by June Francis
‘It is known to us. And I have heard of Sil O’Toole,’ he said with a grimness about his mouth. ‘This has been a great shock to his Majesty, and it is possible that he will wish to talk to you later. Now, I shall arrange for you to be removed to a chamber where my physician can tend your wound. I shall see you again, but now my guests await me.’
‘You are the Earl of Ormonde?’
He nodded, patting her hand before getting up.
The rest soon departed, except for the man to whom she had handed the scroll. ‘If you can walk, I shall show you where you may await the physician,’ he said with the slightest hint of disapproval.
‘I can certainly walk,’ she replied with dignity, ‘if you could help me up.’
He bent over and awkwardly hauled her to her feet. She decided not to admit to an overpowering weakness in her knees and a mugginess in her head. Her right hand covered her wound, which still bled sluggishly. Slowly she followed him down the stairs and through a doorway. It was a small ante-chamber to which he led her, that contained a narrow bed and a wooden chest. She lowered herself on to the bed.
‘I shall fetch the physician.’ He gave a stiff bow, and departed.
She stared dumbly after him, before kicking off her shoes and easing herself on the bed. Her shoulder ached and her arm throbbed. She did not feel like moving for a long time, as her eyes closed and her mind drifted into a pale void.
The physician roused her. He was grey-haired, with a cadaverous face that looked as if he never smiled. He showed no emotion, despite her being still clad in boys’ clothes. Perhaps he had been warned what to expect. He was accompanied by an elderly plumpish woman carrying a bowl and linen.
Constance attempted to sit up, but he stayed her with a hand, settling himself sideways on the bed. For a while she concentrated on anything but the pain of having her wound cleaned and dressed. She wondered where Niall was, and whether he had followed Brandon. When it was over, the physician lowered her arm gently on to the coverlet, and the woman loomed at his shoulder. ‘Thank you.’ Constance smiled weakly. ‘Shall I be able to get up now?’
‘I would advise you to rest,’ he murmured, collecting his implements together, ‘although the pain might keep you awake. His Grace suggested that you sleep here. It is doubtful whether the king will be able to see you tonight — or His Grace, for that matter. The feasting is likely to go on into the early hours. If there is anything you need, you could make it known to Mistress Dorothy here.’
The woman beamed at her. ‘You would like some food, my chick, and a cup of spiced wine, perhaps?’
‘Thank you.’ Constance was warmed by her smile.
Mistress Dorothy picked up the bowl and the bloodstained cloth. ‘Now you rest, and I won’t be long with your food.’ On those words, she and the physician left the room.
Constance lay staring into the shadows cast by the flickering lamp on the wall behind the bed, wishing that she had not been so foolish as to call out to Brandon. She had had no reason for doing so, unless it was because in that moment she had caught sight of Niall — she was certain it had been he — and wished him to be aware of whom she was chasing. It had been foolish!
Where was Niall now? What had he been doing? Had he not trusted her to deal with the matter herself? Just like a man! She turned on her side, wishing she could sleep for a while, but the wound in her arm was throbbing, and there was too much on her mind.
After a short while Mistress Dorothy brought her some capon and bread, accompanied by a pewter cup of tawny-coloured wine, which steamed gently. She helped her to sit up, then watched her eat and drink, before helping her out of her borrowed clothes. ‘Now you rest, my chick,’ she said, ‘and I’ll be back in the morning to see how you are. Maybe your pain will have eased. Women weren’t meant to embroil themselves in men’s affairs! You be glad now that it’s no worse.’ With that, she departed, chuckling to herself.
The wine had warmed and soothed Constance’s nerves. She lay back, cushioned slightly from the pain, and was just drifting into sleep when she heard the door open. Struggling against the lethargy that held her, she forced her eyelids open to see a shadowy figure looming over her. Her mouth opened to scream, but a hand quickly stopped the sound.
‘Hush, now, ‘tis only me.’ Slowly the hand was removed. ‘Are you badly hurt?’
‘What are you doing here?’ She blinked sleepily at him. He looked pale in the lamplight. ‘You gave me a fright — but you are always doing so!’
‘Always?’ Niall smiled grimly. ‘That’s a fine welcome you give me after the trouble I’ve had getting back in here and finding where they put you!’
Immediately she was fully awake. ‘You shouldn’t have come back! What if they catch you?’
He scowled. ‘You think so little of me that you didn’t expect me to show concern about your being wounded?’ He sat on the bed.
Surprised at his vehemence, she was at a loss to respond, so she changed the subject. ‘Never mind that!’ She shifted her legs slightly to give him more room, and then wondered if that was wise. ‘Did you catch Brandon?’
‘Almost, but in the end he escaped,’ he said regretfully. ‘He’s a slippery customer.’
‘You let him escape?’ She winced as she sat up. ‘But I saw you struggling — you nearly had him.’
‘I never thought he possessed such strength.’ He scowled. ‘Perhaps it was being so desperate. He bit me!’
‘Bit you? This is not a fortunate day for you, is it, Master O’More?’ she said unsteadily.
He sighed heavily. ‘That it isn’t! I might have caught him had it not been raining as though the heavens had burst asunder, but he gave me the slip up some lane.’
‘It might be that he went to the house of the man Sil said he was to meet. He could have passed on a warning.’
‘Most likely,’ he said shortly, ‘but I couldn’t force entry into every house in that area.’
‘No, I suppose you couldn’t,’ she murmured, surprising herself by feeling sorry for him. ‘It will be useless for the earl to arrange any sort of surprise attack on the men near Athy now.’
He nodded. ‘You told him?’
‘Ay.’ There was a silence.
‘You haven’t said how badly you are hurt.’ Niall’s hand rested lightly on her covered leg. ‘Yet I presume, from the way you speak, that there isn’t much wrong?’
‘A flesh wound, that is all.’ She touched her arm, conscious of his hand resting on her leg. ‘Although there seemed a terrible lot of blood. I fainted with the loss of it.’
‘That bad, was it?’ he drawled, not looking at her. ‘What caused you to draw attention to yourself like that? It was foolish! I could have dealt with him easily enough.’
‘So it seems,’ she said drily. ‘I’m wounded — and you lost him.’
‘Well, there’s nothing more we can do now.’ He got up abruptly. ‘How did it happen that you were chasing Brandon?’ His face was in shadow so that she could not read his expression, but he sounded irritable.
‘The most foolish of reasons,’ she murmured. ‘My king said, “After him!”, so I — went after him.’
A reluctant laugh sounded in the chamber as Niall sat on the bed again. ‘Such an obedient subject ... You surprise me! But then you are always doing that in the short time I have known you. And Ormonde?’
‘He must have been there then, but I didn’t know him to recognise him. Later he spoke to me — he was kind — and he called his own physician to tend me. I have been fed well, also.’
‘You didn’t mention my name, I hope?’ His eyes were on her face.
She bent her head, toying with her fingers. ‘Why should I mention your name?’
‘That’s not an answer; and by the tone of your voice, you did.’ He leaned towards her until his face was only inches away.
‘He — He sounded surprised.’ She pleated the coverlet between her fingers.
‘That doesn’t amaze me,’ he said sarcastically, resting
his arm on the pillow behind her head.
‘But you can’t be the only O’More in Ireland?’ She hitched the covers a little higher so that they covered her shoulders.
‘It was Ormonde who had me imprisoned in Dublin Castle,’ he murmured.
‘Oh!’ She could not think of anything else to say. His closeness was having its effect on her. ‘If — If you are concerned for your safety, perhaps you should go now?’
‘You want to be rid of me?’ He sounded amused.
She turned her head slowly, and their noses bumped. She drew back hurriedly. ‘You really should go!’ There was a hint of panic in her voice.
‘Do you fear me still, mistress?’ There was mockery in his tone.
She averted her face. ‘I have cause to fear you,’ she replied in a low voice.
‘But I don’t believe you are scared of me! From the way you conduct yourself, I doubt that much frightens you.’ His finger traced a path down her cheek, and she closed her eyes briefly.
‘Then you are mistaken.’ Now she faced him. ‘There is much that I fear. My father said that I was foolhardy even to contemplate coming to Ireland, and now I know he was right.’
‘Because of me?’ he asked harshly, his fingers tightening about her chin. He tilted her face so that they gazed into each other’s eyes.
‘In part,’ she responded in a strained voice. ‘Robin warned me also of the foolishness of my wishing to stay here, but I would not listen, because I thought it would be different from what it has been, so far.’
‘Normally, life is not the way it has been for both of us in the last few days,’ he said quietly. ‘Give Ireland a chance — giveme a chance to prove to you that that plan you had to breed horses could work.’ He seized her shoulders with both hands. ‘Don’t go back to England — not yet! Not before you decide whether your estates are a place you can reject — or the place of your dreams!’
She was silenced by the blaze of excitement that his words conjured up. Then she looked up into his scarred face, and doubted. ‘But ... there’s Robin!’ She sighed. ‘How can I trust you, when so much has happened between us?’
‘Trust me!’ He shook her slightly. ‘I shall not fail you. As for your kinsman, when you speak to Ormonde again, tell him about his being held hostage. It is possible that he might be able to help with the negotiations, so that both men are freed more swiftly.’
‘I had thought of it.’ Her excitement rekindled. ‘Have I not risked my life to bring a warning to Richard? That surely is a strong reason for Ormonde to comply with my request.’
Niall nodded. ‘If you don’t try, what hope is there of having what you desire.’ He released her abruptly. ‘I must go.’
Her body jerked upright. ‘You are leavingnow?’
His expression was suddenly inscrutable. ‘Isn’t that what you wanted? Or would you like to see me captured?’ His hand was on the door.
‘No,’ she replied baldly.
‘Good.’ His voice was soft, almost a caress. ‘When you speak to Ormonde, ask him about Henry Christade — and you’ll understand why I dare not stay any longer.’ He opened the door and was half-way through it, when she spoke.
‘How will you find me?’
‘I’ll find you,’ he answered, ‘even if it was necessary to scour the whole of Wicklow.’ Quietly the door closed behind him.
Constance flopped back on the bed, staring into the shadows. Uncertainty immediately assailed her. Was she mad? Fancy contemplating linking her life with a man like Niall O’More! Were they not enemies? Yet how many times had he saved her from being hurt? If they had not spent that night together by the bog, how would she feel about him now? She had no way of answering that question — because it could not be blotted out. He had said he would never forget it — and she wanted to forget it, but could not. Why could she not be sensible and cast the man completely from her thoughts? Perhaps it was as he had said — that they were fated to meet. But for what purpose and to what end? Maybe it would end here in this castle? It could be that they had been drawn together to save the king’s life — and that after tonight she would never see him again. She snuggled down in the bed, attempting to banish all thought of Niall’s talk about giving him a chance, and of his scouring Wicklow to find her. If he did find her, perhaps shemight give him that chance he had asked for.
When she woke the next morning, she lay luxuriating in the comfort of having a bed. But it was not long before she was disturbed by the entry of Mistress Dorothy bringing ale, bread and smoked bacon. The news, she declared, was that His Grace would see her in the hall as soon as possible — if she was feeling well enough.
‘Of course I’m well enough,’ Constance replied, before eating her breakfast.
Afterwards she submitted to the woman’s ministrations in re-dressing her arm and anointing it with salve. There was some explaining to do when Mistress Dorothy discovered her clothes on the chest. Constance realised that Niall must have placed them there before waking her last night, yet he had not said a word. The woman could hardly credit that a man could get in and out with all the guard alerted. It was a matter that had made
Constance wonder, and she could only surmise that he might have swum the river or the moat to escape. At last she was ready, and without more ado she went in search of the Earl of Ormonde.
He was sitting at a table, reading a scroll, and did not look up until she was in front of him. Then he scrutinised her carefully. ‘You look quite different, Mistress de Wensley. Please be seated. I pray that your wound is not causing you too much discomfort?’ he asked with grave courtesy.
‘No, Your Grace.’ Her expression composed, she sat on a stool.
There was a short silence before he spoke. ‘Perhaps you can explain, first, how you came in a boy’s livery into my castle?’
‘I could not enter by any other means.’ She proceeded to tell him most of what had happened, omitting how she had obtained the livery.
He toyed with the quill on the table. ‘You do not have to shield O’More, mistress. A boy has been here with your baggage and your mare.’ She was silent, intertwining her fingers. ‘I know from the boy’s description that it was Niall O’More, but I cannot understand how he came to help you — unless it was to serve his own ends.’
Her face showed conflicting emotions. ‘I did question his motives myself, but I cannot see what he could gain by putting his life in danger. Please tell me, Your Grace, who is Henry Christade?’
He seemed taken aback. ‘Henry Christade is a squire in the king’s service, acting as an interpreter. He speaks Irish. Surely he has nothing to do with this plot to kill the king?’
Her dark brows knitted. ‘There is nothing else?’
‘What do you wish to know?’ He moved the quill aside.
She leaned forward. ‘Master O’More told me to ask you about him. He said that I might understand why he had to leave so hurriedly. He had no mind to meet you, I believe.’
‘That young man and I have words to say to each other,’ said the earl grimly. ‘He once borrowed my favourite horse. He has yet to return it to me. How is it that you met this man?’
After the barest hesitation she told him of Robin’s capture.
‘Ah! I think I understand.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘I will tell you a little more about Christade. He was in my service a long time ago, and was captured by the native Irish. For seven years he lived with them, until his captor was in turn taken by the Duke of Clarence. An exchange was arranged, although Christade was reluctant to leave, having married the daughter of his captor. He had two daughters of his own, by then. He and his wife went with one daughter to live in Bristol, the other stayed behind to comfort her grandfather. It is likely that O’More feared being captured and exchanged for your kinsman.’ Absently the earl smoothed the parchment on the table. ‘I understand O’More’s concern for Dermot O’Toole, having heard of the friendship between them. Now Sil O’Toole’ he picked up the quill, turning it between his fingers, ‘
— is another matter altogether. It’s rumoured that it was he who struck the blow that resulted in the scar on O’More’s face, so ensuring that there was no chance of his ever gaining the chieftaincy of his tribe. Although I doubt whether he had such ambitions; his loyalty would be to Dermot, who has a greater claim.’
Constance was confounded — the horse-thief a chief of a tribe! ‘But surely that would mean that he was a member of the Irish nobility?’
The earl smiled. ‘If you asked half the men in Ireland, they would claim to be descended from the old kings of Ireland — and most likely it would be true! There are some who would claim that the old ways were the better ways. Sil O’Toole, for instance!’ He frowned. The reason, perhaps, for O’More’s face being spoilt. His mother is some kind of cousin to the chief, and so many of their young bloods get killed. If not in fighting us, they fight among themselves. In the old days, a man had to be perfect in face and form to rule — and if Sil had his way ...’ He shrugged.
‘But of what concern can it be of Sil’s? He’s a bard.’
‘Their bards exert some influence — but I would say that Sil is more than a bard — he is afilidh.’
Her brow wrinkled. ‘What is afilidh?I have heard the word, but I cannot remember.’
‘They are much more than poets — they are also seers and teachers. They can advise the ruler and witness contracts. They also use their power of satire to undermine a leader’s confidence, and that can destroy a chief and make him look unworthy in the eyes of the tribe. Maybe he feared that O’More, if he gained the leadership, would not be so easily influenced by him because O’More was reared outside the tribal influence, on account of his mother’s actions. It is possible that it was because Sil was involved that he took a hand in helping you to thwart this plot against the king’s life.’ He shrugged his velvet-clad shoulders. ‘But that is enough about O’More. I must tell you that Sil escaped our net. Brandon must have reached him in time to warn him. When some of our men went to the cave, the gang were gone. They could be lying in wait somewhere on the road to Waterford, but we shall be ready for an ambush.’ He stopped to gaze at her over his clasped hands. ‘I shall do what I can to ensure the speedy exchange of your kinsman for Dermot O’Toole. He is not one of the more important hostages,’ he said at last. ‘But really we cannot allow you to wander over Ireland in the way you have, Mistress de Wensley. Your falling into the hands of O’More is proof of that. Not to mention Brandon’s.’ He pressed his fingertips together. ‘This man Upton — you left him at Naas?’