A MASS FOR THE DEAD (15 page)

“Tormod told me he was injured the day before my father was murdered. But wasn’t Alasdair Beag saying he had seen him crossing the Strand that night—”

“Surely the entire mason’s village will not be mistaken about the day, nor would an entire village lie,” my uncle replied. “Especially not for Tormod. He is a troublemaker, and that is a fact. Perhaps Alasdair got his days confused.”

“Perhaps,” I said doubtfully. Alasdair Beag was old, but he still had his wits. “He must have. But what of Tormod’s kin? Are you thinking they would they have done it for him?”

“Why not be killing Calum?” returned my uncle reasonably. “It makes no sense to be killing the Prior over that. It is Calum’s responsibility, as head mason, to see that his workers are safe.”

“And what of Calum? Is his work shoddy?”

“Och, no,” said my uncle easily. “He has work aplenty in Kintyre, and Iona, and even some work in Edinburgh and Rothesay for the King. But he does like the drink, now and again. It is a failing among our men, that,” he said, eyeing me where I sat sprawling against the wall of his hall.

I did not feel I could argue the point with my uncle, as the ale I had drunk seemed not to be helping my logic much, so I just asked him if I could spend the night in his hall. When he said yes, as I knew he would, I curled up on a bench with Somerled snoring next to me, and drifted off, watching the shadows the flame from the firepit cast on the rafters and the thatch.

Chapter 13

I
lay on my mattress, trying to ignore the bracken that poked me, and stared at the blackened thatching which formed my ceiling through the dim afternoon light filtering in from the door. My mood matched the blackness of the thatch.

My investigation seemed at a dead end. Despite what Alasdair Beag had said, Tormod’s injuries were such that he could not have moved from his bed when the killings took place, and I was beginning to believe that the old man had been mistaken. Gillecristus was not accounted for, but in truth, I really did not believe he had killed my father and then Sheena. Nor did I believe Columbanus would have killed his own sister. Angus and Alasdair also had alibis, for Rhodri and Malcolm had returned from Barra and had vouched for them.

And so my thoughts turned to the Islay MacDonalds. Perhaps after all they had killed my father. And perhaps I should visit Islay to discover what I could. That Mariota Beaton was on Islay also I dismissed as mere coincidence.

It did not help that my half-brother, still at Aorig’s, was playing a loud and unruly game outside. I surmised, from the sound of it all, that the boy was re-enacting the routing of the English at Bannockburn. He was hitting against the stone side of my humble home with some stick, and the noise of it did little to improve my mood. I heard Somerled barking furiously, it seemed Sean was chasing him, pretending the dog was a knight on a charger, or some such thing. Finally, my head pounding from the clamor, I went outside to intervene.

“Sean,” I yelled at him, “You be stopping that now!”

My brother glanced at me briefly, then continued banging the stone corner of my house with his sword, a wooden stick, while Somerled barked loudly, just out of reach of the stick.

“You will be angering the dog. Stop it, Sean!”

It seemed my half-brother was deaf, for all the racket he was making, for he continued to ignore me, and continued to pound on the wall. I suddenly found I was sore tempted to apply his own stick to the lad’s bum.

Still, I did not. Instead, I walked over to him and took him by the shoulders. “Sean, stop it now. Were you not hearing me?”

From the glare he gave me I guessed that the boy had heard me well enough. I let go of his shoulders and stood facing him. “What is it you were doing?” I asked him.

“And why is it I should be telling you?” he asked, belligerently. I found myself thinking wryly that perhaps my younger half-brother and I had more in common than I had suspected, from the tone of voice that he was using, and from the defiant look that was in the boy’s eyes.

“You will be telling me because it is my house you were banging on, and it is my dog you were tormenting, and it is my head that is pounding because of all your noise.”

“Nothing,” he said, now looking at the dirt below his feet.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, that is, I do not know. I was playing.”

I waited, my anger changing to some sympathy for the lad. “Playing at what?” I finally asked. “The Battle of Bannockburn?”

The lad shook his head.

“What was it then? Whist, I am your brother, lad, you can tell me.”

Sean kicked his bare foot in the dirt and would not look at me. Now I was curious. “Sure it cannot be so terrible, whatever it was, for all that the clamor of it was giving me the headache.”

He would not tell me, but at least looked up and seemed less afeared. “Yon’s a big dog you have,” he observed.

“Aye. He in named for our ancestor, Somerled. Are you knowing of him?”

Sean shook his head yes, for what boy here does not know of Somerled, who founded Clan Donald so long ago. “He was singing of it,” he said.

“Who?”

“The harper.”

I did not remember the bard singing of Somerled that night we had heard him at Aorig’s, but he must have sung some more after I had left.

“And look,” the lad continued. He reached in a grubby pouch he had tied around his waist and took out a harp-tuning pin. “It belonged to himself,” he said,

Sure, it must be one of his boy’s treasures, I thought, remembering my own small collection I had had at Uncle Gillespic’s. A hawk feather, a crystal stone, a fairy bolt, and such things. I smiled at him.

“Well, and so he was giving it to you, then?”

Sean remained silent, which I took for assent, but he smiled a little at me. It occurred to me that I had not questioned him about the day his mother died. I had only questioned Maire. Perhaps the lad knew something of it all.

“Sean,” I asked, “Would you like to go walking with Somerled and myself? I can show you the old faerie-fort up the road a bit, the one on Beinn Nan Gudairean. Have you ever been there?” It would be a climb, but it was all worth it, I guessed. Especially if the boy knew anything of his mother’s murder.

My half-brother shook his head no.

“Would you like to go?”

Sean shook his head again, in the affirmative.

“Well then, we shall go. But not tonight, I am thinking,” I added, for although the days were long this time of year by the time we walked to the Beinn, climbed it and explored the fort, the sun would be setting in the west and it would be very late. “We shall go tomorrow.”

“But you can not climb—” said Sean, then stopped himself quickly.

“Aye, yes I can so,” I started to reassure him, but before the words were well out of my mouth, Maire emerged from Aorig’s house. She seemed aye upset to see me there with her brother; her face was white and she shook somewhat as she stood in front of me. She grabbed her brother and pulled him away from me, back behind her. Somerled, who had quieted down when I was talking with Sean, began to bark again.

“Do not be talking with him!” she cried, her voice shrill.

“But Maire,” interjected Sean, “He said he will be taking me to the fort. Tomorrow, he said.”

Maire slapped her brother. “No, now, you will not be going—” Her thin shoulders heaved. Sean started to cry, then, from the blow and from seeing his sister in tears. Myself, I was totally confounded by it all.

“But, Maire,” I asked, confused, “whatever is it?”

“You are not to be speaking with him! Not without that I am there. My mother said I was never to leave him alone!”

Just then Aorig, hearing the girl’s cries, came outside, followed by Seamus. Her hands were wet and her face red.

“Why Maire, whatever is it?” she asked, echoing my own question.

“He,” she said, pointing to Sean, “is not to be alone. My mother said so, she said I was to stay close by him, and not be leaving him alone, not alone with the men, and now he is wanting to take him to the fort. Tell him he cannot be going! It isn’t right—he cannot go. Mother would not have wanted him to go!” She broke down into sobs.

Aorig looked at me apologetically. “She is having a hard time of it, Muirteach, what with her mother being gone.” She drew Maire into her arms and stroked her back, soothing her. “Whist, white love, it is only Muirteach we are speaking of. Your brother will be safe enough with him, I am thinking.”

“But Mother said he was to stay close to me. He was not to go alone!”

“Och, Maire, for sure your mother would not be minding. Muirteach is your brother, he is kin to you and to Sean.”

“No,” the girl said stubbornly. “She said he was not to go.”

Aorig looked at me, her brow wrinkled with her puzzlement. “It is making no sense to me whatever, Muirteach. I am sorry about it all.” The girl was completely hysterical, but at least her brother had stopped his crying.

“There, there love, you must stop your fretting and wailing,” continued Aorig, attempting to calm Maire again. I was relieved to see that at least the girl’s sobs seemed a little quieter. “Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow. We will be talking about it then, and not before. Come on back inside, there’s a good girl. You too Sean, and I will be singing a song to you all and perhaps a wee bit of milk and honey, to send you to sleep, with the Saints to watch over the both of you and no more worries to be vexing you.” She crossed herself and walked back into her house, with her arms around both children. Seamus remained outside.

“Whatever was that about?” I asked Seamus. “Is it making any sense to you, at all, then?”

Seamus shook his head, as mystified as I myself was. “She is an odd girl, that Maire,” he observed. “She helps Ma, and takes care of the wee bairn, and sits, rocking him for hours on end. I am not knowing what it is to make of her, but Ma says that I must not be bothering her overmuch, for all that she has gone through.”

I said nothing, but Maire’s outburst rankled. For the one thing, she looked at me as if I was the
ùruisg
himself, and yet I had done nothing to the girl that I knew of. What was it she said, he was not to go alone? Why not? What was to befall Sean if he did?

Och, there was no sense to it at all. Shrugging my shoulders, I went inside and got the flask of
uisgebeatha
I had, settled myself down on the bench outside my house, offered Seamus a drink, and then took more than one myself, while the clouds moved in and covered the sun.

* * * * *

The more I thought over Maire’s behavior the more perplexed I grew. Sure and there was no understanding women, and Maire, for all that she was but a young girl, still fell into that category. I almost found myself wishing Mariota was here, to ask her what she thought of it all.

Still, I grew more determined to speak with Sean. Perhaps he and his sister knew more of their mother’s murderer than they were telling. The girl had seemed fearful and her behavior had made me curious. So I went over to Aorig’s hut the next morning, early, for all that I had a bit of a headache from the last night’s
uisgebeatha
.

Maire was rocking the baby, while Aorig busied herself making the morning’s porridge. Sean was helping her, bringing in some peats for the fire. He grinned at me, then quickly glanced at his sister.

“Good morning, Muirteach,” Aorig said, smiling. “And is it that you are hungry this morning that we see you so early? Or is it your dog that you are bringing over here to eat my porridge?”

I worried that Maire would get upset again when she saw me, but she just looked up, stared at me, then went back to rocking her brother, crooning him some lullaby.

“Well, Aorig, I am fine this morning and thank you for asking. I would enjoy some of your fine porridge, if you can be sparing some for me.”

Aorig glanced over at the girl and shrugged her shoulders, as if to indicate there was no telling what had ailed the lass the night before. As she handed me the wooden bowl of porridge she murmured, “I am still not knowing why she was so upset last night, Muirteach. She seems calm enough the now, but still, I am not liking it.”

I was not liking it either, but it was Sean I wanted to speak with. I feared to mention another excursion to the faerie fort, although I felt confident that Sean would have liked to go. But I kept silent on that, afraid it would lead to a repeat of the scene of the last evening.

I motioned to Aorig. “I am wanting to speak with Sean,” I whispered. “Is there a chore or two he could be doing outside, where I could speak with him? I do not want to be upsetting his sister again.”

Aorig nodded. After I had finished eating, along with Sean and Seamus, who had returned from taking the cows out to pasture, she said, “Sean, now, just you be going out and finding those nests the hens have made. I am needing some eggs, and I am thinking that you will be just the boy to be finding them for me. You can be feeding the hens as well.” She handed him a willow basket for the eggs, and a bowl filled with feed and some scraps.

Sean nodded, obviously pleased with the chore. He seemed to have settled into life at Aorig’s without a ripple. But Aorig had a way with children.

After a moment or too I got up, thanked her for the porridge, and went outside, along with Somerled. I found Sean, having finished feeding the hens, raiding their nests while they ate.

“Look Muirteach, this is the fifth one I have found.” He held up a fine large brown egg for my perusal.

“You have a fine pair of eyes in you, Sean,” I told him.

“So will we be going to the fort today?” he asked me.

“Och, Sean, you were seeing how upset your sister got last evening, just at the thought of it. So I am thinking not now, at least not today. But perhaps we will go later when your sister is feeling better. Are you knowing why it is that she was so worried about it all?”

Sean shrugged his shoulders. He was a well-favored boy, with reddish hair like his mother and blue eyes. His cheeks were plastered with freckles.

“I am not knowing, Muirteach. Just that mother was never wanting me to be alone with himself when he came to visit, she was afeared I would be bothering him I am thinking, with my games.”