Satisfied that all seemed right in her world, she drifted back into a light slumber.
When Clíodhna roused again, the sunbeam slanted much more sharply. She stretched and stood, now eager to both relieve her full bladder and slake the thirst which clawed at her throat. Once she’d completed both tasks, she took stock of the farm.
Etromma no longer lay in her cot, and neither did the baby. Wandering outside in search of her children, Clíodhna heard a cow moo and Etromma’s laugh. Smile on her face, Clíodhna blinked in the late afternoon glow.
Etromma sat next to the supply house, playing with Aileran, while Adhna and Donn moved their three cows from one pasture to another. Once they’d penned the animals, Donn waved to the Fae and walked toward the horses, while Adhna turned to her.
“Are you well rested, Clíodhna?”
She gave him a tired smile. “I am, but my breasts are about to burst. I need to feed Aileran.”
After taking the child from Etromma, she turned to the Fae. “I’m afraid letting me sleep all day means I have nothing planned for a meal this evening.”
Etromma piped up. “Don’t worry, Ma. I have beans and some dried fish soaking, all ready for stew.”
She put her hands on her hips, surveying her children. “Well, it looks like you have everything in hand. I don’t see why you even need me anymore.”
Clíodhna could only hold her stern expression for a moment before all three burst out laughing. Donn hurried up, wanting to be let in on the joke.
As she sat to feed the baby, she mused. How does one explain sheer silliness? Too few moments like this existed in her life, though when the children had been younger, they had plenty such laughs. Back when Oisinne still lived with them, his stories often resulted in wonderful joy and good cheer. Sometimes in dread and horror, and a sleepless night or two, for such was the nature of tales, but he balanced them with fun stories.
She missed her husband. Not just for their physical relationship, but for the wonderful words they shared. Such as the conversations she’d enjoyed with Odhrán.
Had they ruined his place in his church with their lustful games? She hoped not. He’d already been slated to go elsewhere. With luck, nothing changed his prospects for the worse. However, his Abbot didn’t seem the forgiving type. He’d been most displeased with their activities.
Should she approach the Abbot to reconcile? Take blame for the situation so Odhrán didn’t get punished? It didn’t seem right, as they’d both enthusiastically participated in the fun. Still, she owed her friend support.
“Etromma, Donn, you both missed your classes today. Will you want to return tomorrow?”
Donn quirked his mouth up. “Today is rest day, Ma.”
“Oh, yes, well, my days have gotten mixed up.”
Etromma raised one eyebrow and glanced at Adhna. “We both go back tomorrow. I can bring Aileran in the morning, if you wish to stay here.”
Determination and loyalty won over caution. “I should go speak to the Abbot, regardless.”
After a restless night of tossing and turning, deciding what she should say to Abbot Pátraic, she approached his quarters with great trepidation. She’d already dropped off all three children, but while she’d searched for Odhrán, she found no sign of him. She steeled herself and, with spine straight and shoulders back, she knocked on the doorframe.
“Yes? Enter.”
She stepped into the high-arched room, the large windows letting in wonderful light. Pátraic sat at a tilted table, scratching a piece of vellum with ink. Odhrán had spoken of writing, making pictures with sounds, and even showed Clíodhna a few examples, but it still seemed like magic to her.
Pátraic’s expression turned from curious to angry when he saw who darkened his doorstep. “I thought I banished you, wanton.”
She swallowed the angry retort which rose to her lips and forced herself to speak in a measured tone. Her prepared words came with more ease than she expected. “With respect, Abbot Pátraic, I am no wanton. I’m simply a local farmer and the mother of three children. You have my abject apologies for the situation yesterday,” Had it only been yesterday? “I would like to speak on Brother Odhrán’s behalf. He has been most kind to me and my family, and I would not wish him to come to harm for fulfilling your church’s rule of helping the poor.”
Abbot Pátraic stared at her wordlessly for several moments before his expression changed. Instead of the furrowed brow and thunderous glare of anger, the lines of his face gentled into indifference. “It matters little. I’ve dealt with Odhrán. You will leave now. Do not return.”
Taken aback, Clíodhna lost her memorized speech. “But is he well? I would like to speak to him. And my children are taking lessons here.”
His jaw clenched. “Your children are welcome to take classes. They did not sin. In fact, if you wish to repent your ways and join them, you are more than welcome. Odhrán, however, is beyond your wicked reach now, and will remain so. If you will not repent, you must leave. Begone. Now!” Someone walked up behind Pátraic, and she recognized the odious Brother Fachtna. He scowled at her, and she realized anything said would fall upon ears bent against her.
Abbot Pátraic stared at her so hard, she felt it as a physical blow on her cheek, an echo of the slap he administered yesterday. Her cheek still ached from it. Her face flushed with anger and embarrassment, and she backed out of the building.
At least her children could still take classes. Clíodhna hadn’t ruined their lives, as well. An older monk walked by, his eyes fastened on the ground
