The Faeries' Harp

3: Into the Night

“Saoirse, really, it’s too early to be awake,” Marianne groans.

“Which means he should be asleep down in his quarters and won’t be spoiling my plans,” Saoirse replies, quiet but intense. Marianne knows the fire in her friend’s eyes means neither one of them will be sleeping until Saoirse’s plans have been set into motion.

“What’re you up to this time?”

“He asked me at supper why I respected his rules about leaving the property when I can’t be trained to hold my tongue.”

“It’s a valid question.”

“Exactly. So I’m leaving.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Serious as the plague.”

“Where will you go? How will you live?”

“Vivica packed some provisions for me, here.” Saoirse pulls a few leather saddlebags from under her bed. One is stuffed with bread; another with hardboiled eggs; another with dried meat; another with dried fruit. She also has a few skins full of wine and water.

“But your destination, Saoirse?”

“Best not to speak of that, even to you.”

“You have absolutely no idea. Are you out of your mind?”

“Maybe, but if I don’t know where I’m going, small odds he can figure it out.”

“Why this time? You’ve endured so many of those suppers, and this suitor seemed halfway decent.”

“Halfway decent is still halfway impossible to marry, and I just…. It wasn’t what the suitor said but what Lord Rioghnan said that tipped the scales.”

Marianne sighs heavily. “I suppose that’s reasonable.” She and Vivica had been eavesdropping on the supper and heard all the terrible things Lord Rioghnan had said.

“I’ll take Bergljot. He never rides her or uses her for the carriage. It’ll be a long while before he notices she’s gone,” Saoirse tells Marianne, as much for her own benefit as for her friend’s.

“Won’t stop him from noticing that you’re gone,” Marianne points out. “Soon as he brings in the next suitor, if not sooner—”

“Which is why you and the rest of the staff are going to cover for me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just, please. Whenever he asks any of you where I am, tell him you just saw me and I was heading to…someplace else. Just make something up. That ought to conceal my absence a good long while, in a house this large.”

Marianne hates to admit it, but this is not the worst plan Saoirse has ever come up with. In fact, it stands a reasonably good chance of working, at least for a while.

“Aren’t you supposed to be confined to your chambers?”

“Aye, but if I can’t be trained to hold my tongue, how can I possibly be expected to abide by that directive?”

The two young women share a brief giggle.

“Quick, help me dress. I want to be gone before there’s any chance the ogre is awake,” Saoirse urges. Along with the provisions, Vivica brought Saoirse peasants’ attire, which is much simpler than the gown she wore to supper and takes much less time to put on.

“Very convincing,” Marianne compliments once Saoirse is dressed. “What else can I do for you?”

“Take these sheets to the laundry once I’ve made it to the ground,” Saoirse replies, pulling a makeshift rope of twisted sheets knotted together from under her bed. She proceeds to tie one end to the bedpost, fling her window open, and toss the other end of the sheet-rope out.

“Why not just use the door, at this hour?”

“That takes all the fun out of it.” Marianne helps Saoirse strap the saddlebags and wineskins to her person for her journey to the ground. Saoirse also conceals a knife in each boot, and she ties several small pouches of coins she’s pilfered from her father, in preparation for her next trip out among the common people, inside her clothing.

“You should be good to go, then, provided that rope will get you safely to the ground. Godspeed, Saoirse. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Freedom shouldn’t be that hard to find, once I’m out of his grasp. Best wishes to you and the others. I’d take you all with me if I could.”

“Not nearly so much a prison for me as it is for you. Easier money than I could make anywhere else,” Marianne assures Saoirse. She doesn’t know what she would do without the job, but she doesn’t blame the blonde beauty for wanting out. I’d do the same in her place, if that lout was trying to sell me off to the highest bidder, she thinks.

Marianne and Saoirse share a quick embrace, made awkward by all the equipment on Saoirse’s person, before Saoirse swings herself out the window with remarkable grace for a young woman of noble birth. Her climb down the makeshift rope is less graceful; she has never done anything like this before, and it shows. However, she doesn’t rush, and she makes it to the ground safely without losing a single coin. She lets out a quiet whistle, which is Marianne’s cue to pull the sheets back into her room, and makes her way as quietly as possible to the stables.

The door is unlocked for her; Vivica must have delivered her message to Gawain, the stable-master. I wish I could thank her again. This never would have worked without her, Saoirse muses, but she wastes no time in going to Bergljot’s stall.

“Hey there, pretty girl. Ready for a ride?” Saoirse asks Bergljot quietly. The dapple-grey mare nickers softly and stamps a hoof; she’s high-spirited and never turns down a chance to leave the confinement of her stall.

Saoirse’s hands work with speed and self-assurance to groom Bergljot and get her saddle blanket, saddle, and bridle into their proper places for the long journey she’s planning. A few extra moments are all it takes to get the saddlebags and other provisions attached to the saddle. Saoirse leads Bergljot at a cautious walk out of the stable, closing the door silently behind them. Then she expertly swings herself into the saddle, and she and Bergljot are on their way. They keep a slow walk while they are in sight of Lord Rioghnan’s mansion, but once they’re past the first clump of trees, Saoirse urges Bergljot to a gallop. She clears the fence around Lord Rioghnan’s land without hesitation, and just like that, the two of them are on their way to freedom.