Read Online A Secret and Unlawful Killing by Cora Harrison - Free Book Online
Authors: Cora Harrison
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her carefully through the clustering twigs and small branches; she would not risk a tear to the golden hide of her finely bred mare. As she pushed her way through the thickets she could hear the small tan-coloured hazel nuts crunch beneath her feet. The foxes and the pine martens would have a great feast here and plenty of nourishment to get them through a hard winter.
By the time that Mara eventually reached the road, the sun had already moved well out of the east and was approaching its September zenith. However, she did not turn north towards Poulnabrone — if she were late, she knew that the people of the Burren would wait courteously and patiently for her — she turned towards the south and towards the new tower house of Lemeanah.
Teige O‘Brien, a first cousin of King Turlough Donn O’Brien, had built Lemeanah soon after he had become taoiseach of the O’Brien clan on the Burren. It was a four-storey-high tower with doors set into the outside walls of the third and fourth floors, ready for a new extension to be built sometime in the future. It was the biggest tower house on the Burren, built in a magnificent style, which Mara was sure that Garrett MacNamara envied. Smoke poured from its chimney, and servants and workers bustled in and around the small cabins that surrounded it. On the north side of the tower house was a field with some stallions galloping about whinnying loudly, and Mara’s mare raised her head as if to answer them.
‘Hush, girl,’ said Mara, hurriedly stroking the golden neck. Quickly she dismounted. Her sharp eye had caught sight of a flash of blue on the top of the wall. She narrowed her eyes against the sun. Yes, it was Maeve climbing into the field near the tower house. Apparently she had gone by a quicker route than the way she had sent Mara. She had not gone for comfort from Fionnuala, but had come to her lover. Was it for comfort or to prepare him for the Brehon’s visit? Mara did not know the answer to that question.
Someone else had seen that flash of blue also. A tall young man had vaulted the wall near to the tower house and
was striding rapidly across the field, ignoring all of the playful young stallions, and making directly for the girl in the blue léine. Mara waited patiently for a few minutes to give a chance for the news to be passed on, and then she mounted again, riding sedately down the road, with her head turned away from the young couple and towards the stony fields opposite.
By the time that she reached the gates of Lemeanah, the two had disappeared from the field. Mara thought that Donal might have come to meet her, but there was no sign of him. He had obviously not inherited the courtesy of his father, Teige, she thought; he must certainly have seen her as she rode down towards the tower house. Or perhaps he had his own reasons for not encountering her. However, she had little time to waste if she was going to get to Poulnabrone for noon, so she refused the offer to dismount from a servant who came running to the gate, and sent him instead to find Donal O’Brien. There was a flash of puzzlement in the eyes of the man; he found it strange that she should ask for the son rather than the father, but he did not dare question the Brehon so he straight away went in search of his young master and Donal appeared several minutes later.
His mantle was not torn; Mara noticed that immediately. It was made of finely woven grey cloth, but then most people on the Burren wore grey made from the wool of the mountain sheep. These produced the most rain-resistant wool and that was important here on the edge of the Atlantic where rain showers swept in almost continuously. Perhaps he had another mantle, though. A family of this wealth could easily afford two or even three cloaks for the son and heir of the family.
‘Ah, Donal,’ she greeted him, looking closely at the handsome, sullen face. ‘I thought I saw you in the yard. I want you to pass on a message to your father.
By the time that Mara eventually reached the road, the sun had already moved well out of the east and was approaching its September zenith. However, she did not turn north towards Poulnabrone — if she were late, she knew that the people of the Burren would wait courteously and patiently for her — she turned towards the south and towards the new tower house of Lemeanah.
Teige O‘Brien, a first cousin of King Turlough Donn O’Brien, had built Lemeanah soon after he had become taoiseach of the O’Brien clan on the Burren. It was a four-storey-high tower with doors set into the outside walls of the third and fourth floors, ready for a new extension to be built sometime in the future. It was the biggest tower house on the Burren, built in a magnificent style, which Mara was sure that Garrett MacNamara envied. Smoke poured from its chimney, and servants and workers bustled in and around the small cabins that surrounded it. On the north side of the tower house was a field with some stallions galloping about whinnying loudly, and Mara’s mare raised her head as if to answer them.
‘Hush, girl,’ said Mara, hurriedly stroking the golden neck. Quickly she dismounted. Her sharp eye had caught sight of a flash of blue on the top of the wall. She narrowed her eyes against the sun. Yes, it was Maeve climbing into the field near the tower house. Apparently she had gone by a quicker route than the way she had sent Mara. She had not gone for comfort from Fionnuala, but had come to her lover. Was it for comfort or to prepare him for the Brehon’s visit? Mara did not know the answer to that question.
Someone else had seen that flash of blue also. A tall young man had vaulted the wall near to the tower house and
was striding rapidly across the field, ignoring all of the playful young stallions, and making directly for the girl in the blue léine. Mara waited patiently for a few minutes to give a chance for the news to be passed on, and then she mounted again, riding sedately down the road, with her head turned away from the young couple and towards the stony fields opposite.
By the time that she reached the gates of Lemeanah, the two had disappeared from the field. Mara thought that Donal might have come to meet her, but there was no sign of him. He had obviously not inherited the courtesy of his father, Teige, she thought; he must certainly have seen her as she rode down towards the tower house. Or perhaps he had his own reasons for not encountering her. However, she had little time to waste if she was going to get to Poulnabrone for noon, so she refused the offer to dismount from a servant who came running to the gate, and sent him instead to find Donal O’Brien. There was a flash of puzzlement in the eyes of the man; he found it strange that she should ask for the son rather than the father, but he did not dare question the Brehon so he straight away went in search of his young master and Donal appeared several minutes later.
His mantle was not torn; Mara noticed that immediately. It was made of finely woven grey cloth, but then most people on the Burren wore grey made from the wool of the mountain sheep. These produced the most rain-resistant wool and that was important here on the edge of the Atlantic where rain showers swept in almost continuously. Perhaps he had another mantle, though. A family of this wealth could easily afford two or even three cloaks for the son and heir of the family.
‘Ah, Donal,’ she greeted him, looking closely at the handsome, sullen face. ‘I thought I saw you in the yard. I want you to pass on a message to your father.
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