“There was a woman who came here three nights ago. She merely wanted a meal and fodder for her horse. She was from Tir Bui.”
“Did she tell you her name?”
“Not as I recall.”
“Was she young, fair of skin with spun gold hair in a single braid?”
The innkeeper nodded slowly.
“That was her.” Suddenly an angry expression crossed the big woman’s face. “Is she complaining about my inn or of the service that she received here? Is she?”
Fidelma shook her head.
“She is beyond complaining, Corbnait. She is dead.”
The woman blinked again and then said sullenly: “She did not die of any food that was served on my premises. I keep a good house here.”
“I did not specify the manner of her death.” Fidelma paused.
“I see you drive a small cart.”
Corbnait looked surprised at the sudden switch of subject.
“So do many people. I have to collect my supplies from the outlying farms. What is wrong with that?”
“Do you also dye clothes at your inn?”
“Dye clothes? What games are you playing with me, Sister?” Corbnait glanced from Abbot Laisran back to Fidelma as if she considered that she was dealing with dangerous lunatics. “Everyone dyes their own clothes unless they be a lord or lady.”
“Please show me your hands and arms,” Fidelma pressed.
The woman glanced again from one to another of them but seeing their impassive faces she decided not to argue. She sighed and held out her burly forearms. There was no sign of any dye stains on them.
“Satisfied?” she snapped.
“You keep your hands well cared for,” observed Fidelma.
The woman sniffed.
“What do I have a husband for if not to do the dirty work?”
“But I presume you served the girl with her meal?”
“That I did.”
“Did she talk much?”
“A little. She told me she was on the way to join her husband. He lives some way to the south of the abbey.”
“She didn’t stay here for the night?”
“She was anxious to reach her husband. Young love!” The woman snorted in disgust.
“It’s a sickness you grow out of. The handsome prince you thought you married turns out to be a lazy good- for-nothing! Take my husband-”
“You had the impression that she was in love with her husband?” cut in Fidelma.
“Oh yes.”
“She mentioned no problems, no concerns?”
“None at all.”
Fidelma paused, thinking hard.
“Was she alone during the time she was at the inn? No one else spoke to her? Were there any other guests?”
“There was only my husband and myself. My husband tended to her horse. She was particular about its welfare. The girl was obviously the daughter of a chieftain for she had a valuable black mare and her clothes were of fine quality.”
“What time did she leave here?”
“Immediately after her meal, just two hours to sunset. She said she could reach her destination before nightfall. What happened to her? Was she attacked by a highway robber?”
“That we have yet to discover,” replied Fidelma. She did not mention that a highway robber could be discounted simply by the means of the poor girl’s death. The manner of her death was, in fact, her most important clue. “I want to have a word with your husband now.”
Corbnait frowned.
“Why do you want to speak with Echen? He can tell you nothing.”
Fidelma’s brows drew together sternly.
“I will be the judge of that.”
Corbnait opened her mouth, saw a look of steadfast determination on Fidelma’s face, and then shrugged. She suddenly raised her voice in a shrill cry.
“Echen!”
It startled the patient ass and Fidelma’s and Abbot Laisran’s horses. They shied and were skittish for a few moments before they were brought under control.
A thin, ferret-faced man came scuttling out of the barn.
“You called, my dear?” he asked mildly. Then he saw Abbot Laisran, whom he obviously recognized, and bobbed servilely before him, rubbing his hands together. “You are welcome, noble Laisran,” before turning to Fidelma and adding, “You are welcome, also, Sister. You bless our house by your presence. . ”
“Peace, man!” snapped his burly wife. “The
The little man’s eyes widened.
“I am Fidelma of Cashel.” Fidelma’s gaze fell on his twisted hands.
“I see that you have blue dye on your hands, Echen.”
The man looked at his hands in bewilderment.
“I have just been mixing some dyes, Sister. I am trying to perfect a certain shade of blue from
“Quiet! The sister does not want to listen to your prattling!” admonished Corbnait.
“On the contrary,” snapped Fidelma, irritated by the bullying woman, “I would like to know if Echen was at his dye work when the young woman was here the other night.”
Echen frowned.
“The young woman who stayed only for a meal and to fodder her horse,” explained his wife. “The black mare.”
The man’s face cleared.
“I only started this work today. I remember the girl. She was anxious to press on to her destination.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“Only to exchange words about her instructions for her horse, and then she went into the inn for a meal. She was there an hour or so, isn’t that correct, dearest? Then she rode on.”
“She rode away alone,” added Corbnait, “just as I have told you.”
Echen opened his mouth, caught his wife’s eye, and then snapped it shut again.
Fidelma did not miss the action.
“Did you want to add something, Echen?” she prompted.
Echen hesitated.
“Come, if you have something to add, you must speak up!” Fidelma said sharply.
“It’s just. . well, the girl did not ride away entirely alone.”
His wife turned with a scowl.
“There was no one else at the inn that night. What do you mean, man?”
“I helped her onto her horse and she left the inn but as she rode toward the south I saw someone driving a small donkey cart join her on the brow of the hill.”
“Someone joined her? Male or female?” demanded Fidelma. “Did you see?”
