With a final glare at Pátraic, she limped to where Oisinne had fallen and drew him free of the trough. The blacksmith helped her, a reassuring pat on her shoulder. He whispered in her ear. “My grandda acted like this for a while. He regained his senses after a few moons. Take heart.”
Tirechan, the boy who Etromma had been moon-eyed over, came with a large blanket. “This should keep him covered until you can get him home.”
She gave thanks to both and extracted her husband from the judging eyes of the onlooking villagers.
Oisinne slept most of that day. His bouts with madness exhausted him, giving his family some break after dealing with his rampages. At least this time he hurt no one else.
After she’d cleaned and dressed him, and gotten him to sleep, Clíodhna relaxed to feed Aileran. However, a shadow in the doorway made her glance up, only to see Ita looking nervous and tentative. Her gaze flicked to Oisinne mumbling in his alcove, turning under the ropes, before she spoke.
“Clíodhna… have you been unwell?”
Rolling her eyes, Clíodhna flicked her hand. “Not me. Oisinne, definitely. I’m tired, that’s all.”
Her friend crossed her arms. “We’re all worried about you.”
Clíodhna pursed her lips and regarded Ita with a steely expression. “About me? Or for me?”
Casting her gaze to the ground, Ita fidgeted with her fingers. “Both? You’ve been acting so odd lately. And Oisinne… I remember he used to be calmer.” Her friend reached a hand toward Clíodhna’s face, where the latest bruises ached. “His hand has grown heavy, as well.”
Clíodhna batted Ita’s hand away. “Oisinne is out of his mind. No sane man runs naked through the village. I’m handling it the best I can, but any changes in my behavior must pale against his, don’t you think?”
Her friend gave no answer but stepped into the roundhouse and sat cross-legged in front of the central hearth. Ita blinked a few times in the gloomy interior and peered at Oisinne. “Is he like this all the time?”
Relenting, Clíodhna shook her head. She poured two mugs of ale and joined her friend, handing her one. “No, sometimes he acts almost sane, but still a shadow of his former self. It’s safer and easier to keep him here, away from people, but he insists on going to your church each morning.”
“The Abbot has been making complaints of you.”
“Of me? Not of Oisinne?”
“Yes, of you. You and your… well, he calls them a ‘legion of fornicators,’ but he means lovers.”
Clíodhna burst out laughing. “A legion of fornicators? He cannot be serious.”
Ita sipped her ale and her expression grew solemn. “He is, and he’s convincing several of the village elders that they should deal with you.”
With a scowl, Clíodhna stopped laughing. “Deal with me how?”
After glancing out the empty doorway and once again toward Oisinne, Ita whispered, “He’s planning to attack the forest spirits.”
“He’s planning what?”
“You heard me! Don’t make me raise my voice. He’s gathering up a group of villagers, armed with farm tools, and he’s intent on clearing out the Fae and spirits from the woods near the bend in the river. They’re to start tomorrow morning.”
Clíodhna rose to her feet so quickly, she knocked over her ale. With a grumble, she bent to mop the mess up. “Tomorrow morning, huh? We’ll see about that.”
“You mustn’t interfere, Clíodhna! That’s why I came, to warn you. It’s a trap. He knows you’ll come to help, and he wants to catch you in the act. That way, he can accuse you as a sorceress.”
“A sorceress? I don’t know that word.”
“A woman who consorts with daemons, according to him. A person filled with evil. Someone who will corrupt others into evil.”
Rage and anger rushed through her veins. How dare this man come to her village and accuse her of such things? Clíodhna closed her eyes, trying to draw peace from the earth. “Ita, how many winters have you known me?”
With a shrug and another sip of ale, Ita said, “Fifteen, sixteen? Ever since you got married and moved here.”
Clíodhna leaned against the table, her back to Ita. “In all that time, have I ever done anything evil?”
She shrugged again. “I don’t know, Clíodhna. For a while, some people thought you’d killed your husband. He disappeared so suddenly… well, you know how rumors work.”
Throwing her hands in the air, she whirled around. “Well it’s obvious that was a lie, isn’t it? There he is, right over there. Mad as a hare, but very much alive! I swear, Ita, while I admire your honesty, sometimes too much isn’t a good thing.”
Ita shrank back from Clíodhna’s anger, bowing her head to contemplate her mug and the splash of ale left inside. “I didn’t say I believed the rumors, Clíodhna. Just that they existed. I’m trying to help.”
Clíodhna let out a deep sigh and threw her head back. Once again, she drew magic from the earth, trying to calm her heart and temper. Ita always just wanted to help. She must be kinder to her friend.
“I’m sorry, Ita. I know you’re trying to help, and you don’t deserve my angry words.”
“Don’t apologize. This can’t be easy to hear.”
Not easy in the slightest.
She spoke a few polite pleasantries to her friend and bustled her off, thanking her for the news. Now, however, she must plan on how to rescue the Fae without getting caught in Pátraic’s trap herself.
All that evening and well into the night, Clíodhna considered each option.
Confronting the angry mob would be the most dangerous and least likely to succeed. One lone woman against twenty grown men and an angry Abbot seemed very poor odds.
She might sneak in
