before going on to the bonfire?’ As she spoke she gazed admiringly at the wall, marvelling at the skill and strength that could make these huge stones into such an effective and beautifully constructed barrier without a trace of mortar used in the construction.
‘The lads will, I’m sure …’ There was a shadow on his face as he added, ‘Aoife is a bit upset and I’m not sure that she will want to come.’
‘Oh, what’s wrong?’ It seemed as if the speculation about Rory’s involvement with Una was correct.
‘Well, you know Aoife, always one to have the boys running after her,’ he said hesitatingly and Mara nodded. Aoife was the only daughter of Muiris, and Mara often marvelled how such a plain-looking couple as Muiris and his wife, Aine, could have produced a beauty like Aoife, with her blue eyes, flaxen hair and her apple-blossom complexion.
‘Well,’ went on Muiris angrily, ‘that young bard, Rory, started hanging around her over a year ago now, and since then she’s had eyes for nobody but him. He’s not what I would have wanted for her; her elder brother has married well and I would have liked a match like that for Aoife, but
she wanted Rory and you know what girls are like,’ he finished helplessly.
Mara concealed a smile. Muiris, renowned for his toughness, was as pliable as damp straw in his pretty daughter’s hands; Aoife would get her way.
‘So you are going to agree to a betrothal and a marriage contract,’ she said. Perhaps Rory was just pretending an interest in Una in order to force Muiris to agree to the betrothal.
‘It’s not like that at all,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It’s that the young fellow has walked off on her. He’s moved into Newtown Castle.’
‘Oh,’ said Mara, innocently. ‘But that was a good move, wasn’t it? I suppose that Sorley the silversmith took him on as a bard, did he? That would have been better than all this hand-to-mouth business of singing at festivals and weddings, Muiris. You can’t blame him for trying to better himself; he may even have hoped to earn enough to get married on,’ she ended encouragingly, though she doubted her own words even as they echoed in her ears. She watched him narrowly trying to decide whether it was spite or fact behind his report of Rory’s guilt.
‘Aoife went over to see him,’ continued Muiris, clenching his fist, his face full of anger and pain. ‘I didn’t want her to go, but she would do it. Rory hadn’t been to see her for a few weeks and she went off to see what the matter was. She went to the castle and asked for him. He came down and, you wouldn’t believe this, Brehon, he was furious. She told her mother that. He shouted at her to go away. He told her that he was sick of her following him around and that
she wasn’t to do it again. Him! Sick of her!’ Muiris moved his boot restlessly and kicked one sod of turf into the embers and then stopped himself, staring moodily at the toecap of his heavy leather boot. ‘That fellow has been hanging around the house caterwauling his miserable love songs week in and week out for over a year and now he tells her that he’s tired of her!’
‘I see,’ said Mara sympathetically.
‘She’s at home crying now. She does nothing but cry. I don’t know what to do about her. She won’t eat; she doesn’t sleep. I moved in with the lads to let her sleep with Aine, but she just cried all night. That’s what Aine said in the morning.’ Muiris sounded like a man at the end of his tether.
‘Very hard for a father to bear,’ said Mara gravely. She looked at him carefully. This was a self-made man, a man who had risen from nothing to become a prosperous bóaire; a man who adored his family and who could be moved to violence in defence of his beloved daughter. She felt some concern. She had no liking for Rory the bard, but she did not want Muiris to put himself in the wrong. ‘I’m glad that you told me this,’ she continued carefully.
‘I felt like
‘The lads will, I’m sure …’ There was a shadow on his face as he added, ‘Aoife is a bit upset and I’m not sure that she will want to come.’
‘Oh, what’s wrong?’ It seemed as if the speculation about Rory’s involvement with Una was correct.
‘Well, you know Aoife, always one to have the boys running after her,’ he said hesitatingly and Mara nodded. Aoife was the only daughter of Muiris, and Mara often marvelled how such a plain-looking couple as Muiris and his wife, Aine, could have produced a beauty like Aoife, with her blue eyes, flaxen hair and her apple-blossom complexion.
‘Well,’ went on Muiris angrily, ‘that young bard, Rory, started hanging around her over a year ago now, and since then she’s had eyes for nobody but him. He’s not what I would have wanted for her; her elder brother has married well and I would have liked a match like that for Aoife, but
she wanted Rory and you know what girls are like,’ he finished helplessly.
Mara concealed a smile. Muiris, renowned for his toughness, was as pliable as damp straw in his pretty daughter’s hands; Aoife would get her way.
‘So you are going to agree to a betrothal and a marriage contract,’ she said. Perhaps Rory was just pretending an interest in Una in order to force Muiris to agree to the betrothal.
‘It’s not like that at all,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It’s that the young fellow has walked off on her. He’s moved into Newtown Castle.’
‘Oh,’ said Mara, innocently. ‘But that was a good move, wasn’t it? I suppose that Sorley the silversmith took him on as a bard, did he? That would have been better than all this hand-to-mouth business of singing at festivals and weddings, Muiris. You can’t blame him for trying to better himself; he may even have hoped to earn enough to get married on,’ she ended encouragingly, though she doubted her own words even as they echoed in her ears. She watched him narrowly trying to decide whether it was spite or fact behind his report of Rory’s guilt.
‘Aoife went over to see him,’ continued Muiris, clenching his fist, his face full of anger and pain. ‘I didn’t want her to go, but she would do it. Rory hadn’t been to see her for a few weeks and she went off to see what the matter was. She went to the castle and asked for him. He came down and, you wouldn’t believe this, Brehon, he was furious. She told her mother that. He shouted at her to go away. He told her that he was sick of her following him around and that
she wasn’t to do it again. Him! Sick of her!’ Muiris moved his boot restlessly and kicked one sod of turf into the embers and then stopped himself, staring moodily at the toecap of his heavy leather boot. ‘That fellow has been hanging around the house caterwauling his miserable love songs week in and week out for over a year and now he tells her that he’s tired of her!’
‘I see,’ said Mara sympathetically.
‘She’s at home crying now. She does nothing but cry. I don’t know what to do about her. She won’t eat; she doesn’t sleep. I moved in with the lads to let her sleep with Aine, but she just cried all night. That’s what Aine said in the morning.’ Muiris sounded like a man at the end of his tether.
‘Very hard for a father to bear,’ said Mara gravely. She looked at him carefully. This was a self-made man, a man who had risen from nothing to become a prosperous bóaire; a man who adored his family and who could be moved to violence in defence of his beloved daughter. She felt some concern. She had no liking for Rory the bard, but she did not want Muiris to put himself in the wrong. ‘I’m glad that you told me this,’ she continued carefully.
‘I felt like
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