Raindrops tapped the hood of Donal’s mantle, as they had throughout his trip from Ballyness. He didn’t mind. The unseasonable warmth of this year’s spring prevented the rain from becoming a cold, oppressive deluge. What fell from the sky instead was light and playful, even invigorating.

  Given enough time, however, even the lightest rain can discolor clothing, including the new mantles Siobhan’s sisters-in-law had crafted for the brothers—at the behest of Mrs. MacSweeney. Their vibrant cloaks darkened from natural woad blue with scarlet trim to twilight blue and crimson.

  The forest of oak and hazel on their left stretched high enough to block the thinnest and brightest part of the afternoon clouds. The curtain of overgrown hedge and birch trees along their right retreated to allow an unfettered view of Lough Swilly and Inch Island. Set against the backdrop of the blue haze blanketing the Swilly’s far shore, Inch’s fresh grass and new leaves appeared to emit a faint pear-green glow.

  “Surely, we’re close?” Donal asked Siobhan. His driver pointed her chin at the wavy-haired navigator in the front. He cleared his throat. “Maeve—”

  “—We’re close,” Maeve said over her shoulder with an idle wave of her hand. She resumed her hushed conversation with Niall, riding beside her. She pointed into the forest, further up the hills, and made a curving motion with an open hand. Holding an invisible bow in her left hand, she mimicked two arrows loosed with her right. Niall’s eyes widened as she shaped her left hand into a claw and drove her fingers into her left thigh. Niall turned a hand up and shrugged as Maeve waved her right hand overhead, clenched it into fist and swung it around until it stopped in the space between herself and Niall.

  “What are you telling him?” Donal asked Maeve.

  “Advice on farming,” she said without missing a beat.

  Donal scoffed. “Tell me the truth.”

  “Hai, she’s showing me a better way to cut down wheat.”

  Donal cursed under his breath.

  “Don’t come to us in the fall when it’s time for the harvest, then. You had your chance.” Maeve said.

  Donal leaned into Siobhan. “Do know what that nonsense was all about?”

  Siobhan dipped her head to the right and squinted. “I think so,” she said. “I think it was when she was hunting—”

  A panicked look flashed across her face. Her back stiffened. “Sure look, if it’s the story I’m thinking,” she said, “you’ll hear it soon enough.”

  Donal stared at the side of Siobhan’s face for a full minute. Siobhan looked in every direction but to her right, where Donal sat next to her in the front seat.

  He looked to the rear at his brother riding Cáined. Finn shook his head. “You’re looking at me like I can hear anything over the rain or the rolling wheels,” Finn said.

  The forest on their right gave way to fields and houses as the road curved to the right. In less than half a mile the group had reached the edge of Rathmullan. Houses staggered downward like stairs as the narrow road declined toward the far end of town. Within three hundred yards the homes and other buildings had grown too large to allow for gaps between the structures.

  The compressed nature of the town nearly tricked Maeve into missing her intended turn down a street too small to qualify as an alley in larger cities such as Belfast or Dublin. They rode on, single file, for another two hundred yards until reached a larger road leading north out of town.

  Maeve looked at the sign above the large door leading into a two-story building on their left. “We’re here,” she said through a pursed grin and with a satisfied look in her eye. “The entrance to the stables is down this street to our left.” The group followed her around and they stopped in front of a fence composed of logs seven feet in height.

  Maeve walked up to the section bordered by hinges and pounded on the fence. “Oi!” she yelled in a rougher, deeper version of her usual voice. “I’m looking for the smelliest place in all of Ulster to lay my head. Everyone told me to come here!”

  Niall looked down the street in both directions and pinched his nose but said nothing. Siobhan and Finn blinked with their mouths left agape.

  A man’s voice bellowed from behind the fence. “A reputation no doubt earned from allowing riffraff from Connaught to frequent our establishment.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Maeve’s brows inverted as her eyes widened. A crooked, incredulous smile split her face as she looked to Niall.

  The gate swung open and a head appeared. It was similar in age to Maeve and it hovered higher than six feet from the ground. “Hai, it is you!” the man said.

  Maeve wheezed in shock. “What was that?”

  “I knew it was you,” he said.

  “And if it was someone else calling?”

  The man smiled. “You know yourself we don’t get many people from the south up here. Anyone else here would have agreed,” he said.

  Maeve dropped her head and sighed. “Are you going to let us in, you arse?”

  “Of course,” he said. He withdrew his head and swung the gate open, revealing an open area with five empty stalls, a makeshift forge, and a storage building. In front of them stood a man taller than even Siobhan’s uncle Faelan, making him the tallest person Donal had ever met.

  He had a hulking build with shoulders as wide as a doorway. The hair on his forearms parted in places to reveal burn marks, reminiscent of the scars that marred the arms of Donal’s blacksmith friend back in Dunfanaghy.

  Atop the mountain of linen-wrapped muscle rested a pair of kind eyes, a nose bent to the left near its bridge and two rows of smiling teeth. The existence of any other traditional facial features had to be assumed, because something resembling a black bear’s hide covered the top of his head and a massive raven-colored beard buried the bottom of his face. The visible parts of his face hung from his cheekbones with more slack than an average man of his age. His clothes were well-tailored about the shoulders but they billowed over his belt, which itself was at least a foot too long for his waist.

  Maeve grasped his hand and wrapped her other arm around his back. “Fergal MacDavett,” she said as she pulled away from him, “meet my people. Niall, of course, Siobhan MacSweeney, and the MacLaughlin brothers, Finn and Donal.”

  The group exchanged nods and muffled greetings. “I’ve heard some talk about you, Fergal,” she said with warm smile. “All good of course. If Maeve trusts you, then you’re sound.”

  The tips of Fergal’s cheeks flushed. “That’s kind of ya, lass,” he said. “I’ve heard a thing or two about you as well—”

  Maeve ended Fergal’s sentence with a backhand to his stomach. “How about you let us settle in before we swap tales?” she asked. She gritted her teeth and mumbled, “Or forego it altogether.”

  I need to hear that story, Donal thought. He cleared his throat and waved a hand to get Fergal’s attention. “Sir, how did you come to know Maeve?” he asked.

  Fergal glanced at Maeve and shook his head. “She’s right, lad. Unload yourselves while I make sure a proper room is ready for you. There will be plenty of time to talk later. Excuse me.” With a parting smile to the room, he slid down the hallway between the forge and the storage building.

  “Do we unload the wagon?” Finn asked.

  Niall walked to the rear of the wagon and narrowed eyes. He looked back at the gate and nodded to himself. “Let’s bring it all in,” he said. “See to the horses first, then we’ll pull the wagon in here and pay Fergal for the empty stall that we block.”

  Siobhan appeared less convinced. “What would you have us do, sir?” she asked. “Tip the thing on its side and carry it in?”

  “It will fit,” Niall said. “The last thing I want right now is to wait for unnecessary repairs. Trust in that, hai?”

  “Grand,” Maeve said, holding up a hand to block Siobhan’s protests.

  Niall and Maeve led their horses into the farthest stalls from the road. Siobhan unhooked Gála from the wagon and led her into the middle stall.

  “Leave an empty stall between Gála and Cáined,” Niall said. “Just in case he’s being a dose again.”

  Finn led Cáined into the interior yard and opened the stall door in front of the horse. Cáined looked in the stall, turned his head and started for the street. “Not bloody likely,” Finn said as he grabbed the reins and walked into the stall with the horse.

  The five of them turned the wagon toward the gate. With three pushing from the rear and two from the front seat, they guided their wagon into the inn’s rear entrance with great care and suspended breath.

  Finn stood in front Cáined’s stable and pointed a thumb behind him. “Which of us will feed and water the horses?” he asked, waving away his horse’s attempts to nibble his hair. “Doubtful that Fergal can fit around our wagon here.”

  “I’ll do it now,” Siobhan said. “We’ll worry about later… well, later.”

  Niall and Maeve followed Fergal. Donal climbed into the wagon and started tossing bags down to his brother, though he intentionally waited until after the first one landed to warn Finn he was doing so.

  “Fergal’s waiting upstairs,” Maeve said as she and Niall reemerged into the back courtyard. Let’s grab our things out of the wagon and go.”

  Donal puffed out his chest. “Already unloaded!”

  Maeve threw a sack over her shoulder and turned for the hallway once more.

  “Oi!” Donal said. “Not a word for having this ready for you?”

  Niall raised his eyebrows and pushed his lower lip upward. “You’re old enough now to learn the truth of some things: anticipating the needs of your friends and family and doing it without the expectation of a celebration feast goes with being a man or woman. We appreciate your work, of course, and when needed we’ll act in kind with no need of a grand gesture of thanks.”

  He picked up two of the bags and paused before turning to follow Maeve. “But thank you, lad,” he said to Donal with a faint smile.

  “C’mon,” Finn said, grabbing two more bags. “You’re not old enough to outdo me.”

  Donal scoffed and picked up three sacks. “You haven’t beaten me in this since I was twelve.”

  Finn sighed. “Hai, you’re right about that. I’ll see you up there,” he said. He showed Siobhan a toothy grin and disappeared from view.

  Donal readjusted his grip and stabilized his stance as he prepared to enter an inn for the first time in his young life.

  Siobhan circled around the wagon and grabbed two of the remaining bags. She stepped in front of Donal and hitched her head. “Donal, how many more times are you going to fall for the ‘who can carry the most’ trick?”