She did not know whether it was the flickering light but his expression seemed strange.
‘That is because I am a warrior no longer.’
Fidelma was puzzled in spite of her hostile reaction at seeing him again.
‘Are you telling me that you have left the High King’s militia to enter a religious Order? That I cannot believe. You were never comfortable with religion.’
‘So you can foretell the course of my entire life? Am I not allowed to change my opinions?’ There was an abrupt animosity in his voice. She was not perturbed by it. She had faced his temper many times in her youth.
‘I know you too well, Cian. I garnered knowledge the hard way — or don’t you remember? I remember. I could hardly forget.’
She made to turn into the cabin that Wenbrit had designated for her, when Cian took his hand from the doorframe, by which he had been balancing himself, and made to reach out to her. The ship was tugged a little by the waves, causing him to stumble forward. He caught his balance using his hand again.
‘We must talk, Fidelma,’ he said urgently. ‘There should not be enmity between us now.’
Her attention was caught for a moment by the curious note of desperation in his voice. She hesitated, but only for an instant.
‘There will be plenty of time to talk later, Cian. It will be a long voyage … perhaps, now, it may be too long,’ she added with acid in her tone.
She entered the cabin, shutting the door quickly behind her before he could reply. For a moment or two she stood with her back against the door, breathing heavily and wondering why she had broken out into a cold sweat. She would not have suspected that meeting Cianagain after all these years would make her feel such a resurgence of the emotions which she had spent many months suppressing after he had deserted her.
She did not deny that she had become infatuated with Cian after that first meeting at the Festival of Tara. No; if she were really honest now, she would admit that she had fallen in love with him. In spite of his arrogance, his vanity, and pride in his martial prowess, she had fallen in love for the first time in her life. He stood for everything that Fidelma disliked but there was no accounting for the chemistry which they shared. They were opposites in character and, inevitably, like magnets, the unlike had attracted. It was surely a recipe for disaster.
Cian was a youth in pursuit of conquests while Fidelma was a young woman bound up in the concept of romantic love. Within a few weeks he had made her life a turmoil of conflicting emotions. Even Grian recognised that Cian’s pursuit of Fidelma was merely a superficial one. Her friend was young, attractive and, above all, an intelligent woman — and Cian wanted to boast about the conquest. He would not care once the conquest had been made. And Fidelma, intelligent or no, refused to believe that her lover had so base a motive. Her refusal was the cause of many arguments with Grian.
Suddenly, there was a heartrending groan from the gloom of the cabin, causing Fidelma to stiffen and return abruptly to the present, forgetting her tumbling anguished memories. For a second she struggled to recall where she was. She had entered the cabin which Wenbrit had indicated to her; the cabin she was to share. She had entered and stood in the darkness.
The groan was agonised as if someone was in deep pain.
‘What’s wrong?’ Fidelma whispered, trying to focus in the direction of the sound.
There was a fraction of a moment’s silence and then a voice cried peevishly: ‘I am dying!’
Fidelma glanced swiftly round. It was almost pitch black in the cabin.
‘Is there no light in here?’
‘Who needs light when one is dying?’ retorted the other. ‘Who are you, anyway? This is my cabin.’
Fidelma re-opened the door to let in some light from the passageway. Just inside the door, she saw a candle stub, which she took to the flickering lantern outside. Thankfully, Cian had disappeared. It took a few moments to light the candle from the lantern and return.
Now Fidelma could see a woman lying on the bottom of the two bunks in the tiny cabin. Her habit appeared dishevelled, her face wasdeathly pale, though still fairly attractive. She was young, perhaps in her early twenties. By the side of the bunk stood a bucket.
‘Are you seasick?’ She spoke sympathetically, fully aware that she was asking the obvious.
‘I am dying,’ insisted the woman. ‘I wish to die alone. I did not know it would be as bad as this.’
Fidelma glanced round quickly. She saw that her baggage had been placed on the second bunk.
‘I can’t let you do that, Sister. I am sharing your cabin for this voyage. My name’s Fidelma of Cashel,’ she added brightly.
‘You are mistaken. You are not one of my company. I have allotted cabins to each and-’
‘The captain has put me in here,’ Fidelma explained quickly, ‘and now let me help you.’
There was a pause. The young, pale-faced Sister groaned loudly.
‘Then put that light out. I cannot stand a flickering light. After that, go away and tell the captain that I want to be left alone to die in the dark. I demand that you go away!’
Fidelma groaned inwardly. It was all she needed, to be closeted with a moaning hypochondriac.
‘I am sure that you would feel better if you were up on deck rather than in this confined space,’ she replied. ‘What’s your name, by the way?’
‘Muirgel.’ The other’s voice was no more than a moan. ‘Sister Muirgel from Moville.’
Fidelma had heard of the Abbey founded by St Finnian a century ago on the shores of Loch Cuan in Ulaidh.
‘Well, Sister Muirgel, let me see what I can do for you,’ Fidelma said determinedly.
‘Just let me die in peace, Sister,’ whimpered the other. ‘Can’t you find some other cabin to be cheerful in?’
‘You need air, fresh sea air,’ Fidelma admonished. ‘The darkness and stuffiness of this cabin will only increase your illness.’
The creature on the bunk retched pitifully and did not reply.
‘I have heard that if you concentrate your gaze on the horizon then the motion sickness will eventually depart,’ volunteered Fidelma.
Sister Muirgel tried to raise her head.
‘Just leave me alone, please,’ she moaned yet again and added spitefully, ‘Go and bother someone else.’
Chapter Four
Fidelma had to admit defeat. It was no use trying to conduct a sensible conversation with the young woman in that condition. She wondered if there was another cabin available. Anywhere would be better than being stuck with someone tormented by largely imaginary fears. Fidelma was sympathetic to anyone who was ill, but not with someone who had the ability to help themselves and chose not to. She decided to find the cabin boy, Wenbrit, and explain the problem.
As she left the cabin, she was surprised to meet Wenbrit himself coming down the stairs. He greeted her with a smile and she noticed that his manner towards her had undergone a slight change. It was less familiar … less impudent than before.
‘Your pardon, lady.’ Fidelma guessed immediately the cause for his changed attitude, and she hid her annoyance that Murchad had revealed her identity. ‘I made a mistake,’ he said politely. ‘You are to have a different cabin as you are not one of the pilgrims from Ulaidh.’
Fidelma knew straight away that it was a lie. Murchad had decided this only after he knew who she was. She did not want any special privileges. However, the indisposition of Sister Muirgel and the stifling atmosphere made the thought of a private cabin appear very attractive. It was coincidental that she was being offered the very thing that she was going to seek.
‘The Sister with whom I was going to share is rather ill,’ Fidelma conceded. ‘Perhaps it would be nice to have a cabin to oneself.’