Free A Secret and Unlawful Killing by Cora Harrison

the crowd followed
by a tall, brown-haired man, who stood affably behind him, looking around at the crowd in a friendly fashion. Mara recognized this man instantly although it was a while since she had seen him.
    Murrough, the younger son of King Turlough Donn, greatly resembled his father. He had the same light green eyes, the same war-like moustaches curving down from either side of his mouth, the same brown hair, though his father’s was greying. However, the son looked quite different to the father in his dress. While Turlough wore the léine and brat of his ancestors, Murrough was dressed in the latest English fashion of skin-tight hose and very short velvet doublet barely reaching to the top of his legs. He looked very out of place, thought Mara, in this assembly of clansmen. The O‘Brien clan, in particular, viewed him with a certain disdain; Teige O’Brien, with a broad grin on his face, was whispering behind his hand to his cousin, Cian, the silversmith.
    Mara came forward to meet the young man. ‘Murrough!’ she said. ‘You are well? And your family, also?’ She did not enquire about his father; Turlough, she knew, was not getting on well with this son, though previously Murrough had always been the favourite, and still was, she suspected, despite his infatuation with all things English. She wondered briefly whether Murrough knew of his father’s hopes to marry Mara, Brehon of the Burren, and what he thought of it. However, their relationship had always been warm and friendly and she was pleased to see that there was a beaming smile on his face as he greeted her and asked after her family.
    ‘Do you think you can handle this affair?’ he asked teasingly.
    Mara smiled at him sweetly, raising her dark eyebrows in
a look of polite enquiry. She always enjoyed his wit and his sense of fun.
    ‘Handle?’ she asked in a puzzled tone of voice.
    ‘This is a very serious matter,’ he said with an amused glance at Garrett. No doubt Garrett had been pouring out his thoughts to the king’s son.
    ‘Every death is a serious matter,’ said Mara gravely.
    ‘Oh, the death, that, of course,’ said Murrough, his green eyes dancing with mischief, ‘but there is also a matter of stolen goods, a pouch full of silver; not just an ordinary theft, but a theft from a taoiseach.’ Again, he gave a quick amused glance at Garrett.
    ‘The law makes provision for all theft, and for all cases of serious injury and of death,’ said Mara evenly, ignoring the irony in his tone. She did not wish Garrett to feel that he was being laughed at by this boy. Without waiting for an answer she addressed Garrett.
    ‘I agree, Garrett, this is, indeed, a terrible matter. There is no doubt, I think, that Ragnall’s death is a secret and unlawful killing, but I will make the announcement now and call for evidence.’ She moved a little closer to Garrett, deliberately turning her back on Murrough, and said in a low voice: ‘Of course the people were called to Poulnabrone to hear this case between Fintan, the blacksmith, and Ragnall, the steward, but now that Ragnall is dead I think we can let this matter drop, do you agree? Ragnall had no right to take those branched candlesticks from Fintan’s man, Balor; the whole of the Burren knows that Balor was classified as a druth and, as such, he could not have had the authority of his master to give the candlesticks. I assure you that is the legal position.’

    She waited calmly, looking up at him. Garrett was a tall man, who looked more than his thirty years. He was staring down at her with his prominent gooseberry-coloured eyes and furrowing his brow. He would look better with the hairstyle of his youth, she thought. The English fashion for hair curled back, on him, revealed an abnormally high, white forehead which had until recently been covered with the Irish glib (fringe). The height of his forehead seemed to accentuate the size of the huge fleshy nose and the heavily swelling lower lip. An