than the soft orange glow that peeked out from slats in the barn, no light could be seen. The scent of the turf from the house wafted down over her head. She breathed in deep, letting the comforting aroma ground her and steady her nerves. She shuffled her way toward the knoll, hoping to crawl on top and get a glimpse of what was going on with Aileen and her brother. But before she could get there, footsteps came racing around the barn.

“I’m so sorry,” Aileen’s breathless voice said in a harsh whisper. “I didn’t forget about ya.” She sniffled hard and wiped her hand across her mouth. “Okay, I kinda forgot about ya, but not on purpose.”

Saoirse had no right to be annoyed at the delay—after all, this woman held no obligation to help her. Yet she fought the tightening in her shoulders. “It’s grand,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t belie her fatigue and frustration. If she was honest, it was not just being left to wait so long in the jaunty car. It was everything. Her entire situation. The circumstances that had gone downhill back in Westmeath, and had spiraled from bad to worse in a matter of days, vexed her to no end, with no way out that she could see.

Aileen closed the distance between them and tugged on Saoirse’s elbow, pulling her toward the barn. “Lookit, Owen’s in a bad way tonight. Was attacked by bandits while I was away, but—”

“Oh my gracious,” Saoirse interrupted her. “Is he alright?”

“Aye, he will be, thanks be to God.” She pulled the large wooden doors open. Soft golden light and piles of hay beckoned Saoirse as Aileen approached the horse, still attached to the cart.

“Anyway,” Aileen continued, “he was in no way for me to ask about ye, so ye’ll just have to lay low in here tonight.” She brushed her hand down the horse’s neck and crooned something indistinguishable in his ear. She presumed it was some expression of how good of a boy he was.

Saoirse glanced around them, Aileen’s statement about the bandits echoing in her mind. She chose to leave it alone. If there was any real danger, Aileen wouldn’t suggest putting her up for the night there. Would she? “Eh ... can I help ya unhitch the horse?” she asked.

Aileen shook her head. “Nah. Fadó and I here have our own little routine. Don’t we, boyo?” She patted the draft horse’s neck once more as she slipped a slice of apple from her cloak pocket. The horse nickered.

“Fadó?” Saoirse asked.

Aileen chuckled. “Aye. My brother said this fella was an old soul, even as a foal. Said he must’ve come to us from a long time ago.”

Saoirse nodded absently and scanned her surroundings. Though rustic, as most barns were wont to be, this one was clean and tidy. Four stalls lined the eastern wall, with a work area and one additional stall on the western side. The southern wall sported hooks that held yokes, a saddle, and other farm implements. And despite the lack of a fire in the stove, it was decidedly warmer inside than it was out in the wind and impending rain.

“C’mon back here.” Aileen’s voice shattered Saoirse’s thoughts. “We’ve not used this one for a creature in some time, so it’s nice an’ clean.” She gestured to the last stall on the left.

Saoirse stared inside the small rectangle space. Aileen was rearranging fresh hay into a bed and lay the blanket on top of it before grabbing another from a shelf under one of the tables.

“This’ll keep ya out o’ sight more easily back here,” she was saying. “In the morning, Owen usually comes in around eight o’ the clock, so ye’ll want to be out by then. There’s a creek that runs behind the short stone wall about twenty yards north of here. Ya can hide there, and I’ll bring ya some food.”

Saoirse nodded. She’d need to hide? Was Owen such a cantankerous man as that? Should she be worried for her safety? “Are ya sure about this?” she asked Aileen. “If it would trouble your brother so much if he were to find me, wouldn’t it be best for me to shelter somewhere else for the night?”

“Wheesht! And where would that place be?” Though her face held a look of scolding, her voice carried the lilt of jest. “Ye’ll be just fine here for tonight. I should be able to talk to Owen tomorrow. I’ll see if I can convince him to let ya stay longer if ya need. Until then, sleep well and stay hidden or he’ll likely confuse you for a sheep thief.”

Saoirse swallowed hard. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen. “Alright,” she answered. “Thank you so very much.”

“ Tá fáilte romhat ,” Aileen replied.