Chapter Forty
Shimmering Near
Neave, August 19-23, 1565, Ulster, Ireland
My daughter had beenset free of Tyrconnell. The day after my visit to O’Donnell’s bedchamber, wee Aine was whisked to safety in his coach along with the nearly giddy Betha. I would have given everything to ride away with them, but all I could do was stand in the mist and bite the inside of my lip to keep from weeping.
Mistaking my anguish for a mother’s grief, my husband placed a soothing hand on Aedan Og. “You’ll have a new babe to cherish soon, m’lady.” He shot me a meaningful look. “Unfettered as you are to welcome your future now.”
I wiped away my unseemly sorrow. “Gratitude for your timely counsel, m’lord.”
To reward my efforts, O’Donnell had kept his word. The day he thought I forfeited my own flesh and blood, he ordered Bronagh to scrub every chamber pot in the castle, including those in the servants’ quarters. Red in the face, she heaved and panted from dawn to dusk, pitying “our poor lord” and cursing the “O’Neal’s wench” who had charmed him. For how else to account for her master punishing her while bestowing on me my crammed lady’s bedchamber and such a lavish favor as sharing his bed, withal?
But it mattered nothing now, for even while feigning submission and contentment in contending my husband, I looked only to the future. For a sennight, I waited for his departure on the account of clan affairs. The escape shimmered so near, I could almost touch it. Mere two days past, while affecting to cut flowers in the garden, I stuffed a bit of mud into my pocket. A song-thrush had taken flight as I headed back inside, its course set toward Tyrone. Home.
At long last, O’Donnell had gone, not to return for four days. To ward off suspicions, I lingered in agonizing idleness for twenty-four hours. But now that day had faded into the evening, the time was upon me.
Hands tingling, I studied myself in the dented bronze mirror one last time. Sorcha’s rough russet chafed my skin through my thin léine, but its hood concealed a single plait I’d made of my hair, and its volume rendered me thickset and hardy. A thin mixture of water and mud made my face look sunburnt, obscured my freckles, and turned my brows and hairline to an unremarkable brown.
I paced in my small bedchamber like a trapped beast, waiting until all the castle was abed. Then silent as a mouse, I stole to the servants’ quarters.
Outside, stood O’Donnell’s brother Macdara and the seneschal in deep conversation. Before I could hide, they raised their heads and stared at me.
My stomach churned, then shrank to the size of an acorn.
The seneschal snapped his brows together with a sidelong glance at his overlord’s brother. He hadn’t the slightest idea of who I was, but it wouldn’t do to admit this.
I drew back, ready to bolt.
He tightened his jaw. “It’s past your curfew, as well you know.”
“Delayed...” I dipped my head and dropped my voice. “Apologies, m’lord, please...”
“Out of my sight.” The seneschal pointed his chin at the entrance to the servants’ quarters. “You’ll be called to account at sunup.”
Heartbeat in my throat, I dashed inside and came upon pitch darkness. So I stood still to recover my wits and allow my eyes grow accustomed to the scant light of the waxing gibbous streaming through the small, grated windows. By the time they come to exact public scolding, fines, and new chores, I’d be long gone.
Breath held against the dank air and bodily odors, I crept through the profusion of cots and pushed open the exit door.
The guard who blocked my way reeked of sour ale and rank sweat. He stared with rounded eyes. “Where is it you’re going, lass?’
But I was ready for him. “I’d had word...my mother has taken ill, good sir,” I droned in the thick cadence of a lowborn. “She lives over yonder”—I thrust my finger into the night—“in a tenant hut, like. Mary is her name, a God-fearing woman she is, never an unkind word for all her sorrows and...” I made as if to wipe my eyes. “I’ll be but a spell and back by sunrise quick as a flash, good sir.”
The guard frowned. “Have you told your betters?”
“They’re all abed, and I’d not wake them for such a thing...” I wrung my hands. “Please let me pass, good sir. I’m worried sick and cannot sleep nor eat.”
The guard shuffled his feet, studying me from head to foot. “What are you called, lass, and what’s your station here?”
I cleared my throat, frantic for a name I hadn’t prepared. “Ida, the chambermaid.”
He scratched his cheek. “Which hut does your mother dwell in?”
I sniffled to hide my panic. “Oh...the one with...the leaky roof, near to the big yew. Its bough fell in the night and spooked everyone straight out of bed! They thought it was the devil himself come to wreak havoc, and then, a wee lad from the hut round the bend ate a yew berry and was made to retch, and their babe wails day and night now, the poor thing is damaged by fright like, and the three-legged hound that—”
“Quiet!” The guard squeezed his eyes shut against my chatter. “Be off with you and back here by sunrise lest you hanker for a rod.”
“Oh, good sir, I give you my word I’ll return well before—in time to make the beds, like—and may the Lord bless you and all your kin, and—”
It took all my will not to run to the stables. I halted at the entrance: horse dung, rotting hay—and unwashed male. The groom, big and filthy, snored in the corner. Quiet as a ghost, I padded to Fionna’s stall.
He cursed and bolted up. “Halt!”
I froze, heart racing like a winded steed. “Oh, what a clumsy fool I am!” I clamped a hand over my mouth. “Forgive me for waking you, good sir!”
He stood, blinking away sleep. “What is it you’re doing here at this late hour, lass?”
I stared with rounded eyes, swallowing a rush of terror. “Oh...my good sir, haven’t you heard?”
The man scanned the stable as if seeking the answer from the horses. “Heard what?”
“The O’Neal’s wench is deathly ill, feverish and retching her guts out,” I said in a horrified whisper. “Says she fears for our lord’s babe and sent me to fetch a healer from the village, sir.”
He scratched between his legs. “Have you gotten leave?”
“Oh, aye.” I shrugged. “The whole castle is up in arms now, worried sick for the babe, they are. I know riding, see—had a donkey when I was wee, a good beast he was, always braying upon catching sight of me and—”
The groom spat. “The lord said not to let any lass pass without his say-so. Methinks he fears his wife might seek another misadventure. How do I know you’re not her creature?”
I stared, weak in the knees, but made myself give a steady sigh of relief. “Aye, sir, I thank you for saving me the trouble.” I dropped my voice into a loud whisper. “I’d rather have me a draught and get myself abed.” I yawned widely and turned, muttering, “I’ll say the groom gave no leave, is all. Naught I could do, and a draught always makes me sleepy—”
“Stop your blubbering, lass!” The groom darted an alarmed glance round the stable. “If she’s as ill as you say, then go now and don’t you tarry. I’ll not take blame shall aught befall her or the babe.”
“Aye, well...” I shrugged and moped over to Fionna, begging her silently not to nuzzle me. “I’m to ride her white mare, she says, for she trusts no other for speed, the spoiled wretch.”
As if on cue, Fionna nickered a soft welcome and leaned in her head. I drew back with a gasp as the groom raised his brows. “Filthy beast! Get your slobbery muzzle away from me! My donkey, a good one he was, he never—”
I set my mare to a gallop soon as Tyrconnell walls grew faint behind.
It had been trying to rain all day, and now, the downpour descended upon the earth, furious as my thumping heart. The wind blew my hood back, the water pelted my skin, drenched my hair, washed the mud from my face, seeped beneath Sorcha’s russet and into my leather boots. But none of it mattered.
Home, home, home.