“Meet me in the bailey by the stable,” Cameron ordered.
“I’ll be there.”
* * * *
In the kitchen, after dismissing the cook and her helpers, Meggie prepared a special supper for the Englishmen. She would worry about a sleeping chamber later. It might not prove necessary.
“Deirdre, we do not want the English to stay any longer than necessary ... but of course we must demonstrate Irish hospitality.”
“I do not see why we must.”
“Ah, but you will as we add a little of this and a dash of that to their meal.”
“There are no more than a dozen of them. With Niall’s help we could – -”
Meggie clicked her tongue, feigning distress. “Is that any way to treat guests?”
“If they’re English, aye.”
“Niall is gone.” Meggie’s clipped reply did not conceal her newly awakened contempt for the wealthy farmer O’Donnell. Turning to Deirdre, she forced a smile. “There are other ways of hastening the English on their way.”
“Aye?”
“We shall sprinkle their pigeon pie with copious amounts of garlic, perhaps a bit of grass and straw.” The more creative she became, the better she felt.
“Ye are a better cook than Cook,” Deirdre declared gleefully.
Maggie grinned. “I think we shall also add a cup of dishwater to the mead. And then we might garnish the pudding with shavings of mold from the bread. What do you think?”
“Aye!” Deirdre giggled as she helped prepare the meal with newly found enthusiasm and creative additions of her own.
“While the Englishmen remain at Dochas, stay out of their sight,” Meggie cautioned. “We do not know how long they have been without a woman.”
“But what about ye?”
“The bard shall protect me,” Meggie said without hesitation.
“Aye. He favors you methinks.”
“Favors me?”
“Have ye not noticed how his eyes follow ye? Or, how they soften when he regards ye?”
“No.”
Deirdre shrugged and went about her business. But Meggie only stared at the tray she readied. At once she savored and marveled at the warm glow spiraling through her, a gentle toe-curling, delicious heat.
A short while later, Meggie and Deirdre served supper with a smile for each of the Englishmen, Meggie could hardly wait for them to down the meal and mead. Nothing would give her more pleasure than to see the Englishmen with bellyaches.
Ignoring Deirdre and Meggie, Thomas issued an imperative invitation to Colm. “By your leave, Bard, come join us.”
Saints above! Meggie did not mean for the poet to eat grass and garlic.
Colm rubbed his forehead as if weighing the invitation. “I have supped, but I could eat more,” he said at last. “I’m recuperating, rebuilding my strength.”
Meggie sucked in her breath, staring immobilized as Colm took a bowl from Deirdre’s tray and sat at the table with Thomas. She could not warn him without alerting the others. The bard was stronger than he knew, she consoled herself. He would recover quickly.
She inched her chin up a notch. “Come, Deirdre. Gentlemen, I shall leave you now to prepare a chamber.”
But she did not leave. She hid behind a far passage with Deirdre and watched.
After the first bite, Colm stared at his spoon. Grimacing, he grabbed for a tankard of mead which he spewed following the first gulp. But only he knew the difference. The others, while they frowned and considered their food as if the Irish truly had no taste, ate on. The bard said naught.
“Will the bard be sick?” Deirdre asked.
Colm regarded the men about him and took another bite. At supper earlier he had hardly eaten. Now he pushed his bowl away.
“I don’t think so. He does not seem to like it.”
Deirdre giggled.
Meggie clapped a hand over the young girl’s mouth.
“The poet thinks he is the only one who finds the food distasteful. The others are gulping like pigs at the trough.”
“I wish Niall were here to see this.”
“Niall made his choice, Deirdre. Come now.” Seizing the girl with one hand, and hoisting a torch with the other, Meggie pulled her along dark, barren stone corridors until they reached the north corner of the castle. Here the cold still lurked from winter.
“This is where our English guests will sleep tonight. We shall throw some hay from the stable upon these old rushes.”
“But there will likely be fleas.”
Meggie smiled. “’Tis a pity the English must sleep in Ireland tonight... especially to seek slumber in Dochas.”
Deirdre’s laughter filled the room. Along with Meggie’s.
Chapter Nine
“We’ve downed some terrible Irish meals while we’ve been on this godforsaken soil,” Thomas complained to his men, “but this is by far the worst of the lot.”
Meggie could not help but take great delight in watching the English ruffians turn a sickly shade of green. For the life of her, she could not consider the English intruders as seasoned soldiers. Tall street urchins with muskets, perhaps. In under two hours, the boys were rendered quite helpless. They could barely lift their heads to groan. With the exception of one.
While his men staggered toward their sleeping quarters moaning and cursing, Thomas trudged toward the door of the great hall as if he meant to leave. The impudent young man appeared oblivious to the fact that his men were headed in the opposite direction.
Was he in his cups? Meggie wondered. She glanced at his men to see if any had turned to follow Thomas. No one seemed to notice or care that he was not with them. Meggie was further amazed to see her grandfather’s customary shuffling gait had been replaced with a lively step as he led the Englishmen from the great hall. She even thought she heard him chuckling as he directed them to the privy. Her gaze fell on the bard, who followed behind the group to make certain no one strayed.
Colm towered above the others, a daunting, grim-faced presence. He did not need to smile. The force of his masculinity could be felt miles away, a warming, tingling force. Meggie’s heart fluttered as if he had cast one of his pulse-stopping, lopsided grins her way. Fleetingly, she wondered what the poet must think of Niall O’Donnell now. Did Colm question her choice in men without knowing how she yearned for him? Little could the alluring bard know that he was the object of her desire. Meggie released a small, wistful sigh. This was no time to be drifting off to contemplate matters of the heart.
No one appeared to notice Thomas, holding his stomach and belching repeatedly, slip out the door.
Except Meggie and Deirdre. Their girlish giggles faded to quiet puzzlement.
“Where is he going?” Deirdre asked.
“I am not certain,” Meggie replied, clenching her teeth.
The idea of the boil-faced English boy inspecting Dochas, perhaps deciding what to steal from her stores and stable, filled her with an ample dose of Irish anger. The silky hairs on her nape stood on end, her belly constricted, and her spine stiffened.
“May the werewolves find ye and send ye home in another shape,” she hissed beneath her breath. “May your sons be—
Before Meggie could add more to her curse, which she fully intended to do, Deirdre interrupted.
“Do ye think Niall has escaped?”
“Ach! Of that I am certain.” At the moment Meggie cared not what happened to the coward, but he seemed to possess a steady stream of good fortune.
“What shall we do?” Deirdre’s gray-blue eyes had darkened to ash. Frowning deeply, her brows became angry slashes.
“Follow the English boy,” Meggie said. “You go ahead while I fetch my musket, but be careful not to be seen. Stay close to the buildings in the darkest of shadows. Watch where he goes and what he does. But do nothing. I shall find you.”
* * * *
Cameron could not remember having such a putrid meal since he had arrived at Dochas. But, of course, Meggie believed h
im to be Irish and apparently only unleashed the cook’s mistakes on the English. Unless she had especially prepared the meal with spoiled ingredients. Of course she had. He knew the wild Irish woman capable of far worse!
Giving a frustrated shake of his head, Cameron resigned himself. There was nothing he could do now. There might never be anything anyone could do about Meggie. Except to keep her otherwise occupied from mischief. Bestowing kiss after kiss upon those rich rosy lips might divert her from trouble. Unleashing the plait of red-gold silk and sifting the soft mane through his fingers also might give her pause. But now was not the time for such thoughts.
After herding the sick men to the Jakes and then to their chamber, Cameron bid good eve to Gerald Fitzgerald. The chuckling old man appeared quite merry, deriving much pleasure from the massive case of bad bellies endured by the small trained band. With grudging admiration for what Meggie had wrought - and he had no doubt the Englishmen had been laid low by the duchess - Cameron retired to his chamber. He waited there, confident Thomas’s boys were in no condition to do more than roll about on their straw mattresses.
Time moved slowly, a sense enhanced by the silence of the night. Cameron bided his time until his bedside candle had melted to a stub. While he did not depend upon his walking stick as before, he dared not leave it behind. The handsomely carved stick had become a part of him, like a limb to a tree. Slowly, using utmost caution, he made his way out of the dark castle and into the dark night to meet Thomas.
Identifying Thomas as his contact made Cameron ever more wary. Now there were two in Dochas who could give him away. And Meggie would kill him for certain if she discovered he was a spy. On the other hand, if all went well, Cameron would leave without her ever knowing who he really was. She would remember him as a wandering bard and not feel the pain of betrayal by yet another man.
Cameron had seen how round her crystal blue eyes had grown when Niall made known his intentions to flee, how they had flared with bright white anger and darkened with disappointment. During the past weeks, he had learned to read her emotions. Meggie’s eyes reflected her feelings more dramatically than words. Tonight Cameron had witnessed her shock, disbelief, disappointment, and anger. It was one thing for Niall to be the cause; it was another for Cameron to do the same. The thought of it pricked at his heart like darts piercing a bull’s-eye. Meggie must never know.
He would do everything in his power to protect her from the truth, from his deception. Cameron had no doubt that if she ever learned who he was, Meggie would curse him clear across the Irish Sea. He did not wish to hurt her, nor disappoint. And he certainly did not care to have her place a plague on his house forever.
Cameron had eaten only enough of the second meal to give him an aching belly. He hoped as he kept his rendezvous with Thomas that the night air might steady his stomach and make him feel better.
Upon leaving the castle, the first thing he saw was the light in the stable. He wondered if Meggie might be there visiting the foal. She had not yet returned to her bedchamber and doted on the one she called the Bard. As well, did he. It was a handsome foal—and the first living thing to be named after him, in a manner.
Cameron hastened toward the stable. While he shared the redheaded vixen’s fascination with the colt, Meggie should not be out alone while the English remained at Dochas.
Hampered by clouds, the half moon and sky full of stars shed only a hazy blur of light. A raw dampness clung to the air and seeped beneath his flesh. In the stillness, the ground crunched under his feet. Cameron had gone only a few yards when he heard Thomas’s voice coming from inside the stable.
“Did ye try to poison me, Irish Jezebel?”
“No, sir. I... I do not know what ye mean.”
“Yer eyes are big and dark as the North Sea, but they don’t fool me,” Thomas spat in a menacing tone.
“Please, sir, I’m not meanin’ to fool ye.”
From where he stood, Cameron detected the trembling in Deirdre’s voice. His heart went out to the frightened young Irish lass.
He reached the stable in time to see the boy dragging Deirdre toward the wooden ladder that reached up into the loft. Thomas, barely older than the girl, clasped her upper arm firmly. Lust burned in his eyes.
“Please, leave me,” she begged.
The boy snorted. “In my own good time.”
Deirdre attempted to wrench away, but she was not strong enough.
“Unhand the lass.”
Thomas’s head snapped toward Cameron.
“Let her go, Thomas.”
“Mind your own business, Bard,” the churlish boy retorted.
“The people of Dochas are my business.”
The ill-favored boy raised his head and shot Cameron a smug grin. “Have you not heard that the stronger may claim the spoils of conflict? I am English; the girl is Irish. If she were to offer herself to me, I might forget the meal of rotten food and tainted ale. But since she hasn’t had the foresight to offer herself, I will take her nonetheless and never forget the vile supper.”
Cameron gritted his teeth. “Let her go.”
The cocky youth did not know when to stop. “Do you want her for yourself?” he taunted, narrowing his eyes. “Is that it?”
“She is not part of this ... conflict.”
“If you want the girl, you will have to fight me for her.”
“No!” She wrenched free.
Cameron took advantage of Thomas’s surprise by seizing his elbow and propelling the boy away from Deirdre. Thomas stumbled and cursed as the terrorized Irish maiden stood rooted to the spot.
“Go now.” Cameron jerked his head toward the castle. “Run to Meggie.”
After hearing Deirdre take flight, he turned his full, wrathful attention on Thomas. Furious with the stupid boy, Cameron could only think of boxing Thomas’s ears, or at the very least giving him a set down that he would never forget.
Instead, he issued a warning through gritted teeth. “Leave the people of Dochas alone, Thomas, or you will answer to me.”
“To you? Have you become an Irish lover, then?”
Cameron released Thomas’s arm with such force, the boy lurched backward. “We are not in the business of warring against women and children. No good comes of badgering innocent women and children be they English or Irish. Are you too young or too dull-witted to know that?”
With his eyes fixed on the ground, Thomas ran a hand through his stringy, blond hair. “I liked the looks of that one, I did.”
“Leave Deirdre alone. I shall not warn you again. There are English ladies aplenty waiting for your return.”
“Who gave you the right to issue me orders?”
“I outrank you and I outsmart you. I have earned the right.”
The crook of the boy’s mouth turned up in a mirthless smile as once again his eyes narrowed on Cameron. “Have you lived too long with the dirty Irish that you would turn against your own kind?”
Stifling the urge to beat the boy until he begged for mercy, Cameron took a deep breath. Straightening to his full height, he glared at the boy. He had been told by more than one man that he owned a fierce glare.
“Thomas, I have information you must take to Dublin. If you had not arrived this eve, I would have ridden out on the morrow, myself. You must leave Dochas early in the morning and carry what I have learned to the officers at Dublin. It is of dire importance that Lord Ensley receive my message at once.”
The boy snickered. “What could you have learned in a place such as this? There is nothing, no one around for miles.”
“Again, you are wrong.”
Shooting Cameron a dagger-filled glance, Thomas folded his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.”
“The Irish are building defenses about Ulster. They expect us. Ambush will be certain.”
“And what would you be doin’ while I’m delivering this bit of information?”
“Doing what I was sent to do, collecting more information. Niall O’Donnell, who cl
aims to be a farmer, but who stirs and leads the rebels in this part of the country, has taken me into his confidence. I will learn more by remaining at Dochas.”
Thomas at once became a sulky young boy kicking at pebbles and straw beneath his feet. “My men are sick. We need to rest.”
“There is no time to rest. The information I have just passed on to you must be relayed to Dublin as quickly as possible. You must leave at dawn.”
The churlish boy actually pouted, “I don’t trust you.”
“You have no choice, Thomas. Best get some sleep. I shall meet you at the stable in the morning with all that I have told you in writing. Lest you forget.”
“I shall not forget.”
Roughly grasping the collar of the boy’s ragged jacket, Cameron pulled Thomas up and off the ground, until the insolent young man was inches from his face. “Can you see my anger now, boy?”
“Un... unhand me.”
“You have precious few hours left at Dochas. If I find you threatening anyone, man, woman, or child, you will find yourself at the bruising end of my fist.”
Thomas did not speak again until Cameron set him down. “What do you care what happens to these savages?” With a disgruntled frown, the boy lifted and rotated his shoulders to straighten his shirt.
“The Irish are not savages.”
“Bloody well blind, you are. You’ve been in this god-awful isle too long is all I can say.”
“And all I can say is that you shall be woeful, indeed, if you should disregard my warning.”
“I won’t forget this.”
“Neither shall I. I shall accompany you to your chamber.”
* * * *
Someone had tampered with Meggie’s musket. Her only weapon, save the dagger, wasn’t in the corner of her chamber where she kept it. After a frantic search, she finally found it beneath her bed. With musket in arms and hounds at her heels, Meggie reached the great hall just as Deirdre dashed through the darkness and into the hall.
“Meggie!” Out of breath and panting heavily, Deirdre took hold of Meggie’s arm. “Meggie, the bard is a spy.”
“What?” Stunned, Meggie swiftly surveyed the disheveled girl from head to toe. “What has happened to ye?”
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