By the blood of God, he would not have the woman he intended to wed so sorely troubled within her own household! More convinced than ever that Adele had made some threat against Rose, Duncan nonetheless hadn’t been able to elicit any such charge from her, which had both warmed him that she must want to spare him further discord and yet puzzled him, too.
She had obviously stood up against Adele already, but that was knowing Duncan wasn’t too far away. He didn’t blame her for not wishing to remain behind, touched more than he could say when she’d said simply she wanted to be with him. He swept the courtyard with a glance, at his thirty knights and as many men-at-arms mounted and surrounding the prisoners, who still appeared dazed at their good fortune, and deemed it was time enough to fetch Rose from the great hall.
Duncan felt a familiar eagerness overwhelm him as he strode toward the doorway where Adele had disappeared a moment before; he wanted to be with Rose, too, that driving need become as essential to him as breathing. He’d left her not so long ago by the fire, wanting her to be comfortable until they were ready to leave, yet it felt like hours had passed since he’d carried her from the tower.
Another thing he’d decided was that upon their return new quarters would be prepared for them elsewhere in the castle, so she wouldn’t be constantly faced with so many steps. He would see to it that she had everything she needed for her embroidery, too, just as he’d promised in Dublin. As to when she’d have time to wield needle and thread was another matter; he’d kept her busy enough with more pressing concerns these past two days, and he fully intended to continue.
Duncan groaned to himself at how reluctant he’d been to leave their bed in the dark hours of the morning, tempted to delay the tasks in front of him just so he might again feel Rose opening her arms and her sweet, willing body to him. But when she’d sleepily thanked him for deciding to release the O’Melaghlins, that alone had spurred him to rise, Gerard jumping forefront to his mind.
Fresh anger flooded Duncan at the thought of their violent exchange, but he forced it away when he spied Rose. She turned from the hearth at his approach, her blue cloak whirling around her, her eyes troubled.
“Duncan, I just saw Adele rushing to her room. She called out to me that she was accompanying you to West Meath.”
“A rash move—I did so to appease Gerard more than anything.”
“B-but does that mean I will be staying here?”
She suddenly looked so pale that concern swept Duncan, though he was moved, too, that she seemed so distressed at the thought they might be apart. “Leave you here with Rufus the Fool? Reginald will have his hands full enough with that one and the rest of Adele’s retainers not to worry over you. Now come.”
Rose appeared so relieved that Duncan couldn’t resist drawing her into his arms, and he was struck that she trembled.
“Woman, are you not well?”
“No, no, Duncan, I’m fine, truly. I feared that you would leave me, is all.”
“Never, woman. Never.” He hugged her fiercely, inhaling the scent of her hair while she clung to him as if she might not do so again, Duncan found himself thinking. He drew away from her to stare into her eyes.
“Rose, there’s little to dread. If any O’Melaghlins still hide in the woods, they’ll not dare attack once they see their clansmen among us. I wager they’ll be as surprised as their chieftain soon will be … no small thanks to you.”
She didn’t reply, and he chose not to press her; that she appeared less pale was soothing enough. Instead he took her hand and drew her with him, hoping his low teasing might coax her into a smile.
“Just think. If we hurry, we might be mounted and gone before Adele returns to the courtyard. Would that please you?”
Duncan received a small nod for his efforts but no more, though in the next instant Rose did squeeze his hand, which served to make amends for some of the morning’s troubles. If only now it didn’t rain …
***
“Ronan, look!”
He did, turning from the men who’d just arrived, his anger intense that Niall was among them. So intense that for an instant he found it difficult to focus upon the Normans surging forth from Longford Castle, though Flann O’Faelin shifted anxiously beside him.
“The spawn! Do you think they come after us … ?”
The Irishman’s voice had faded at the same moment Ronan saw her, a strikingly lovely blond woman astride a dappled gray who met the description given to him a few days ago by his clansmen. Aye, she’d been among those at the meadow. As she rode across the drawbridge accompanied by a grim-faced knight, Ronan knew then that this was no force come again to search the woods. But where the devil might they be bound?
“Ronan, it’s Maire!”
Niall suddenly beside him, Ronan had to grab his younger brother’s arm to prevent him from rushing out of the cover of the trees, no matter he burned to act as well. His furious whisper cut the air.
“Damn you, Niall, will you give us away? We can do nothing to help her right now—look at their number!”
His gut clenched in dismay, Ronan sensed the same tension in his brother, their eyes riveted upon Maire as she cleared the drawbridge in close company with the dark-haired Norman who Ronan longed for nothing more now than to destroy. Swallowing hard, he saw her glance toward the trees, and his instincts told him then that she knew they were near.
But she just as quickly looked away, spurring her mount into a canter to match the pace of the large force that moved beyond the castle, sixty men at least, packhorses, and a small host of what appeared to be servants bringing up the rear. And what of the two youths and an old man surrounded by guards? Suddenly he remembered what Shea O’Byrne had told him of three prisoners held from clan O’Melaghlin—by God, Shea had said something, too, of West Meath.
“To your horses! Now!”
His low command as vehement as urgent, Ronan grabbed up his bowcase and moved to his own pitch-black steed, not waiting for Niall. That his brother, Tanist or no, had chosen to ignore his order to remain in Glenmalure so rankled him that he did not trust himself at that moment to speak further upon it. Yet deep in his heart, he knew he would have done the same. That thought helped him temper his tongue when Niall caught his arm.
“Ronan, where do we ride?”
His brother’s eyes tormented, his voice hoarse from concern for Maire, Ronan nonetheless made himself answer sternly.
“To the west. We’ll keep them in sight and wait for the right moment, Niall, do you hear me? There’s a woman among them who might recognize you—dammit, swear to me you’ll do nothing unless I tell you! Maire’s life may depend upon it!”
“Aye, I swear, Ronan. I swear!”
The rest of his clansmen already mounted and waiting, Ronan said no more but nodded for Niall to move to his own horse.
God help them, twenty-two O’Byrnes against three times as many Normans. A deafening clap of thunder breaking the stillness that had settled over the woods made him wonder if his prayer had been heard.
Chapter 28
“Delightful, how wretchedly delightful.”
Maire glanced at Adele, the blond beauty not appearing so imperious now with her sodden cloak wrapped tightly around her, water dripping from the tip of her nose. Maire squinted against the lashing rain herself, and gripped her cloak beneath her lowered chin with one trembling hand while she held the reins with the other. She was soaked to the skin, and so chilled now that she couldn’t stop herself shaking or her teeth from chattering.
The rain which had been more a steady drizzle much of the day had become a violent downpour what seemed like hours ago, though Maire knew it hadn’t been that long. Almost at once Duncan had left her, Gerard, and a dozen men accompanying him as well as the packhorses and servants, to ride ahead to a farming settlement to prepare for them a night’s lodging. He’d deemed the storm too fierce for them to continue on to his castle near Lough Ennell, no matter it was only another few hours’ ride.
Watching him disappear into the blinding rain, Maire had never felt such anguish, as much because she feared for his safety as that she could do nothing yet to protect him. Still surrounded by more than two score knights and men-at-arms, she’d surrendered any notion that she had the slightest chance of eluding them and resigned herself that she must wait further for the right moment.
“We’ll be sleeping in huts, lying upon filthy rushes and earthen floors, I know it!”
Maire made no reply, ignoring Adele and her complaints as best she could as she peered ahead into the distance. Already it had grown darker, not so much that it was late but that the storm was intensifying, the wind howling around them, the muddy ground making it difficult for the horses to keep at their pace.
Were Ronan and her clansmen faring any better? She knew they were out there somewhere, which made her fear deepen all the more for Duncan.
If Ronan weren’t so cautious, ever mindful of his men’s welfare, she was certain he would have attacked by now and risked the odds. But no doubt he believed her life in danger as well, that she’d been a captive brutally treated this past week—Jesu, Mary, and Joseph! Only a week to have found love and now be faced with abandoning it forever? Aye, but what else was there for her to do?
“I plan to insist we journey on to the castle—no, I’ll demand it— Oh!”
Adele shrank in her sidesaddle as jagged veins of lightning burst across the sky. Maire was astonished that anything could daunt so coldhearted a woman. She was relieved when a shout went up from a knight near the front of their entourage that the farming settlement had been sighted, and Adele actually looked relieved, too.
As they spurred the horses forward, their pace quickened, as did Maire’s heart. The short time spent without Duncan had seemed an eternity, saints help her. What would she do when was alone in Glenmalure?
Forcing the distressing thought from her mind, she wiped rain from her eyes as thatched roofs appeared over the rise, the familiar smell of peat fires lending her some comfort. She saw a half dozen riders approaching, and knew as surely as her breath caught that Duncan was among them.
It seemed within an instant he had brought his great snorting steed alongside hers; Duncan looked as sodden as she but so handsome, aye, so wondrously handsome. He pulled her from her saddle before she sensed his intent and settled her in front of him, his arms hard and strong around her, his beloved voice low and husky against her ear.
“Woman, you look chilled to the marrow. But I’ve a warm, dry nest waiting for us—one of my tenants has kindly offered up his home and bed.”
“What of me, Duncan?” came Adele’s indignant voice before Maire could utter a word. “Where am I to stay?”
“There are several barns from which to choose—”
“A barn!”
“Though I’m sure Gerard has plans to accommodate you,” Duncan finished, his tone grown harsh. Yet it held a hint of grim amusement, too, as if Adele’s outrage had been the reaction he sought. He said no more, but tightened his arms around Maire and kicked his horse into a gallop.
***
“There, I’d said I wouldn’t be long.”
As Duncan placed two steaming bowls of stew and a golden round of bread upon a rough-hewn table, Maire hugged the blanket more tightly around herself, still shivering.
Aye, he hadn’t been long, no more than a few moments and time enough for her to change out of her wet clothing and into a woolen sleeping gown the tenant’s kindly wife had left upon the bed in the adjoining room. Patched and worn, the garment was nonetheless clean and soft and smelled of fresh air from hanging out to dry. Its warmth gradually stilled her chattering teeth.
The snug, plainly furnished dwelling-house was warm, too, or mayhap it was the way Duncan stared at her now that made it so. He had appeared almost disappointed to see that she had changed so quickly, and the look lingered as his gaze swept her from head to foot. Bare toes peeked beneath the blanket as her slippers were thoroughly sodden. He studied them as if he wished the whole of her was exposed, then met her eyes, a teasing smile that oddly seemed subdued coming to his lips.
“I’d hoped at least to help you out of that wet gown, but it appears you’ve managed well enough without me.”
“Aye, I was so cold … but I could assist you,” she said softly, her gaze falling to the water dripping from the hem of the dark cloak that he wore over his hauberk. “I’ve done so once before.”
His smile faded the sudden intensity in his eyes causing Maire to shiver in a manner having nothing to do with any chill. Yet he nonetheless shook his head and shrugged out of the soaked garment without her aid, regret in his voice as he hung his cloak on a bench in front of the central hearth.
“Nothing would better please me—it’s what I’d planned, but now that must wait. Come. The food will warm you.”
His expression had become so grim that Maire was concerned something might be amiss, her thoughts jumping to the prisoners as she moved to the table. “Duncan, what’s wrong? Is it the O’Melaghlins? Have they said something to make you doubt—”
“They’ve said no different to me than what they told you—come, Rose, I want you to eat while it’s hot.”
Maire did as he bade her, taking the chair opposite him while Duncan sat too. Again he seemed so preoccupied, his mind clearly elsewhere, that her growing concern far outweighed her hunger though she took a small bite of the savory venison stew.
As he silently poured them wine into plain pewter cups, she wondered if thoughts of Gerard might be plaguing him. Duncan had said that morning when he’d come to fetch her from the tower that his discussion with his knight hadn’t been pleasant, but he’d revealed little else. Did she dare press him … ?
“On my way back with the food, I was stopped by one of my men. He said he glimpsed riders to the south just before I rejoined you outside the settlement—he counted at least sixteen before they disappeared into the trees. Irish.”
Maire stared at Duncan as he stared at her; she didn’t know what to respond, but she felt she must say something, anything to break the heavy silence.
“O’Melaghlins?”
He nodded, such relief swamping Maire that he’d said nothing of suspecting anyone else that her hand shook as she attempted to raise a spoonful of stew. She saw he noticed, and she fumbled quickly for words to distract him.
“I-I feared it would be so since this morning—they don’t know yet, Duncan, surely no messenger has reached them. They don’t know you plan to release the prisoners. Do you think they might attack us? Are we safe here?”
“As safe as any settlement filled with armed men. That’s why I can’t stay. Guards must be well posted to keep watch—God’s teeth, it would have been better if we’d continued on to the castle, storm or no!”
Clearly angry at himself, he rose from the table without touching food or wine and Maire made no comment upon it. In truth, the little she’d eaten had settled uneasily in her stomach for the anxiety now gnawing at her.
It hadn’t been O’Melaghlins riding to the south.
And Duncan wouldn’t be safe, not as long as she remained here. Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, what was she to do?
Maire rose, too, as Duncan went to throw his cloak around his shoulders; for a brief moment, he stared into the fire crackling in the hearth, his face so handsome and yet so grave. He turned abruptly to find her staring at him, and her knees felt weak at the concern so evident in his eyes.
“If you hear any sounds of battle, Rose, any at all, find a place in the bedchamber to hide. I’ll come for you as soon as I can. Do you understand? Don’t dare step outside—promise me.”
His voice was so grim, she could only nod. But she started in surprise when he came toward her and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders.
“You must promise me, woman! Say it! By the blood of God, if anything should happen to you …”
His voice had grown almost hoarse before dying away, his eyes burning into hers, demanding that she answ
er him as if by doing so he might feel certain she would be safe.
“Aye, Duncan, I swear it. I won’t leave—”
His mouth silenced her before she could finish, but already she felt as if she were choking upon her own lie. As his hands slid down her back to draw her against him, she gave no thought to the blanket pooling at her feet or that the front of her sleeping gown was made wet by his cloak.
All she knew was the incredible possession of his kiss, his lips warm and hard, his tongue thrusting deep into her mouth to claim her even as she clung to him, her fingers entwining in his damp hair. She scarcely realized when he lifted his head, she’d grown so light-headed, but the fierce emotion burning in his eyes made her heart seem to stop.
“I love you, Rose. Do not doubt it.”
Maire couldn’t speak, all she’d ever dreamed uttered in three words that made tears jump to her eyes, but, already, Duncan had released her. He brushed a final kiss to her cheek, and then was gone, not glancing behind him even as he disappeared out the door and left her alone.
Utterly alone. No one but she heard the words Maire could barely whisper, her throat was so tight.
“I love you, Duncan FitzWilliam. Saints help me, I love you.”
She couldn’t say how long she stood there, staring at the door left slightly ajar, nor did she blink when a clap of thunder so deafening rumbled across the sky that the ground seemed to shake. Only a fierce wind gusting into the dwelling-house made her stir when the flames at the hearth fanned and flared high, and Maire thought suddenly of Triona as rain began to beat upon the thatched roof.
Aye, her daring sister-in-law had several times used the cover of a heavy downpour to elude Ronan. Why couldn’t she? Somehow Maire made legs grown wooden carry her to the bedchamber where she’d left her wet clothing, no time before Duncan had called out to her to say he’d returned to hang them to dry.
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