Lord Jaspin reread the letter—appalled. He wondered if Aine had gone mental, between the death of her husband and carrying her baby—and all. The visible land? He hoped she hadn't done anything foolish.
He couldn't figure out why she was so adamant with her messages of doom and despair. Sure, there were a lot of wandering Irishmen, and hungry families, but that wasn't anything new. The economy was actually booming for the linen companies—things would turn around. The artisans were doing well, too. There was a great demand in England for their fine wares. There was a blind lady in the village just down from the O'Byrne estate who made fine pottery and china, the Lords and Ladies couldn't get enough of the stuff—even his wife had a few pieces. So Aine knew things were looking up.
He looked at the two letters and frowned. His stomach felt on fire. What was going on? He needed to get to the O'Byrne estate—like yesterday. He fumbled around for a pen and paper. He was in the process of writing instructions to his estate manager, when Corin walked into his office. His face was pale and he was sweating.
"Are you okay?" his father asked him, feeling a nerve twitching in the corner of his left eye.
"I just feel hot," Corin complained, "and a little achy. I guess I shouldn't have played such a vigorous game."
"Hurling again?" Lord Jaspin asked.
"Yes sir," Corin grinned while rubbing his arm. "The Lady Eugena was watching. I guess we played a little rougher than usual."
Corin pulled up his sleeve to see what was irritating his arm. Lord Jaspin's face went pasty white when he spied the raven on his son's forearm.
"What is it?" Corin asked his father.
Without a word, Lord Jaspin handed Corin, Aine's letter.