Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [322]
Corpus Christi. That was in two days. What was she going to do?
When Eva O’Byrne considered the last eight years, one thing was clear to her. She had done the right thing when she had called in the friar. For the years that followed had been some of the best in her life.
If Sean O’Byrne had other women, he kept them out of sight. When he was at home, he was an attentive husband. A year after the Brennans left, she had another baby girl, who kept her busily occupied. The baby seemed to delight Sean as well; watching him play with her on the grass in front of the old tower, she experienced moments of pure joy. Meanwhile Seamus had made a great success of the Brennans’ place. He’d practically rebuilt it with his own hands; and two years ago he’d found a wife as well—not a great catch, perhaps, the daughter of one of the lesser O’Tooles, but a sensible girl whom Eva liked.
As for Fintan, the boy became her special companion. It was almost funny, she knew, to see her with her youngest son; for it was clear by now to everyone that he both looked and thought like her. They would go for walks together, and she would teach him all the plants and flowers that she knew; as for the cattle and livestock, he was a born farmer. He often reminded her of her own father. And he gave her affection, constantly. Every winter he would make something for her—a wooden comb, a butter press—and these little gifts became like treasures, bringing a smile to her face when she used them every day. She and the boy were so close that she had almost feared that her husband might become jealous. But Sean O’Byrne seemed more amused than anything and glad that the boy should bring her such happiness. As for his own relationship with Fintan, it was very simple. “Thank you,” he would say, “for giving me a son who’s such a good cattleman.”
And he, in his turn, had brought his wife one other wonderful gift in return. Their baby girl was two years old when Sean arrived back from a journey into Munster one day and casually asked her, “How would you like an addition to our family?” And she was wondering what he meant when he explained: “A foster son. A boy of Fintan’s age.”
Though the practice of fostering went back into the depths of Celtic history, it was still very much alive amongst the noble families, English or Irish, on the island. When the son of one family went to live with another, it formed a bond of loyalty between them almost like a marriage. To send one’s child into the house of a great chief was to give him a step up in the world; and for an important family to confide their son to your keeping was a huge compliment. Assuming that her husband was doing a favour to some poorer family, Eva did not look overjoyed; but seeing this Sean only grinned.
“It’s one of the Fitzgeralds,” he calmly informed her. “A kinsman of Desmond.”
A Fitzgerald, related to the mighty Earl of Desmond. Quite a distant kinsman, from a modest branch of the southern Fitzgeralds. But still a Fitzgerald.
“How did you manage that?” she asked in frank admiration.
“It must be my charm.” He smiled. “He’s a nice boy. You’ve no objection?”
“It would be a fine thing for Fintan to have such a friend,” she answered. “Let him come as soon as he likes.”
He came the following month. His name was Maurice. He was the same age as Fintan, but dark where Fintan was fair, slimmer, a little taller, with finely drawn Celtic features that served to remind you that the Fitzgeralds were as much Irish princes as English nobles, and beautiful eyes, that she found strangely compelling. He was very polite, and declared that her house was exactly like that of his parents—“Except,” he added, “that ours is beside a river.” Though slim, he was athletic, knew his cattle, and seemed to slip easily into Fintan’s life as an