Page 31 of Bound By Honor
Caught unaware, Niall’s men fought bravely but were losing to the enemy’s greater numbers. Watching through the window by the light of the full moon as the battle waned, she saw Niall fighting one man as another attacked him from behind. She recognized the cowardly one who drove his sword through Niall’s back—his cousin, Domnall O’Neill.
Áine had covered her mouth and swallowed her scream as one of Niall’s captains rushed into the house. “Come…now!” he yelled. “We must get you away while there is still time! Through the back!”
She did not hesitate. Clutching Brian to her breast, with Finn close at her side, she ordered Nessa and Alma to come with her. The three of them followed the captain into the night.
The sight of Niall lying face down in the dirt was one she would never forget. In the moonlight, his blood had been colored black. His murder left her stunned. But for his men, she might not have left when she did. It was only due to their quick action that she and her son escaped the chaos.
Áine arrived at Dunseverick, shaken but relieved, as her father welcomed her into his arms. “Thank God you and the babe are safe.”
She buried her head in his broad chest. “His men managed to recover his body and have brought it for burial.”
Her father held her away, looking into her face with sympathy. “He will be buried with much ceremony and solemnity and his men are welcome to stay on O’Cahan lands.”
“Thank you, Father. The O’Neills will be grateful.”
The next day, Richard de Burgh, the Earl of Ulster, had sent a message of support, vowing to remove the man who took her husband’s life. Revenge might satisfy the earl but it would do nothing to strip from her mind the image of Niall lying bloodied on the ground, forever imprinted on her soul. Nor would revenge return to her son his father.
In the span of three years, she had been a reluctant bride, wife, queen, mother and now widow. Could one live so many lives in so few years and not be much changed?
“Come, sit by the fire, Mistress,” said Nessa, quietly approaching. “I’ve hot spiced wine for you. ’Twill warm your bones.”
“Thank you, Nessa. That would be most welcome.”
Slowly, she crossed the hall to the chairs in front of the blazing fire in the large stone fireplace. Finn came to sit at her feet. It seemed she did everything more slowly in these last days as if she were reluctant to take a step toward the future. “Brian?”
“The babe is with Alma, sleeping protected by his angel.”
“’Tis a blessing he is too young to have been aware,” Áine said, taking a seat and opening her cloak as she accepted the wine. “Sit with me, Nessa. Your company is a comfort.”
Nessa glanced around the hall. “Well, I suppose your father will not mind seeing ’twas you who asked.”
Áine smiled to herself and gazed into the goblet of wine warming her cold hands. “No, he will not mind. He is happy to have us here, no matter the dire circumstances that brought it about.” Inhaling the familiar smell of cinnamon, ginger and cloves, she sipped the honeyed drink that brought warmth to her inside.
“Aye, a pleased man is Lord Cumee. ’Tis true he lost a friend and his daughter a husband but your father has you, his son Dermot, and his grandson together under his roof.”
Áine’s brother was now a man grown and sharing the responsibilities with her father that would one day be his own. She found solace in her family and the familiar surroundings of home and thanked God for the refuge they provided. The priest in Derry had once assured her all would be for her according to God’s will. At the time, she’d had no idea this would be the path she would take, but she did not doubt God was still with her.
The burial took place two days later at Dungiven Priory, the place where O’Cahans were laid to rest.
Her father’s bard had written a lament for Niall and that night after dinner, he recited it as a harp played in the background. There were many verses. Some spoke of Niall’s bravery from the days before she had met him. As the bard came to the end of the lament, his voice rose.
O king of heroes, heroic child!
You did smite our foe in battle wild,
You did right all wrongs, O just and mild!
And who lives now—since dead is Niall?
In place of feasts, alas! There’s crying,
In place of song, sad woe and sighing,
Alas, I live with my heart a-dying,
And you beneath the sod!
You were skilled all straits to ravel,
