Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [84]
“They’ll destroy you,” she cried to her son. “They’ll kill you just as they killed your father.”
Larine was shaking his head.
“Mother,” the young man protested, “Larine is our friend.”
“You don’t know him,” she answered furiously.
“He is our guest.”
“No more!” She struck the table and rose to her feet. “Traitor!” She pointed her finger at him. “You can change your shape but never your nature. You are always the same, and I know you. The same cunning fox. Leave!”
Now Larine had risen to his feet also. He was white and shaking with fury. The priest who accompanied him had risen, too.
“This is no way to treat a guest in your house, Deirdre,” Larine protested. “Especially a Christian man of peace.”
“A man of blood!” she shouted.
“I am a bishop of the Holy Church.”
“Deceiver.”
“We’ll not sleep in this house,” Larine said with dignity.
“Sleep with the pigs,” she rejoined, and watched as, followed by his people, he stalked out into the darkness. Her brothers, after a moment’s pause and a rather bewildered look at her, followed after them, presumably to arrange their sleeping quarters in one of the other huts. That left herself and Morna.
He did not speak. She wondered what to say. For a moment, she almost said, I’m sorry. But she was afraid to do so. In the end, she said, “I’m right, you know.”
He did not reply.
She began, angrily, to help the slaves clear up the remains of the meal. He silently helped her, but kept at a distance. Neither of them spoke. After they had finished her brother Ronan returned.
“They’re in the barn,” he said, and seemed about to say more; but she silenced him with a look. Only then did Morna speak.
“There is something, Mother, you seem to have forgotten.”
“What is that?” She suddenly felt weary.
“It is not for you to tell our guests to leave. I am the chief now.”
“It was for your own good.”
“I will be the judge of that. Not you.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ronan smirk.
“You have also deceived me, Mother,” Morna went on quietly. “It is true, isn’t it, that the High King summoned me to Tara?”
“I was going to tell you.” She paused. “I was afraid. After your father …” She trailed off. How could she ever explain it all to him? “You do not know the danger,” she said.
“I must go to Tara, Mother.”
She nodded her head sadly. Yes, he would have to go.
“But do not go as a Christian, Morna. I beg you. At least do not do that.”
“I will decide that also.” His words felt like a heavy stone hung round her neck. She sagged. “I am going outside now, to apologise to Larine. If he comes back inside, you will be courteous to him. But it may be better if you sleep in the barn yourself.” He left.
Ronan remained. He was looking at her curiously. She supposed that after all the years in which she had been the dominant force in the household, and after his humiliation at being passed over for the position of chief, he probably took some satisfaction in her own. In a little while, Morna came back.
Not surprisingly, Larine had declined to return.
The situation the following morning was not good. The Christians were outside, but had announced that they would not be leaving until Bishop Patrick arrived. No doubt they were looking forward to watching the missionary from the north exhibit his famous temper. Deirdre knew that she should apologise, but since her brothers were standing truculently with the visitors, she could not bring herself to do so. She had told the slaves to feed them and a large bowl of porridge had been prepared. Morna was outside also, but had tactfully decided to occupy himself with the animals. She had no idea what he was thinking.
The morning wore on. Larine seemed to be spending his time in prayer. His followers were talking to her brothers. At one point Ronan came in and remarked: “There’s a lot in what these Christians say, Sister. They tell us you’ll be going to eternal hellfire.” Then he went out again.