“Forgive me,” Faelan said coldly. “But I don’t think I’m required to provide shelter for the body of a man who has just accused me of treason. I suggest you remove him from my property.”
With the force of a blast furnace, Roddy’s talent returned. She opened her eyes and saw Roberts’ face; his fear and fury filled her as it had once before. He could not explain it, had no reason or logic to uphold it, but he knew in his soul that he’d been mocked again. You did this, his mind screamed. How?
This time, he knew better than to demand answers aloud. In a low, furious voice, he ordered a stretcher, and watched as Willis’ body was loaded upon it. The men formed again in their blood-red columns. Roberts wheeled his horse and confronted Faelan.
“Don’t think,” he hissed, “that this means Willis’ accusations are forgotten.” He backed his horse and raised his voice so that all could hear. “We’ll withdraw for one night, Your Lordship. One night.”
With a snapped order, the troops fell in to march. Rupert Mullane struggled to his feet, glanced at the crowd of cottiers that began to flood into the forecourt in the army’s wake, and began a limping run. He caught up with Roberts, and was trotting alongside, reaching out to lay an imploring hand on the officer’s boot, when Roberts kicked him away and put his mount to a canter. The cottiers began to laugh and call out insults. Mullane was left to keep up with the soldiers as best he could.
Earnest gave Roddy a little tug. Come. She caught his thought, close and urgent, from among the emotion of the crowd. Roddy, come away.
But she could not. She stood watching the stretcher pass, the body on it covered casually by a military cape. One white hand dragged across the smooth terrace stones, bouncing to the soldiers’ rhythmic step.
Earnest’s persistent pressure finally pulled her bodily away from the scene. When she lifted her eyes, she saw Senach. His faint smile and empty eyes made the hair rise on the nape of her neck.
Without any sign from Faelan to stay, the crowd was dispersing, some following the soldiers, most spreading out into low-voiced knots of men who stood about and asked one another what was to be done, in tones of mingled guilt and challenge. More than one of them suddenly had a pike burning a hole in his garden or thatched roof or hedge. But they took their cue from Faelan, who simply walked away into the house.
His Lordship. Roddy caught the thought from one. Aye, His Lordship’s standing buff. And wouldn’t he do so, now, him the great man.
Then, out of the thinning crowd, something familiar touched her gift. She stopped, ignoring Earnest’s pleas. As she searched for the source her heart seemed to leap into her ears and deafen her with its pounding.
Geoffrey.
She recognized him finally, standing alone in the deep shade of an untrimmed bush. His hat was pulled down to hide his face, but cottier’s clothes and soiled leggings made an ill disguise. The tall, unbowed elegance of his figure was a beacon to anyone who glanced twice.
He did not look at Roddy. He was watching Faelan disappear into the house and planning a way to gain his friend’s attention.
Roddy pulled away from Earnest’s grip. She could guess only too well what would happen if Geoffrey managed to contact Faelan.
Disaster.
Faelan would try to hide his friend. She knew he would. Amid this turmoil of redcoats and suspicions, with Captain Roberts out for the blood of the man who had made a fool of him, Faelan would offer shelter to a known rebel. And Geoffrey—romantic, stupid, idealistic Geoffrey—would somehow betray himself.
Willis’ accusations would be fact. And Captain Roberts would be waiting.
There Geoffrey stood in the full light of day, a marked and hunted man, thinking that a hat and a laborer’s coat disguised him, and knowing he had come to the one person who would not turn him away.
Roddy set her teeth. She could not, would not, let Faelan know his friend was near.
For once, she thanked God for her talent. No one else had a suspicion of Geoffrey’s presence. Earnest was too occupied with his concern for Roddy’s safety to pay any attention to the cottiers who lingered. He was rehearsing an impassioned tirade to deliver to Faelan. It was just as well. Roddy thought the best thing she could do at the moment would be to goad the two of them to a furious fight and then slip away and intercept Geoffrey before he revealed himself.
She gave in to Earnest’s bullying and let him drag her into the hall after Faelan. “Iveragh!” Her brother’s shout echoed off the walls as soon as they were inside.
Faelan walked out from the empty drawing room and leaned against the doorframe. He met Earnest’s glare with a level look, but faint lines of tension touched his mouth. Though he crossed his arms in a casual stance, his fingers were white against his dark sleeve. “Yes,” he said softly. “You may take her now.”
Earnest had already drawn in his breath to begin before the meaning of Faelan’s words hit him. “I can?” he responded stupidly.
“I think that would be best, though the overland route is out of the question.” He glanced at Roddy. The gray walls surrounding him made his eyes seem vivid blue. “Pack your things, and you can be at Derrynane before dark. The O’Connells will ship you from there.”
“No,” Roddy said. “No.”
Some of the tension went out of his face. He reached out and touched her chin. “Little girl. I’ve miscalculated the situation. I don’t want you here.”
“It took you till the damned Judgment Day to see it,” Earnest muttered.
“I’m not going,” Roddy exclaimed. “I won’t.”
Earnest took her arm. “This is no time to play the loyal wife, sister mine. You’ve got your husband’s leave. Let’s assume he knows best, and be on our way.”
“No.” She wrenched her arm away. “I’m staying here.”
“There’s no need,” Faelan said.
She looked at him, demon-dark and sky-blue in the gloomy hall, and with a stab of desperation thought, Oh, yes, there is. I won’t lose you to Geoffrey’s cause.
“I don’t care,” she said aloud. “I’m not leaving now.”
Earnest closed his eyes and ran a hand over his blond hair. “Lord spare me from idiots. The man just said he don’t need you. Roddy—”
His voice trailed off in consternation as Faelan took a step forward. He pulled Roddy into his arms. It was an unexpected tactic, a smooth attack that for a moment sent reason and resolution tumbling away into unimportance. He held her, traced her jaw and her temple; lowered his thick lashes as his lips brushed her mouth. Roddy’s chin tilted upward in unthinking response. The kiss deepened. She was melting, forgetting Earnest, and Geoffrey, and soldiers…forgetting everything, whirling away down the dark, vortex of his touch…
“You’re going,” he said.
Roddy stared up at him, weakened and bemused.
His arm tightened across her back. She could feel his chest rise and fall against her. “Is that clear?” he murmured.
“No.” The word sounded too small, breathless with confusion. “No,” she said louder. “I’m staying.”
Earnest had turned away self-consciously. Faelan moved his palm up beneath her breast, his fingers barely brushing the eager tip. His other hand cupped the nape of her neck. “Little girl,” he said, very low in her ear. “You’ll do as I say.”
His breath caressed her skin as he stood with his head bent so close and intimately. She knew what he was doing—distracting her, using his power over her body to twist her mind to his will. It had worked before, often enough. But there was more at stake now. Far more.
Geoffrey hid outside, awaiting his chance. She had to reach him, had to find a way to get him to safety without endangering Faelan. She could do it, with her talent. She could find a place that no one would know, and keep watch with a thoroughness no one else could. If someone became suspicious, she would feel it. If soldiers threatened, she could anticipate them. She could know whom to trust and whom to fear. For Roddy, Geoffrey was a manageable danger. For Fa
elan, he was poison.
She put her hands against Faelan’s chest and thrust herself out of his arms. “Don’t do that.” She glared at him. “Leave me alone.”
Her voice rang in the hall, strident with her inner conflict. It came out more shrewish than defiant, but she would not take the words back. For good measure, she added, “I’m not going. You can’t force me.”
A flicker of some emotion came and went in his eyes. He caught her wrist and bent it back with light but steady force, caressing her palm with his thumb. “I wouldn’t put too much confidence in that, my dear.”
“Just…don’t touch me.” Roddy pulled away from the sensual contact. She backed toward Earnest, who stood tensely, unsure of which side to take to accomplish his goal. He put his hands on her shoulders, more from distraction and habit than any real offer of protection.
Roddy saw Faelan’s expression change at that. Like the mountain mists that could rise in a moment to swallow the sun, his face went to chilly blankness. His hand dropped. “Do as you please, then.” He was already turning away. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Faelan.” At the last moment, Roddy could not bear that coldness. He stopped and looked back, his eyes a bright, icy flame in the stone hall. “What about the free-quarters?”
For a moment his hand tightened on the doorframe. “Worried about your investment in the place?” he asked dryly. “Well, I shall do my best for you, my love.”
A sudden panic took her, for the inflexible note in his voice. “What? What will you do?”
He laughed. The sound vibrated from the walls and the floors and had no trace of humor in it. “’Tis simple enough. I have only to prove that every living man in this barony is loyal to the Crown.”
That night, there was no sleep for anyone. Torches burned up and down the glen, and the ominous glow of red lit the drifting mist far below where the army was camped. The windows of the great house shone as they had on the night of the fairy ball, and dark figures passed in and out the wide door—figures bearing long, wicked wooden staffs with curved and sharpened metal points.
In the dining room, next to Roddy’s shining mahogany table, the pikes lay piled against the wall in a bristling forest. Earnest leaned over a rude map, his head supported by a weary hand on his brow, marking caches and making count, while Fachtnan O’Sullivan and his father and brother dispatched ragged couriers to every corner of the district.
Two local clergymen stood beneath a borrowed holy cross that had been hastily tacked to the wall: a Catholic priest and the elderly rector—the same who’d so narrowly missed murder by Geoffrey’s men. As each cottier surrendered his arms, he repeated after Faelan a solemn oath of loyalty to the King, which O’Sullivan translated to Irish if necessary, and then a mark or a signature went down, duly witnessed and recorded.
It was the magistrate who should have accepted the oaths. But the magistrate lay dead, thrown from his horse onto the stones before the great house.
Martha bustled in and out, keeping the sweet tea flowing for the men who trudged in with their offerings of illicit arms—pikes and guns forged or stolen over years of misery under Willis and Mullane and the others like them, who’d drained the life from the land at a distance, safe in their comfortable houses in Cork or Dublin or even London, never questioning what was done in their names as long as the rents came due. Decades of oppression, of hate and rebellious dreams.
But now it was a kind of love that made them give up the weapons; it was the hope of better lives that Faelan had brought, and the certain knowledge that his ruin would be their own.
Some, lacking hidden arms, came with a chicken or a meager bag of oats, in a befuddled attempt to appease these higher powers that suddenly threatened. It was the only time that night Roddy saw Faelan’s temper. He shouted at the confused cottiers that they’d do better to hide what they owned in the farthest hills than bring it to him. Then he sent them out to do it, and to gather all the cattle they could find and drive the beasts through the dark to the wild mountain fells where soldiers might not go.
After that, he sat down heavily, and made Martha cry by snarling that she could take her damned pastries away and choke on them. Roddy smoothed over that by giving the maid a hug, and leaving the plate near his elbow. Ten minutes later, she tapped a snuffling Martha on the shoulder, pointing to the platter where only crumbs were left.
A contingent of small farmers had come and gone, and after their contribution was counted, Earnest swore. “Six hundred fifty-three pikes, twenty-two pistols, and five muskets. That’s the last of the villages. There’s only these two northern valleys left to go.” He tapped the map and shook his head. “We’ve outdone the bastards by twice on the pikes, but where in God’s sweet heaven did Roberts come by a figure of four thousand guns?”
Faelan did not answer. He only sat back in the carved French chair and stared at the half-finished ceiling with a bleakness that made Roddy want to cry.
Geoffrey. Oh, damn you, Geoffrey. You and your guns.
It was near three in the morning, and the flow of arms had become a trickle. Roddy had been aware of Geoffrey since dark, concealed outside the dining-room windows and waiting for a chance to catch his friend alone. Roddy had found no opportunity to contact him. He was growing dangerously impatient. He’d been thwarted all day and night by the crowd of strangers that surrounded Faelan. So now, when her husband stood up and walked to the door, Roddy rushed after.
She grabbed his arm before he reached the entry. “Where are you going?”
Faelan half turned, and the candlelight glistened off a trace of perspiration that had trailed down his left temple and his jaw. “Pardon me,” he said, with exaggerated courtesy, “but you may have noticed that our accommodations lack a water closet.”
“Oh.” Roddy let go of his arm. She stared at him a moment, frozen with desperation, and then realized that Martha had gone back to the kitchen for more pastries. “You mustn’t go that way,” Roddy exclaimed, and then added meaningfully, “Martha just went out.”
He accepted that without comment, turning back to sit down again.
Roddy said suddenly, “I’m going, too. While she’s still there.”
Faelan had already pulled the map toward him; he nodded absently and joined the conversation among Earnest and the clergymen about how best to take advantage of daylight when it came.
Roddy wet her lips, focusing on each man in turn to see that he was fully occupied, and then slipped out into the hall and through the front door.
Outside, she hurried down the stairs and skirted the house through the faint mist, keeping close to the windows. Geoffrey heard her approach, and she felt his sudden panic as he realized the unknown figure in the half-light was heading directly toward him. Just as he was preparing to scramble back into the undergrowth and run, she stopped.
Geoffrey waited. She dared not call his name, and so she began to hum, and then sing softly. It was a song he would know, the old, haunting love song that Geoffrey himself had taught her long ago:
Ah la, then he came to his true love’s window, He knelt down low upon a stone,
And through the glass he whispered softly, Are you asleep, love, are you alone?
I am your lover, do not discover,
But rise up, darling, and let me in,
For I am tired of my long night’s journey, And likewise, love, I’m wet to the skin.
She did not have to sing the last lines, the sad stanzas of parting between a girl and her ghostly lover, come across years and miles for one night. Geoffrey relaxed, recognizing her voice and the message in the song. He did not retreat when she moved closer, but waited until they were both lost in the shadows to reach out and grab her arm and pull her against him.
“Poppet,” he whispered, right into her ear. “I need Faelan.”
Aye, Roddy thought, and I won’t let you have him.
“The stable,” she said, beneath her breath.
She felt his hard exhalation of relief
, and did not correct his mistaken assumption that it was Faelan who would be waiting in the stable. She pulled away without speaking again and moved out into the luminous shaft from the nearest column of light. She looked up. Faelan stood there, outlined against the candlelight behind.
He gave no sign that he saw her. But she was sure that he must—the dewy air reflected and compounded the cool glow from the window, turning it into a shimmering prism that held her at its center. She bowed her head, pretending to straighten her skirt, and took up her song again. In a voice too soft to reveal the pounding of her heart, she sang:
When that night, it nearly was ended,
And the early cocks, they began to crow,
We kissed, we kissed, and alas we parted, Sayin’ good-bye, darlin’, now I must go.
As she reached the end of it, she was saved from having to linger further by the arrival of a straggling party of dairymen. The shadow from the window moved and disappeared, and the group inside roused themselves from exhaustion to start the ritual of oaths and weapon counting again.
Roddy slipped away.
The stable had many noises in the dark. There was the wind, ever present in the eaves, and a hundred small rustlings of mice and straw. An owl lived in the tree outside: Roddy had often drifted to sleep with his low mourning note in her ear, mingling with the deep, steady rhythm of Faelan’s breath in her hair.
She heard Geoffrey scramble up in the straw as she entered.
“Faelan,” he said in a low voice. “By the saints, I thought I’d never have a chance at you.”
“It’s not Faelan.” Roddy moved into the thick, hay-scented darkness. “It’s me.”
There was a hiss of straw as he stumbled toward her. He came up against her and took a step back. “Ah—poppet. I can’t see a damned thing in here. I nearly blacked my eye on a pitchfork. Where’s Faelan?”
“He isn’t coming.”
She felt Geoffrey’s quick surge of annoyance, but he kept his voice soft. “I need to talk to him—can’t you get him away?”
Laura Kinsale Page 30