Then she looked at Reginald, who stood beside the bier with mud on his boots and shame on his face.
“The man who took his name has restored him to us.”
A murmur passed through the yard. Something shifted, because now the lie had a body, and the body had been brought home.
Ciarán stepped forward then, unexpected.
His voice was harsh but steady. “Rathmore will hear the whole truth. The theft. The false name. The grief brought upon my lord’s house.” He looked at Aingeal. “And this also: that Lady Aingeal gave Donal O’Raida honor when she might have wished his memory buried with her humiliation.”
Aingeal inclined her head.
Then Ciarán looked at Reginald. “And that FitzUrse carried him.”
Reginald’s face changed, only slightly.
Aingeal saw it. Truth had been given weight, lifted by human hands, and brought into the open.
Chapter thirty-four
Just after the morning light, an arrow struck the outer gate, quivering in the wet wood. The boy nearest it stumbled back and crossed himself. Seamus tore the arrow free and brought it to Aingeal without waiting to be summoned.
A parchment note had been wrapped in oilcloth and bound to the arrow with red thread.
Aingeal opened it at the council table.
No one spoke while she read.
Brennach stood behind her chair. Tomas waited with his tablets ready. Father Cillian watched the door as if threats might be tempted to enter properly if ignored. Reginald remained near the wall, neither seated with the council nor placed outside it.
Aingeal read the message once and then again. Her mouth hardened.
Tomas said, “My lady?”
She laid the parchment flat on the table.
“Mael Ruadh offers to spare the remaining outer holdings if I remove FitzUrse from the castle by sunset.”
Seamus gave a sound of dark satisfaction. “Then he has saved us debate.”
Aingeal looked at him.
He did not retreat. “Send FitzUrse away, strengthen the gate, and take the excuse from their mouths.”
Reginald said nothing.
That silence angered Aingeal more than argument would have. She did not want his surrender now. Not after the fire. Not after Donal’s grave. Not while every enemy outside her walls had begun deciding whether her wounds could be used as doors.
Brennach lifted the parchment. “There is more.” His eyes narrowed as he read. “If FitzUrse remains, Mael Ruadh names this house shelterer of a cursed man and calls on every Christian lord within riding distance to reject your rule.”
Father Cillian’s expression darkened. “Convenient piety from men who burn barns with children inside them.”
“Piety is often most useful to men who need a clean cloak for dirty work,” Tomas said.
Brennach crossed his arms. “He is not demanding FitzUrse because of Becket. He is demanding him because FitzUrse beat him yesterday.”
Seamus grunted. “And because his presence here hands Mael Ruadh a weapon.”
“Yes,” Brennach said. “So ask yourself why he wants that weapon removed from our hands.”
