Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [214]
“I thought I’d see if you were here.” She was amused, it seemed, by his astonishment. “Gilpatrick told me where you were lodging. It was my friend’s house, until this year.”
“But how did you get into the city?” He thought of the guards on the city gate.
“I came in by the door.” There was usually a small door in the big gates, through which single people could pass. “They know I’m the priest’s daughter.” She glanced around. “Are you all alone?” He nodded. “Can I sit by the fire?” He placed a stool for her and she sat on it. She peeled back her hood and her hair cascaded down.
“Gilpatrick says you gave the alarm.” She gazed into the embers in the brazier. “So now the High King will sit outside Dublin, and you will sit inside, and he’ll wait until you starve.”
He watched her, wondering what she wanted and why she had come, and how it was possible to be so beautiful. Her assessment of the situation was probably right. The High King had all the rich produce of Leinster in his hands. He could feed his army for months. But the city was well stocked with provisions. It could be a long siege.
“Perhaps your brother and the archbishop will negotiate a peace with the High King,” he suggested.
“Gilpatrick says the archbishop wants to avoid bloodshed,” she agreed. “But the O’Connor king doesn’t trust Strongbow.”
“Because he’s English?”
“Not at all.” She laughed. “It’s because he’s Diarmait’s son-in-law.”
Why was she there? Was she a spy of some sort, perhaps sent by her father to find out about Strongbow’s defences? Gilpatrick could do that better, but perhaps as a mediator he would refuse such a role. He decided that, beautiful and pious though she might be, he had better keep a careful eye on her. Meanwhile they talked of this and that, she spreading out hands and her slim, pale arms towards the fire, and he answering when required and watching her.
After a time, she stood up.
“I must go back to my home now.”
“Shall I accompany you to the city gate?”
“No. There’s no need.” She gave him a curious little look. “Would you like it if I came to see you again?”
“I …” he stared at her. “Why certainly,” he stammered.
“Good.” She glanced at the gateway to the street. It was empty. “Tell me, Peter FitzDavid,” she said quietly, “would you like to kiss me before I leave?”
He gazed at her. The demure priest’s daughter, the Irish princess, was asking to be kissed. He checked himself. He was being stupid. Politely he kissed her on the cheek.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” she said.
It wasn’t? What was all this about? He almost blurted out, “Aren’t you about to be married?” Then he told himself not to be a fool. If she was asking, who but an idiot would refuse? He moved closer. Their lips met.
Una was surprised the next day to find Fionnuala at the entrance of the hospital, and still more so when Fionnuala informed her why she’d come.
“You want to work here again?”
“I’ve nothing to do at home, Una. I can’t just sit around being useless. My parents want me to live at home, but I could spend the days here and some nights. That is,” she smiled ruefully, “if you don’t mind.” She paused, and then continued seriously, “You were quite right to be angry with me, Una. But I think I’ve grown up a bit now.”
Had she? Una stared at her. Perhaps. Then she told herself not to be stupid. Didn’t they always need help at the hospital? She smiled.
“The floor needs washing,” she said.
The only person who was doubtful was Ailred the Palmer. He was concerned for her safety. But Fionnuala was able to convince him without too much difficulty.
“I can come down through the small gate into the town,” she told him. For there was a small gate in the city wall almost directly below her father’s church. “Then I can come out of the west gate and walk across to the hospital. Nobody’s going to hurt me coming from the church or going to the hospital.” It had to be said that neither the English nor the High King’s forces had troubled any of the religious houses round