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Authors: Cora Harrison
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someone coming now.’ Mara’s quick ear caught the drumming of hoofs on the stone of the roadway outside.
‘Well, well, it’s himself,’ murmured Brigid with satisfaction. She walked quickly to the gate.
‘You’re very welcome, my lord,’ she said as Ardal dismounted with a neat swing of one leg. ‘I was just saying to the Brehon that she was looking tired and that she should leave her visit to you until the morning.’ Her voice had a warning note of emphasis.
‘I won’t keep her long.’
Ardal had a smile on his attractive face; it was easy to read Brigid.
‘I wondered whether Becan had arrived from Aran,’ he continued, looking around the courtyard.
‘He didn’t come. He refused.’ Mara told him the fisherman’s words – she didn’t mention the betrothal between Becan’s daughter and Iarla, though. This was something that she would keep to herself, she decided.
‘Strange!’ Ardal shook his head in disbelief. ‘I never heard of such a thing. To allow your own nephew to be buried without a friend or kin to be there to pray for his soul. And yet he seemed fond of the young man to come all the way here with him. Mind you, we didn’t see much of him. Liam told me that Becan went off on Tuesday morning to visit relations of his at Kinvarra and he didn’t come back until late on Wednesday.’
‘Borrowed your horse too, didn’t he?’ Brigid’s tone was sharp. ‘Cumhal told me that he met him on one of the Lissylisheen horses.’
‘Let’s come into the schoolhouse, Ardal,’ said Mara. ‘Will you have a cup of ale or wine?’
‘Nothing at all,’ he said firmly. ‘I really won’t keep you long, Brehon. You’ve had a tiring day.’ Adroitly he had moved ahead of her, opened the heavy door and ushered her into the schoolhouse, placing her chair by the fire and putting a cushion from the window seat at her back. Then he stood by the fireplace, a look of indecision on his handsome face.
‘I don’t like this, Brehon,’ he said after a moment. ‘In a way, though I don’t honestly think that boy was my son, I still feel a certain responsibility for him. He came here in good faith, on the word of his mother, and he was murdered. I don’t like the thought of burying the poor fellow without friend or family near to put the clay over him. I think I’d like to take him back to Aran and bury him beside his mother; that’s where he belongs and that’s where he should go. Would that meet with your approval, Brehon?’
‘I can understand your feeling, Ardal.’
Mara was conscious of a warm feeling. There were times when Ardal annoyed her; he could be tiresome and stubborn, but there were other times, like now, when she had to admire the essential nobility of the man. The wind was strong and it would be no light thing to embark on a journey in this weather on the turbulent seas between the mainland and Aran, but he would undertake that without a thought if he felt it to be the right thing to do. ‘However,’ she continued, ‘I really don’t think that would be necessary. After all, if his sisters had any feeling for him they would have crossed over for the funeral. You don’t know what they are feeling. Perhaps they regard him as no relation of theirs. Also, we don’t really know whether Becan will come after all. He might have got a passage in one of the fishing boats. That would have been cheaper for him. I don’t suppose that he has any silver to spare.’
‘Anyway, let’s go back to the problem of the murder.’ Ardal, as always, was efficient and precise. ‘We thought it might help, myself and Liam, to get statements from everyone while they all had supper in the barn.’ As he spoke, he carried a table over and placed it close to her chair.
‘Yes, of course. That was a good idea,’ said Mara.
Ardal had the custom, carried on from the days of his father, of supplying a substantial supper for all of his workers at the end of each day. It probably worked out well for him,
‘Well, well, it’s himself,’ murmured Brigid with satisfaction. She walked quickly to the gate.
‘You’re very welcome, my lord,’ she said as Ardal dismounted with a neat swing of one leg. ‘I was just saying to the Brehon that she was looking tired and that she should leave her visit to you until the morning.’ Her voice had a warning note of emphasis.
‘I won’t keep her long.’
Ardal had a smile on his attractive face; it was easy to read Brigid.
‘I wondered whether Becan had arrived from Aran,’ he continued, looking around the courtyard.
‘He didn’t come. He refused.’ Mara told him the fisherman’s words – she didn’t mention the betrothal between Becan’s daughter and Iarla, though. This was something that she would keep to herself, she decided.
‘Strange!’ Ardal shook his head in disbelief. ‘I never heard of such a thing. To allow your own nephew to be buried without a friend or kin to be there to pray for his soul. And yet he seemed fond of the young man to come all the way here with him. Mind you, we didn’t see much of him. Liam told me that Becan went off on Tuesday morning to visit relations of his at Kinvarra and he didn’t come back until late on Wednesday.’
‘Borrowed your horse too, didn’t he?’ Brigid’s tone was sharp. ‘Cumhal told me that he met him on one of the Lissylisheen horses.’
‘Let’s come into the schoolhouse, Ardal,’ said Mara. ‘Will you have a cup of ale or wine?’
‘Nothing at all,’ he said firmly. ‘I really won’t keep you long, Brehon. You’ve had a tiring day.’ Adroitly he had moved ahead of her, opened the heavy door and ushered her into the schoolhouse, placing her chair by the fire and putting a cushion from the window seat at her back. Then he stood by the fireplace, a look of indecision on his handsome face.
‘I don’t like this, Brehon,’ he said after a moment. ‘In a way, though I don’t honestly think that boy was my son, I still feel a certain responsibility for him. He came here in good faith, on the word of his mother, and he was murdered. I don’t like the thought of burying the poor fellow without friend or family near to put the clay over him. I think I’d like to take him back to Aran and bury him beside his mother; that’s where he belongs and that’s where he should go. Would that meet with your approval, Brehon?’
‘I can understand your feeling, Ardal.’
Mara was conscious of a warm feeling. There were times when Ardal annoyed her; he could be tiresome and stubborn, but there were other times, like now, when she had to admire the essential nobility of the man. The wind was strong and it would be no light thing to embark on a journey in this weather on the turbulent seas between the mainland and Aran, but he would undertake that without a thought if he felt it to be the right thing to do. ‘However,’ she continued, ‘I really don’t think that would be necessary. After all, if his sisters had any feeling for him they would have crossed over for the funeral. You don’t know what they are feeling. Perhaps they regard him as no relation of theirs. Also, we don’t really know whether Becan will come after all. He might have got a passage in one of the fishing boats. That would have been cheaper for him. I don’t suppose that he has any silver to spare.’
‘Anyway, let’s go back to the problem of the murder.’ Ardal, as always, was efficient and precise. ‘We thought it might help, myself and Liam, to get statements from everyone while they all had supper in the barn.’ As he spoke, he carried a table over and placed it close to her chair.
‘Yes, of course. That was a good idea,’ said Mara.
Ardal had the custom, carried on from the days of his father, of supplying a substantial supper for all of his workers at the end of each day. It probably worked out well for him,
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