Wild Roses

by Miriam Minger

  Chapter 14

  “A good journey, Rose. And may you find your clansmen in Dublin! It would be a pity for you to have to come all the way back to Meath.”

  Adele’s parting words still rang in Maire’s mind as if they’d just been uttered rather than hours ago. She winced, too, as she remembered the daunting look Adele had given her as she had ridden from Longford Castle beside Duncan.

  The woman hoped never to see her again; that had been more than plain. Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, what would Adele do when Maire did return? She alone knew there was no family awaiting her in Dublin, no outraged clan gone to protest to the Justiciar of a loyal chieftain and his men ruthlessly slaughtered. Her only hope lay in that Ronan might have learned her whereabouts, and even now was dogging their progress to Dublin, waiting for the right moment to attack …

  That thought chilling her, Maire’s gaze flew to Duncan astride his spirited bay stallion only two lengths ahead of her, at the lead of a phalanx of fourteen mailed knights and as many men-at-arms that bristled with weaponry. She could sense his tension. The heavily wooded valley they had ridden into moments ago was not a route he would have normally taken, she’d heard him say to Reginald Montfort. But it was shorter, and he had said, too, given that they only had three days before they must return to Meath, that the sooner they reached Dublin, the better.

  Three days. Maire shivered beneath her cloak, and it wasn’t because the day was cool; she hoped for the prisoners’ sake that the O’Melaghlin would agree to peace. Yet even so, his grandsons and the old harper would remain Duncan’s hostages. To live out their lives as slaves at Longford Castle? Maybe even in the dungeon?

  Such a possibility was too bleak to contemplate. Maire’s hands tightened nervously on the reins, and she scanned the thick trees, wondering again if Ronan and his men might be lying in wait to rescue her. Yet she felt as much dread, not wanting any to lose their lives on her account. Not any O’Byrnes or any of Duncan’s knights or—

  “You look pale, Rose. Do you want to dismount a moment and rest?”

  Startled that Duncan had fallen back to ride beside her, Maire met his eyes. Her heart began to pound so fiercely that she scarce could speak. It didn’t help matters when his knee pressed against her legs, Duncan’s stallion bumping close to nip at her docile roan gelding. At once Duncan gave his unruly mount a sharp tug on the reins.

  “God’s teeth—easy, now. Easy!”

  Grateful for the distraction as Duncan settled his horse, Maire swallowed hard and told herself for what seemed the hundredth time that glimpsing a man at his bath was no reason to become so unsettled whenever he spoke to her. But her face was burning, too, and she could only wonder what Duncan must think to see her not so much pale anymore as blushing to her roots.

  “I-I’m fine … truly,” she somehow managed, true enough Duncan was now studying her intently. “There’s no need to stop. I … I was only thinking of my clansmen—that they might be in Dublin and … and how they must have worried for me. You’re so kind to take me there, Lord FitzWilliam.”

  She didn’t know how he might answer, but she hadn’t expected the frown that came over his handsome face as if her words had displeased him. She was as startled when he suddenly kicked his stallion forward and retook his place ahead of her, leaving her to stare in confusion at his back.

  A broad muscular back she hadn’t been able to tear her eyes from last night when she’d awoken with a start, not daring to move or scarcely to breathe to see Duncan rise dripping and naked from the tub. Her cheeks flaring with heat, she wondered again that the screen had been gone, his body in the dying firelight so physically beautiful she had stared in heart-stopping awe as he toweled himself dry, his powerful muscles flexing…

  Maire dropped her eyes and stared blindly at the reins curled around her trembling fingers, that she would have watched him so blatantly, so wantonly, shocking her as much today as the sight that had met her when he turned abruptly from the fire. She knew little of men, but she wasn’t so raw an innocent that she hadn’t recognized his arousal— Saints help her!

  Maire pressed a hand to her burning face. How could she be thinking of such things when an attack by her clansmen might be only moments away? Almost dazedly she saw that the ancient oaks had become thicker, the leaves overhead so green and dense that it seemed to have grown darker, too, only a thin shaft of sunlight here and there breaking through.

  And the tension among Duncan and his men had heightened—she could feel it. She noticed that Duncan’s right hand had moved to the hilt of his sword, while the other held fast to the reins. As a seasoned fighter, had he sensed something she had missed … a movement in the distance? The warning snap of a branch? Or was it gut instinct ruling him?

  Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, to think that blood might soon be spilled, that men might die, Norman and Irish. Truly it was too much for her to bear. There had to be another way, surely! If Triona were here in her place, what would she do?

  Praying for even a trace of her sister-in-law’s brazenness and courage to conquer any situation, Maire glanced desperately around her. The air had grown damp and heavy and she smelled it then, the undeniable muskiness of a bog borne on a westerly breeze. But how far away… ?

  An outcropping of rocks ahead suddenly caught Maire’s eye, halfway up a rise, and a plan began to form in her mind. It could work; it had to work! If Ronan and his men were watching them from some hidden point even now, they would see her ride away and spare themselves an attack, surely. Ronan was not one to risk his clansmen’s lives heedlessly, always taking the cautious path. Aye, and even if they weren’t anywhere near, even if they were searching for her miles away, she would finally be free if her plan succeeded to ride home to Glenmalure.

  Her gaze flew to Duncan. Maire was stunned by the strange emotion that struck her, regret mixed with something she couldn’t name. But with the outcropping fast approaching, she had no time to dwell on anything save for finding the bog as soon as she could get past the rocks. Her nervousness so great that she feared she might somehow give herself away, Maire pulled up on the reins and slowed the gelding to a stop.

  At once Duncan twisted in his saddle, concern lining his face as he wheeled his stallion around and came to her side.

  “Rose … ?”

  “Forgive me, Lord FitzWilliam, but if we could rest … only for a moment. I am tired and—and if I could …” Her blush in earnest, Maire hoped Duncan would understand as she shifted uncomfortably upon the sidesaddle. To her dismay, he only stared at her, a frown deepening.

  “Baron, I believe she must attend to herself,” came Reginald Montfort’s gruff voice, the older knight drawing his mount alongside Duncan’s. “Her needs—”

  “Dammit, man, I know what she meant!”

  Maire had started at Duncan’s voice, which held annoyance as well as a trace of chagrin. As he glanced around them, she quickly rushed on.

  “If I may, Lord FitzWilliam, those rocks up there. I need a few moments, no more. It’s not so far—”

  “Go on, then. We’ll wait for you here.”

  Unspeakable relief filling her at his words, Maire could see that he wasn’t pleased by the delay at such a densely wooded spot but she didn’t linger to hear him change his mind. Flicking the reins, she guided the gelding up the slope, and didn’t dare to look back either. She knew Duncan was watching her as the clatter of armor and restless horses spurred her on.

  Within moments she had reached the rocks, her relief again so sharp that the limestone outcropping loomed well above her head that she’d begun to tremble. But she told herself firmly that Triona wouldn’t be shaking in fear if she were in Maire’s place. Triona would boldly forge onward, and Maire did so too, pausing only briefly behind the moss-covered rocks to catch her breath before she let go with a piercing scream and dug her heels into the gelding’s sides.

  “Oh, no! Saints help me!”

  She shot out from behind the rocks as if her mount had been suddenly spooked,
Maire still crying out in terror while she veered the gelding up and over the rise. She was filled with remembered fright when she heard men shouting far below her and the crashing of horses through the woods, Duncan’s voice rising above the rest in a vehement curse that made her kick the gelding into a reckless gallop down the slope.

  Swiping the hair from her face, she rode for her life, so grateful Triona had spent long hours teaching her how to handle a horse that she could have wept. But she was too busy screaming and wending the now-terrified gelding through the trees, the musty smell of a bog growing sharper.

  Her lungs burning, Maire gave no heed to thick woods that had grown so dark she might have sworn it was dusk, and headed straight for a hazy wall of sunlight not far in the distance. She could no longer hear any men’s voices. The gelding’s frantic hooves pounded in her ears, but she knew her pursuers were riding hard to catch up with her, and she abruptly ceased her screams.

  Hopefully they wouldn’t know which direction she had gone now, and even if they did …

  Maire’s plan burning in her mind, she came upon the bog so suddenly, bursting through the trees into what appeared a low-lying clearing, that she was nearly pitched from the sidesaddle when she yanked hard on the reins and the gelding reared in fright. A breathless prayer on her lips as his hooves came down only inches from the treacherous quagmire, she snatched wildly at her cloak and flung it onto the brown decaying matter that stank so foully her eyes stung.

  She thought only fleetingly of Duncan’s face once he came upon her cloak, deciding with an undeniable pang that it was better he think she and the gelding had drowned in the bog than that he still might find her. The sound of men roaring her name carrying through the trees, she kicked the gelding into motion and skirted along the spongy bank, deciding it was best to hide and set out again once Duncan and his men had retreated.

  She saw a huge gnarled oak and rode toward it, doubting that her exhausted horse could go much farther without a brief rest even if she wanted to. And she needed nothing more than to snatch her breath—

  “By the blood of God, woman, where …”

  Maire had barely reached the oak’s concealing shadow to dismount shakily as Duncan burst from the dense trees almost as she had, his vehement roar fading into stunned silence while his stallion snorted and reared in the air. She could tell from his stricken expression that he had spied her cloak, and she watched in disbelief as he vaulted from his heaving horse and plunged into the bog.

  Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, was the man mad? Didn’t he know that such quagmires could trap a hapless soul within its depths before a cry of help could even be sounded? And he wore heavy armor! Horror gripping her, she saw him grab her cloak and then he sank from sight, leaving nothing but heaving brown muck to mark where he had gone under.

  “Saints help him … no.”

  In a daze Maire felt herself move, her hands shaking so badly she feared she wouldn’t be able to haul herself into the sidesaddle yet somehow she did, then kicked the lathered gelding into a hard gallop back along the bank. All the while she kept her eyes riveted to the spot where Duncan had disappeared—

  She gasped as his head suddenly emerged from the bog, his arms thrashing to catch a hold, any hold. But there was none, the water-laden peat giving way beneath his fingers, while Maire rode as she had never done before.

  She didn’t think, didn’t heed the shouts of approaching men as she nearly fell in her haste to dismount and struggled her way over too-soft ground to reach the agitated stallion. He almost shied from her but she firmly caught his bridle, so grateful that Triona had taught her to be unafraid of horses.

  “Duncan! Duncan, catch the reins!”

  Pitching them over the steed’s head, Maire flung the reins onto the churning muck as Duncan lunged to reach them. Yet the bog seemed determined to thwart him, and his hands caught only air, the stinking stuff drawing him farther into its depths with his every movement.

  “Again, woman! Throw them again!”

  She did frantically, stepping so close to the edge that she felt the soggy ground threaten to give way beneath her. She’d never known such relief when Duncan’s outstretched hand closed in a tight fist around the reins, his stallion tossing its head and whinnying shrilly as Maire grabbed the bridle and pushed against him to make him walk backward.

  “Aye, boy, that’s it,” she urged him in a voice gone hoarse from the strain, tears blinding her eyes. “Keep going… aye, please, please, you must keep going …”

  Hearing a labored intake of breath, Maire glanced behind her to see Duncan’s face wracked with effort as he fought to haul himself up and over the crumbling bank. She pulled all the more desperately on the bridle until the stallion had dragged Duncan to solid ground. Overcome by emotion as much as exhaustion, she sank to her knees and crawled to him even as he rolled onto his back, his chest heaving, every inch of him soaking wet and covered in muck.

  “Duncan—”

  “God’s teeth, woman!”

  Maire gasped as Duncan pulled her into his arms so fiercely that she fell atop him, staring into his stricken eyes.

  Chapter 15

  “I thought you had drowned … like Gisele. Your cloak—”

  Duncan didn’t finish, his voice as ravaged, Maire never having known such a lump in her throat as he drew his thumb across her cheek, coming away wet with her tears. She couldn’t speak, yet she didn’t know what she would have said to him first. She was just so grateful that he was safe. She would never have forgiven herself—

  “Lord FitzWilliam!”

  She stiffened, more in stunned embarrassment to be sprawled so intimately atop Duncan as Reginald Montfort and two other knights sharply reined in their horses and dismounted at a near run. Yet Duncan didn’t release her even as more riders came thundering through the woods while shouts went up that they had been found, his arms tightening around her.

  “You are well? Not hurt?”

  “No … no, not hurt.” Knowing she must summon a wealth of lies to explain what had happened, Maire was relieved to be spared if only for a few moments as Reginald noisily cleared his throat.

  “Forgive me, Baron … it looked as if you needed help but, uh … God’s breath, shall we wait for you elsewhere—”

  “Assemble the men, Montfort.”

  It was near painful to speak, Duncan’s lungs still burning from exertion, yet that wasn’t the full reason his throat was so tight. He paid little heed as his knights hastily retreated through the trees, and fixed his eyes once more upon Rose.

  Her face had grown bright pink at Reginald Montfort’s words, and she’d stiffened further in his arms, but Duncan wasn’t ready to release her. He didn’t want to release her. By the blood of God, just to know she was alive and unharmed when he had feared her …

  His throat clenching all the tighter, Duncan saw suddenly in his mind’s eye another cloak, not blue but yellow gold, floating on the murky surface of a pond. A pond where Gisele had stolen early one morning from her parents’ manor to meet him, except she had slipped-

  “L-Lord FitzWilliam … ?”

  Duncan met soft gray eyes, not the stunning green that had haunted him for so long, and was struck that he could have felt so intensely for this woman what he had known for Gisele that terrible day. Yet he had, he couldn’t deny it, struck as much that Rose had returned to using his title which all too keenly made him want to hear his Christian name upon her lips again.

  “Lord FitzWilliam, we should go. Your men—”

  “Call me Duncan, woman,” he bade her gently, while her eyes flared wide in surprise. “It’s only fitting since you saved my life—”

  “Oh, no, it was your steed, truly. I could have done nothing without him.”

  “Maybe so, but you handled him with skill I’ve seen in few women …” Falling still, Duncan felt her nervous intake of breath even as he stared at her, a strange niggling of doubt suddenly gnawing at his gut. It seemed now, too, that she was reluctant to meet h
is eyes, which made him roll over with her and pin her lightly to the mossy ground while he kept his voice as even as he could in spite of his unwelcome suspicion. “Those rocks, Rose. What happened?”

  “Th-the rocks?”

  “When you lost control of your horse—”

  “Aye, that was it exactly! He was fine, the poor creature, then something startled him … and so suddenly, too. He reared and I almost fell and—and I lost the reins. If I hadn’t held on to his mane …”

  She fell awkwardly silent while Duncan studied her face … the heightened color of her cheeks, her lovely eyes holding more than a trace of apprehension as if she feared he might not believe her. And he wanted to believe her, yet his suspicion that she might have for some reason contrived the entire incident only grew as he thought of her cloak.

  She had worn it about her so snugly. Could a headlong ride have wrenched it loose? And that she hadn’t plunged straight into the bog if her mount had been so terrified and she’d lost all control of him—God’s teeth! Only his competence with horses had made him rein in his stallion just in time when they’d come crashing through the trees, while he had dived into the muck like an utter fool, thinking …

  Duncan knew he was scowling, by sheer force of will telling himself not to press any farther as her face had gone pale. And she shivered, too, almost as wet as he that he’d held her in his arms for so long, the front of her blue silk gown smeared with brownish muck. Imagining the stir their disheveled appearance would make at Dublin Castle, he almost wished he still smelled like lilacs. The stench alone that clung to him was enough to raise eyebrows and tear the eyes.

  Cursing to himself, Duncan shifted from her and rose to his feet, then held out his hand.

  “Come.”

  She accepted his assistance without a word, and he drew her up to stand shakily beside him, her eyes grown as wide and anxious as the first days she’d spent at Longford Castle. It stung him, while her continued silence as he led her to her mount made him wonder if perhaps he had wrongly suspected her, and her explanation had been true.