At last, she was spent, her bright head bowed over the soil she called her own. Erik bent down and gently took her shoulder.
“Come, my love,” he said. “Let us go to your family.”
It was late when they arrived at the village of Mullach Eadartha. Tara thanked the farmer who had given them a ride on his wagon and Erik handed the man a coin for his trouble. They walked through the outer stone ring wall that protected the village and kept the animals inside at night, towards the roundhouses at its center. Tara choked back a sob as she looked at the village that had been home for all of her childhood. Nothing had changed; the houses looked the same and the smoke still curled from the chimneys, drifting on the breeze. How could everything look the same when she was so different from the innocent, carefree girl who had left home one morning, never to return? Quietly, she walked up to the door of her parents’ house. The yellow light from the lamp shone through the cracks in the door and she could smell the familiar odors of her mother’s cooking. Her heart constricted and she felt as if she could not breathe. Erik stood beside her, a quiet and calm presence that helped her to steady her fraught emotions.
“Mother?” she asked tentatively, pushing open the door.
Aine looked up from her needlework beside the lamp. Her eyes grew huge and her mouth opened wide as a piercing scream burst forth.
“It is the ghost of Tara,” she shrieked. “It has come to haunt us!” And then she slumped forward in a faint.
Tara’s father managed to catch her before she fell. Only after she was lying safely on the floor did he look up at the cause of the commotion.
“Tara!” he exclaimed, fear in his voice. “Have you come to haunt us?”
“No, Father. I am not a ghost,” she replied. “Feel my hand.” She held out her hand to him and he took it gingerly.
“It is warm and it feels real,” he muttered. Then his eyes opened wide and a huge grin split his face. “Tara, my girl! You have returned!” He swept her into his arms and twirled her around in a huge bear hug. “You have returned,” he said over and over.
When he finally put her down, Tara motioned to Erik to come inside while Tara’s father attended to her mother. He looked up as Erik entered, shock on his face.
“A finngail!” he exclaimed, recoiling in fear.
Just then, Tara’s mother woke up. She sat up and her eyes opened wide with terror.
“A finngail, Cormac!” she shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at Erik. “Do something before he kills us all!”
“Mother, calm down,” Tara said. “He is a friendly finngail. He will not harm us. In fact, he is my husband.”
Aine closed her mouth but continued to watch Erik warily. “Oh Tara, is it really you?” she asked, at last, rising from the floor.
“It is me, Mother,” Tara said and stepped into her mother’s arms for a long embrace. She never wanted to let go again.
They stayed awake half the night, laughing and crying as they shared the stories of each other’s lives since Tara had been taken. Her friends and family came and went, each marveling at the miracle that had restored her to them. She learned that they had gone into a period of mourning after her capture, certain that they would never see her again. They had firmly believed she was dead and had held a mass for her soul. She spared them the worst of her ordeal, not wishing to inflict further grief on them after they had already endured plenty. Instead, she focused on the positive things that had happened and the ways that God had answered her prayers.
At last, happy but exhausted, she snuggled up to Erik on the makeshift bed that her parents had made for them on the floor. Her heart was full; she could not speak another word. With a smile on her face, she drifted off to sleep.
Erik was awake early the next morning. Leaving Tara sleeping, he slipped out of bed and left the cottage. He didn’t know where he was going but soon found himself at the sheep pen. The sheep watched him carefully but didn’t move. He reached across the wall of the pen and scratched a brown sheep on her woolly back. He liked being with the animals; it calmed his mind and helped him to think.
“I have accomplished my mission,” he told the sheep, whose ears flicked back at the sound of his voice. “I have brought her home. Now I will learn if she loves me or not.”
He continued to stroke the thick woolly back, his thoughts serious. He had not understood the words that Tara’s parents were speaking last night but they had clearly been alarmed at the sight of him. It hurt to think how afraid her people were of his. They had seen him and immediately assumed that he intended to harm them. How could he tell them that he was simply a peace-loving merchant who had no desire to raid or destroy? Yet, he could hardly blame them. His countrymen had stolen their daughter and countless others, leaving families
