Sir Ivor approached them then, nudging along a battered and bloodied Irishman with the tip of his sword. “We’ve caught more than that, milord,” he said, the smile on his face changing his entire appearance. He gave the man a poke, his smile widening as his scowling captive cursed him. “This is Kieran, Hugh MacCarthy’s kinsman.”
The bailey stood empty when Moira left the hall and paused beneath the small overhang. She’d forgotten about the rain, but she could scarce ignore it now. It poured over the roof and spilled down in front of her, a shimmering cascade in the torchlight. As she’d done as a child, she cupped her hand and filled it, bring the water to her lips.
The water tasted sweet. Usually she’d view it as a treat from God, but not tonight …
Not when it might increase the danger to Connor and the others.
She didn’t want to go back inside, not even for a cloak, so she rooted in her sewing basket until she found a man’s shirt, one of Lord Brien’s she planned to cut down into clothing for the babe. Draping it over her head and shoulders like a hood, she tucked the basket under her arm and crept down the stairs.
′Twas eerie to see the bailey completely empty. Between the men Connor had taken outside the walls with him and those he’d left behind, stationed at intervals along the length of the battlements and in the towers, almost all the men save the servants were gone. In this weather, she’d not expect anyone else to be roaming about, but it did give her a turn.
A chill roamed her spine, not entirely caused by the rain. What was happening?
Head down, she hastened across the courtyard to the gatehouse.
She understood Connor’s objections to her being involved in tonight’s activities. And she had no desire to endanger her child or herself.
But she had to know what was happening.
She could no longer remain cloistered away while the men dealt with events that could shape her life.
Her ignorance had cost dearly, and not only she had paid the price. She’d not allow herself to fall into that trap again.
Besides, a good many of the men who’d gone out to fight, Connor included, didn’t know the MacCarthys or their men.
Or precisely what they were capable of.
Treading with care over the slippery cobblestones, Moira crossed the last few yards to the tower door. It swung open before she reached it. “Milady!” the guard cried. He raced out into the rain and, catching her by the arm, helped her the rest of the way.
The man, one who’d come from England with Connor, released her at once and shut the door against the blowing rain. “Beggin’ your pardon for grabbing you, milady,” he said quickly, bowing. “Looked like you needed help.”
She waved aside his apology. “I thank you for it. ′Tis foul weather to be out in.” Her brief enchantment with the beauty of the rain had disappeared now that her feet were cold and wet and her gown liberally spattered with water.
“Is there somethin’ wrong, to bring you here?” he asked.
Moira slipped the shirt off her head and held it at arm’s length while she looked for somewhere to put it. Since she’d likely need it for the trip back to the keep, she tossed it, dripping, over a rack of pikes.
She set aside her basket. “Where is the captain of the guard?” she asked, starting up the stairs.
“Out with Lord Connor, milady.” The man followed her up the stairs. “Cedric is taking his place tonight.”
“Is my brother Domnal up here?”
“Nay, milady. He’s with the guards in the other tower.”
An unforeseen blessing! She’d hoped he wouldn’t be, since she didn’t know how he’d react to her presence here. Despite what he’d told her this afternoon, she couldn’t help but wonder whether he could completely escape the effects of Aidan’s influence.
If—or when—he reverted back to what she considered the usual O’Neill behavior, she’d rather not have to deal with it before witnesses.
They entered the room at the top of the gatehouse. A man—Cedric, presumably—stood at the window peering out through the half-opened shutters. He glanced back over his shoulder at them, then spun and bowed to Moira so swiftly he bobbled on his feet, banging into the shutter and slamming it closed.
She hoped he had better balance in battle, else he’d not last long. Perhaps that was why he’d been left behind.
Cedric straightened. “Lady Moira! Have you come to see how Lord Connor’s plans proceed?”
Moira barely hid her shock. Neither man seemed surprised to see her, nor that she’d want to know about the defense of the place.
Until Lord Brien’s death, which had forced her to assume command of Gerald’s Keep, she hadn’t ever been inside the gatehouse. And it had been a difficult adjustment for the remaining garrison to accept her involvement in military concerns. Some of them had never accepted it, she thought, Sir Ivor springing to mind.
But if these men expected it of her …
“Aye.” She crossed to the window and tugged open the shutter. “Have you anything to report?” she asked, peering out into the murky darkness.
Her belly prevented her from leaning far; she could see nothing, and rain spattered on her head. She drew back and watched as the two men exchanged a look she couldn’t interpret. “Well? Surely something’s happened by now.”
“I couldn’t see much, milady,” Cedric said. “Every once in a while the clouds part and the moon breaks through, but it’s stayed dark, mostly, since they left. Too noisy to hear much, either, with the wind and all. But it looked to me like something must have happened, since no one’s come back. Sir Ivor, Sir Will and the others are to wait for orders from Lord Connor—”
“Unless somethin’ happens on this side,” the other guard interrupted. “Then we’re to send ‘em help, if necessary. Got men ready to go, but it doesn’t look to me like they’ll be needed,” he added, sounding disappointed.
“We’d better keep a close watch, then.” Moira glanced out the window again, motioning for Cedric to join her there. “You’ll need to know if ′tis time to send out the others.”
She hoped he would, since she didn’t want to display her ignorance, nor ruin Connor’s plan by making a wrong decision.
The guard who had let her in went downstairs to his post, leaving Moira and Cedric to keep watch. Cedric extinguished the lanterns in the room save for the one at the head of the stairs, which he turned away. “Don’t want to show ourselves in the window,” he told her. “Besides, we’ll be able to see better without ‘em.”
Once she’d stared out into the darkness for a time, she could see more clearly. She noticed a sudden burst of motion near where the curtain wall curved away, not having realized the dark mass there was men until they moved. “Cedric,” she whispered, nudging his arm and pointing. “What are they doing?”
“Going back to join Lord Connor, most like,” he said. Squinting, he leaned out into the rain. Just as she thought she’d have to grab him by the belt to keep him from falling, he popped back in. “I’d better go tell Jean to make certain the men are ready to go,” he said, shaking his head like a dog and spraying water everywhere.
Grimacing, Moira stepped away from him. “What’s happened?” she asked urgently. She looked out again.
The moon showed through the clouds suddenly, exposing a small group of men huddled against the wall. “What if the MacCarthys come while Sir Ivor and the others are gone?” she asked, unable to keep her growing sense of urgency out of her voice. “There aren’t enough men there to guard the gate. And what about those who are supposed to guard the tunnel?” she asked. She straightened and moved back from the window. “If something is happening, perhaps we should send more men to the undercroft, as well.”
Would these men obey her orders? she wondered. She could only try, see how they reacted. “How many men are waiting below?”
“Twenty, milady,” Cedric said. “Most of them aren’t soldiers, though, just men who can handle a pike and look fierce.”
&n
bsp; That would be useful in the dark, Moira thought wryly. Still, mayhap there’d be strength in numbers. “Tell Jean to send out half the men as reinforcements,” she told him. “And tell the others to remain near the entrance to the undercroft, in case they’re needed there.”
“Aye, milady,” he replied with nary a bit of hesitation.
He raced down the stairs, leaving Moira to her solitary vigil. She didn’t understand why these men had obeyed her so readily, but she was grateful for it.
Grateful, too, that Connor had left Cedric, and not a member of her garrison, in charge of the gatehouse. Despite the months she’d been in command, she doubted her men would follow her orders now that Connor was here.
A quiet creak from below told her the door beside the huge gate had opened, and soon she saw men slipping along the narrow verge at the base of the wall.
Cedric ran back up the stairs, his face alight with excitement. “Jean says that the guards Lord Connor posted near where the tunnels are—in the undercroft—thought they heard the sappers getting ready to collapse the tunnels. Our men are going to see if they can roust them out before they get a chance to do it.”
“Is that what Lord Connor wanted?”
“I don’t know, milady,” he said. “But we cannot let them go that far, can we? Even if we stop the Irishmen now, who’s to say they won’t be back once the wall’s down?” He came to the window and gazed out, then turned to face her, his expression worried. “I’ve seen it before, milady. We cannot let that happen here.”
She understood what he was saying, but if Connor had not ordered it …
Uncertain, she returned her attention outside. Despite the moon’s glow there was little to see, but she thought she could hear something. “Listen, Cedric!”
They opened the shutters wide and Cedric hung out over the edge as he had before. “I hear battle cries, milady!” He wriggled in. “They’re fighting.”
Moira’s stomach clenched with fear, and the babe began to kick and squirm, perhaps in reaction to her tension. Taking several deep breaths, she willed herself to be calm and consider what they should do.
“If we can hear the battle, so might the men in the tunnel, yes?” she asked.
“I can’t say for certain, but they might, milady.”
′Twas clear to her now what they must do. “Tell Jean to send word to our men to capture the sappers. This could be a diversion so that they can fire the tunnels.”
“At once, milady,” Cedric replied, already at the head of the stairs.
The sounds carried on the wind had intensified. Moira stroked her stomach to soothe the babe—and distract herself—and tried not to imagine what could be happening to Connor and the others.
What if the MacCarthys had arrived in force? Or if they’d lain in wait for the castle garrison to venture outside the walls? They might have been gathered out there every night for some time, waiting for a chance to attack. ′Twas entirely possible that Domnal didn’t know all of Hugh’s plans.
Of course, if that were the case, they probably wouldn’t have expected a force of the size and skill that Gerald’s Keep possessed since Connor’s arrival.
Nay, she reminded herself, the MacCarthys knew the FitzCliffords had sent reinforcements. Aidan had said as much the night he’d come, and he’d also had the opportunity to gauge the size of their garrison, since he’d stood in the hall and seen how much larger their company had become.
By the Virgin, they should never have allowed Aidan into Gerald’s Keep …
Or having made that mistake, they assuredly shouldn’t have permitted him to leave, carrying information to his ally.
To her enemy.
She watched as Jean’s messenger slipped past her, lantern in hand, and joined the others. They moved beyond her sight around the curve of the wall, and all she could do was wait.
The sounds of battle faded away, and the clouds thickened again, obscuring the moon and draping the night in darkness.
Moira stood there and prayed, hoping that a sinner’s prayers had some value in God’s eyes if ′twas a just cause she prayed for.
Eyes closed, she repeated a paternoster and crossed herself. She thought she heard voices carried on the wind and opened her eyes.
Out of the night shone a lantern, then another, lighting the way for the men who approached, walking single file along the narrow band of earth between the base of the wall and the moat.
Praise the Virgin, they’d survived! She reached up to close the shutters, intending to meet them in the bailey.
She saw Connor then, at the end of the line of men. He paused just below her and glanced up. His face, pale and grim in the flickering light, became positively glacial when he spotted her. Silent and stern, he took a lantern from the man standing outside the door and disappeared into the building.
Heart racing, Moira stepped back from the window and headed for the stairs, bracing her hand on the wall for support.
Men crowded the guardroom, and she paused at the foot of the stairs. She couldn’t see Connor in the crush of large, armed warriors, and she didn’t dare venture among them. She moved up a step, hoping she’d be able to see better from the higher perch.
Suddenly the men fell silent, and a path opened across the middle of the room. She could see Connor now, though once she caught a glimpse of his expression, she wished she’d stayed upstairs.
“By the saints, woman—what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”
Chapter Twenty
Although she was dearly tempted to run back up the stairs, Moira held her ground and raised her head high as Connor crossed the guardroom and halted in front of her. Because she stood two steps above the floor, she had a clear view of him. His hair hung, dripping wet, to his shoulders, and fine beads of moisture clung to his skin. A flush of color rode his cheekbones, and the scar on his cheek shone stark white in contrast. His eyes glowed with anger. She could not meet that intent stare for long. She lowered her gaze, gasping at what she saw.
A dark stain ran the length of his right arm, the blood glistening bright against the dull iron of his mail sleeve and smeared along the side of his green surcoat.
She descended the last two steps and reached for his right hand. It was icy, damp with rain and blood. “My lord, let me take care of this.”
He shrugged free of her loose hold. “I asked you a question, milady.” His voice sounded calmer now, but ′twas as cold as the expression on his face.
She realized no one had moved nor said a word since Connor had spoken. Glancing past him, she saw that they were the focus of everyone’s attention.
She spied Dermot’s cousin standing behind Sir Ivor, watching them with mocking intensity. Raising her chin, she met him stare for stare and ignored his leering smile.
Anger fired her blood. Did Connor think to take her to task here, in full view of their men?
In view of a MacCarthy?
How dare he?
She stepped past him into the middle of the room. Connor swung around to keep her in view. “I’ll answer your question when I’m ready, milord, and I tell you now, it will not be here.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “Nor before witnesses.”
A murmur of laughter filled the room, bringing a surge of color to her cheeks. Connor’s expression changed, shifting from angry to thoughtful, curious.
Had she confused him?
She hoped so! No more of the tearful widow, she vowed. ′Twas past time she showed Connor FitzClifford the strong woman she wanted to be.
Starting now.
She cast a sweeping glance around the room. “I wouldn’t dream of taking you away from your duties.” Dropping into a respectful curtsy, she added, “Perhaps you’ll join me afterward to tell me how we fared.”
Connor bowed. “Perhaps I shall,” he said, one eyebrow quirked upward—a taunt, she decided.
Or a challenge?
She traversed the path that had opened for her and paused by the door. As soon as Jean op
ened it for her she nodded to the room at large and swept out—before her courage escaped her completely.
Connor watched Moira leave, wondering as she made her impressive exit if she’d forgotten that the weather was miserable and she hadn’t so much as a cloak to protect her from it. He nearly chased after her, but hadn’t the heart to spoil her accomplishment.
After he’d been such a fool.
He deserved every bit of her scorn for the way he’d spoken to her, he thought as he set about questioning his men. Once he realized that she’d been up in the gatehouse tower during the attack—that she’d been actively involved in commanding some of the garrison—his heart had clenched with fear for her.
Now that his temper had eased and the surge of battle lust flown from him, he regretted snarling at her—especially before their men. She’d been as safe there as anywhere else within the castle, and he’d been wrong to chide her as he had.
As the men reported what they’d seen and done during the battle, he knew Moira’s decision to send more men to help both inside and outside the castle had been wise. The sappers could have easily fired the tunnel while the battle raged, or fled to the cliffs. Connor had left her reinforcements outside on patrol, lest the MacCarthys return.
They’d been lucky that Domnal had come to them and shown him what MacCarthy planned. Gerald’s Keep remained intact and in their hands.
And he had a MacCarthy as hostage.
Connor ordered Sir Ivor—with Will’s help, in case d’Athée experienced a sudden return of his earlier behavior—to lock up their prisoners in the vaulted cells below the great hall. Placed under heavy guard, the Irishmen could stew there for a bit. Perhaps ′twould make them more amenable to talk—or to compromise.
His duties to his men carried out, Connor found the time had come for him to seek out Moira. Anticipation sang in his blood, sharp and tantalizing. Though he regretted what he’d said to her in the gatehouse, he couldn’t be sorry for her reaction.
Her beauty could not be denied, no matter what her mood, but as she’d been tonight—blue eyes flashing, her posture straight and proud—she’d been magnificent.
L'eau Clair Chronicles 04 - Lady of the Keep Page 20