It was Fintan who stepped forward, closing the distance to the woman. A man with a long brown robe followed him. A bit older than Diarmuid, he was a handsome man with broad shoulders. But for the small shaved spot on the back of his head, he could easily be a warrior. Even his ready stance made him appear able and well-trained.
“I have brought ye the priest, Beibhinn, just as ye asked. This is Father Thomas.”
“Oh, Fintan, my dear friend.” Beibhinn crossed to the man, hugging him tightly before facing the priest. Her expression serious. “We have dire concerns here, Father. Seers… and healers, all practicing the dark arts.”
The man in the brown robe nodded his head, as if considering Beibhinn’s words. Astrid felt the world tilt beneath her, and she squeezed Marcán’s hand. They needed to escape before the priest could hurt him, but Marcán didn’t seem inclined to move. The look of love and confidence he bestowed on her warmed her heart. He kissed her on the lips, a gentle kiss. “Be easy.”
“Beibhinn,” the priest spoke. “It has been many years since last I saw ye. Do ye not remember me?”
Immediately perplexed, Beibhinn’s expression turned to one of confusion, and she shook her head. The priest’s eyes held hers a moment before the man nodded to Fintan. Astrid couldn’t be certain what that meant.
Wearing a stoic expression now, the priest strolled within the little circle as if contemplating the best way to continue. He looked from face to face, acknowledging a few by name. Then he came to Marcán and stopped.
“Is this the man ye accuse?”
“The same. That is Marcán, son of Colmán.”
Astrid cringed at the way the priest searched Marcán’s face. She hugged his arm against her breast. No one could entice her to release him.
“And yer concerns, Beibhinn?”
“This man,” she pointed directly at Marcán, “is a Seer.”
“And is yer evidence against the man well-founded?”
“Very well-founded. Do ye not see his eyes? Two different colors. The mark of the devil.”
Thomas tilted his head. “Hmm, I do not believe I have ever heard such a thing as that. What of ye, Marcán?”
Beibhinn blanched. “Why are ye asking him? He will not admit it!”
The priest held up his hand to silence her. Raising his brows in question at Marcán, he awaited a response to his question.
“I have only heard of such things from her… several times, and from others who have also heard it from her.”
“And why do ye suppose she believes a Seer needs to have two different-colored eyes?” Thomas asked.
“Accusations are usually made against those who are different, are they not?” Marcán heaved a great sigh before speaking. “Ihave two different-colored eyes.”
“I agree.” The priest turned to her again. “Is that yer only proof?”
Beibhinn dropped her gaze as if searching for an answer. “Well, he… he sometimes knows… when it will rain!” The triumphant expression returned. “Quite often I have heard him declare as much.”
With lowered brows, Thomas responded, “The ability to tell from the clouds and the direction of the wind that it will rain does not make one a Seer, it makes one observant. Admittedly, he is more observant than most and always has been. How fare ye, Marcán?”
Gasping as the two men clasped hands, Beibhinn said nothing, but Astrid’s heart soared. This priest knew Marcán!
“Thomas. How was yer trip?”
The priest tipped his head and shrugged his shoulders. “The same as it always is this time of year. Cold nights and dreary days.”
Fintan moved closer to Beibhinn, whose head was violently shaking, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Why would ye wish the man to be punished as a Seer?” His voice was soothing, and she accepted his comforting embrace but remained quiet. “Marcán is a good man, Beibhinn. Kane thought so as well.”
Astrid held her breath. She had few memories of her father with Marcán, although they must have spent much time together. Marcán had been chosen astánaistefor Diarmuid because her brother believed it would have pleased their father. Her father must have thought quite a lot of Marcán. Tears gathered in her eyes as this realization sank in.
“And ye know that is what ye fought about the most,” Fintan said.
Astrid stiffened, ignoring the light squeeze of Marcán’s hand. She was intent on Fintan, the man who had known her father so well, who could tell her how he’d truly felt.
