[COMPLETED] The Vixen and The Thief

Chapter 28

Beibhinn could feel The O Chinneide's eyes on her. She sniffed and swalllowed, stemming her tears somewhat as her face began to burn.

"Ar dheis De go mbeidh a anam dhílis," she said aloud, 

The O Chinneide turned, his face dark with fury as his eyes lit upon each patch of ruin,  to speak some words with Brother MaolÍosa.

"A anam dhílis," repeated Beibinn to herself, her words low and unsteady. For he had been loyal at the last. And it was the last that mattered most.

Finished speaking, The O Chinneide turned abruptly to her, "Beibinn Uí Bhriain," he said, and his voice was warmer, I offer you the welcome of my house, until such a time as it may please you to return to yours."

Beibhinn nodded, "Go raibh mile maith agat," she replied.

Similarly thanking and taking leave of the soot-begrimed brothers, the group returned to the horses. A small group of them remounted, the rest remained, to aid the brothers, Beibhinn assumed.

Then, for the third time that morning Beibhinn found herself on the tracks between bog and green hills. They did not seak much as they once again climbed the hills, curling around the forest and along the rolling top of the ridge, and none spoke to her. For that she was grateful. She had no wish for speech. Bright sun  warmed her tear-stung face and all the birds of the forest mocked her.

Was there no justice?

Could nobody put an end to the beast?

She lessened her fierce grip on the reins and scratched the warm dark hair of the horse's neck. A bitter smile crossed her face. She had his horse. If she had nothing else to hold over him, she had at least shamed him before his men.  A pleasure made of vinegar and salt it may be, but it was a pleasureable thought nonetheless. 

They crested the higest round of the ridge and she twisted in the saddle to look back over the countryside. Green swathes of field mottled by forest darkness stretched away until they became the brown of the bog. It in its turn reaching out until it lapped about the heathery foothills of the mountain.

Somewhere in that reach of country he was. Beibhinn turned away swiftly, turning her eyes to the rolls of hillside that ran away from them on either side. To the left where the track wound grey was the thick cover of forest. To the right, across a shallow valley, another smooth hillside rose,  croppped  by sheep and speckled with outlying trees.

As she watched the flicker of white caught her eye against the green. Just  a sheep, strayed from its flock.  It winked, flashed, catching the light as some polished object. Beibhinn screwed up her eyes, shading them with her hand as they rode.

Her breath stopped.

For just an instant she saw, or thought she saw, the figure of a woman all in white, who stood upon the opposite hill and watched her.

Then the sun flickered from behind a cloud, dazzling her eyes. She blinked. The figure was gone, leaving only trees.Beibhinn's hand  scrabbled inside her collar, catching and squeezing the cross.

 Ailbhe....

'All this and more will I do....death....

She pulled the cricifix out to the length of the chain, presssing it against her forehead, her chest, her shoulders.Guard me, guide us...

She kissed the tiny, bloodied form upon it.

"You can do me no harm," she whispered fiercely.  No harm

And her breath came easier, and her skin ceased to crawl. But  yet she felt  the dark icey terror of the ring fort skulking close at hand. Waiting again a chance to stab at her heart.

A voice roused her from the depths of her thoughts and raising her eyes she saw the ramparts of The O Chinneide's fort. Perched well above the line of forest, folds of scraggy grass surrounded it, grazed by fine brown cattle. Here on the roof on the land the wind blew fresh and chill, tosssing her grime-heavy curls about her shoulders as it had done that dreadful day at home. Before this all  happened....so long ago...

Beibhinn closed her eyes and wished for what she had then held in such little esteem.

 Under the great wooden gates of the fort they rode, dismounting in the central yard with its scattering of thatched huts. Two great grey hounds bounded out to greet their master who fondled their  huge heads affectionately.

Someone took the horses and Beibhinn herself was led into The O Chinnéíde's dwelling, at the door of which his wife stood watching in bewilderment.

"Máire, this is Beibhinn Ní Bhriain," said The O Chinneide, "of Conoic Ceallaigh. She has escaped captivity at the hands of An Beitheach."

"A thiarcis!" exclaimed Máire. A short homely woman with a mother's face and hair of sandy grey. Beibhinn realised suddenly and sharply how filthy she was. More like a Banshee than a girl. No, not the Banshee... she shivered. The Banshee was beautiful. Suddenly she wanted to be indoors and out of all sight.

"You poor girl," said Máire, taking her arm, "he had you his prisoner, did he? And diabhall dubh!" 

"I and my brother and foster brother," said Beibhinn. It seemed distant, unreal. She welccomed this woman's affectionate touch on her arm. Like her own mother - poor mother!

"And you escaped him nonetheless. You must be a girl of rare courage altogether," The O Chinnéide's wife smiled and admired. Two young girls appeared on either side of her, one holding a baby. In a flood of words, Máire repeated the story to them as she led Beibhinn into the house.

But Beibinn did not feel like a girl of rare courage. Following Bean Uí Chinneide she felt that she could just fall down and cover her face and never move 'til she died.

****

How pleasant it was to be clean agin, Beibhinn thought as she sat by the fire some time later. Dressed now in the clothes of the younger daughter, bathed, well fed and warm, the strange hope that had almost abandoned her now strengthened once again; as it had on her first ascent of  the mountain that distant night.

Tá Dia láidir is máthair mhaith aige. They will hear me. They will. she insisted to herself, pushing away the doubts that lurked on the edges of her thoughts with a determination that almost caused her to jerk. It will come out alright. It will.

Exteriory she sat still as Ída, Máire's younger daughter braided her hair prettily. Oh it was good to have it out of her eyes! 

Neassa, the married daughter sat beside her, bouncing her baby on her knees and occasionally handing him to Beibhinn to play with when her mother summoned her elsewhere. It was a dear child, with rosy cheeks and red curls like its mother. Beibhinn had taken a straight liking to Neassa, who was about her own age, and as they sat by the fire with the gurgling baby she recounted her story to her more fully.

She had already explained it all to Bean Uí Chinnéide but Neassa was eager to hear the details herself. Beibhinn was not loathe to retell it either, it was good to have it out of her head. 

Save for the ring fort, and An Beitheach's words in the valley and monastery - those she kept to herself.

Author's note:

You know what? It's nice to be nice to your characters.

And after a brief break from it in the next chapter, I shall be nice to Beibhinn again in two chapters time.

Tá Dia laidir is máthair mhaith aige:  God is strong and He has a good mother