Rory

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  RORY

  Ruth Langan

  Book 1 - The O'Neil Saga

  A MAN MOST WANTED

  Rory O'Neil was hunted by every soldier who wore an English

  uniform, but that would not stop his quest for revenge.

  A MAN MOST DESPISED

  He was hated by those who knew him as the Blackhearted O'Neil. But

  to those who believed in his cause, he was the only warrior brave

  enough to save them.

  A MAN MOST LOVED

  AnnaClaire Thompson knew the first time she witnessed his passion

  that Rory was the man who would lay claim to her heart. But would

  the driven Rory ever return her love?

  For sweet little Macey Langan Bissonnette And her big sisters,

  Aubrey, Haley and Kelsey And her proud parents, Carol and Bryon

  And to Tom

  Always

  Prologue

  Ireland, 1560

  The chapel at Ballinarin, the ancestral home of the clan O'Neil, was

  filled to overflowing with family and friends who had come from as

  far as Malahide Castle in Dublin, and Bunratty Castle in Clare. The

  mood was festive as they prepared to witness the union of Rory

  O'Neil, eldest son of Gavin and Moira, and his beloved Caitlin

  Maguire.

  In a small room at the back of the chapel Rory paced while his

  brother, Conor, stood by the door and watched as the last of the guests

  filed into pews.

  "What's keeping her?" Rory paused. Sunlight speared through a high

  window, turning his dark hair blue-black. He was resplendent in

  black breeches and shirt, with his cloak bearing the O'Neil crest

  tossed rakishly over his shoulder.

  "You needn't worry that she's changed her mind, Rory. The lass has

  loved you since she was old enough to know her own mind. Just be

  patient."

  "Damn your patience."

  Conor grinned. "Aye, that was never one of your virtues, Rory. But

  give the lass time to make herself beautiful for her husband."

  "Nothing could make Caitlin more beautiful than she already is. And

  why should I be patient? I've waited a lifetime for this day."

  "Aye. It seems like you've been in love with her forever."

  "Since I was ten and two." He flashed the smile that had caused

  maidens from Derry to Cork to dream of snagging his attention. But

  Rory O'Neil had eyes for only one maiden. "I was born for her alone.

  I tell you, Conor, this day my life will be complete." He lowered his

  voice. "Did I tell you that I slipped over to see her last night? I told her

  I couldn't wait until today. I wanted to lie with her."

  Conor threw back his head and roared. "Don't let Friar Malone hear of

  this."

  "It wouldn't matter. She refused. She said she wanted to wait for her

  wedding night. It was to be her special gift to her husband." He

  grinned. "Husband. I like the sound of that."

  "And with all this love stored up, I'm sure your wedding night will be

  one to remember."

  Both brothers turned as the door was thrust in and a slender lass in a

  gown of pink gossamer hurried inside.

  "I was afraid I'd be too late."

  "Too late for what, Briana?" Rory couldn't help grinning at the sight

  of his little sister. Her waist-length hair, the color of flame, was

  wind-tossed. Her cheeks were bright with color. From the sound of

  her breathing, he could tell she'd just run the entire distance from the

  keep to the chapel. All her young life she'd been running to keep up

  with her two older brothers.

  "Too late to kiss my brother before he left me for good."

  "You talk as though I'm going away. Caitlin and I will be living right

  here on the grounds of Ballinarin."

  "Aye. But you'll be a husband." She dimpled, and the two brothers

  knew she'd overheard at least some of their conversation. But it

  would go no further. Briana could always be counted on to keep a

  secret. ' 'And in no time, seeing the way you two look at each other,

  you'll be a father as well. And you'll have no time for a sister."

  Rory drew her close and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I'll

  always have time for you, Briana. And you can come over every day

  and help Caitlin with the wee ones."

  "Just how many are you planning to have?"

  "At least a dozen. All the lads will be handsome like their father, and

  all the lasses will have dark hair like their mother, and skin as fair as

  the crystal water in the River Shannon, and so beautiful that I'll have

  to lock them up to keep the local lads from stealing them all away."

  Conor and Briana burst into gales of laughter.

  "That's what I like about you, Rory. When you dream," his brother

  said with a laugh, "they're always such grand dreams. Let's just hope

  it isn't the other way around. After all, your sons could be small and

  delicate like their mother, and your daughters could all be giants like

  you."

  "Not a chance. They'll..." He paused at the sound of a commotion in

  the chapel and gave a smile of relief."Finally. I was beginning to

  think—" At the sudden chorus of shouting voices his smile dissolved.

  He hurried from the room, followed by his brother and sister.

  A lad of six or seven, clothes torn and bloodied, stood gesturing

  wildly. "English soldiers. More than a dozen of them."

  Rory's heart nearly stopped as he shouldered his way through the

  guests. He recognized the lad as a son of Caitlin's eldest brother. He

  knelt down, caught him by the shoulders. "Where are the others,

  Innis?"

  "By the bend in the road." The boy's eyes were wide with pain and

  shock. "My da fell on top of me, pinning me to the ground. All I could

  do was watch. They're all dead, Rory."

  "No!" Rory's voice echoed through the chapel as he released the boy

  and jumped to his feet, pushing and shoving through the stunned

  crowd.

  Outside he grasped the reins of the first horse he spotted and leapt

  onto its back, urging it into a gallop. He could hear the sounds of

  other horses following behind, but he never looked back.

  He followed the bog road until he came to the bend. Even before he

  got there, he could hear the strange, eerie silence. No birds sang. No

  creatures moved. It was as though the entire land was holding its

  breath.

  And' then he saw them. The mass of bodies. Animal as well as

  human. The ground ran red with their blood. The horses had died

  where they'd fallen, with lances through the neck or heart. The men

  had fought a fierce battle.'Many lay, face up, still holding their

  swords. But the worst savagery had been inflicted upon the women.

  Rory saw the flutter of white. Caitlin's bridal gown.

  It was the only way he could identify her. He picked his way through

  the carnage and knelt beside her. The gown had been cut away,

  except for one sleeve that still clung to her wrist. From the marks on

  her body he could see that she'd been brutalized before her throat had

  been cut so violen
tly her head had nearly been severed from her body.

  With a cry of pain and rage he gathered her against him and buried his

  face in her bloody hair. His body shook with great, wrenching sobs

  that spoke of a heart shattered beyond repair.

  "Rory. God in heaven, Rory." Conor was the first to find him. He

  could do no more than weep as he stood, watching his brother silently

  rage against the horror of it.

  As-the others arrived, Gavin O'Neil strode through the carnage to

  stand over his firstborn son. His voice shook with raw emotion. "The

  lad, Innis, says the leader was called Tilden by the others. Tall,

  brawny, with yellow hair and a face disfigured by a scar that ran from

  his left eye to his jaw. 'Twill not be an easy face to hide."

  "I'll find him." Rory unfastened his cloak and used it to cover Caitlin's

  nakedness. He staggered to his feet, cradling the broken body of the

  woman who had been his reason for living. This night she would have

  lain in his arms, in their bed. Instead she would lie forever in the cold,

  hard earth. He looked up to stare at his family and friends. All were

  weeping uncontrollably.

  His own tears had dried. His eyes, hard as stone, stared beyond the

  bloodstained ground. "I give you my word. I'll not rest until I find the

  English bastard who did this."

  His father laid a hand on his shoulder. "We'll fetch a wagon to take

  her and the others to be buried."

  Rory shook off the hand. "No one will touch Caitlin. I'll carry her. It's

  all I can give her now."

  It was a somber, silent procession that made its way back to the

  chapel. The guests in their wedding finery were a sharp contrast to the

  bloody bodies being hauled in hay wagons. At the head of the column

  walked Rory O'Neil, his tunic and breeches clotted with blood. The

  body in his arms was completely covered with his cloak, except for a

  spill of raven hair matted with blood and grass.

  At the chapel he continued to stand and hold Caitlin cradled to his

  chest as a hole was dug and Friar Malone began the words that would

  consign the body to holy ground.

  For hours, while the holes were dug and the bodies buried, Rory

  continued to kneel silently at the mound of earth that covered his

  beloved. And when the last body had been disposed of, he looked

  around the grave site, then fixed his gaze on the distance.

  As his family gathered around, he embraced his mother and father,

  and kissed his sister's cheek.

  Briana's cries became great, wracking sobs that shook her slender

  frame. "You musn't go, Rory. Please, don't go. If you do, I'll never see

  you again."

  "Hush now." He held her close for a moment, whispering against her

  forehead, "I'll return. Trust me."

  Conor clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Will you let me come with

  you?"

  Rory gave a firm shake of his head. "It's something I must do alone.

  You'll be needed here." He turned to his mother, who stood behind

  Innis, her arms wrapped around his thin shoulders. "You'll see to the

  lad?"

  She nodded. "He'll be a son to me, until my own returns."

  Rory strapped on a sword and tucked a knife at his waist and in his

  boot.

  His father removed his own cloak, which bore the O'Neil crest, and

  wrapped it around his son's shoulders. Lifting his hand in benediction

  he said, "May God ride with you, Rory, and bring you home to those

  who love you."

  Without a word, Rory pulled himself onto the back of his horse. He

  turned for one last look at Ballinarin. In the distance Croagh Patrick

  stood guard over the land. The mountain changed color so rapidly it

  was never the same. Earlier, it had been a harsh gray-green in the

  misty rain. Now it had softened to a peach hue in the warmth of the

  fading sun. Its sides were cloaked with stunted, twisted shrubs and

  trees and at the base, tall conifers and clumps of rhododendron.

  Waterfalls tossed themselves over the side, spilling down until they

  reached the river. Torn shreds of clouds drifted overhead. This lonely,

  savage piece of land held his heart. It was the only place he'd ever

  wanted to be. But now, the deceptively gentle scene mocked him.

  Because of the violence that had occurred here, he would begin an

  odyssey. An odyssey that could take him far away for years, or even a

  lifetime, until this thing was finished.

  Chapter One

  County Dublin, 1562

  So many of them, Rory." The voice was little more than a whisper on

  the breeze.

  Half a dozen figures crouched by the banks of the Liffey, watching

  the English soldiers frolic in the brown water.

  "Aye. I'd hoped for only a dozen or more. There must be close to

  fifty." Rory turned to the weathered farmer kneeling beside him.

  "Why so many?"

  "Now that the English have discovered the healing properties of the

  boiling spring, this river has become a favorite place for them to

  congregate." He wrinkled his nose at the strong odor of sulphur. ' 'It

  helps them relax after they've had the fun of killing a few of us."

  Rory watched from his place of concealment. "You're certain the one

  with the scar is among them?"

  The farmer's eyes narrowed as he scanned the distant figures. "I

  haven't spotted him yet. But he was with this group of bastards

  yesterday when they caught my little daughter in the fields and made

  sport of her."

  His voice betrayed his pain. "She's only ten and one, Rory. And the

  things they did to her. The one with the scar demanded to be first. She

  told me he taunted those who refused to join in." In a fierce whisper

  he added, "I want to be the one to kill him."

  Rory touched a hand to his arm. "I know how you feel, Seamus. But

  you've done enough. Go home to your family now."

  "I need to see him dead." The farmer fingered his only weapon, a

  small crude knife.

  "Your family can't afford to lose you, Seamus. Go now. Leave the

  killing to us."

  "You'll kill him, Rory? For my Fiona? For me?"

  "Aye. If he's here, I'll see the bastard dead." For Caitlin, he thought,

  especially for Caitlin.

  Seeing the hatred that glittered in Rory O'Neil's eyes, the farmer had

  no doubt that his family's honor would be avenged. In the past two

  years, all of Ireland had heard of the quest for vengeance that drove

  this fierce Irish warrior. Wherever there was a battle between his

  countrymen and the hated English, Rory O'Neil could be found in the

  thick of it. He had killed so many soldiers, there was now a price on

  his head. He was the most hunted man in the land. And the man most

  despised by his enemy. He was known throughout England and

  Ireland as the Blackhearted O'Neil. Despite the fact that his likeness

  was posted throughout the country, Rory O'Neil was so loved by the

  people, he could count on being safely hidden in any town or village

  throughout the land. Everywhere he went, men joined his ragged

  band in its quest for vengeance.

  "Can we take them now, Rory?" one of his men whispered when the

 
farmer was safely gone.

  "Patience, Colin." How odd that he now counseled patience, when

  he'd had so little of it in his life.

  He watched as the last of the soldiers stripped off their tunics and

  walked into the water. Only a handful of men remained as lookouts,

  while the others swam and bathed and splashed each other like boys.

  "Ready, lads?" he asked as he stood and unsheathed his sword.

  His men nodded and did the same.

  A ripple of anticipation passed through them, charging each man with

  almost supernatural fervor. The very air around them seemed

  somehow changed. No one spoke. No one moved as they waited for

  the signal from their leader.

  "Now," Rory called in a fierce whisper.

  They scrambled down the banks of the river, screaming like

  banshees. The hapless guards didn't even have a chance to unsheath

  their swords before they fell in their own blood.

  The English soldiers, who had only moments earlier been laughing

  and calling to one another, now struggled feverishly to retrieve their

  weapons. Though they outnumbered the Irish warriors almost ten to

  one, they had the disadvantage of being caught unawares.

  Rory plowed into the water, using his sword with an economy of

  movement. With each thrust of his blade, another man stiffened,

  gasped, tumbled headlong into the river. In no time the brown waters

  of the Liffey ran red with blood. And still the killing went on.

  Each time he encountered another soldier, Rory stared into his

  opponent's face, searching for the telltale scar. And each time, he

  experienced the sting of disappointment when he realized this wasn't

  the one he sought.

  He had long ago stopped feeling the shock along his arm when his

  sword encountered muscle and bone. And was able to block out the

  muffled sobs and high- pitched shrieks of the dying. What he couldn't

  erase from his mind was the sight of his beloved Caitlin, her body

  bloodied and battered beyond recognition. This was what drove him.

  This was what gave him the will to go on, no matter what the odds.

  As he stepped over yet another body, he caught a glimpse of a soldier

  with yellow hair plucking a sword from one of his fallen comrades.

  At last, Rory thought. At long last, his quest would be ended. With a