Biting her lip, she watched as the company of knights slowed to a trot and warily approached. Finally, the leader—surely it was Lord Richard under all that mail and silk—lifted his hand and signaled for the others to halt. With the River Shannon meandering between them, the leaders of the Normans and the Gaels sat upon their horses and regarded each other in silence.
Who would be the first to speak?
She glanced at Colton, who reached across the open doorway and took her hand. “Do not be afraid,” he said, speaking in an odd, gentle tone. “If ’twas God who led us this far, he will not desert us now.”
She nodded in response, then turned her gaze toward the spectacle on the riverbank.
“Normans!” She heard her father’s voice, steel-edged and strong. “I know not what brings you here, but I have come to rescue a daughter from a murdering devil. Lorcan, our brehon, lies dead in my courtyard even now, cut down by a Norman knight’s blade.”
Cahira shivered as an icy finger touched the base of her spine. Lorcan dead? It couldn’t be true. Her father had to be lying, making up a story to paint Colton in evil colors.
Colton must have had the same thought. “It can’t be true, Cahira. Lorcan must have failed in his attempt to speak reason, and your father’s anger has turned against him.”
Lord Richard nudged his mount and rode forward a few paces, while something like a smile flitted across his broad face. “Greetings, Felim O’Connor. Indeed, I am sorry to hear that the brehon is dead, but I can assure you I knew nothing of it. I have, however, heard of your daughter’s dilemma and am more than happy to grant her to you. I have come to reclaim a wayward knight, and if his sword be found with blood upon it, I can promise you he will pay for the deed with his life.”
“It was a knight!” A new voice rang out, and Cahira searched through the crowd of Gaels to place the speaker. A cold knot formed in her stomach when she saw the brehon’s student, auburn-haired Peadar, sitting astride one of her father’s horses. His hands were wound in his horse’s mane, his legs pale against the bay’s dark flank.
Grief struck her like a sudden blow to the stomach, and she had to swallow several times to choke back the bile that rose in her throat. Peadar would not leave his teacher unless something had happened, so her friend Lorcan was dead, and evil stalked the land.
“He came upon us in the darkness!” Peadar threw back his head, shouting to anyone who would listen. “My master thought only of me and sent me away, but in the moonlight I saw the murderer clearly. He wore blue and white, mail and helmet, and spoke like a Norman. He murdered my master for no reason!”
“The reason is obvious,” Richard answered, his voice crisp and dry. “The knight killed the brehon in order to keep him silent. And all my knights are accounted for, save one. The knight we both seek, therefore, must be the renegade.”
Cahira groaned, her heart aching, as Colton uttered a gasp. Lorcan’s words, spoken only hours before, came back to her on a terrible wave of memory: The highest provinces of peace are bought with sacrificial blood, dear ones. Why had Lorcan been the one to sacrifice his life?
Through a haze of confusion and sorrow, she realized they had been utterly betrayed. Lord Richard should not know Colton was absent, and yet here he was, accusing Colton of murder and mayhem. Yet Colton had not wandered from her side last night, so only one knight could have killed Lorcan. He, Sir Oswald the Arrogant, rode now at Lord Richard’s side with his jaw thrust forward and a shadowy sneer hovering about his narrow mouth.
Her gaze drifted over to the Gaels. Her people had been betrayed as well. Lorcan represented more than the law; he was the embodiment of their culture, their history, their ancient laws and religion. His young student, Peadar, had not yet learned all a brehon must know.
“It appears,” she whispered, sorrowfully squeezing Colton’s hand, “that we have misplaced our trust. We have been discovered before time could work on my father’s heart.”
“But how deeply are we discovered?” Colton stared out at the confrontation on the riverbank. “Do they know we are married?”
The question was answered in the next moment, when Cahira heard her father’s voice, thick and unsteady. “This knight of yours has taken my daughter from her intended husband. It appears he may have deprived her of her maidenhood as well.”
His caustic tone made Cahira flush in shame, but she and Colton had done nothing shameful. She let her gaze rove over the men with her father, then winced when she recognized Rian. What must he think of her at this moment?
“’Tis my understanding they were lawfully married, though not in the eyes of the church,” Richard called, shifting in his saddle. “If you want to have the marriage annulled, the Church would certainly support you.” He lifted his hand and made a dismissive gesture. “I know little about your Irish laws. Mayhap the marriage can be set aside on legal grounds as well.”
“In a year and a day.” Cahira whispered the words in the instant her father proclaimed them. According to ancient brehon law, either partner could leave a marriage after a year and a day had passed. Thismarriage, sealed by vows made before a brehon, could not be set aside until the allotted time had expired.
“I can do nothing at present,” her father answered, turning for the first time toward the tower. “But I will take my daughter home. For that reason alone have I come here.”
Richard called out his agreement. “I, too, have come only for my man. We should maintain this peace between us, and each take our own.”
“’Tis another lie!” Colton hissed, his fingers tightening around Cahira’s. “If your father had not first appeared with a company outnumbering Richard’s, I am certain we would have seen a battle waged before our eyes. And before ’twas done, you would be Richard’s hostage, and I his prisoner.”
“And if Richard had not come,” Cahira’s voice broke as she captured his eyes with her own, “I fear my father would have killed you. He is a reasonable man, but he would not have gathered thirty warriors just to bring me home. He means to avenge Lorcan’s death—I know it. Despite my love for you, he sees you as an enemy.”
Colton looked at her with a shade of sadness in his eyes, then his gaze drifted toward the confrontation outside. “I must let you go with your father.” His hand tightened around hers. “I cannot take you with me.”
“But we are married! And you promised to keep me with you!”
“Look outside, love.” Against her will, Cahira’s gaze fell upon the waiting warriors. The Normans had spread themselves in an organized line on one riverbank; the Irishmen faced them on the other, battle-axes and spears at the ready. If the signal to fight was given, the Gaels would have the upper hand in numbers, but the Normans were better armored and far more experienced. Any battle, however brief, would end in horrific bloodshed on both sides.
“If I tried to take you from your father,” Colton went on, his voice patient, “his men would attack. They are thirsty for blood.”
Cahira said nothing, but clung to Colton’s arm with both hands. She wanted to scream, “Come with me then!” but if her father tried to take Colton, the Normans would charge across the river, their swords and lances ready to strike.
Grief welled in her, black and cold.
On the riverbank, her father had turned to face the tower. “Cahira! Come down at once! Your father and king comes to reclaim you.”
Colton sighed heavily, his voice filling with anguish. “You must go with him. Just for now, have faith and go.”
Cahira glanced around, about to suggest that they could remain in the tower indefinitely, but this was not a safe place. The flooring was unstable, and they lacked both food and water. If they chose to be stubborn for love’s sake, for love’s sake they’d die within three or four days. She loved Colton with all her heart and soul, but she was no fool.
Her heart sinking, she turned to face him. “So be it. I’ll return with my father, and I will convince him you had nothing to do with Lorcan’s death. In time, he
will learn to welcome you as my husband—and his son. I will not give up, Colton. For a year and a day and forever, you are my husband.”
She stopped and looked out at the Normans, her heart beating hard enough to be heard a yard away. “But what of your safety? Lord Richard is not a father to you. Will he welcome you back or punish you? By heaven above, Colton, if you think he means harm to you, ’tis better that you come with me. I would throw my body across yours to save your life—”
“Hush, wife.” His dark eyes filled with humor and tenderness. “You are spouting lovely nonsense.”
As he spoke, she knew he was right. Even if by some miracle the Normans did not attack if the Irish kept Colton, her father would merely send her away with Murchadh while one of the others dispatched Colton to heaven with a single stroke of the battle-ax. Her father’s conscience would not even be troubled, for he was a king involved in a state of war, and Colton was an enemy.
Lord Richard’s voice lifted to the tower. “Sir Colton! We know you are there, and we know what you have done. Descend at once, and bring the woman with you. Let us restore her to her father, while you return to your lord and master. Be courageous, be noble and true, and do not dishonor the vows of fealty you have taken.”
Cahira’s hand trembled as she reached across the opening to touch Colton’s face. “Go with God and be careful, husband. If possible, try to come to me again. I will walk every day near the river, near the rock where we met. I will search for some sign of you until we meet again.”
His strong voice dissolved into a thready whisper. “If God wills, I will come to you soon. And if I do not, know this—I have loved you with my life, and I do not regret a single moment. We had a dream for peace, and if God wills that my life should be the price of it, I am willing to pay.”
A flash of wild grief ripped through Cahira’s heart. Rising to her knees, she threw herself into his arms. As he held her, she breathed deeply of his scent, relishing the texture of his skin, his hair, his strength. “I believe God will bring us back together,” she whispered, the words forming a logjam in her throat. “Can it be his will to birth this love between us and then let it die?”
Colton did not answer, but pressed her to himself more tightly. They knelt in each other’s arms for a moment woven of eternity, then Cahira heard her father’s voice again.
“Daughter! My men stand ready to fire their arrows! Come down at once, before we force you down!”
Colton lifted his head and gave her a halfhearted smile. “Before you go, I want you to have this.” With difficulty he pulled his sword from its sheath, then held it across his open palms and presented it to her like a peasant offering a precious gift to a king. “I’ve had it since I was knighted, years ago. They’ll take it from me if I wear it now, and I want you to keep it—until we are together again.”
Touched beyond words, she accepted the sword, then palmed fresh tears from her cheeks. Colton reached out and smoothed the last touch of wetness from her eyes with his thumb. “I’ll have to give you the belt, too, or you’ll never make it down the ladder.”
She nodded, grateful for a practical consideration to divert her thoughts. She stood silent while Colton’s arms slipped around her waist and buckled the sword belt, then she caught her breath as he took the blade and sheathed it. The weapon hung heavily from her waist and banged against her thigh. Every step would remind her of Colton and his promise to reclaim it.
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “It is time.”
“I know.” Conscious of the scrutiny of more than two dozen warriors who watched the tower doorway, she bent and placed a firm hand on the bottom rung of the ladder. “Help me with this, Colton, and never let them know that I wept here today. I am not afraid of Lord Richard. I place my trust in God…and in you.”
“I have never met anyone less afraid.” His hand fell on the ladder next to hers, and when she looked up, his eyes glowed with a steadfast and serene peace.
Colton went first down the ladder, then stood and held it steady for Cahira, resisting the surge of fury that murmured in his ear and banged in his blood. He had never been vanquished in a tournament, had never surrendered a fight. And yet here he stood, as meek as a kitten, and with no choice in the matter! But for Cahira he would bear it…as long as he could.
She eased her way down the ladder, then turned to face the two groups that waited for them, her eyes blazing. Colton reached for her hand, then led her around the silent company of Irishmen. They walked to the riverbank and took their stand on the shore at a point equidistant between Felim O’Connor and Lord Richard.
“Lord Richard,” Colton pitched his voice to reach across the river, addressing his master first. “I must beg your forgiveness, sir, for undertaking this endeavor without your permission. But I am prepared to give a defense of myself in the matter of the brehon. As God is my witness, I did not kill him. My marriage to this lady is sanctioned by God, if not the Church, and is appropriate under Irish law. We have vowed our love and our lives together, and did so with the purest of motives and unblemished honor.”
“We will discuss this matter later,” Richard answered, his eyes resting upon Colton only for the barest fraction of an instant. His face was as blank as stone, unreadable. “I suggest you unhobble your horse and prepare to ride back with us at once.”
Cahira stepped forward. “Lord Richard.”
Colton watched with acute and loving anxiety as the nobleman leaned forward in his saddle, his eyes flickering with interest. “My lady?”
Cahira looked at him, her face dazzling with strength and determination. “This man is my lawful husband, and son-in-law to the king of Connacht. I will expect you to treat him with the respect and deference his position requires.”
For a moment Colton feared Richard would laugh in her face. His small blue eyes grew somewhat smaller and brighter, then he lifted a brow and shifted his gaze to Colton.
“I will give him all he deserves,” he answered, his lips pursing as if he wanted to spit. “You can be sure of that, my lady.”
Cahira gave his master a curt nod of farewell, then she turned to him and rested her fingertips lightly upon his uplifted hands.
“I thought you didn’t care anything about your positions and titles,” he teased, lowering his head to look into her downcast eyes. “Yet here you are, bragging that your husband is son-in-law to a king.”
“I spoke only of what Richard understands.” She lifted her gaze, and the look in her eyes set the drops of Colton’s blood to chasing each other through his veins. “You are worth far more than a king to me.”
And then, without another word, she lifted her hands from his and walked with stiff dignity not toward her father, but toward the warrior Murchadh.
Colton would have stood and watched as she mounted her horse, but Oswald splashed through the shallows and abruptly caught him by the elbow. Colton obeyed the summons, taking only a moment to retrieve his horse. He mounted and directed the animal across the river shallows, then stared in surprise when Oswald stepped forward. The knight moved with a newfound assurance, a conviction of importance he wore like an invisible mantle. “You will not be needing a blade now, my friend,” he said. He reached as if to pull Colton’s sword from its scabbard, then frowned when he found nothing. “Your sword?”
“I gave it to my wife,” Colton snapped, gathering his reins. He wheeled his mount so that he faced the opposite riverbank. “And I will not leave until I am certain they will not harm Cahira.”
Oswald lifted a brow, but said nothing. From the height of his horse, Colton watched silently as the glaring Irishmen turned and spurred their mounts. Cahira rode alone, one slender and colorful figure amid a sea of heavily armed warriors. Not one of the Irishmen looked back.
Oswald looked up as the last man disappeared from view. “You are fortunate that the O’Connors arrived first,” he said, pitching his voice so that only Colton could hear it. “Lord Richard was planning to take the girl hostage in ord
er to defeat her father the king.”
Colton gritted his teeth as fury rose within him. “Tell me, Oswald—why was it necessary to kill the brehon? He was an old man who never could have harmed you.”
Colton saw the small twitch of Oswald’s shoulders. “The Irish would have listened to him.” He lowered his gaze. “And Richard wants war. If you hadn’t been so blinded by that Irish wench, you would have understood our master’s wishes.”
Colton gripped his reins as Lord Richard turned his stallion and pulled up within arm’s distance of Colton’s saddle. “I will deal with you when we return to Athlone,” Richard said, bridled anger in his voice as he shifted to hold his spirited mount in check. “But do not expect to see that wench again, Sir Colton. Not in this lifetime.”
With a touch of his spur and an oath, the nobleman charged ahead, leaving Colton behind.
Oswald watched as one of Philip’s servants threw another bough on the fire, its impact sending a volcano of sparks across the floor. The December wind outside had turned wicked and cold, and even now bitter gusts blew through chinks in the log dwelling, numbing Oswald’s fingers as it prickled his skin.
Silently cursing the day Richard had ever decided to ride for Connacht, Oswald reached for another hunk of bread, took a bite, and chewed it thoughtfully as he studied the head table where his master sat. Philip, who grew more taciturn and inhospitable every day, made no secret of his eagerness for Richard’s departure. Though Richard kept talking about his return to Castleconnell, he had made no definite plans for departing to the province of Limerick. His attempts to bully Felim O’Connor into surrender had utterly failed, and the incident with the Irish king’s daughter had only increased the tension and hostility between the two factions.
Most important, none of the other barons had answered Richard’s pleas for support. Though he had sent letters to every other Norman who held feudal power in Ireland—Maurice Fitzgerald, lord of Offaly; Hugh de Lacy, Earl of Ulster; the Berminghams, lords of Athenry; and a host of others—not one had offered to support Richard’s current campaign against Felim o’ the Connors. Richard had lately confided to Oswald that the barons insisted the timing was wrong. Winter was upon them, a bad time for travel and provisioning an army. Perhaps later, in the summer, they might be persuaded to send a few archers or swordsmen.
The Emerald Isle Page 29