Nory Ryan's Song Read Free

her, feeling a jump in my throat, picturing Cunningham’s face, red and mottled from too much mutton. He’d send Devlin his agent to put us out of our house in a breath if he wished, just the way he had the Neelys.
    Once I had been hiding, crouched down in the reeds along the stream. I had watched Lord Cunningham talking to Devlin as he fished. He waved his hand at the fields and the cliffs above. “I’d like to get rid of all of them. Filthy hovels, filthy people. I would tear down the houses and let sheep roam among the rocks.”
    I had wondered where the filthy hovels were. I had wondered about the filthy people. And then I knew. I was one of the filthy people who lived in a filthy hovel. I thought about our house. It was warm and cozy. When the door was closed, the fire lighted the pictures Maggie had drawn on the walls and made wonderful shapes that reached up and up, following the smoke out of the roof, finding their way up to the cliffs.
    I saw Cunningham’s big house now, with its huge stone wall, and farther down was Devlin’s. Even that was larger than any in Maidin Bay.
    “Not a sound.” I put my hand on the dog’s soft head.
    Small bushes hung on to the sides of the stream in front of us. It was a ribbon of water, dotted with rocks like black turtles raising their backs to the sun.
    Sean Red was there somewhere, waiting to surprise the fish. Even I wouldn’t be able to spot him unless I caught a glimpse of the flame of his hair.
    I slid down the bank and landed in the mud at the edge. Lord Cunningham was probably at his dinner, thinking of the fish that had been cooked for him instead of the ones Sean and I would take.
    And then Sean was next to me, pointing along the rocks under the water where he had strung his net. I tucked up my petticoat and waded into the icy water.
    “Don’t splash,” he said as I wound my net a few feet away from his.
    “Don’t you splash.” I flicked a few drops at him.
    He laughed. He was never cold and I was always shivering.
    “Where did you get him?” Sean asked, thumb pointing at Maeve.
    “Her?” I bit my lip. “I found her.”
    Sean was satisfied. I would have been asking question after question, but he was looking down into the stream, waiting for his fish.
    We stood there for a long time. My toes were numb and my ankles. Sean stood stone-still, almost carved into the river, waiting.
    A small, silvery school of fish came, veering away from Sean’s net, around the rocks, and caught by mine. We slapped at them, tossing them up on the bank. I was soaking wet, freezing. My face burned, my eyes teared. Maeve dashed after the flapping fish.
    The water swirled as a larger fish broke the surface, chasing the school of fish ahead of it. Now it was caught. It swam along the net, trying to escape.
    We dived for it together. I flung myself across the rocks on top of it, Sean yelling, both of us breathless. “A beauty,” I said.
    “It’s huge,” Sean said.
    Then suddenly a man on a horse splashed down the shallow thread of water toward us. Lord Cunningham! He shouted as he rode, the tails at his coat flapping against his boots, his riding crop in his hand.
    I tried to scramble up, but my petticoat was heavy with mud and water, and the rocks were slippery under my bare feet.
    Sean held the big fish under one arm. At the same time he put his hand on my back, trying to push me up the bank.
    At last I heaved myself over the top and reached back to help him. But Cunningham leaned over the side of the horse. “Give that fish back,” he shouted, his face red. He lashed out with the crop, catching Sean on the shoulder, tearing his shirt.
    Still Sean tried to hold the fish, tried to crawl out of the horse’s way. “Rith leat,” he called to me. “Run.”
    Above the horse’s hooves we heard a deep growl. Maeve, teeth bared, tore into the water.
    In that instant I saw the bailiff coming, saw us out of our house. I saw Celia’s face.
    “Stay, Maeve,” I called to her,