Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction

“I was warm and comfortable in the cabin last night. I wish I could stay to help in the search for the owners. I will endeavour to make amends for their hospitality once I have completed my business.”

Something had made her withhold telling Fáelur about her disturbed night. She did not know why. Perhaps it was because he seemed anxious about her having had a good rest.

She moved to the table and collected her things, her comb-bag, and placed them all in her sursaing-bholg and hung it over her shoulder. She turned to the man with a smile.

“Now I will get my horse and if you can point me in the right direction …?”

The man came with her to the door of the cabin and waited while she collected Aonbharr.

“There is a path down there that leads back to a main track,” he said, pointing in the direction she had climbed to the cabin from on the previous night. “Best lead your horse down to it. Then you turn northwards,” he indicated the direction. “You see that peak there, on the far side of the valley? That is Sliabh Coimeálta, Keeper’s Hill. Keep that on your left and this track comes down through a valley, at the end of which you’ll find the streams that rise in these hills, all converging into a broad stream called Glaise an Ghleanna. Follow the bank and that will lead you directly to the main river, the Mhaoilchearn. You’ll see a small stone circle by it. It is easy to ford the river there and beyond it you will see the pass that will bring you through the mountains called Sliabh an Airgid. Once through the pass, you will find your destination.”

Fidelma thanked him and offered her best wishes that his search for his missing sister and brother-in-law would prove successful and that all would be well with them. He nodded thoughtfully and stood by the cabin door watching her as she led her horse back down the path to the main track. It was difficult, as the snowfall of the previous night had completely covered any recognisable signs of where it lay. It was only when she reached a flat area of snow that ran in both directions that she realized she had reached the main track. She mounted Aonbharr before glancing back. It was as if the man had not moved, for he still stood watching her. She raised a hand in acknowledgement and set off at a quick walking pace northward on her journey.

It was only sometime later that she realized what had been causing an irritation in the back of her mind. As she had led Aonbharr from the cabin down the path to the main track, the path had been completely covered in snow, so that she had to feel her way down. It had been completely covered in the snowfall, smooth and white, except where a single set of tracks followed it. They could have been the tracks of a dog but Fidelma knew that they had doubtless been made by one of the wolves that had been howling near the cabin during the night. But that was not what was causing the growing unease. It was the question, how had a man called Fáelur come to the cabin? Surely he would have left tracks in the snow? And there were none.

** * *

“We were worried about you, Fidelma. We were afraid that you were lost in the snowstorm. Eadulf was very concerned.” It was Fidelma’s cousin Scoth, the daughter of Prince Gilcach of the Eóghanacht Airthir Chliach, who chided her as she ushered her into the hall of her father’s hunting lodge.

Fidelma had reached the settlement at Béal Átha Gabhann by mid-afternoon, when the sky had already begun to darken again. There she had found not only Eadulf, waiting anxiously for her, but also her cousin. Prince Gilcach kept a small hunting lodge at the settlement and Scoth was currently in residence, insisting that Eadulf and Fidelma stay with her. Soon Fidelma was relaxing in a chair before a crackling log fire with a glass of mulled wine. Seated by her were Eadulf and Scoth.

Scoth was younger than Fidelma by five or six years; an attractive girl with golden-red hair who seemed to treat everything and everyone with an intense curiosity. Her family shared a common descent with the Eóghanacht of Cashel from Óengus — the first Christian King of Muman. Scoth was always lively and loved nothing more than to gossip.

“Scoth suggested that we should form a search party for you,” admitted Eadulf, Fidelma’s stoic partner, “for there were violent snowstorms across the peaks last night.”

Fidelma glanced at Eadulf with a quick, reassuring smile.

“There was no need to worry on my account. I found shelter for the night.”

“Where did you find hospitality?” demanded Scoth in surprise. “These mountains are sparsely populated and the tracks are few and far between.” When Fidelma explained the route she had taken, a worried expression formed on the face of her cousin. “I know where you went wrong. You must have left the main track in the valley and headed through the high pass between Sliabh Coimeálta and An Cnoc Fionn. You should have remained in the valley and followed the track to the east of An Cnoc Fionn.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and one of the female attendants entered.

“Excuse me, my lady,” she said, speaking directly to Scoth. “A messenger has arrived and needs a private word.”

Scoth looked irritable. “I am with my cousin. Can’t they wait?”

“They told me to tell you that it is news of Rechtabra.”

Scoth rose quickly with an apologetic expression. “Rechtabra is my wayward cousin,” she said to Fidelma. “You may remember him? I will be but a moment.”

She was, indeed, back before hardly any time had passed. “What were we talking about? You said that you missed the valley track east of An Cnoc Fionn.”

“It was in the blizzard that I lost the path. There was no track to follow,” countered Fidelma.

Scoth looked serious. “But no one lives up along that high pass. There is scarcely a track you can follow on foot, let alone one to ride.”

Fidelma smiled thinly. “I found that out for myself.”

Scoth seemed clearly worried. “So where did you find shelter? It is said that there are caves in those mountains but they are thought to be the lairs of wolves that haunt that area. Surely you didn’t shelter in a cave?”

Seated before the roaring fire with Scoth and Eadulf, and the warming mug of mulled wine in her hand, Fidelma felt rather embarrassed by some of the fears that had passed through her mind during the previous night. She relaxed and told her story with a smile.

“A curious tale,” Scoth commented reflectively.

“The place being so deserted, I am wondering if we could raise some people and ride back to the valley tomorrow to see if we can help with the search. I was considering passing back that way on my return to Cashel. Of course, with this weather it may well be bodies that we would be searching for, if the woman’s relative has not found them before.”

“There is no need for you to be troubled in that matter,” Scoth insisted. “A trip back through the high pass will take both you and Eadulf out of your way. It is not the best route back to Cashel.” She glanced through the window. “Nightfall will be on us soon otherwise I would suggest my warriors should go to help the search for this missing couple. Who did you say these hill-farmers were, Fidelma? Ciarnat and …?”

“Ciarnat and Cuilind,” repeated Fidelma. “And the man who was the brother of the woman said his name was Fáelur.”

Scoth started nervously. The involuntary movement was not lost on Fidelma.

“Do you know these people?” she asked with interest.

The girl shook her head. “In truth, I have never heard of Ciarnat and Cuilind before … except …”

“Except?” pressed Fidelma when she hesitated.

The girl regarded her with an odd expression.