The carriage jolted to a halt, and she got out, the gardai hurriedly following her. She could still hear the voice, coming from the open door of a tavern
just down the street. She strode down the lane to the pub, squinting into a hazy darkness fragrant with the smell of ale and pipe.
So over the sea they sped
From Falcarragh where the mountains loom
From home and bed
To Inish and their doom. .
She knew the tune: the Song of Mael Armagh. She had heard it once before she left Ballintubber. And she knew the voice as well.
"Coelin!"
The song cut off in mid-verse, and a familiar head lifted. "By the Mother-Creator. . Jenna, is that you, girl?"
"Aye. ’Tis me, indeed."
Laughing, he set down his giotar and ran to her.
He took her in his arms and spun her around, nearly knocking over a few pints. He set her down again, holding her at arm’s length.
He kissed her.
"I thought you were dead, Jenna. That’s what everyone was saying. The damned Connachtans killed the Ald, and Tom Mullin, too, when he tried to stop them. Then there were the killings down by your old house, and the fires…" Coelin was shaking his head; Jenna’s finger still touched her lips. Now she placed the finger on Coelin’s lips.
"Shh," she said. "Quietly. Please." That, at least, she’d learned from the Riocha: you never knew who might be listening to your words.
Coelin looked puzzled, but he lowered his voice so that only she could easily hear him against the murmuring conversations of the pub. "Any-way, the Connachtans went off in a fury, and we heard they were looking for you and your mam, and that tiarna-what was his name? Mac Ard? — but everyone figured you’d either been burned up in your cottage, or lost in the bogs." He stopped, looking at her closely, and glancing behind her at the trio of soldiers who watched carefully from the doorway. Coelin’s eyes narrowed a bit, seeing them. "All the rumors were wrong, obviously, and by the looks of you, you’re hobnobbing with the Riocha.
And your arm-you have it all wrapped up. You owe me a tale, girl."
He was smiling, and she could still feel the touch of his lips on hers. "What about you, Coelin?" she asked. "How did you come to be here? And softly…"
He shrugged, grinning, but he kept his voice low. "If you remember, that tiarna of yours said I was good, that I should be singing to larger audiences than poor little Ballintubber could give me, so after things set-tled down, I thought I'd take his advice." He touched her cheek, though his gaze went quickly to the gardai. "After all, you were gone. Ballintubber just didn't seem to be where I wanted to be anymore."
"You still have the gift of words, Coelin Singer," Jenna told him, but she was smiling back. "Pretty and beguiling and too charming."
"But not false," he answered. "Not false at all."
"Hah!"
His face fell in mock alarm. "You don't believe me, then? I am hurt." He laughed again, and gestured at the corner where his giotar rested, a few copper coins in the hat placed near it. "Can you stay and listen? Maybe we can talk more? I wasn't joking when I said that you owe me the tale of your adventures."
Jenna started to shake her head, then stopped. "I have a better idea," she said. "Come with me. I'm on my way back to the keep. You can sing for the Riocha there, and we can talk. Tiarna Mac Ard will remember you." She gestured at the hat with its coins. "And the pay's likely to be better."
"To the keep? Really?"
"Aye. Mam would love to see you again. We knew some of what hap-pened in Ballintubber, but the Ri didn't want it known that we were here, not after what happened, and so it's been kept quiet. Mam will ask you a hundred questions, or more likely a thousand. Will you come?"
He smiled. "I could never refuse anything you asked, Jenna," he said.
Chapter 17: The Ri’s Supper
"COELIN!"
Maeve sounded nearly as glad to see him as Jenna had. She clasped the young man to her, then held him out at arm’s length. "When did you leave Ballintubber?"
Coelin’s gaze wouldn’t stay with Maeve. It kept wandering past her to the rich embroidered tapestries on the walls of their apartment within the Ri’s Keep; to the expensive, dark furniture; to the glittering trinkets set on the polished surfaces. "Two hands of days ago," he said. "By the Mother-Creator, I’ve never seen-"
"You have to tell me everything," Maeve said, pulling him toward a chair near the fire. Jenna laughed softly, watching Coelin marvel at the surroundings. "Start with the day the Connachtans attacked. ."
Coelin told her, spinning the tale with his usual adroitness, and-Jenna suspected- a certain amount of dramatic license.". . so you can see," he finished, "I barely escaped with my life myself."
That may still be the case," a voice said from the doorway. Tiarna Mac Ard stood there, frowning at the trio gathered near the fire. His dark beard and mustache were frosted with ice, and the furs over his cloca were flecked with rapidly melting snow.
"Tiarna," Coelin began. "I’m-"
I know who you are," Mac Ard interrupted. "What I don’t know is why you’re here." He took off the furs, tossing them carelessly on a chair. As he did so, he grimaced-the wound he’d taken on the road to Ath Iseal hadn’t completely healed yet, and his right arm, Jenna knew, was still stiff and sore, its range of motion limited. He was dressed in riding leathers, and a short sword hung heavily from his belt. His left hand rested casually on the silver pommel of the hilt.
"I brought him here, Tiarna," Jenna said. "I happened to see him in the city, and we started talking, and I knew Mam would want to hear about Ballintubber, so. ." She stopped, her eyes widening. "Did I do wrong?"
"Aye," Mac Ard answered, though his voice sounded more sad than angry. "I'm afraid that you did, Jenna."
"The boy isn't to blame, Padraic," Maeve said. "Or Jenna. She only did what I would have done, had I seen him."
"That may be," Mac Ard answered. "The deed's done, in any case. What we do now depends." He stopped.
"Depends on what?" Jenna asked.
"On whether Coelin Singer knows how to keep his mouth shut about certain things." Mac Ard strode up to the boy. He stood in front of Coelin, staring at the young man's face. "For various reasons, we've been careful to make certain that it's not common knowledge in the city that a certain two people from Ballintubber are here, or to know the circumstances under which they left the village. If I suddenly start hearing those rumors, I'd know where to place the blame and how to deal with the source. Am I understood?"
Coelin's lighter eyes held the man's burning gaze, though he had to clear his throat to get his voice to work. "I can keep secrets, Tiarna. I know that certain songs should never be sung, or only in the right circum-stances."
Mac Ard took a long breath. He rubbed at his beard, melting ice falling away. "We'll see," he said. "It's a hellish evening out there," he added. "Cold, and full of sleet and snow. A fine end to the year.
But a song or two performed well might be welcomed at the Ri's dinner tonight. Are you prepared to sing for a Ri, Coelin?"
Coelin's face broke into a helpless grin. "Aye," he nearly shouted. "For the Ri? Truly?"
Mac Ard seemed to smile back. "Truly," he answered. "Though you'll need to look better than you do now. Where's that girl? Aoife!" he called, and a young woman came out from one of the doors, curtsying to Mac Ard.