prepare it for its burial. That had been almost five years ago.
When Mairin was a year old her father returned to Ireland for his wife and child. Ciaran St. Ronan was first shown his wife’s grave and then shown his beautiful daughter. He had wept bitter tears for Maire Tir Connell. Then he had gotten drunk, and stayed that way for a week. Finally pulling himself together he had gone to speak with the king, his late wife’s father. It was decided that Mairin would go with her father to Brittany. When they departed Dagda had accompanied them. He had made a promise to Maire Tir Connell, and only death would make him break his word to her.
It had been a pleasant life these last few years in Brittany, for Ciaran St. Ronan, the Sieur de Landerneau, was a good man. He had never once questioned his late wife’s dying wish with regard to their child. Dagda had raised Maire Tir Connell, and she had been perfect in Ciaran’s eyes. He expected that his little daughter, Mairin, raised by the same gentle giant, would be no less perfect. So despite the wagging tongues of the goodwives, and the shaking of heads by the elderly remainder of Ciaran St. Ronan’s family, Dagda had remained as nursemaid and guardian to the Sieur de Landerneau’s only child.
Looking down now at his precious charge, Dagda shook his shaggy silver head, and thought that it was indeed fortunate that he was Mairin’s watchdog, especially since the lady Blanche had entered their lives.
Ciaran St. Ronan’s second wife was a spiteful and cruel young woman. She reminded him of a golden rose, full-blown and totally perfect until you bent to sniff its fragrance, and discovered that it was rotten.
Aye! Mairin needed him now. Particularly now. Bending, he lifted his little mistress into his arms. “Your father,” he said quietly, and without any preamble, “has just died. Whatever happens now, I don’t want you to be frightened for I will be with you, my little lady. Do you understand me?”
The child’s face crumbled with her grief. She had known before he had even spoken what he had come to tell her. Her father had left her, and she was alone. A small sob escaped her, but then recovering herself she said, “Did he want to see me, Dagda? Did my father not ask for me at the end?”
“He did, but she pretended that you could not be found, and her uncle, the wily bishop, then began fussing with your father over his last confession, and the absolution.”
A tear slid down the child’s beautiful face. “Oh, Dagda,” she said brokenly, “why does the lady Blanche hate me so? Why did she keep my father and me from our farewells?”
“She is jealous of you, child. How could she not be? Your father loved you above all people including the lady Blanche. Now she will seek to strike out at you in order to protect the child she will bear in a few months’ time.”
“But I would not harm my sister, Dagda,” said Mairin in her innocence.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” he replied soothingly, “but that is not why she fears you. You are your father’s heiress, Mairin. With Ciarin St. Ronan, the Sieur de Landerneau, dead, my child, you become the Demoiselle de Landerneau. The lady Blanche and her child will be obligated to you for their very living. This is what the bitch fears.”
“But I would take nothing from them!” protested Mairin. “Has not Père Caolan taught me to honor my parents, and is not the lady Blanche my stepmother?”
Dagda sighed deeply. How could he possibly explain to a sweet and totally innocent child like Mairin the greed and venality of the world? Mairin’s wisdom was of a different sort, and in a sense he was responsible for he had encouraged her to learn the ancient ways of their people. She had never been exposed to selfishness or avarice, but these were qualities that he knew the lady Blanche possessed, and he feared for the little girl in his charge. He would protect her with his life if need be, but right now he knew not