She snatched the remnants of cloth from him, wondering if he’d found faerie mushrooms. “Don’t be ridiculous! It’s wool. How could it possibly eat you?”
Like a cat, he batted at the dangling scraps, trying to grasp the ends. Clíodhna held them out of his reach. What had happened to her laughing husband? He acted like a crazed fiend.
Clíodhna backed away, still holding the wool strips, and tucked them from sight. Oisinne calmed. He sat on the floor, cross-legged, and rocked, humming to himself without a tune.
After swallowing hard, she fetched some food from the shelf for Oisinne. A bit of cheese, dried fish, a flatbread. Placing it before him, she studied his actions. As he noticed the food, his rocking eased and then stopped. His hand shot out to snatch the dried fish, nibbling on it like a squirrel. He swayed as he ate, humming in that same monotone.
Steps outside made her spin to confront a new problem. She caught her breath, recognizing Abbot Pátraic.
“It seems the rumors held truth. I’d learned your husband returned. I came to welcome him to our church.”
Clíodhna didn’t dare move. She hadn’t forgotten the Abbot had tried to take her children. Were Etromma and Donn safe? She glanced at Aileran’s bed, where he slept. Donn’s chuckle filtered through the wattle and daub walls of the roundhouse and she breathed again.
Oisinne rose shakily, and extended his hands, palms up in welcome. All signs of madness disappeared as he became the consummate host. “Welcome to our home. I offer you bread and ale. Will you stay and sup with us?”
The Abbot watched for a few moments before placing his hands over Oisinne’s and shaking his head. “As much as I would like to, good man, I must refuse this time. I would be honored if you came to our service on the morrow, just at sunrise, though. Please, bring your family, and join our community.”
The words held more command than suggestion.
Oisinne grinned in a feral show of teeth. “That sounds delightful! We shall be there as the sun rises.” He turned to Clíodhna. “Do you know where we must go?”
Numb, Clíodhna nodded, keeping her eyes on the Abbot.
Pátraic beamed at her husband and opened his arms wide. “Excellent! We shall see you then.” He shot an inscrutable glance at Clíodhna, the only time he acknowledged her presence during the confrontation and left.
She turned to Oisinne, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Husband? Are you interested in his services? I’ve attended a few times, and much of it is in some strange language. Then he tells a few stories from his homeland and offers prudish advice.”
Oisinne’s grin deepened. “Stories! I’ve always loved stories.”
He strolled out of the roundhouse, whistling out of tune. Clíodhna had no idea how to react to this new person. Once he had disappeared down the path to the river, she rushed outside to assure her of her children’s safety. Etromma and Donn still worked next to the stable, feeding the pigs. She let out her breath in relief.
Donn raised his eyebrows. “Did you see the Abbot?”
Clíodhna set her lips in a grim line. “Yes. Did he speak to you at all?”
Etromma glanced over her shoulder. “We saw him coming and hid in the hayloft. He poked his head in, but we covered up well.”
“How did I raise such smart children?”
Donn cast a glance toward the river. “Speaking of children, is Da well? He’s been acting strange. Well, stranger than normal. He looked at me this morning as if he didn’t recognize me.”
Clíodhna looked in the same direction, frowning. “I’m not sure, Donn. I’m just not sure.”
The next morning, Clíodhna walked into the village with apprehension. She clutched Aileran tight to her breast. He whimpered, and she relaxed her grip. Donn and Etromma held hands and walked close to her. Oisinne rambled back and forth across the forest path, exclaiming with wonder at each new flower or bush he found, as if he’d discovered a tree with leaves of sunlight. His childlike delight would have been wonderful in a boy of six winters. For a grown man, the head of a household, it chilled her spine.
When they came to the abbey, she gazed at the complex. They’d added a new building since she’d last visited, high on the central hill. The thatch still green, it formed a long hall with a cross section on the end. Work continued on the walls, but it would be ready before the winter, from all indications.
Villagers trickled toward them and into the small church building. Perhaps the new building would be for services, as the old one burst at its seams now, with at least forty people stuffed into the small space. No one had room to sit any longer, so they stood and waited for the services to begin.
Abbot Pátraic walked to the table at the front of the church, dressed in a white, shining robe. He wore a mantle around his shoulders in heavy, brightly colored embroidery. Glints of gold shone with every gesture. Clíodhna had never seen clothing so rich. He chanted a song in Latin, and several of the villagers answered him on alternate lines. Clíodhna didn’t understand the words.
Within a few minutes, Oisinne began humming. The Abbot’s annoyed glares did nothing to silence him. He played with his fingers, moving them in complex patterns. When another priest began the sermon, Oisinne swung his arms back and forth, like a child just discovering how heavy his hands felt. He hiccupped.
Glares came from the villagers and the Abbot. Clíodhna put her arm around her husband. “Oisinne, be still. We are guests here and should listen quietly.”
He hopped a few times from foot-to-foot, but at least he stopped humming. Etromma and Donn both looked as if their
