questioned me intently, with a white rage on his face that I had never seen before; but I cautioned him, reading the lady Oonagh more accurately than he. She knew enough of my skills to realise the source of Eilis’ mysterious illness would not be undetected for long. An accusation was just what she expected, for what better to drive a wedge between father and son? Besides, I told Liam, Eilis would be safe now. She was a strong girl, and I had caught the poison early. Better if she were to return home, for a while at least.
Diarmid had a black eye, and Cormack a nasty gash on his cheek. Perhaps a certain piece of information had not been kept entirely secret after all. In this matter I would not interfere, though I saw Diarmid watching her, watching her, and growing a little thinner and paler every day, like a man who has tasted faery fruit but once, and is eaten up by his craving. My father’s face bore a shadow of the same look, though he went about his business more or less as usual. Oonagh sat at the table, her smile serene, her eyes commanding. People scurried nervously to obey her. Everywhere you turned, it seemed she was there, watching. The men at arms gave her a wide berth.
Then Padriac’s animals began to sicken, and to die. First it was the old donkey, found cold and stiff one morning in her stall. We were sad; but she had lived out her allotted span, more or less, and we accepted her loss with a regretful glance at the empty corner. Next the mother cat disappeared, leaving her nest of kittens behind. Padriac tried to feed them, and I helped, but one by one they pined and weakened and their tiny lives slipped away. I wept as the last one died in my hands, its once bright eyes fading to a filmy grey. Two days later, I found Padriac beating his fist against the barn wall, his knuckles bloody, his eyes swollen with tears. And at his feet, the raven whose damaged leg had almost mended, whose brave plumage had grown glossy and healthy again; but now she lay still, her head twisted back strangely, her eyes fixed sightless on the wide expanse of winter sky. The old barn was empty. Padriac’s wordless grief and anger twisted my insides. He was consumed with fury, and we could not comfort him. For me, there was worse to come. I should have been prepared, but I was not.
The lady Oonagh had told me my trips to the village were to stop; it was unsuitable, she said, for the lord Colum’s daughter to be out and about the neighbourhood like some tinker’s child, getting her feet muddy and mixing with all sorts of riff raff. I must put all that nonsense aside, and start learning to be a lady. Music – now that was appropriate. I spent a morning performing to her on the flute, and, reluctantly, the harp, for she ordered our little instrument brought down to the hall. Fortunately, my father was occupied elsewhere that day. It quickly became plain to her that I had little more to learn. Sewing, then. She asked to see my handiwork, and I was obliged to confess that I had none. Oh, I could mend, and hem a gown or a tunic. But fine work had never been called for in this house of men. Oonagh showed me a veil of thinnest lawn, sprinkled with a myriad tiny birds and flowers. It was indeed beautiful; draped over her shining hair, it gave her the look of a queen. She would show me the techniques I needed for such work. It would take a great deal of time and application, so no more trips to visit the sick with a basket of lotions and draughts. Let someone else do it. ‘No one else has the skills,’ I said without thinking. It was the simple truth. Oonagh’s eyes narrowed and her fine, arched brows tightened with displeasure.
‘Unfortunate,’ she said. ‘Then these people will do whatever they did before you came along, my dear. Be here with your needles and thread straight after breakfast tomorrow. We have a great deal of lost ground to make up.’
I lasted no more than a few days. My fingers, so deft at bandaging and mixing and measuring, were clumsy and awkward with needle and fine silk. Under her scrutiny I broke the thread, and dropped the needle, and stained the delicate fabric with blood from my pricked finger. I longed for one of my brothers to interrupt and rescue me, but they did not. Planning was under way for another journey beyond our borders, and they were consulting maps, or exercising horses, or endlessly polishing and sharpening weapons.
Even my father was preoccupied in the lady Oonagh’s presence and she did not like it. Something was troubling him. But I continued to ply my needle, and she watched me. Sometimes she asked questions, and sometimes she sat there in silence, which was worse, for I could feel her mind reaching out towards mine, as if she would know my most secret thoughts. I tried to shield myself from her, the same way Finbar had learned to veil his mind from me. But she was very strong, and if she could not read me direct, she was clever with words, and knew how to trap.
‘Your father is busy these days,’ she said pleasantly enough one morning, watching me as I stitched laboriously at a long stem in shades of green. ‘Planning to ride out again soon, he tells me. I had hoped he would remain longer at home, but men become restless.’ She gave a little laugh, shrugging narrow shoulders in her elegant blue gown. ‘Wives get used to it eventually, I suppose.’
I hated her efforts to be chatty even more than her hostility. ‘It’s what they do,’ I said, frowning at my needle.
‘Still, it is barely a season since the last campaign,’ said Oonagh, wandering over to the narrow window that overlooked the yard, where Liam and Diarmid were passing and passing again on horseback, practising slipping sideways out of the saddle and back up again with sword in hand, a nasty trick they used occasionally in close combat, if what they told me was to be believed. It had a surprising effect on your enemy, they said. ‘One wonders what calls them away again so soon. More intruders on our borders maybe?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ I said, unpicking a couple of stitches.
‘Or perhaps they are searching for escaped prisoners,’ she said lightly. ‘My lord informs me he intends to dismiss his master of arms, since it seems there has been some neglect of duties here. Strange. They put so much energy into it all. And yet captives go mysteriously missing in the night. One wonders how such an error could occur.’
I was suddenly chilled to the bone. She knew. She had as much as said it. I remained silent as she turned back towards me, smiling.
‘Poor Sorcha, I’m boring you, child. Of what interest could all this be to a little girl, after all? Blood feuds and missing hostages? You have indeed had a strange childhood, growing up in such a household. It’s as well I am here now to tend to your education. Now, show me what you have done. Oh dear, this is quite crooked. I’m afraid it must be unpicked yet again.’
Finally I was free to go and I sought out Finbar; for surely Father could not really be intending to get rid of Donal, who had been a part of his garrison for longer than I could remember, who had overseen every part of my brothers’ training since they were small, whose grim features and sturdy frame were as much a part of our household as the stone walls themselves. But Finbar was not to be found; instead I was waylaid by a girl from the cottages, come to seek help for her grandmother, whose fever would not go down. How could I tell her I was forbidden to help? These people relied on me. So I fetched my basket, threw on an old cloak and my sturdy boots, and set off.
Once they saw me in the settlement, others came to seek my help. After tending to the woman with the fever I moved on to old Tom’s, to reassure him over a boil that had erupted in a very awkward spot. I treated him, and he heaped thanks upon me, and praised my brother Conor, who had given his grandsons work in the stables, and so, said Tom, got the lads out of his daughter’s hair and taught them something useful at the same time. Then I was called to a tiny, sickly babe. I left the anxious young mother some herbs to make a tea which would help her milk, and promised to bring fresh vegetables from my garden.
By the time I was finished it was mid afternoon, and I made my way home as quickly as I could. It was a long time since breakfast, and I could almost taste Janis’ oatcakes on the crisp winter air. A fine mist was starting to settle around the hawthorn bushes as I headed up the path towards the kitchen garden. I was deep in my own thoughts, and nearly walked into Father and Donal as I turned a corner of the hedge. They were absorbed in conversation and did not see me. I stopped dead in my tracks, then faded back into the concealment of the hedge for the quiet intensity of Donal’s voice told me this was a deeply private interchange.