Ruth Langan - Briana

She stepped from the cell and pulled the door closed behind her, moving soundlessly along the darkened corridor.

When she entered the refectory, Mother Superior hurried over.

“These lads have come to fetch you home.”

Briana glanced at the lads who were seated at a long wooden table, eating a hastily prepared meal of meat and cheese and crusty bread. With a sinking heart she realized that they were the faces of strangers. The lads she’d known in her girlhood had probably moved on with their lives, no doubt with wives and children of their own.

“Why am I being summoned home?”

Mother Superior motioned for her to sit. At once Sister Ascension, the cook, waddled over to place a platter of meat and cheese in front of her.

While Briana dutifully ate, Mother Superior explained. “Your father was recently wounded.”

“Wounded? What…?” Her words trailed off at the look on the nun’s face.

Mother Superior gave a sigh of dismay. Even after three years of training, the lass still hadn’t learned to hold her tongue. But at least she had remained seated. The firebrand who had first come to the convent would have leapt to her feet and demanded all the details immediately.

“The wounds are not serious. But your mother desires your assistance in caring for The O’Neil. She feels that the challenge is too great for her to carry alone.”

Briana’s smile was quick. “Aye. My father healthy is challenge enough. My father wounded would be unbearable. Especially once he started to mend.”

Then another thought intruded. It was her mother who had sent for her, not her father. Did that mean that he had still not forgiven her? She felt the pain, sharp and quick, then quickly dismissed it. It no longer mattered. Once Gavin O’Neil saw her, he would realize that she had changed. She would win his love. She had to. It had been the one thing that had always driven her.

She suddenly found that she had lost her appetite. The thought that she was really going home had her nerves jumping. Because she had often been lectured on the sinfulness of wasting food, she gathered the rest of her meal and placed it in a pocket of her robe, before getting to her feet. Across the room, the lads pulled on their cloaks and headed toward the door. Briana and Mother Superior followed.

In the courtyard, the horses were saddled and ready. Mother Superior handed Briana a coarse, hooded traveling robe. “The ermine-lined cloak which you wore here was given to the poor. As was the purse of gold which your father sent. But though this is a humble replacement, it will serve its purpose, Briana, and keep you warm throughout your long journey.”

“I care not for clothes, Reverend Mother.”

“I know that, child.” It was one of Briana’s most endearing qualities. The lass had no artifice. And though she was an incorrigible rascal, she was much loved by all at the convent.

It had been plain, from her first day, that she would never fit in to the life of a humble sister. But it was also plain that she was kind, and dear, and with her impulsive behavior and irrepressible humor, the most impossible challenge of Mother Superior’s life. As she looked at Briana now, she wondered just how she would fit into that other world beyond the convent walls. She’d had no time to flirt, to dance, to experience the things of young womanhood. By now, the women Briana’s age would be wives and mothers. And though this sweet lass would be treated like a woman by those who met her, she was still, in her heart, that naive girl of ten and five who had burst upon their silence and order, bringing with her chaos and passion.

The older woman lifted a hand and Briana bowed her head. “Until we meet again, child, may God hold you safely in His hands.”

“And you, Reverend Mother.” Briana turned away and was assisted onto her mount.

With a clatter of hooves, the horses moved out.

Briana turned for a last glimpse of the Abbey of St. Claire. Mother Superior stood, her hands folded as always inside the sleeves of her robes. Behind her the roof of the building, and the cross that rose from the highest peak, were still cloaked in darkness.

Briana turned her head and stared straight ahead. Toward the sunrise, just beginning to tint the sky. There lay Ballinarin. Her heart fluttered with unrestrained happiness. At long last, she was going home.

“What is it? Why are we stopping here?” When the leader of their little group signalled a halt, Briana urged her mount forward.

“A village, my lady.” From his position at the top of a small green hill, the lad pointed. In the distance could be seen the thatched roofs of sod huts, and the smoke from turf fires, and beyond them, the towers and turrets of the distant keep. “We’d be wise to seek shelter before it grows dark.”

“I’m not yet weary. I could continue for a few more hours.” For every hour would bring her closer to home.

“You have been away now for several years, my lady.” He kept his tone respectful, but Briana felt the sting of censure. “There are many more English soldiers in our land now. And no one, man or woman, is safe after dark.”

It was on the tip of Briana’s tongue to remind the lad that she was an O’Neil, and that the decision should be hers and hers alone. But though it stung, she knew he was right. She had been sheltered so long, she had no way of making a proper judgment. The lad was only looking out for her safety.

Reluctantly she nodded. “Aye. We’ll seek the shelter of a tavern then, and be on our way again in the morning.”

Below them lay a field of green. Peasants from a nearby village could be seen tending their flocks. It was a pleasant, peaceful scene that brought a smile to Briana’s lips as she and her escorts urged their horses down the hill. This was what she had missed. Laughter, as clear and tinkling as a bell, carried on the breeze. The sound of voices raised in easy conversation. How long had it been since she had heard such things? Even in the fields, the sisters and novices never broke their vow of silence.

As her horse moved in a slow, loping gait between the furrows, she lifted a hand and waved, and the men and women straightened and returned her salute.

She was halfway across the field when she heard the thunder of hooves. For a moment she didn’t know what to make of it. Then, seeing the lad in front of her turn and mutter an oath as he unsheathed his sword, she followed his gaze.

An army of English soldiers, perhaps fifty or more, was heading directly toward them from a nearby forest.

With a feeling of dread Briana looked around. They were caught in the open. Trapped. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to seek shelter from the trained warriors bearing down on them.

The leader of her escorts, a fierce, muscular lad of perhaps ten and six, shouted orders. “The village. At once. It is our only hope.”

As they urged their horses into a run, Briana glanced over her shoulder. The peasants, caught offguard, were being cut down by the invading soldiers’ swords. In the blink of an eye, five, then ten, then more, were seen falling to the ground, screaming in anguish.

The air was filled with the sound of voices shouting, swearing. Women weeping. The sharp clang of metal on metal as those few peasants who were armed strove to defend themselves. Horses whinnied in pain as they died, crushing their riders. That only made the soldiers more determined to retaliate against those peasants who dared to fight back.

The once tidy rows of grain were now slashed and torn, the earth red with blood as the mounted soldiers overtook the fleeing peasants and, in a frenzy of killing, left not a single one standing.

When they had finished with the peasants, the soldiers turned their attention on the five horsemen, fleeing across the fields. Within minutes they fanned out, determined to cut off any chance of escape.