THE FAERIE HILLS (A Muirteach MacPhee Mystery Book 2) Read online

  The Faerie Hills

  A Muirteach MacPhee Mystery

  Susan McDuffie

  Copyright © 2011 by Susan McDuffie

  All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Originally published in 2011 by Five Star Publishing, a part of Gale, Cengage Learning, in conjunction with Tekno Books and Ed Gorman.

  Cover Design by Deirdre Wait, High Pines Creative, ENC Graphic Services

  eBook editions by eBooks by Barb for booknook.biz

  ISBN for e-book editions:

  Mobi (Kindle) edition: 978-0-9847900-3-6

  Epub edition: 978-0-9847900-2-9

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks go to so many people, especially Rafe Martin, Robin Dunlap, Donna Lake, and June Stevens for reading the initial manuscript and making helpful suggestions, and to Paterson Simons of Simons Fine Art (www.simonsfineart.com) for his wonderful work on the maps. Sharron Gunn’s help with Gaelic and Gaelic pronunciation is most appreciated and incredibly helpful. Thanks also go to George and Fiona Eogan and the Archaeological Institute for the amazing and inspiring tour of Ireland and stories of Bronze Age gold. Lastly, thanks to my parents, Bruce and Wini McDuffie, for their loving encouragement of a daughter who believed in fairies.

  The Faerie Hills was partially inspired by the Bridget Cleary case in 1890s Ireland. A man, convinced his wife had been “taken” by the fairies, burned her to death in an attempt to drive the changeling out. This story intrigued me and I wondered what it might be like to live in a culture and a society believing so firmly in the “good people.” This book is my attempt to answer that question.

  Contents

  Map of Colonsay

  Map of Colonsay, Islay and Jura

  Cast of Characters

  Glossary and Pronunciation Guide

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 • Chapter 2

  Chapter 3 • Chapter 4

  Chapter 5 • Chapter 6

  Chapter 7 • Chapter 8

  Chapter 9 • Chapter 10

  Chapter 11 • Chapter 12

  Chapter 13 • Chapter 14

  Chapter 15 • Chapter 16

  Chapter 17 • Chapter 18

  Chapter 19 • Chapter 20

  Chapter 21 • Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Map of Colonsay, in the Hebrides

  Colonsay, Islay and Jura

  Cast of Characters

  On Colonsay

  At Dun Evin

  Muirteach MacPhee

  Somerled, his dog

  Mariota Beaton, daughter of a physician from Islay

  Gillespic, Muirteach’s uncle, Chief of the Clan MacPhee

  Euluasaid, his wife

  Dòmhnall, their son

  Malcolm, Gillespic’s oldest son

  Niall, their foster son, grandson of the Lord of the Isles

  Fergus, Gillespic’s man

  Rhoderick, another of Gillespic’s men

  Elidh, a pretty maidservant

  Ranald MacDonald, Niall’s father from Benbecula, and a son of the Lord of the Isles

  Sìne, Ranald’s wife

  Liam MacLean, visiting Colonsay from Mull

  Griogair MacRuari, visiting from Uist

  Raghnall MacRuari, his brother, also visiting

  In Scalasaig

  Seamus, Muirteach’s fourteen-year-old friend

  Aorig, Seamus’s mother

  Maire, Sean, and baby Columbanus, Muirteach’s half sister and half brothers, now living with Aorig and her family

  Donald Dubh, tavern keeper

  Here and there on Colonsay

  Àine, Fergus’s auntie

  Iain, Fergus’s cousin

  Gillean, a “faerie doctor”

  Eachann Beag, an elderly man with a goat named Muireal

  Father Gillecolm, the priest at the village of Kilchattan

  Seonag, a girl from the village Riasg Buidhe

  Seonag’s sister

  Aidan, her baby

  At the nunnery at Balnahard

  Sister Morag

  Sister Euphemia

  Abbess Brìde

  On Jura

  Gormal, a witch

  Lulach, her son

  An old village woman on Loch Tarbert

  Ian and Marsali, friendly villagers

  On Uist

  Donal MacRuari, the Gorrie, Chief of the MacRuaris

  Marsali, his daughter

  Raghnall’s sister

  On Islay

  John MacDonald, the Lord of the Isles

  Fearchar Beaton, a physician

  Alsoon, Muirteach’s housekeeper on Islay

  Her husband

  Glossary and Pronunciation Guide

  Many thanks go to Sharron Gunn, an incredibly knowledgeable and skilled instructor, for her great help and expertise in making this list possible. Sharron teaches a wonderful on-line Gaelic class and many other fantastic classes. Many of her classes are offered through Hearts through History Romance Writers ( www.heartsthroughhistory.com )

  For Gaelic:

  Stress is usually on the first syllable

  CH pronounced as in loch or Bach; not as in church

  ch pronounced as in church

  All words below are Gaelic unless otherwise noted.

  Amadan (fem.: Amadain): fool (ah-mah-dan) (ah-mah-deen)

  Bairn: (Scots): a child [behrn]

  Bean-Shìdh: banshee; faerie woman or faerie wife; woman of the mound (ben-hee)

  Birlinn: Scottish galley, varying in size from a few to many oars (bur-leen)

  Brat: mantle (brat!)

  Cailleach: old hag, nun, old woman, goddess in winter or death aspect (cah-lyaCH)

  Copag: dock, a medicinal plant (co-pak)

  Dia: God (jee-ah)

  Dia dhuit: God be with you (literally: God to you) (jee-ah ghoot)

  Eilean: island (ay-lan)

  Gille Mor: sword bearer (gil-lyuh more)

  Glaiserig, also Glaistig: the gray slinking one, a female faerie (glash-jeek)

  Gruagach: the glaiserig’s male companion (groo-uh-gaCH)

  Leamhnach: a small yellow flower, known as tormentil or bloodroot (lev-naCH)

  Leine: saffron shirt, made of linen

  Luchd-tighe: chief’s bodyguard (luCHk tye-uh)

  Machair: level or low land, a plain (maCH-ir)

  Mazer: (Medieval English) drinking cup

  Mether: (Medieval English) wooden square-sided drinking cup

  Mo chridhe: my heart (maCH-ir)

  Nabhaig: a small boat (nah-vak)

  Nathrach: of a serpent, nathair = serpent (nah-ir)

  Quaich: (Scots) round saucer-like drinking cup see Gaelic Cuach [kwayCH]

  Samhain: the old Celtic festival falling before All Saints' Day (sah-veen)

  Sgian dubh: dagger (skee-an doo)

  Sithichean: the faerie, the good folk (shee-ee-CHyun)

  Sithean: a faerie hill (shee-an)

  Uisgebeatha: whiskey (literally, the water of life) (oosh-kuh beh-ah)

  Prologue

  Isle of Colonsay, October 1373

  “You’ll be getting a curse for sure.”

  The wind, blowing stron
gly over the golden sands of the Tràigh Bàn this morning, sent clouds overhead scudding across the sky, like lambs frolicking on a pasture of blue. The noise of the wind and the waves might have obscured the speaker’s words and lost them in the breeze, for the young boy either did not hear, or chose to ignore the warning. He continued walking across the sand to the black cliffs on the north side of the bay.

  “Niall, did you not hear me? You should not be digging up there.” The older boy ran and easily caught up with the younger one, then grabbed him by the arm. “Father will be angry. We were to be looking for that cow.”

  “You are an old woman, Dòmhnall!” Niall cried as he wriggled his way out of Dòmhnall’s grasp. “Aren’t you wanting to know what is in the cairn there?”

  The younger boy gestured up past the cliffs towards the two hills that overlooked the bay. He then looked obstinately at the older boy a moment, squinting, for the sun was bright that day and the wind brisk where it blew along the beach.

  “After we are finding the treasure we can buy your father many cows. And that red one will be going back to the dun on her own—she is a smart one.” Turning his back on Dòmhnall, he took a path that climbed upwards towards one of the hills.

  After a bit of climbing, he stopped and turned around to catch his breath and glare at the older boy who followed behind him. “You will be coming back and taking the treasure for yourself, that is what you will be doing, Dòmhnall.”

  “No, no, I would never be doing that, not for the life of me. You are a fool, Niall, even to be thinking of digging into that cairn! You’ve heard the stories. Wasn’t it young Teàrlach himself who was stolen away by the sithichean for merely lying down to rest upon a faerie hill?”

  “I am no fool! It’s you who are the fool!”

  The dark-haired boy shook his head. “Not I. Whatever is there belongs to the good people, the sithichean. I am telling you, Niall, you should not be disturbing those things. You should listen to me, for I am older than you.”

  The younger boy looked at him, then smiled and said slowly, “You’re afraid.”

  “Aye,” retorted Dòmhnall, “and so should you be! The faerie are not to be trifled with.”

  “My grandfather is the Lord of the Isles. I am not afraid of anything!”

  With that he turned away and kept climbing, followed reluctantly by his companion. Finally the boy reached his objective, a jumbled pile of rocks and turf, settled himself by the edge, pulled a small spade from his bag, and began digging away at the mound. After a time he held up something, his freckled face flushed with triumph.

  “A faerie arrow! Look, Dòmhnall.”

  The older boy turned to look, and examined the flint arrowhead that lay in his foster brother’s palm without touching it, then crossed himself.

  “You should not be touching that.”

  Niall shook his blond head stubbornly.

  “Dòmhnall, it’s worse than an old woman you are. Don’t you remember himself telling us all last night about the faerie gold to be found in these mounds, how it is just waiting, just lying on the ground it is.”

  “That is just a story.”

  “No, it’s wrong you are. There is faerie gold, for I was finding a piece of it myself. And I will be finding more of it. It must be here.”

  “There is no faerie gold, and if there were, it would be bringing bad luck with it.”

  The younger boy ignored him.

  “Well, if you are such an amadan, I myself will not be. I will be going back now.”

  The younger boy continued his excavation while his foster-brother turned and waited a moment.

  “Are you not coming with me?”

  The younger boy did not answer, but kept digging.

  “I’m away then,” Dòmhnall declared, but with a hint of hesitation in his voice. He waited, staring at Niall, whose blond head bent intently over his excavation. Finally, hearing no reply, Dòmhnall walked away, leaving the younger boy still delving into the jumbled pile of rocks.

  Chapter 1

  The wind blew strong that day, I remember, whirling the yellow leaves, which were just beginning to fall, and setting them to dancing for some few brief moments before they touched the ground. Although I was supposed to be mending a fishing net that afternoon as I sat outside my fine new house on the Rinns, it was little enough that I was getting done on it. I let the net fall in my lap and stared at the white clouds that rushed by overhead, as if in their rapidly changing shapes I would find the answer to the disease that plagued me that day.

  Truth to tell, there should have been nothing to discountenance me. I was settling in on my new lands, given me at the beginning of the summer. I had solved the murder of my father for the Lord of the Isles, thereby serving His Lordship, and helping him out of a nasty spot of potential trouble with the Holy Father in Rome, besides.

  The holding on Islay was neat and well-run, a far cry from my other house in Scalasaig, and as an old couple who lived there as caretakers still stayed on, I had not yet had a chance to run it into the ground. I found myself enjoying the novelty of an ordered house and a well-filled larder. The holding lay in close proximity to the lands of Fearchar Beaton, the physician, and his daughter Mariota, and that served only to increase its attractiveness in my view.

  I had seen little of Mariota that summer or during the early autumn. She had often been at Finlaggan, or Dunstaffnage, with her father, while I had been careful to keep myself out of the sphere of His Lordship’s court. The MacDonald had said he would call upon me for other matters as he saw fit, and I thought it best not to be altogether too easy to find. I did not doubt he would find me quickly enough when he needed me.

  Somerled dozed at my feet, his legs twitching in his sleep, as though he chased rabbits. About the only game that lazy hound did chase, I thought to myself. I idly watched two gulls fighting over a bit of fish thrown on the midden, but it was soon enough that the warm sun shining down worked on me too, and my own eyelids closed.

  I could not have slept long, but I dreamed.

  A dark gray mist settling over a strange rocky landscape, and through the fog a voice crying, but I could not catch the words. A child’s voice it seemed to me that it was, but, before I could be sure of it, the voice was swallowed by the mist, and the fog pierced by flame, and I saw a funeral procession, walking on a rocky strand, lit by torches with the sounds of the dirge and the women keening loud in my ears.

  I woke with a start. Little enough time had passed: a moment or two, no more, for the same gulls still fought in the midden and Somerled still slept at my feet. The sun looked not much further advanced than it had been, and the same clouds, their shapes but little changed, danced in the sky. I shuddered and at that moment a cloud moved over the sun and the world grew dark for an instant.

  A dream was all it had been, I told myself, not a true seeing. It was my mother who had had the Sight, not myself.

  But I laid the net down, and went inside where Alsoon, who kept house for me with her husband, had left some ale and bannocks on the table. I waved the flies away that buzzed around the pitcher. I took the cloth off the jug, and poured myself a beaker of ale, which I drank straight away. I poured some more ale, and then wolfed down a bannock, but the oats tasted dry on my tongue.

  * * * * *

  Some two days after that the messengers came. Late afternoon it was, with the sun just setting in a blaze of rose and vermilion, when I saw Rhoderick walking up the path that led to my steading. A Colonsay man, one of my uncle’s men. And Rhoderick had not journeyed alone. The crew of the birlinn Rhoderick had brought over to Islay, some twelve men, followed him.

  “Alsoon,” I called. “We have visitors.”

  Alsoon and her husband came eagerly enough, for visitors were not all that common, and so we all three were waiting, along with Somerled, when Rhoderick and the others reached the cottage.

  “Dia dhuit,” I greeted him politely enough, although my heart was sinking.

  “And to you
,” returned Rhoderick. “You are looking well, Muirteach.” He paused, and looked around the cottage. “This is a fine place, and no mistake.”

  I agreed, and introduced Alsoon and her husband.

  “And what is the news, Rhoderick?” I asked, after he and his crew had seated themselves on the benches outside my house and finished the ale Alsoon had brought them. I did not think these men carried good news with them. “What is bringing you Colonsay men so far from Dun Evin this evening?”

  Rhoderick looked at the ground, his red hair not hiding a bit of bald spot on the top of his head. “It is bad news that we are bringing, Muirteach, and no mistake.”

  The oarsmen suddenly fell silent. The sunset seemed to cast a reddish glow over the whitewashed wall of my cottage while I waited for him to continue.

  “It is young Niall. The boy your uncle is fostering for that Ranald MacDonald from Benbecula, the one who holds Borve Castle on that tiny island. His Lordship’s own son, off that Amie MacRuari. Niall will be Ranald’s third son, fostered at your uncle’s. So he is grandson to His Lordship himself. The boy’s gone missing.”

  I thought of young Niall, the grandson of the Lord of the Isles. A late son of his father, he had only eight years and a wild adventurous streak in him. Bad enough to have a young lad go missing, but for the boy to be the grandson of the MacDonald made an additional, unwelcome tangle in the skein. The Lord of the Isles was our overlord, chief of the Clan MacDonald, and ruler of a confederation of clans that stretched across the Hebrides and into the mainland. A powerful man, and a canny one, as I had learned that previous summer after my father’s death.

  “He’s probably just camping out in an old dun. He’ll be back soon enough, when his hunger drives him home,” I said, not believing the words as I spoke them.

  “God grant you the right of it,” Rhoderick replied, “but your aunt is aye worried over it all, and your uncle too, although he says less. And he himself was asking me to sail over and fetch you, for he was saying there is none like you to be finding something lost. Or someone, as it would be.”

  “When was the boy last seen?” I asked.