Daughter Of The Forest (65 page)

“Lay a finger on her,” he said very softly, “and I’ll kill you.”

“I’m her brother, you fool,” said somebody in a tongue Red could not understand. I could not turn around, he held me so hard against him.

“He can’t understand you, Diarmid.”

I could not believe it, but Conor’s voice went on, translating calmly. “We are her brothers, and are come to take Sorcha home. We will do no harm, if safe conduct can be granted from your lands. Our sister has no further need of your protection.” For an instant, the arm tightened around me still further; and then he let go. I twisted around to be scooped up into Conor’s arms like a child, and soon they were all around me, Liam exclaiming, Diarmid cursing, Cormack and Padriac already armed with short swords deftly removed from a couple of men who now lay groaning at the foot of the steps. Diarmid was scanning the crowd, sizing up the opposition, measuring the distance to cover. I began to be aware that we were very exposed, up here on the platform, and that the boards not far from where we stood were starting to burn.

“Were you planning to bleed to death or wait for the fire?” Ben appeared as if from nowhere, his hair bright gold in the light from the flames. He bent down and hauled Red to his feet, grimacing. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this thing’s burning. Here.” He put an arm under Red’s good shoulder and began half dragging his friend down the steps. Red looked back, just once. I had not thought it possible for him to turn any paler, but he had; and he had wiped every trace of expression from his features. The left side of his shirt was soaked with blood.

“Come on, Red,” said Ben. “Your mother is here, and your brother. There’s no need for you to stay. Besides, a dead hero’s no use to anyone. As for you,” he glanced back over his shoulder in the general direction of my brothers, “my advice would be to get out of here as soon as possible. Make your way to the house. That should be safe for now. I’d take you there myself, but as you see…” And they were gone.

Cormack made his way down the steps, sword in hand, with Conor close behind him carrying me, and the others at the rear.

“Where’s Finbar?” I whispered, but nobody heard me. The noise was bedlam. Voices shouting, here and there a clash of swords, the crackling and roaring of the great fire as it consumed ash wood and sawn timber and all it could reach. The flames were monstrous now, towering high, edged with sparks of green and orange. The ledge where I had been standing was long gone, the pole burned through. Around us, the crowd surged forward, and there were men with daggers and swords, and fear in their eyes. There was no way through, no route to the safety of the house. My brothers had formed a tight ring about me, but the crowd was moving in, and the mood was turning ugly. There were those among them that had come to see a sorceress burn, and felt cheated. There were those that saw only that, suddenly, their enemy was in their midst, armed and dangerous. And there were Richard’s men, who had certain orders to carry out.

“I can’t believe we’ve been saved only to perish at the hands of some British rabble,” growled Cormack, trying with little success to clear a path through the shouting, angry crowd. A man cursed at him, and Cormack raised the sword. Conor’s arms tightened around me.

“It’s not looking good,” agreed Liam, swinging his arm out and downward to knock a man to the ground. Behind him, others were toppled by his fall. A group of guards in the colors of Northwoods began to advance on us.

“Good people of Harrowfield!” A voice rang out, sharply authoritative. “You have witnessed a great wonder this night. A miracle, it could be said.” Slowly the crowd hushed, and turned. Seated on a tall piebald horse, straight-backed in his black robe, Father Dominic of Whitehaven fixed the people with stern gaze. There was a deathly silence. From the safe haven of Conor’s arms, I looked up. Why was Father Dominic here? Why had he come back?

“This girl has come close to death. But you have seen the transformation here, how these young men have been brought back to human form by her faith and hope, and the good work of her hands. Surely the devil laid this evil affliction on them, and it is through God’s will that they are saved.”

More muttering; heads shaken, heads nodding. I was tired. I was so tired. Where was Finbar? Where was…?

“The hand of the Lord is on this young woman,” Father Dominic went on in measured tones that carried right across the courtyard. “You should count yourselves blessed that you have seen it. And be thankful that help arrived in time, for there nearly was a gross miscarriage of justice here tonight. The girl was not condemned to death. The charges against her were not proven; besides, who would condemn a child who has not the powers of speech to plead her innocence? I believed it imperative in the interests of justice for the case to be held over until her husband returned, and could speak for her. I conveyed this much to Lord Richard, before I was called away. Why he chose to announce another verdict to the folkmoot, and to enact the penalty so swiftly I intend to discover for myself in due course. Had it not been for the lady Anne, who rode out herself to reach me and question me today, I would have known nothing of this burning until it was too late. And the Lord’s mercy would not have been granted to these unfortunate young men.”

I saw, now, that Lady Anne was beside him, seated on the little mare and clad in riding clothes. She looked very tired.

“Where is the man who ordered this done?” asked Father Dominic, and I saw Richard’s men melt into the throng of people and disappear. There was a flurry of activity on the edges of the crowd, in the semidarkness.

“What about him, then?” came a voice from somewhere in the crowd. “That fellow, the one that’s holding her. He’s the one from the woods, the fugitive, the Irish bastard we nearly caught that night. You can’t tell me he’s just here for a quiet visit. What about him?”

Conor looked up and across the sea of bodies, and there was a sudden hush.

“I am her brother,” he said quietly in the tongue they could understand. “We are all her brothers. Her silence kept the darkness from us. Her labors released us.”

“Good people,” Lady Anne spoke, and there was a desperate weariness in her voice. “We have indeed seen wonderful and terrible things here at Harrowfield tonight. There are many questions to be asked, and answers given. You see that—that my sons are returned; both of my sons, and my heart is too full of gratitude to see any man hurt, or punished, or offered less than courtesy this night.” She was trying not to weep, her voice tightly controlled. “These young men are guests in my house, for now. I believe Jenny is innocent of any wrongdoing. The hand of God does not bestow its blessing thus on those that have guilt in their hearts. There will be time enough, in the morning, for explanations and reckonings. Now put away your weapons, go home to your beds, and be glad that no innocent blood was shed here in the heart of the valley. Rejoice with me, that my sons are home again.”

There was a halfhearted cheer, and the people began to disperse, a little reluctantly. Many glanced our way; but the wild, haggard faces of my brothers with their fierce eyes were enough to frighten off anyone. Then men of the household came to escort us indoors, and into Lady Anne’s small parlor that she used when guests came. There was a fire, and lamps. Conor put me carefully down on a cushioned bench near the hearth. They were all there, Liam listening, tight-lipped, to Lady Anne, and Conor translating; Padriac turning a half-burned stick from the pyre over and over in his hands, touching and testing the residue that coated it; Diarmid and Cormack by me, naked swords still in their hands, and their eyes on the doorway. And by the far window, looking out, stood Finbar with his back to us. His right hand, spread flat against the stone wall, was thin and transparent as if sculpted from ice. And now I could see the legacy of that last shirt, the shirt with but one sleeve. For in place of his left arm, my brother still bore the strong shining wing of a great swan. He had been the last to return, and so, for all his life, he would carry this burden, the doom of the incomplete garment made with love and tears and blood. He made no sound; he would not turn toward me where I lay encircled by my brothers. And there were strong shields around his mind.

I tried my voice again. After so long, it was not easy to make it work.

“How did—I thought—?”

Conor came over to kneel by my side.

“Well. You’ve done it. Only just in time, it seems.” He had a crooked little smile on his face, but his eyes were very serious. “This lady tells me we are safe here; but for how long remains to be seen. For now, you must rest. It’s over at last.”

“But—but I spoke, I spoke before the shirts—I did not keep silent! How is it that you are here, and the spell broken?” Still I could not believe that, after all, they had been saved. Are not the dooms of the Fair Folk set out and determined in every cruel detail, so that the least slip, the smallest deviation from the rules brings the whole thing collapsing around the hapless victims? How was it the spell could be undone, when I had cried aloud before ever the last shirt was slipped over Finbar’s neck?

“You could not see it,” said Conor gently. “But these things have a way of working themselves out, when it is time. Have you forgotten the wind, the sudden wind that whipped that last shirt from your hands and up into the air? Who is to say that wind did not let this garment drop over Finbar’s neck, an instant before your cry rang out? The spell really is broken, Sorcha; all but…”

We both turned to look at Finbar. I thought, this tale will live a long time, and will change over the years as it is told and retold. But he will always bear the evidence of its truth. He will never come back, not fully. He will always be torn between that world and this, neither completely of the one nor of the other. It will be his curse and his blessing.

“Jenny, how are you? But perhaps I should call you by your real name, Sorcha, is it?” Lady Anne had moved closer. “I can hardly believe what I have seen; and yet I must believe it. Father Dominic is right; it is a miracle, and we have been blessed to witness it. And now you have your voice back, by God’s will. My dear, you have turned this household upside down today.”

“I—I’m sorry.” I looked up at her. She seemed different; behind her calm words was a barely suppressed excitement, and her eyes were alight with joy.

“It is I who should be sorry, for I misjudged you terribly. I never thought to see such astonishing sights. One might have thought it a trick of the flame and the smoke; the sudden change, as feathers became flesh, and the long necks and wild eyes of those birds transformed themselves into six young men. I have to say, the people of my household have been both frightened and confused by this, and will take time to recover. The sudden appearance of these brothers of yours right in their midst, as fierce a band of Irishmen as you would ever see and with scarce a rag of clothing between them—that shook them badly. One thing we can remedy. I have a man fetching suitable garments, and food and drink. I can scarce come to terms with this myself; for my people, it will be a night long remembered.”

“There’s blood on your gown,” said Cormack, frowning. “Are you injured, Sorcha? Are you hurt?”

I shook my head wearily, looking down at the blue dress. As well as the mark of the sea, it now had scorches on the hemline, and the front of the bodice was stained dark. But it was not my blood.

“I thought he was meant to look after you,” said Conor bluntly, coming across to me. “Was he not chosen to be your protector?”

I looked at him.
What can you know of that?

“I saw him watching you as you ran on the sand. I saw him pluck you from the fire. I can guess as well as the next man. Maybe better,” he said. “Why would such a man choose to stand by you, unless he was under a doom of the Fair Folk? I would wager that when the Lady of the Forest set you on this path, she set him right there next to you.”

“Pretty poor job he did of keeping her safe,” said Diarmid. “Just about lost her. Who does he think he is, anyway?”

“He’s her husband,” Liam growled.

The others turned to stare at him.

“What?”

“The priest said it. Conor told me. Waiting till her husband returned to speak for her. That’s him, I’ll be bound.”

I was surrounded by disapproving eyes.

“Sorcha?”

“Can this be true? That you are wed to a Briton?”

“Rubbish. She’s still a child.” This was Diarmid, his expression outraged.

Even though I had my voice back, it seemed to be very hard to speak. Instead, I clutched the ring that hung around my neck, and put my other arm around my knees, and turned my face away from them. By the window, Finbar still stood with his back to the room, utterly still.

“Ahem.” I think they had forgotten that Lady Anne was there. She had not understood their words, but she recognized my distress. “Your sister needs rest, and a drink of ale, and some quiet. You’re upsetting her.” She put her arm around my shoulders, and held the cup so I could drink. “There, my dear. Slowly.” Then she looked at Conor again. “Jen—Sorcha has had a difficult time; tonight’s strange events have taken a toll on us all. I will take your sister to bathe and change her clothes. I will arrange also for each of you to receive what you require; warm garments, food and drink. When I return, there will be time for explanations, for questions to be answered. Father Dominic will want to speak with you; and so will my son.”

“Sorcha’s not going anywhere on her own,” said Conor bluntly. “You think, after what we have witnessed here tonight, we intend letting her out of our sight for one instant? Bring what is needed here.” Then he spoke rapidly in an undertone, explaining to the others.

“Tell her,” said Liam grimly, “no time is to be wasted. Every moment is precious; every delay lengthens our time on these accursed shores. I want Sorcha out of this place and on a boat for home early tomorrow, and us with her.”

Conor relayed this word for word. Lady Anne’s eyebrows went up.

“Sorcha,” she appealed to me, “is it possible to explain—can you—”