by Laura Parker
“There’s talk abroad, Oadh,” Cuan said slowly, solemnly. “Talk of treachery.”
“Of course! Did I nae tell ye the English are hunting Father Teague?”
“So ye did, but ye did nae say why.”
O’Donovan pointed at Killian with the barrel of his pistol. “There’s yer answer. He’s a Discoverer. Ye were the one to alert us to his coming. Well, I’ve been keeping watch.”
Victory beating high in him, O’Donovan found the final damning stroke as he pointed to the sodden priest’s robe on the floor. “There’s proof, if ye need it. He tied stones in the cloth and heaved it in the river. I suspect he’s killed poor Father Teague, played the hound’s part for his English masters.”
“That’s a lie,” Killian answered calmly but firmly.
A shadow appeared in the stairwell behind Cuan and became Colin Ross. Behind him another figure appeared, revealing itself as his son Enan.
“Did the others come?” Cuan asked over his shoulder.
“They’ve come,” Colin answered.
“And the other one?” Cuan pressed.
Enan smiled. “Safe away.”
Deirdre was released so suddenly that she lurched forward, but a steadying hand caught her from behind. “There’s nae need to be afraid,” Cuan said behind her. “I have only one thing to ask ye, Lady MacShane. Who’s the Discoverer?”
Deirdre stared at O’Donovan. He was perspiring, the sweat running freely over his big red face. She thought of his fear, for she had known a good measure of her own this night. And then she thought of the pathetic bag of skin and bones that had once been a child, a child dead because of Oadh O’Donovan. “I do not know if he is a Discoverer,” she said softly, “but I know he set the English on Father Teague.”
“Go to your man, Lady MacShane,” Cuan said. “Go to him and stay beside him.”
Deirdre started toward Killian but he held up a hand. “Stay away, mo cuishle!”
“What’s this?” O’Donovan roared. “Nae man orders me prisoners about.”
Cuan stepped forward, a skean in his hand. “There’s a traitor among us, Oadh, a traitor who’s lain on his belly among the flock, awaiting and awaiting. He kills only when the shepherd turns his back to scan the distant hills for the enemy.”
“MacShane,” O’Donovan said with a grin.
“Nae, Oadh. The wolf among us wears our wool, eats our food, kills his neighbor. The Discoverer is you!”
O’Donovan wet his lips nervously. It took a few moments for Cuan’s words to fully sink in. “Ye do nae know what ye say. MacShane’s the man ye want. The English will come and take him away.”
“The English want O’Donovan the smuggler and rapparee. Ye’ve done enough murdering among yer own,” Colin Ross said in a harsh voice. “There’ll be nae more of it!”
O’Donovan turned his pistol on the knot of men. “Ye can prove nothing.”
“We’ve yer own words to hang ye,” Cuan answered. “Didn’t I hear ye just now, boasting to MacShane how ye’ve the ear of the English? How is it, Oadh, that ye’ve never been caught unawares?”
“I’m more clever than the rest,” O’Donovan boasted; but his hands had begun to sweat, and his forehead gleamed in the firelight.
“Not clever enough,” Enan Ross shouted and stepped forward. “We met Father Teague on the road. He was wearing MacShane’s clothing, riding MacShane’s horse. A man put the English on his trail this night. You! Discoverer!”
O’Donovan paled at the accusation, his eyes turning panicky until he realized that the boy held no weapon.
“Gommach! Ye know less than a beetle on a dunghill. The English will hang MacShane, and that’ll be an end of it.”
“There’ll be an end,” Cuan agreed. “Open the doors, lad.”
O’Donovan turned his pistol on Enan as he backed toward the stairwell that led to the third floor, repeatedly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ye’re making a mistake. ’Tis I who brought prosperity to ye! Who helps ye smuggle in the goods that keep yer bellies filled and yer women and children clothed?”
But they were not listening to him. Someone else had thrown the bolt on the front doors and the sound of many footsteps was heard on the main stairwell.
“They’ve come for ye, Discoverer!” Cuan announced.
O’Donovan fired the pistol at Enan. It was a desperate, hopeless measure, yet he hoped it would give him time to gain the stairs to the third floor. But, as he turned in to the dark turret, a knife flashed out, slashing him across the cheek, and he fell back with a cry of horror.
Fey leaped from the stairwell with an unearthly cry as she ran to where Enan had fallen.
The others were on O’Donovan instantly, and he was dragged backward onto the slate floor.
“Not here!” Killian had said nothing since he first saw Deirdre in the doorway. Now his voice cut across their fighting and the men turned to him. “Take him out! I will not have my wife’s home defiled!”
They gathered O’Donovan’s flailing arms and legs and lifted him screaming above their heads as they carried him down the stairwell and out into the night.
“They will kill him!” Deirdre cried.
Killian enfolded her tightly against him. “Aye. May God rest his black soul.”
Deirdre turned her face into the hollow of Killian’s left shoulder as a bloodchilling scream rose up beyond the door. Another followed it, and then other, weaker cries that were soon drowned out by the shouts and oaths of the mob.
Killian’s hands came up to cover her ears, and Deirdre closed her eyes, concentrating on the strong, slightly rapid rhythm of his heart beneath her ear.
It was over quickly. The noise ebbed away until the night rang with silence. After a long moment, Killian’s hands eased their tight hold, but his face was hard as he gazed beyond the open doorway.
“Now there’s only the English to deal with,” he murmured to himself.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dawn came stealing softly over the gray-walled castle as if aware that its sleepless inhabitants feared its coming. Killian had been gone two days.
Deirdre stood at the window of the chapel, staring out at the lightening sky. Killian had left shortly after O’Donovan had been taken out. That was two days ago and no word had been heard from him since. Hard tight shivers quaked through her. The people of the valley had killed O’Donovan with their bare hands. And the fault was hers.
Because of her, a man had died. The thought had kept her awake two nights through. Neither fear for Killian, nor Fey’s hysteria over Enan’s wound, nor her own aches and bruises could long keep the thought from her mind.
The fact that she had not known what they would do to him did not excuse her part in it. She had seen the look in Colin’s eyes when he had asked her to name her Discoverer. If she had hesitated, said she did not know, or simply refused to speak, would O’Donovan still be alive? What power did she possess that they believed her so readily? Or had they always known and been too afraid to act? Had they used her as their excuse to do what they otherwise would not have done?
She now understood Father Teague’s words to her the first day he had come and seen the mark on her shoulder. People were weak and easily frightened. Times were hard and men were desperate. Some, like O’Donovan, were willing to sell their souls to keep what little they had. Had the people of the valley turned to her, believing that she represented a power older than that of rosary beads and crucifixes, to help them escape the yoke of O’Donovan? If that was so, then she must leave here, must leave Liscarrol.
She gazed at the new greenness on the hillsides as the sun shed first light on the new day. Spring was well under way. Liscarrol was beginning to recover from years of neglect. In the distance, Liscarrol cattle lowed softly in anticipation of the morning’s milking. With the crop of wildflowers budding, there would soon be honey as well as milk flowing in the valley, but she would not be here to enjoy it.
She turned as footsteps came up behin
d her.
“Enan’s awake and ye must come and see him,” Fey said. Her face was bloated with two sleepless nights of worry, but there was a genuine smile on her face. “His ma says he’ll heal.”
“Of course he will,” Deirdre answered. “We told you so the first night.”
Fey grinned at her. “Aye, ye did. But Enan’s a stupid lad. He might not have heard ye. Ye must come and tell him that ye’ve had the word of the Sight that soon he’ll again be plaguing the milk cows with his cold hands and clumsy touch.”
“Do not speak to me of the Sight!” Deirdre cried. “I will not have you speak of it ever again.”
Fey cocked her head to one side. “Ye’re a deeshy lady. The others can talk of nothing else. ’Twas ye, they say, give MacShane the idea of trading his clothes with the priest and who sent the word abroad that the English had come for the priest. ’Twas ye who knew O’Donovan was the Discoverer.”
“That’s not true.” Deirdre shook her head. Everything was confused and turned upside down. She had known none of those things. “All I’ve done was point O’Donovan out to be murdered.”
“Aye, that, too,” Fey agreed. “And a grand thing it was!” She hesitated. “Once I did nae like ye much, but ye saved MacShane’s life, and Enan’s, too, so I’ll nae be holding me grudge against ye any longer.”
Deirdre nodded, too moved to speak. A week ago, she would have laughed for joy to hear those words from Fey. Now she was too near tears.
“Ye’ll be coming down, to see Enan, I mean?” Fey prompted.
“Aye.”
Fey smiled once more, looking prettier than ever, and Deirdre realized she had put on a gown for the first time since she had arrived at Liscarrol. “You look very pretty,” Deirdre said with a faint smile.
Fey looked down at herself and shrugged. “’Tis on account of Enan. He thinks ’tis only proper for a lass. He is weak now, so it doesn’t matter. When he’s up and about, I’ll be putting on me breeches again. ’Twould be safer, I’m thinking.”
“He’s coming! MacShane’s coming!”
The cry from below sent both Deirdre and Fey rushing toward the window.
“There he is!” Fey cried in delight as she hung over the sill. “And no soldiers with him!”
Deirdre reached the stairwell first, her satin slippers sliding over the well-worn stones as she raced round and round in descent.
As she hurried out of the house, she wondered how many times in the future she would do this, run to greet the man she loved. Perhaps never again at Liscarrol, she thought with a sinking heart. Then so be it. As long as she met Killian each time, she would wait for him wherever he wished her to be.
As Killian watched his wife running across the yard, he was torn between pleasure and anger. She had no instincts for preservation where he was concerned. From Colin, he had learned that she had gone out after him the night he went to warn Father Teague, heedless of danger.
When she launched herself into his arms, all the worry and weariness that had raked him compounded into unreasoning rage.
“Let go of me, you damned silly bitch!” he roared, too shaken by the conflicting impulses of relief and fear for her sake to remember this once his soldierly reserve in the open.
He grabbed her by the shoulders, intending to shake her. Instead, his lips were suddenly against her in a hard, ungentle, punishing kiss that quickly melted his anger and left him gasping in the throes of an emotion stronger than rage. “You might have been killed!” he hissed at her, his voice colder than the wind.
Deirdre reached out to touch the hair at his temple. “I thought you would be killed. Until the last moment. And then Cuan and the others came. And, and…”
Killian caught the hand stroking his left temple and squeezed her fingertips hard. “You’re shivering!” he accused.
Deirdre lowered her head. “I cannot bear it, Killian! Because of me a man is dead.”
Killian frowned. “O’Donovan, do you mean?” She nodded. Killian bit his lip. Too often he said the wrong thing to her, trampling her sensibilities with his practical view of life. “You feel guilt. Why?”
“Because of me a man is dead,” she repeated.
Killian chose his words carefully. “I would rather think that because of you two men live.” He raised her face to his. “You saved me, mo cuishle, by sending for Cuan. And you saved Father Teague, too. Cuan and Enan met him on the road coming here that night. He had taken the wrong turn and would have run straight into the hands of the English soldiers. So you see, there’s nothing to grieve about.”
His logic was so comforting that she wanted to accept it, but it seemed cowardly to do so. “The others think I’ve the gift of the Sight and that that was what directed my actions.”
“How do you know it didn’t?”
Deirdre’s eyes widened. “Surely you don’t believe?”
Killian smiled at her. “What does it matter, acushla? The people of the valley owe you a great debt, and if it pleases them to make a daughter of the Sidhe of you, let them, I say. ’Twill be certain protection for Liscarrol as long as we remain.”
Deirdre shook her head. “I did a stupid, stupid thing in going after you. I suppose that was what the dream warned me of. If I had remained here, I would have been here when you came back, and we might have overpowered O’Donovan; but I was too stupid to do as you ordered. Nae, I must go about tripping in bog holes and being chased by phantoms.”
Killian caught her by the arms. “What phantoms?”
Deirdre nearly smiled. How foolish and innocuous it all seemed beside what had occurred following that incident on the hillside. “The dream did not frighten me that night, though I’ve bruises this time to prove that it ran me over.” She looked up at him. “But it wasn’t you. You did not say the words, did not look right. Your hair is as dark as a raven, while his hair was light.”
“What are you talking about?”
Deirdre laid a hand to his cheek. “I saw you ride out, on the black horse, as you had in my dream.”
Killian sighed. “Who else saw me?”
“No one. I sent Colin for Cuan and then I went after you on foot, but I lost my way on the hillside. It was then the phantom appeared and nearly trampled me.”
Killian shook his head in wonder. “That was no phantom.”
Deirdre grew very still. “Who was it, Killian, on the hillside?”
He smiled. “That was Father Teague. I had given him my clothes and my horse. The English didn’t find him. He was transported safely across the Channel before dawn.”
Deirdre gripped Killian’s hand between hers. “I’m ready to leave Liscarrol, too. I love it, but I love you more. I will go anywhere you say, but I beg you to go with me. Either we stay together or we go together.”
As Killian looked down into her face, he felt the conviction of her words register in his heart. He believed that she would willingly, happily leave Liscarrol if he asked it. She loved him completely. She always had. How foolish he had been to be jealous of a pile of stones. With Deirdre and Liscarrol, he had found the things he had searched for all his life: a home and love of his own.
He bowed his head and fervently kissed her hands. “I love you,” he said huskily. “I cannot promise you safety. I cannot promise you security. I cannot even promise you a life of plenty. But I will keep Liscarrol for you, whatever I must do!”
“Because I have asked it of you?”
“Nae, lass, because it has become as much mine as yours, and I’ve a need for a place of my own.”
Deirdre smiled at him, feeling the weight of her guilt and fears drop away. Killian considered Liscarrol his home, and just maybe, together, they might keep it. “Will you continue to steal for me, as you have done before?”
Killian lifted his head, his expression ravaged by emotion, to find her smiling at him. “You guessed about the smuggling?”
Deirdre shrugged. “My father was many things, including a man fond of French tobacco and brandy. He traded wit
h those who offered the best prices. He said, ‘’Tis an honorable profession for an Irishman if it bedevils the English!’”
Killian broke into a grin, lifting the lines of worry from his strong face. “I do believe O’Donovan had your measure. He said you’d the spirit of a buccaneer.” He sobered suddenly. “You’ll need to develop your instincts for survival, though, if you mean to stay.”
“I’ve a rather sharp nose for it already,” Deirdre answered lightly. “I suppose a few more months in Ireland will see to the refinement of it.”
“Then we will stay,” Killian said firmly.
Another thought struck Deirdre. “What of O’Donovan? And shouldn’t we expect the soldiers to come looking for a priest?”
Killian sobered. “Nae, lass. I’ve taken care of it. ’Tis where I’ve been. I’ve turned Discoverer.”
Deirdre put a hand to his mouth. “Don’t say that, not even in jest.”
Killian stared at her, and there was nothing of gentleness or humor in his eyes. “I had to get rid of O’Donovan’s body. I took it to the English soldiers who had camped for the night in Kilronane and handed it over. I told them I had killed him because he was a rapparee and had threatened my life if I remained in the area. Thanks to a persuasive conversation with Cuan, I could tell them where they would find a cache of weapons that O’Donovan had stored away. I said that I was a law-abiding citizen and that as long as I remained at Liscarrol there would be no rebellion of my making.”
“Killian!”
“Listen to me, Dee. The time for fighting is over. My soldiering days are done. I want nothing more than to raise a family, not rebellion. My deception gained me a good chance of doing just that. If in the future I must resort to more deception or outright lies, I will do so with a clear conscience.”
He thought of his bargain with the duchesse, but this did not seem a good time to bring the lady’s name into the conversation. He would tell Deirdre later, when he had time to explain, that he had also found a local English magistrate with a fondness for French silks and brandy who had promised him protection in his smuggling activities in exchange for a portion of his goods.