?Bi bin againn,
Bi beoir againn,
Bi fion againn,
Bi roic againn.
Meilc is marrum,
Mil is bainne,
Sile fallain,
Meall dheth sin,
Meall dheth sin?
His voice was a low tenor, not amazingly musical, but not unpleasant either, and eminently suited for the lilting chant that was keeping him occupied in the sparse confines of his cell. His plaid was wrapped up and over his head and shoulders, keeping in what warmth he could, since the wool blanket they had provided was so old and thin it was scarcely better than nothing.
Who would have thought that the inn-keep?s brother would be the county sheriff? Hudson had come out much the worse of the brawl in the run-down little tavern, with everyone in the place getting in their blows. Although he had done more than his fair share of damage, as well, and a smile creased his face momentarily as he remembered that.
Still, five days had passed and he was still stuck in this filthy gaol. The black eye and split lip he had acquired during the brawl were long healed, and his ribs had gone from intensely painful to merely stiff and sore. He was ready to be on the road again, and the guard had said he was to be released today ? and as if the thought had summoned the guard, there he was, peering in through the bars.
?Eh, there, laddie, ye be about ready tae be on the road again?? The guard was a bent and stooped old man who had been nothing but courteous to Hudson, despite the sheriff?s hostility. Hudson couldn?t help answer with similar courtesy while the arthritis-twisted fingers worked on the lock.
?Aye, and well past time. Lost five days tracking my sister. Ye remember seeing a woman come through this way, playing and singing her way?? Hudson?s voice wasn?t as casual as he had been striving for, leaning more towards downright eager. He was rewarded by the spark of recognition in the old man?s eyes, and leaned down to listen to the guard?s answer while he finally exited the cell.
?Aye, wee lass with a voice like an angel. She headed on through t?moors, lad. Against advice, foggy day that it was.? The guard continued on in a mumble, shaking his head about stubborn women, but Hudson didn?t hear the rest of his words. He was already out the door, pack slung over his shoulder, mouth set and face pale with concern.
The moors were treacherous. He had a sinking feeling he knew why they hadn?t heard from Sianna in four years, and why he hadn?t been able to find a trace of her after this misbegotten village. As far as he could tell, it had been the last place that anyone had seen her. It was beyond hoping that he would find her alive, not after this long.
At the least, he could hope to find something left. Something to bring home.
Bi beoir againn,
Bi fion againn,
Bi roic againn.
Meilc is marrum,
Mil is bainne,
Sile fallain,
Meall dheth sin,
Meall dheth sin?
His voice was a low tenor, not amazingly musical, but not unpleasant either, and eminently suited for the lilting chant that was keeping him occupied in the sparse confines of his cell. His plaid was wrapped up and over his head and shoulders, keeping in what warmth he could, since the wool blanket they had provided was so old and thin it was scarcely better than nothing.
Who would have thought that the inn-keep?s brother would be the county sheriff? Hudson had come out much the worse of the brawl in the run-down little tavern, with everyone in the place getting in their blows. Although he had done more than his fair share of damage, as well, and a smile creased his face momentarily as he remembered that.
Still, five days had passed and he was still stuck in this filthy gaol. The black eye and split lip he had acquired during the brawl were long healed, and his ribs had gone from intensely painful to merely stiff and sore. He was ready to be on the road again, and the guard had said he was to be released today ? and as if the thought had summoned the guard, there he was, peering in through the bars.
?Eh, there, laddie, ye be about ready tae be on the road again?? The guard was a bent and stooped old man who had been nothing but courteous to Hudson, despite the sheriff?s hostility. Hudson couldn?t help answer with similar courtesy while the arthritis-twisted fingers worked on the lock.
?Aye, and well past time. Lost five days tracking my sister. Ye remember seeing a woman come through this way, playing and singing her way?? Hudson?s voice wasn?t as casual as he had been striving for, leaning more towards downright eager. He was rewarded by the spark of recognition in the old man?s eyes, and leaned down to listen to the guard?s answer while he finally exited the cell.
?Aye, wee lass with a voice like an angel. She headed on through t?moors, lad. Against advice, foggy day that it was.? The guard continued on in a mumble, shaking his head about stubborn women, but Hudson didn?t hear the rest of his words. He was already out the door, pack slung over his shoulder, mouth set and face pale with concern.
The moors were treacherous. He had a sinking feeling he knew why they hadn?t heard from Sianna in four years, and why he hadn?t been able to find a trace of her after this misbegotten village. As far as he could tell, it had been the last place that anyone had seen her. It was beyond hoping that he would find her alive, not after this long.
At the least, he could hope to find something left. Something to bring home.