Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [57]
It did not take the chief long to tell them what happened and to warn them, “You have only till morning before he finds you.” But what were they to do? “You’ll have to leave here tonight,” he said, though as he looked at his daughter he could not help adding, “for how long, Deirdre, can you run?”
It was the problem that had concerned Conall all summer. Deirdre was not due to have her child until after midwinter, and she seemed strong and well. Conall had hoped that by now it might have been possible to cross the sea, but his secret trips along the coast had not been encouraging. Every harbour was still being watched. More than once he had wondered if she should go to her father. Surely, even if discovered, the king would not harm a helpless mother and child. But Deirdre was against it, and it had been she who hit upon an ingenious solution.
“Take me to the shore when my time is near. I will tell the old widow I am an abandoned woman. She will help me.” She smiled.
“Then perhaps the druid from the island will pass by and look at me.”
“And then?”
“You will find a way for us to leave, in due course.”
Conall had supposed that this plan of action might work, but he was not sure; and as each day went by his secret misgivings had grown. So now, almost before he had time to think about it, he heard himself say, “Perhaps if I can draw Finbarr away, Deirdre can remain with you.”
Fergus, for a moment, said nothing. Though he saw her pale and anxious face, he was lost in his own thoughts. What would be the consequences for him, and his two sons, if he were discovered hiding Deirdre? Did he really want the daughter he loved back in his house? And thinking how little he had managed to do for her, he felt ashamed.
“Dubh Linn is her home,” he said, “and always will be.” But taking Conall by the arm he added, “You must get her off the island by dawn. For in the morning, I shall have to bring Finbarr along the coast. Once Finbarr has gone, let her come to the rath at night and I’ll find a way to hide her.” Then, anxious to return to the rath before he was missed, he set off back across the water.
The moon was still some way above the horizon when he started to walk back along the shore. On his left, the high hump of the headland rose darkly; hurrying as best he could, it was not long before he reached the foot of the low ridge from the top of which he would see the broad expanse of the Dubh Linn bay. Pausing only for a moment to take a few, deep breaths, the old man started up. The track was easy going. He saw the line of the ridge ahead, outlined against the starry sky. There were a few clumps of trees and bushes along the way.
He was nearing the top when he heard the jingle of a harness and the snort of a horse just ahead. He stopped and stared at the clump of bushes from behind which the sound had come. Then from the shadow, a large shape emerged.
It was a chariot. It wheeled to face him down the slope, and from the chariot came Finbarr’s voice.
“Thank you, Fergus, for showing me the way.”
At last she was ready. She knew she could delay no longer; the sky was still full of stars, but there was now a hint of paleness in the east across the sea.
She had taken as long as she could. The island was her sanctuary: once she left it, she sensed, she would never be safe again. Perhaps, Conall had told her, they might be able to return there. Was it possible? She glanced at Conall. He had been standing with his back to her for a long time now, staring silently across at the shore.
The plan they had formed was simple enough. They would cross to the shore now, make their way inland, and hide in the woods. If Finbarr came to inspect the island, he would find only the little hut. The old woman at the shore would tell him that she had never seen anyone but the wandering druid at the place. In due course he would give up and