THE FAERIE HILLS (A Muirteach MacPhee Mystery Book 2) by McDuffie Susan

Author:McDuffie, Susan [McDuffie, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Medieval, Scotland, Scottish, Muirteach MacPhee, fairy, fairy changelings, mystery, fairy gold, Hebrides, Colonsay, Lord of the Isles, faerie, faeries, faerie changelings, the good people
ISBN: 9780984790036
Publisher: Susan McDuffie
Published: 2012-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

I arrived back at Dun Evin to find great excitement. A ship had put in from Islay, with a message from His Lordship. He was wanting both my uncle and myself for a council, which was to take place in his hall at Finlaggan. We were to leave at once, and I quickly made my preparations, gathering my writing materials and putting them in my satchel. I had learned to read and write as a child at the priory, and I had often acted as scribe for my uncle even before the events of last summer that had brought me to the notice of His Lordship and left me with the title of “the Keeper of the Records.”

I left Somerled with Seamus and Aorig, much to my little half brother Sean’s delight. He fancied Somerled as a substitute for a horse of his own and often tried to ride the great lout of a dog.

We left the next morning and crossed to Islay with no difficulty. A small council convened the next day to deal with some matters regarding the MacRuaris and the amount of fighting men and galleys they were expected to supply to His Lordship; Himself was wanting it increased somewhat, while the MacRuaris were saying the original agreement should stand. However, the matter was easily settled and, not surprisingly, in favor of the Lord of the Isles.

The agreement duly decided, I finished the notes in the record book, made a copy for the MacRuaris, and sealed the book in its richly carved wooden chest. Then I left it with His Lordship’s librarian.

The two MacRuaris who had been on Colonsay had accompanied their chief to Finlaggan. Gillespic’s man had not found them in Benbecula, so I took this chance to question them over some claret in the great hall. From the look of them, the two men had already been at the drink some. There was not a great deal else to do in November, and the weather this day was gray and rainy.

“And so you have not been finding whoever it was that killed the young boy?” asked Griogair. “A great pity that is, indeed and indeed. Not the least of it that the Benbecula MacDonald is still thinking we were killing the lad. He has demanded an honor price from us, and I for one will not be paying it. After all, was it not Raghnall’s own son he was shooting so long ago? And we are innocent in this matter. So he will not be getting an honor price from me for this. It was not I who was killing his son.”

“Indeed,” I agreed, attempting to sound sympathetic. Privately I thought if Griogair had not killed the boy, well, that said nothing as to what Raghnall might have done. “No, we have found nothing of the murderer. Perhaps it was truly the sithichean,” I answered. “For he was killed with a faerie arrow.”

“Shot with a faerie arrow?” Raghnall crossed himself. “Dia! I have never heard of the sithichean making wounds that draw blood with their arrows.

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