The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (32 page)

As he’d anticipated, the cook and serving maids were soon laughing with delight, their normally blank, dull expressions transformed. As he gazed upon them, it seemed to Bridei that even the plainest woman could appear lovely if she were happy and enjoying herself.

He finished the song, and after eating the steaming oat bannock the cook gave him, inquired as to where he could find the so-called “rat faced” Emer.

The cook, who was called Maeve, looked askance at him. “Whatever would you want with
her
?”

Bridei shrugged. “I heard she was a wisewoman, and since I’m having trouble getting over this ague I acquired on the journey here, I thought she might be able to give me a tinsane that would ease my sore throat.”

“For a man with a sore throat, you sang well enough just now,” Maeve said.

“It’s not bad in the morning,” Bridei responded. “But as the day wears on, it gets dry and scratchy. Since the chieftain expects me to finish my tale this night, I thought I should try to heal up as much as possible.”

“Aye, Emer might be able to come up with something that would help you,” one of the serving girls said. “She does know a lot about herbs.”

“I get the sense that Emer isn’t well-liked,” said Bridei. “Why is that?”

The women all looked at each other. It was Maeve who spoke, “Emer has a great sense of her own importance. Which is strange, given how incompetent she’s shown herself to be when faced with a real challenge. I might recommend her to help ease a sore throat, but I wouldn’t send anyone I cared about to her if their life were really at risk.”

“Why not? What makes you think she’s incompetent?”

The four women looked at each other, as if debating whether to respond. Again, Maeve broke the silence. “She let Lord O’Bannon’s wife die when she was in travail. The other midwife said it need not happened, that Emer was to blame for Lady O’Bannon’s death.”

Bridei frowned at this. “Surely you know that childbirth is always risky, and sometimes even the most skilled of midwives can do nothing to save a woman. How do you know the other midwife wasn’t merely saying this to better her own reputation?”

“Because the other midwife is Emer’s own mother, and I don’t think she would say such a thing unless it were true,” Maeve responded.

“So, Lord O’Bannon’s wife died in childbirth? Did this happen recently?”

“Aye, only last summer,” said Maeve.

How convenient for O’Bannon, mused Bridei. With his wife dead, he would be free to take another one. And according to his plan, this next one would be Dessia, who brought with her a rich dowry of land with access to the sea. Bridei couldn’t help wondering if O’Bannon had somehow arranged for his wife to die . . . perhaps by bribing Emer to do something to end the woman’s life as she labored. It was a rather horrifying idea, and bespoke an utterly ruthless and determined nature. But then O’Bannon had already shown himself to be that sort of man.

Bridei smiled at Maeve and the other women cheerfully. “Perhaps this Emer bungled that poor woman’s treatment, but I’ll wager she can make a simple tinsane. Tell me where I can find her, so I can get this business over with. Perhaps once I’m treated, I can come back and have another bannock and perhaps sing another song.”

“Emer no longer lives in the hillfort,” Maeve said. “After what happened, she’s no longer welcome here. She moved to a tumbled-down hut a short distance into the forest.”

“I’ll be off then,” Bridei said. “But I promise to back before you get too busy preparing the evening meal.”

“Aye, see that you do come back,” Maeve answered, her gray eyes sparkling. “I’ll have some sort of treat waiting for you. Do you favor something sweet or something hearty?”

“Oh, sweet, I think,” Bridei answered. Although he wasn’t particularly fond of honeycakes or spiced fruits, they were dishes that were easy to prepare.

He made his way to the gate by a circuitous route, first visiting the midden and then looping around the back of the hillfort and moving along the timber wall past the smithy and stables. When he reached the entrance to the hillfort, he was relieved to find the gate open. At least he wouldn’t have to call up to the guard and explain his business in leaving. Now the only concern was that Dermot might be the guard in the watchtower. But he walked down the worn trackway without incident, then circled around the hillfort and headed toward the forested area beyond.

On the way he saw several horses grazing and admired the grace and beauty of the beasts. One mare in particular caught his eye. She had the fine small head, arched neck and elegant lines similar to some of the desert horses he’d seen at the famed horsemarket in Narbonne. Her coat was a pale silvery color with darker gray markings on her legs and head. Based on what Dermot had told him about the Fionnlairaos, it was possible they’d brought the ancestors of this mare when they came to Ireland. How long ago had been? Dessia had always made it seem her family had held their lands for generations. Was it really possible that these two tribes—one that had already been living here and one that arrived more recently—had intermingled so little in all those years? Or, was it more likely that it had been it had been only a generation or two since Dessia’s family arrived?

How quickly Ireland beguiled and seduced those who came here, Bridei thought. After all, he’d been here for only two waning and waxings of the moon and he was already ready to make his home here. But it wasn’t simply the place that enchanted him; it was Dessia. Wherever she was, he wanted to be there. She’d become like the moon and sun to him, the center of his world.

A pang of anxiety went through him at the thought of how much he still had to do in order to free her and escape this place. Spying a pathway leading into the woods, he took it, moving with urgency. He hadn’t gone far when he came upon a tumbled-down dwelling. Nearby was a stone hearth with the flames banked low and hanging over it, a small iron cauldron. Bridei went to the cauldron and bent over to sniff the contents. The acrid odor that filled his nostrils didn’t come from food, but some sort of herbal potion. Straightening, he went to the door of the hovel and called out. “Emer? Are you here, Emer?”

Seconds later, a woman pushed aside the hide door covering and regarded him with narrow golden brown eyes. Her small features scrunched up into an expression of hostility. “What do you want?”

“I have a bit of the ague, and I heard you were a healer.”

Emer—for surely that was who it was—made a sound of disgust. “I
was
a healer. Now I’m an outcast.”

“But that’s not really your fault, is it?”

The young woman came out of the dwelling and stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at him. “What do you mean? Who have you been talking to?” She gestured. “What are you doing here?”

Bridei fixed her with an easy smile. “I’m a bard, visiting Dun Cullan. I have a scratchy throat, which makes it difficult for me to perform. Someone suggested you might be able to help me.”

“Who?” Emer demanded.

“Dermot.”

Her eyes widened in shock. Then a look of intense suspicion again clouded her face. Bridei decided she wouldn’t be bad looking if she would only smile. Her nose was pointed, aye, and her lower jaw a bit small, but she hardly looked like a rat. Indeed, with her red-gold hair, ruddy complexion and light brown eyes, she actually reminded him much more of a fox.

“Dermot sent you?” she asked in a disbelieving voice. Then she shook his head. “Nay, he didn’t. He doesn’t like me, and besides . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she looked uneasy.

“Besides, you’ve just given him some poison to kill the captive, Lady Dessia. Isn’t that right?”

Emer took a step backwards. Fearing she would bolt, Bridei grabbed her arm. “Aye. Dermot told me everything. That’s because I’m the man who’s supposed to give the poison to her.”

“You? Why? What is he paying you?”

“Enough to get me safely to Ath Cliath. At least, that’s what I’ve let him think. The fact is, I don’t intend to kill Lady Dessia, but rather, set her free.” He was taking a risk in being honest with this woman, but he was confident he could convince her to help him. She clearly bore no love for Dermot. Indeed, he suspected she deeply resented almost everyone at Dun Cullan. Which meant she had plenty of reasons to undermine O’Bannon’s scheme.

“Free her?” Emer asked blankly. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because what O’Bannon’s doing isn’t right. Lady Dessia has done nothing to him, other than reclaim the lands he stole from her father. I’ve served as a bard in her household for nearly two months, and found her to be a just, kind and generous ruler. I admire her devotion to her family heritage and to her people. My sense of right and wrong compels me to try and help her.”
That and my passionate love for her,
Bridei thought, although he knew better to speak of this to another woman, especially an unhappy one.

“You’ll never be able to do it,” Emer said. “She’s locked away deep in some underground chamber at the back of the hillfort. There’s no way you’ll ever be able to free her. O’Bannon’s warriors may not love him, but they’re loyal.”

“All of them?” Bridei asked. “What about Dermot? He’s willing to ignore his chieftain’s wishes in order to get revenge. If one man is willing to betray his lord, I’ll wager there are others.”

“But even if you get her out of the hillfort, you’ll never get away. O’Bannon will pursue you. He won’t stop until his horse falls dead beneath him,” she said emphatically.

“I know the man is utterly ruthless. I suppose that’s why he made certain his wife died in childbirth. Then he was free to wed Lady Dessia and claim her lands that way.”

Emer’s jaw dropped open and she gaped at him. “How . . .? Who told you? Even that pig Dermot doesn’t know.”

“It wasn’t hard to guess,” Bridei answered. “Dermot told me there was no reason for O’Bannon’s wife to die, and yet she did. I immediately suspected O’Bannon had arranged her death so he would be free to wed Dessia. What did he do? Pay you to give his wife something? A poison perhaps? Or maybe something to lengthen her labor so she died of exhaustion?”

The tawny freckles stood out starkly against Emer’s suddenly pale face. She let out a sigh. “It wasn’t supposed to end that way. I thought at least the babe would survive. I never guessed they would both perish.”

Bridei patted her arm. “Many babes die at birth. That part might not be your fault.”

She jerked away from him, her golden eyes wild. “None of it’s my fault! I didn’t know what Lord O’Bannon intended until it was too late. He told me that a visiting Druid said to make certain the babe was born on a certain day. That being born at that time would ensure the child was a great warrior. So, when his wife went into labor too soon, I gave her an herb that eases the contractions of the womb. I never realized it would kill her!”

“How did it kill her? What happened after you gave her the medicine?”

“As it was supposed to, it slowed her contractions. But it didn’t stop them. She was in travail for two days. I guess the ordeal weakened her. On the second night, when nothing seemed to be happening, I left her and went to my bed. The chieftain woke me, appearing very distraught. He said his wife was dead. He demanded I cut her open and get the babe out.” She shuddered. “I felt terrible cutting into her flesh when her body was still warm with life. The babe also felt warm. But it never drew a breath.”

“You weren’t there when the woman died?”

“Nay.”

“So, you don’t know exactly how her life ended, if she stopped breathing or cried out, or anything like that?”

“Nay. But she must have given some sign. O’Bannon knew she’d expired and fetched me immediately.”

“It seems to me you have little to feel guilty for,” said Bridei. “Even if the herb you gave her slowed the contractions, I doubt the effect would have lasted two days. And, as you’ve said, I see no reason it should have caused her death. I think it’s likely that O’Bannon did something to cause her death and then put the blame on you.”

“What could he have done?”

Bridei shrugged. “Poisoned her. Smothered her. Then he came and got you, hoping to get the babe out before it died. Or, he might not have cared if the babe perished. By forcing you to cut the infant out of his wife’s body, he distracted you and kept you from looking too closely at the corpse. He might have been trying to hide the evidence of how he killed her.”

Emer stared at him, her expression horrified. “That is . . .”

“Disgusting? Cruel? Aye, but do you doubt O’Bannon capable of such things? I don’t. Tell me, why did he marry this woman? Did she bring him a dowry of wealth or land? Or was it a love match?”

Emer raised her brows. “A love match? Certainly not. He cared little for Morrin, that I could see. And, aye, her father did pay a significant dowry when they were wed.”

Bridei nodded. “You see my point, don’t you? It’s unlikely you caused this woman’s death, yet O’Bannon set it up so you would take the blame.”

Emer’s face flushed with anger. “And his plan worked. Everyone scorns me. Even my own mother. I’m forced to live here by myself, begging scraps of food from the kitchen at Dun Cullan.” She pointed to the nearby cauldron.

“I doubt there’s anything I can do to restore your place in O’Bannon’s household,” said Bridei. “But I might be able to give you an opportunity to get revenge on the chieftain and also get away from here and start a new life.”