She told me Widow M- Widow Magaidh had slipped last night,” she murmured to him, trying not to cry. A clatter of wood made her flinch. She looked up to see Eoin towering over them both. He gripped them by the shoulders, pressing for more information. They were startled by the unusual outburst. Seonaid shook her head at him sadly.
Where? He demanded from her. “She was found just outside of town near the fork that takes you up to Dubh’s house and out to her house. She…she hit her head, they say,” she hiccuped.
No, where is she now! he persisted.
“Her body was sent to Cill Chriosd this morning. I barely had time to catch the cart before they left. I left a few flowers on her shroud. They planned to have her buried this evening if the snow permits. If – if they don’t get her in the ground now, the dirt’ll be too hard to dig for the next month,” Seonaid explained.
The man in the red cloak released them, sinking to the ground in a heap. He wished, as he had so many times before, that he could scream, but all that he could do was allow his sorrow and frustration to boil inside. Fearchar patted him on the shoulder. “So sorry, doc. Ah didnae ken you knew her well ta work…ta work yerself up o’er her. She’ll be missed,” Fearchar walked to his little stool by the hearth and sank onto it. Seonaid joined him, sitting next to his feet and laid her head on his lap. He absently brushed at her hair, soothing himself.
Time passed and eventually Eoin pulled himself from the cold floor and rolled into the little bed next to the wall. He pulled his cloak close around him and made sure the hood covered his mask as much as possible. He closed his eyes and allowed his memories to drift him into a restless sleep.
The weeks passed, uninterrupted of any more phenomenal events. Eoin kept busy with his clients that made their way to Seonaid’s house.