Fianna Ceannaideach tended her garden as she softly hummed a hymn to herself. Even after five years of marriage to Boadhagh she was still a woman of the earth. She smiled as she picked the plants, placing the fruits of her labor in a wide woven basket. The nip of approaching fall was becoming more noticeable each evening, and the production of her garden was slowing, with only late season vegetables still available for harvesting. Soon, perhaps within weeks, her harvests would stop for the season and they'd be eating only porridge and dried fruit and beans, but for now, the earth was still giving. Boadhagh MacNobaill was a good man, wise in the ways of the sea and fishing, but he was hopeless for all but the most basic tasks in the garden. He would till as she directed, complaining bitterly as he toiled, but he ate the bounty of her garden eagerly enough.
She rose, brushing dirt from her knees, her kale, carrots, leeks, and peas neatly arranged in her basket for cleaning and preparation. Before returning to the manor she paused to gaze upon Loch Nobaill and the sea beyond, the blue water and rugged coastline below the cliff filling her with peace. She was low born, living as a peasant in Cyulkein while she apprenticed under her father, a wool merchant that barely eked out a living for his family. Then her views were of bales of fleece and the rough herders who brought their wool to market, not this amazing vista she could enjoy any time by simply opening the wooden shutters of her home.
Turning from the view, she made her way to the manor with her basket, stepping over or around rocks that had been too large to easily move when she'd laid out the plot for her garden. Being married to a noble she wasn't required to tend the garden, and while she allowed the servants to care for the animals, fields, and the manor's much larger garden,
her
garden was her domain. She willingly shared its abundance, but she guarded it's care fiercely.
She'd never forgotten her former position and made it a point to treat her maids, and the rest of the servants, with respect and kindness. It was the same reason she'd insisted that Boadhagh help her with her garden's first tilling each spring. He'd first refused, assigning as many men as she wanted to aid her, but she'd rejected their help and began laboriously breaking the soil herself while making her displeasure with him clear. Within a few days he'd relented, and after a full day of hard labor, and constant complaints and oaths, she'd rewarded him well that evening. Having the lord of the manor working the soil for his food, slight though it was, had endeared him to the rest of the staff, and the maids in particular. Now he did it every spring, despite his complaints, because it pleased her and gained the respect of his servants.
She entered the kitchen, sat her basket beside the bucket of water, and began cleaning the vegetables. She enjoyed keeping her hands busy and listening to the gossip from both her manor and those in the surrounding countryside, laughing and talking with her maids as if equal in rank. Boadhagh wouldn't tolerate such informality in public, but in the privacy of her chambers or the kitchen, he didn't have to know.
He didn't treat those under his care as equals, and she hadn't wanted him too, but she'd insisted that those who cared for him and his lands deserved some amount of respect and kindness for serving him. The low born had been suspicious of her kindness and the change in Boadhagh at first, as she'd been suspicious of him when he began courting her after the death of his first wife, but after a time the staff accepted that her concern and kindness, and their Lord's gradual change to something resembling a benevolent parent, wasn't a cruel trick or deception. Over the years he and Fianna became loved by all those under their care in a way he'd never experienced before. Each person working his fishing boats, or tending his lands and flocks, seemed willing to give their all to win their Lord and Lady's approval.
It'd been five months since Boadhagh left to help push the English back to protect what was rightfully Scottish land. Soon he'd return to her arms, and her thighs, and they'd try again for an heir. As Fianna's nimble fingers stripped the peas from their pod, she saw that Donella was beginning to show with child, and once again feared she was barren. She tried not to worry, but sometimes she thought of Boadhagh's first wife. Reaghan MacLendan had been a noble woman who'd died of the bloody flux so soon after their marriage she hadn't had a chance to bear him a child, and she wondered if he pined for her, and the children she would have bore him if she'd lived. Boadhagh was six years older than her twenty-three years, and if she wasn't with child soon, they'd have to accept she wasn't capable of producing children. She wouldn't enjoy sharing Boadhagh with one of her maids, but if he wouldn't cast her out for another, she'd accept the sacrifice if it produced him an heir. She glanced about the kitchen, wondering which of the maidens Boadhagh might favor... or perhaps it would be one of the chambermaids that caught his fancy. She forcefully shoved the thought away and focused on her peas. A faint smile danced over her lips. After his long absence, her garden should be fertile for the planting of his seed... and then then he'd have an heir. She could feel it in her thighs.
-oOo-
Fianna was still the lady of the manor, and her generosity and kindness only extended so far with the servants, so she was eating her evening meal alone in the central room when her handmaid burst in, paused as she lowered her head in deference, and then hurried to Fianna's side.
"My Lady," Nighean gushed, her face flushed with excitement, "men on horseback with an oxcart approach!"
Fianna leapt to her feet, her thoughts instantly going to her husband. "Have the men stand ready," she ordered, just in case the travelers weren't as innocent as they might first appear.
She hurried to the main door and stepped out to greet the travelers as the men gathered with pikes and knives. As the travelers approached, she squinted in the fading light before rushing forward when she recognized Keane MacNobaill, Boadhagh's cousin.
"Greetings Keane!" she called as she hurried toward the four riders. "What news of my Boadhagh?" The words were barely past her lips when she noticed the look on Keane's face. She pulled up short as her legs suddenly weakened. "No!" she screamed as her hands rose to her face, her agony clear in her voice.
Keane ground his teeth as he brought his mount to a halt, the oxcart and other three men stopping a respectful distance behind him. The entire trip back from that God forsaken battle at Carham on Tweed, he'd dreaded this moment, the moment when he'd have to tell Fianna that she was now a widow. He dismounted and took a step toward her.
"No!" she wailed again. "No! It can't be true! Boadhagh is undefeatable with sword and shield! No! He can't be dead!"
She rushed past Keane to peer into the cart. On the floor of the caisson was a body tightly wrapped in rope and white linen in the way of the MacNobaill's. She gripped the side of the cart fiercely, unable to accept that her Boadhagh had returned to her like this.
"It's a mistake! It must be! This can't be my Boadhagh! It can't! In the confusion of the battle, another man has been mistaken for him!" she cried, desperately looking from man to man, waiting, praying, that one of them would confirm her hope. Whimpering, she reached for the body, intending to rip away the linen and show these men the body wasn't Boadhagh's. When she began tugging on the rope and cloth wrapping the body, Keane took her gently, but firmly, by the shoulders and pulled her from the oxcart. "No!" she shrieked as he dragged her away. "It can't be him!"
He pulled her further from the cart and then turned her to face him. "Fianna! Listen to me!" Keane said, his voice kind but firm. "There's no mistake!" He paused as she seemed to wilt. "He died to protect the clan," he murmured, knowing his words were hollow comfort. "His sword and strong right arm are the reason that clan MacNobaill still exists. If it weren't for him, his clan would be no more."
She stood mute, the shock too great to bear. Taking a deep breath, she drew herself up, her face impassive. She was Boadhagh MacNobaill's wife, and she'd do her duty. Her tears would have to wait. She shrugged out of his Keane's grip and stepped away from him before motioning to Nighean.
"Have the men remove the body," she said, no emotion present on her face or in her voice. "We will bury Boadhagh tomorrow as befitting the chief of clan MacNobaill. Have the carpenters construct the funeral pyre and raft immediately. "She turned her attention back to Keane. "You and your men will stay with us tonight? You must be weary after so long a journey."
"I would be honored, my Lady," he murmured with a dip of his head.
After the battle, with the English bastards routed, he and his men had left the rest of their clan behind in a race to return Boadhagh home so that he could be laid to rest in the sea, as befitting his position, before he began to smell of death. In their four days on the road, they'd pushed themselves, their mounts, and the ox, to the limits of their endurance to achieve that goal.
She turned to her handmaid again. "See that Keane, his men, and their animals are well cared for," she said, her voice devoid of feeling.
"Yes, my Lady," Nighean murmured, her gaze held low in respect and sympathy for her lady.
Her duties as Lady of the manor discharged, she turned and entered the house, her head held high as she climbed the steps to her chamber. She was not seen again until the next morning, but her sobs were heard throughout the night.
-oOo-
The next morning Fianna called her handmaid to her. "What is the status of the burial raft?"
"The carpenters are working diligently to finish it, my Lady."
"I expect it to be completed by tonight. Tell them to use as many men as they need. This is the household's singular priority."
"Yes, my Lady."
As Nighean hurried away to carry out her wishes, Fianna found Keane sitting alone in the central room.
"Forgive me my Lord," she said, standing in the doorway with her head bowed.
"Fianna..." Keane said quietly as he rose from where was warming by the fire. "Do you hate me so much that you can't use my name?"
"I am but a guest in your manor, my Lord. With no heir, Boadhagh's lands and possessions pass to you."
Keane stared at Fianna, her head bowed in supplication. She'd always been so proud, so strong. Despite her low birth, she knew and respected the ways of clan MacNobaill, and his heart broke to see her this way.
"That's true, but this is your home until another takes you... or you join Boadhagh."
She lifted her eyes briefly before once again looking at the floor. "Why would you grant me this favor?"
