Eadulf was moving towards the door when a rustling sound from within caused him to halt, head to one side, not sure whether it was merely the wind among the ivy leaves.
A hand fell on his shoulder. Gormán, behind him, had raised a finger to his lips. So he had heard it too. The young warrior drew his sword and motioned Eadulf and Fidelma to stay back. He paused for a moment and then raised his right foot and kicked out, sending the door flying inwards. The crash of the shattering wood was accompanied by a frightened cry. Sword at the ready, Gormán moved quickly inside and a moment later dragged a small figure out, screaming and struggling, and threw it on the leaf-strewn floor of the glade before them.
Straddling the figure with his sword pointing downwards in readiness, Gormán commanded, ‘Identify yourself, boy!’
The figure rolled over and scowled up at him.
Fidelma turned to Gormán in amusement. ‘You have your sexes mixed, Gormán. This is clearly a girl.’
CHAPTER THREE
Gormán stood staring down in astonishment at the young woman.
Her tousled blue-black hair was cut short, not in the usual fashion, and it was quite dirty, scattered with dead leaves and wisps of straw. There were patches of dried mud on her face but, nonetheless, the features were quite attractive, symmetrical with a splash of freckles on the cheeks, dark flashing eyes and full lips that needed no berry-juice to enhance them. At the moment, those lips were drawn back in a snarl showing very white and even teeth. Her clothes were of poor quality, soiled and torn, and there were no shoes on her feet.
‘What are you gawping at, you big bully!’ she growled at the young warrior.
Gormán started at being addressed in such a fashion. Then he slowly replaced his sword in its sheath before reaching out a hand to assist the girl to rise.
She ignored him, rolling quickly over and scrambling to her feet. They could see now that she was no more than twenty.
‘And who are you?’ Fidelma asked mildly.
The girl turned on her with an unfriendly expression.
‘What business is it of yours?’ she replied pugnaciously.
‘The lady is Fidelma of Cashel and a dálaigh,’ Gormán said in a shocked tone. ‘When an attorney of the courts of the Brehons asks, it is your duty to give your name.’
The girl raised her hands to her hips and stared truculently at him.
‘My name is mine to keep.’
‘Watch your manners, girl!’ Gormán replied, anger in his voice. ‘You are speaking to the King’s sister.’
There was a slight narrowing of the girl’s eyes, which was the only reaction to this information. She remained as belligerent as before.
‘And that makes a difference as to whether I care to give my name or not?’ she sneered.
‘Not that I am a King’s sister,’ replied Fidelma. Her voice was dangerously cold and even. ‘But that I am a member of the courts of the Brehons and that I am qualified to the level of … ah, but I doubt whether that would mean much to you. Sufficient to say that my office gives me the right to question you and places you under the obligation of answering.’
‘You use long words,’ sniffed the girl.
‘It means that you are required to answer,’ snapped Gormán, clearly outraged by the girl’s behaviour. ‘And you should do so with deference.’
‘Words I have no use for,’ the girl went on.
‘Do you have a use for the word “punishment”?’ asked Gormán, taking a menacing step forward.
The girl wheeled around towards him, almost in a crouch. In her hand there had appeared a small glinting dagger.
‘Try to attack me, bully, and you are a dead man!’
Gormán took a step back, surprise clearly showing on his features.
Eadulf, who had been standing in silence during this time, leaped forward, grasped the girl’s wrist and twisted it slightly, so that the knife dropped from her hand onto the forest floor, then kicked it out of her reach. She spun round, her eyes flashing and her teeth bared. For a moment or so it seemed she was about to launch herself on Eadulf, her hands clenching and unclenching like claws.
‘The hellcat!’ breathed Gormán, recovering his poise. He made to move towards the girl but Fidelma held up her hand to stay him.
‘Why are you so frightened, girl?’ she asked gently.
The young woman relaxed and straightened herself, but her jaw remained thrust forward combatively.
‘Who says that I am frightened?’ she demanded.
‘You do,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Otherwise you would not be behaving in this manner.’
‘Clever, aren’t you?’ was the insolent response.