Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [222]
She came to the gateway to the house, which stood just beside the little church. She noticed the two horses there and remembered the visitors, but without curiosity. She had the good sense, however, to straighten her clothes and brush her hand over her hair before she walked through the gateway. As it was summer, they had set out benches and trestles upon the grass. Her father and mother were both there and they were smiling. So was her brother Gilpatrick.
They turned in a way that suggested they had all been waiting for her, talking about her.
Her mother was coming towards her now, smiling still, but with a strange look in her eye.
“Come Fionnuala,” she said, “our guests have arrived already. Come and give a fitting welcome to Brendan and Ruairi O’Byrne.”
A week after Una’s threat, Peter FitzDavid was still seeing Fionnuala. They had been careful, meeting in the afternoons or early evenings, not spending the night together. The arrival of the O’Byrne cousins had helped. Fionnuala had cleverly encouraged her father to bring them both to visit her while she was working at the hospital one day. They had seen her, demure and pious, working with Una and the Palmer’s wife; and Una in turn had seen that Fionnuala now had a serious suitor in prospect. “She can’t even imagine,” Fionnuala had told Peter laughingly, “that I could look at another man when I’ve a chance to marry an O’Byrne.”
Peter did not treat the new arrivals so lightheartedly. From Gilpatrick he learned that Brendan O’Byrne was the one his parents wanted for their daughter; but whether he would like her, and whether the princely O’Byrnes might feel Brendan could do better, remained to be seen. His cousin Ruairi was another matter, and Gilpatrick’s parents had not been best pleased to see him. “Brendan’s a fine upstanding man, but Ruairi’s the taller of the two.” Gilpatrick gave Peter a wintry look. “I don’t know why he’s here,” he muttered.
Peter thought he could guess. Brendan had probably brought his cousin, whatever his reputation, for cover. If he’d come alone, it looked too obvious; if he decided not to make an offer for Fionnuala, it might disappoint or even give offence to the chief; but if the two cousins paid a friendly visit and then left again, nobody could say anything against him.
Should he be jealous of this cautious young prince? Peter wondered? Probably. O’Byrne had all the wealth and position that he himself lacked. He was an excellent match for Fionnuala. If I’ve any decency at all, he thought, I ought to step aside and stop wasting this girl’s time. You’re nothing better, he angrily told himself, than a thief in the night. But then she had come to his lodgings again, and pressed up against him, and he had given way at once.
Besides her body, Fionnuala also brought him food. For food was getting scarcer in the city all the time. Even Gilpatrick was going hungry. “My father’s got plenty at the church,” he explained. “And nobody stops me going to see him. But the difficulty is the archbishop. He says we must suffer with the people in the city. The trouble is, he never eats more than a crust of bread anyway.” Peter could hardly tell him that Fionnuala was smuggling food to him from her father’s house almost every day.
He was coming in from his sentry duty on the walls one morning, having dismissed his men, and looking forward to the rendezvous he had with Fionnuala that afternoon, when passing Christ Church he saw Strongbow. The great lord was standing alone, staring down towards the river, apparently lost in thought; and Peter, supposing that Strongbow was unaware of him, was walking quietly past when he heard the magnate say his name. He turned.
The magnate’s face was impassive, but it seemed to Peter that Strongbow looked depressed. It was hardly surprising. Though the besiegers