“I’ve never seen you smile so before, woman, never once until this day.”
He spoke in wonderment and yet with regret, staring at her lips as if waiting for her to smile again. And she so wanted to, just for him, mustering another even as tears once more clouded her eyes. Saints help her, what must he think? First weeping, then smiles, then both at the same time …
“Ah, Rose, you’re so beautiful. So beautiful…”
He found her lips, kissing her so tenderly that Maire felt her heart ready to burst, no more intimate a thing than she could imagine that his mouth tasted of her sex. She’d never felt closer to him and yet so far apart, nor more tempted in that moment to blurt out the truth, that she wasn’t named Rose but Maire O’Byrne, than she’d ever been before.
To dare to trust him, to dare to believe that the barrier between them could be conquered … not by sword but with love. Was that so vain a hope?
She’d never known her heart to beat so fiercely as when he lifted his head to look into her eyes, and she opened her mouth to speak—saints give her strength! But she no sooner whispered his name than a fierce pounding came at the outer door, punctuated by Gerard de Barry’s angry voice.
“Duncan, a word!”
The moment fled, Maire had never felt such emptiness either as Duncan cursed under his breath and left her, the bed vast and lonely and cold without him. Imagining what Gerard had come to say, she watched silently as Duncan swept up his braies from the floor and stepped into them, his sideways glance telling her to cover herself.
With trembling hands she obliged him, pulling a sheet to her chin while he disappeared into the antechamber. She could tell he was angry when she heard him open the door so fiercely that it slammed against the wall. But Gerard, clearly undaunted, vented his outrage before Duncan could utter a word.
“God’s blood, man, are we now coddling our prisoners? Food and drink fit for our own table, a lamp, fresh clothes?”
“No large matters, Gerard, ease yourself—”
“Ease myself? First a sworn vow to me is broken, and now my authority over the prisoners is stripped away—full authority you gave me, Duncan?”
At Gerard’s raised voice, Maire sank deeper under the sheet, imagining the look upon Duncan’s face at how tightly controlled his reply sounded.
“Nothing has been stripped from you. I wish our arrangement amended, is all.”
“At whose request? I heard that the O’Melaghlins had an unexpected visitor—”
“Rose won’t be going to the dungeon again. We already spoke of it—she knows well I wasn’t pleased. But her words to me made sense that the prisoners need fairer treatment. It’s a small price to pay to further peace—”
“Peace! I see no messenger from the O’Melaghlin asking to speak to you, Duncan.”
“Give them time.”
“Time? And if they don’t appear in three days, what will it be then? Three days more? A week? A month? I’d best have down mattresses and fresh linen sheets sent to the dungeon to make the O’Melaghlins all the more comfortable—”
“By the blood of God, Gerard, enough!”
Maire jumped at Duncan’s roar, and she wondered that two men who’d clearly long been brothers in arms would square off so fiercely with each other. But even so, Duncan sounded calmer when he spoke again, which evidenced the consideration he held for Gerard.
“Dammit, man, you take this as some personal affront against you, but it is not! I vow it. The three days stand, whether the O’Melaghlin chooses to come to Meath or not. If no peace is agreed to, the prisoners will hang. Those rebels have plagued Meath long enough—burning fields, stealing cattle. I told you I would suffer their raiding no more. Now, does that satisfy you?”
Maire heard no response, but her blood was pounding in her ears so loudly that she doubted she would have discerned one.
Burning fields? Finian had claimed it wasn’t them, but Normans, no doubt from all she’d heard of their ruthlessness the remnants of Walter de Lacy’s men. And the cattle? Mayhap the O’Melaghlins had stolen a few now and again, but no Irish rebels, no matter how desperate, would wantonly slaughter an entire herd. Such waste in harsh times was unthinkable.
“Save your hatred for the O’Byrnes, Gerard. I’ve told you that before. If we’ve ever any in the dungeon, you’ll have free rein to do with them as you will.”
“Dungeon? If I come across that bastard Black O’Byrne, he’d never make it so far,” came Gerard’s embittered reply. “He’ll die where we find him.”
“Then look to that day, as will I. Do you not think I want to avenge Robert’s death as well?”
Maire didn’t hear Gerard’s low answer, nor did she have any desire to listen further, the blood utterly drained from her face.
Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, could she have been such a fool? Had she truly believed love might overcome such hatred? And to think how close she had come to revealing all … The yawning chasm between her and Duncan suddenly grown all the wider and more impossible, she returned with desperation to wondering how she might leave Longford Castle.
Saints help her, might she have to jump into the moat? If it was the only answer, aye, she would attempt it, for it was horribly clear that her remaining here would bring nothing but disaster. Each moment she pretended things could be otherwise only prolonged what she knew must come. If only she could think of some other way …
Maire’s gaze flew to the door as Duncan reappeared, her heart filled with such anguish she couldn’t have summoned a smile now if he’d begged her. He looked so grim, too, as he carried a tray bearing food and a pitcher of wine to the bed, his exchange with Gerard clearly having tempered his mood. She imagined their discord must pain him, evidenced when he breathed a low curse as if still thinking of what he and his knight had discussed.
“Duncan … if you wish to speak further to Gerard, don’t trouble yourself over me—”
“You’re no trouble, woman, it’s all else that plagues me.” Duncan set the tray upon the bed, speaking almost more to himself than her. “Two days more after this one and my hand will be forced. Damn the O’Melaghlin for his stubbornness!”
“Mayhap it’s not that as much as desperation, aye, and why else wouldn’t it be so?” Maire blurted out, as surprised at herself as Duncan appeared to be. Yet she rushed on, a sudden desperate idea ruling her as well. “His grandsons and harper are to be hanged, and yet it wasn’t the O’Melaghlins who slaughtered those cattle or burned your fields but more of de Lacy’s men, Finian told me as much—”
“The harper, again.”
Maire nodded as she drew a quick breath, astonished that Duncan had made no move to silence her, though his eyes had darkened to near black. Encouraged that he seemed to be listening to her, she didn’t waste a moment.
“I believe him, too, else I wouldn’t speak of it. That’s how they came to be captured—they’d gone to salvage the meat for their families when Gerard and your men rode down upon them. Finian told me the O’Melaghlins have wrongly borne the blame for everything while they want only to live in peace! They desire the same as you, Duncan, yet mayhap the O’Melaghlin has given up hope and from that comes his rash threat, while you still speak of executing those dear to him in three days—”
“So what would you have me do, woman, release them?”
Maire stared at Duncan incredulously, having to gulp this time for air. His expression was so inscrutable she couldn’t tell if he was serious or grimly jesting.
“R-release them?”
“Exactly. If you were in my place, given what you claim about the O’Melaghlins being falsely accused, what would you do?”
She must have turned pale, because Duncan poured a goblet of wine and handed it to her. He said not a word and waited for an answer while somehow she managed to take a sip, no matter her hands were trembling, her mind racing.
What would she do? The situation suddenly reminding her of how Donal MacMurrough had shown his gratitude to have his abducted
daughter Caitlin safely returned to him, it came to her that Duncan could very well win the peace he wanted and she might have found a way to leave Longford Castle, too. Pain piercing her at the thought, she found it difficult to speak for how tight her throat had grown.
“Aye, Duncan, I would release them. Take them back to West Meath and their families, to their home as soon as you can. Gerard may not be pleased—”
“It isn’t for Gerard to say.”
Duncan’s voice grim, Maire had no desire to touch further that subject, instead staring into his eyes even as her heart quickened that he stared so intently back at her. “It would be an honorable thing… from an honorable man. Mayhap to have his grandsons and harper safely home, the O’Melaghlin might even agree to help you fight against these Normans who’ve done harm to you both—and for that, mayhap you could spare a few cattle now and again so his people might have food?”
Maire had ventured much in that last request, she knew it well, especially when no ready answer came from Duncan, only silence. Still he stared at her and her face grew hot, and when he took the goblet from her and moved the tray to the floor, she felt warmth flood her from head to toe. Finally when he spoke, his voice low and husky, she knew she was lost.
“You’ve never said a word before as to what you think of me. Did you know that, Rose?”
She could but nod, her blood thrumming wildly as he climbed onto the bed and pushed her gently back against the pillows, blanketing her with his body while he took care to keep his weight upon his elbows. And still he stared at her, searching her eyes while his fingers entwined in a midnight strand of hair.
“I would release the O’Melaghlins this very hour just to hear you say again you thought me honorable … but tomorrow morning will be soon enough for all preparations to be made. Does that please you?”
Maire again, could only nod. She felt her heart full to breaking that he would trust so completely her word about the O’Melaghlins. To please her, she had no doubt either that he would agree to allow her to accompany him to West Meath. It would only take her concern about being left behind with Adele, and he would easily relent. Saints help her, all she must watch for then, was the right moment to elude him …
Maire drew in her breath as Duncan caressed her cheek, his eyes burning into hers as once more, he spoke.
“Two days past you said you could not be my wife, but now you defend me against Adele and call me honorable … adding to all else that has changed between us. Tell me, woman, I must hear it from your lips. If your clansmen come to demand you be returned to them, will you say that you stand beside me and wish to become my bride?”
His heart and all he hoped lay bare in his eyes. Maire somehow found the courage to answer, even though she knew such a wondrous thing would never happen.
“Aye, Duncan, ay—”
His kiss silenced her before she could finish, and well enough that he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to fall. Yet she willed them away and kissed him back, passionately, wildly, only this day left to her now and one more precious night.
After that, there would be time enough to mourn when she was home in Glenmalure and far, far away from Longford Castle and Duncan FitzWilliam.
Chapter 27
Ronan angrily wiped fatigue from his eyes, willing in vain that the drawbridge be lowered and Maire appear again as she had the night before.
It had all happened so fast, he and his men no sooner arrived at the spot where he’d chosen to keep watch over Longford Castle when commotion had struck, a Norman bearing Maire in front of him attempting to ride forth from the fortress. Ronan had known instantly at the hair prickling the back of his neck that she was in danger, and he had been ready to vault back onto his horse to chase the Norman down when he saw Maire grab desperately at the reins.
That had made him seize his bow, an owlfletched arrow set to the string before the Norman even raised his knife. By God, to think how close, how close—
“Lord, let me take the watch. You need some rest, even an hour—”
“I need nothing but my sister safely home,” he cut off Flann O’Faelin, the huge Irishman not appearing surprised at Ronan’s vehement reply. Vivid moonlight illuminating both of their faces, Ronan wasn’t surprised either when Flann gave a grunt and stoically persisted.
“We rode much of the day, lord, aye, evading those accursed spawn, and now more than half the night is gone, dawn soon to come—”
“Let it come and I’ll be here to face it. Something is astir, Flann, listen.”
As his clansman grew still beside him, Ronan strained his ears, too, to hear again the clamor of men’s voices carrying to them across the barren land surrounding the castle. From where they hid at the perimeter of the trees he had a full view of the fortress, though nothing there seemed different, guards aplenty on the battlements, blazing torches lending an orange glow to the night sky. Yet he sensed deep in his gut that men might be preparing to ride out, mayhap not now but at first light, aye, just as they’d done the previous morning.
Did the devil’s spawn think another day’s search might bring them nearer to finding him and his clansmen? At one point the Normans had ridden so close to them that Ronan had been sorely tried to keep an arrow from his bow, the same dark-haired bastard who’d carried Maire back into the castle—Duncan FitzWilliam, he had no doubt—well within his sights.
Just as the baron had been the night before until Maire had slid from the frightened horse and thrown her arms around the man’s neck…
A low curse escaped Ronan, his gut clenching even as he told himself for the hundredth time that she must have been terrified to do such a thing—though he could not guess what discord had led one Norman to try and ride out with Maire in his arms while the baron of Longford had come running after with sword in hand. Yet so two years ago the Normans had fought fiercely against each other, their king even coming across the water to Eire. A pity they had not all been slain then.
“Aye, lord, you’re right, I hear it,” came Flann’s gruff whisper to distract him while Ronan shifted his legs where he stood so they wouldn’t fall numb. “Fools. Do you think they make ready again to try and find us?”
Not certain, Ronan sighed heavily in answer, hoping another day wouldn’t be spent in playing cat and mouse with Normans. Yet who knew how many days of watching and waiting lay ahead of him before Maire might leave that accursed place again?
He’d already sent young Shea O’Byrne straightaway back to Glenmalure to let Triona and Niall know that Maire’s whereabouts at least, had been discovered, and with it went a firm order for Niall to remain there, that he might be recognized from the meadow where their clansmen had been struck down. He expected Shea’s return at any time with ten extra men to better their odds, for that was the next step, doubtless more relentless waiting for the right moment to strike.
It would do no good to kill the baron outright, though that was exactly what Ronan burned to do. But what of Maire? Until she left the castle, he could not help her, and even then, he would be forced to watch helplessly if she were surrounded by too many guards. Yet if the number was right, a smaller force equal to or even somewhat larger than his twenty clansmen, more than half of the Normans would be dead before they realized from where the arrows flew …
“Very well, Flann, an hour’s rest but no more.” Sliding down against a gnarled tree trunk, Ronan set his bowcase upon the ground beside him. “By then it won’t be long until we know if the bastards will amuse us another day or if we prepare to fight.”
“Fight I hope, Lord, for Maire’s sake.”
Ronan didn’t answer, made so angry by the memory of his sister in the baron’s arms that he didn’t trust himself to.
***
“If … if she’s going to West Meath, then I should be able to come too! In fact, I demand it!”
Duncan groaned to himself, Adele clearly undaunted to be railing at him dressed in her sleeping gown and robe while the courtyard bustled with activity
around her. God’s teeth, could the morning be progressing any less smoothly?
Already it was past the sunrise hour when he had wished to leave; Faustis had gone to extremes to provide provisions for several days’ stay at his westernmost castle, especially when the steward had learned that Rose would be accompanying him. And now a sky that had dawned clear was threatened by angry-looking storm clouds—Faustis frantic to see that supplies tied atop packhorses were covered well with canvas—though the promise of a spring squall was nothing to the raging tempest in Adele’s eyes as she glanced at Gerard already mounted and waiting grimly near the drawbridge.
Duncan glanced at his knight, too. Gerard’s reaction upon learning of his decision to return the O’Melaghlins to their clan had been the thorniest part thus far of the morning. To say he hadn’t been pleased—damn the man! Gerard’s outrage had no doubt awakened anyone at Longford Castle who hadn’t already been up early attending to preparations for the journey.
“Duncan, will you answer me or no? You barred me from leaving once before, and I’ll not suffer it again!”
“Do you ride in your sleeping clothes then, or will you dress first while we wait for you?”
Adele sputtered in surprise, made speechless for perhaps the first time in her life, which was worth it alone to Duncan … almost.
“I’ll give you a few moments, woman, no more before we leave you behind—”
“I’ll be ready, don’t you fear,” came Adele’s response as she spun on her heel, her loose blond hair flying around her. She threw a brilliant smile at Gerard before hurrying into the castle, which only made Duncan’s jaw grow tight.
Yet perhaps such a distraction was exactly what his knight needed on the journey, he reasoned, much to his disgust upon the whole matter. The growing rift between himself and Gerard troubled him, but there was nothing to be done for it now. In a few days, though, as soon as he returned to Meath, he planned to demand Adele and her retainers leave for England, not only so Gerard might focus once more upon his upcoming marriage, but that the distress Duncan had seen in Rose’s eyes when she’d asked not to be left alone with Adele be banished.
Wild Roses Page 21