Numbly she tugged the sleeping gown over her head and donned again her sodden camise, blue silk gown, and slippers; it suddenly seemed fitting to her that she wore her own clothing and no Norman garb, a wrenching reminder that she could never as an O’Byrne have been accepted into Duncan’s world. She settled her cloak around her shoulders, and, with a last longing look at the simply made bed she had thought tonight they would share, she turned and hurried as well as she could into the next room.
The door had blown fully open, wind and rain causing the fire in the hearth to sputter and whirl, and Maire drew her hood over her hair even as her heart had begun to slam against her breast.
She’d never felt so nervous, so wretched, fearing any moment Duncan might return to find her dressed and ready to flee. What excuse would she make to him then? She was almost to the door when a tall silhouette appeared at the threshold, and she nearly collapsed when she spied the gleam of mail.
“Ah, God, Duncan …” was all she managed, a scream welling in her throat when she saw blood splattered down the front of the hauberk. But a hand was clapped over her mouth so suddenly that she made only a wheezing gasp, Maire staring in disbelief as Ronan lunged into the room and pushed her against the wall.
“By God, Maire O’Byrne, will you bring the damned spawn down upon us?”
Chapter 29
Maire shook her head quickly, so stunned that she had no words to speak even if Ronan’s hand weren’t covering her mouth.
In the next moment she was drawn into his arms and hugged so tightly she couldn’t breathe, yet as suddenly he stepped away from her and gestured that she not move. She watched wide-eyed, her heart pounding, as he ventured a glance out the door, his hand firmly upon the hilt of his sword.
Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, his sword.
She saw then the blade was bloodied, and it came to her that he must have slain or gravely injured a Norman to have disguised himself by wearing a shirt of mail. One of Duncan’s knights left to stand guard at the outskirts of the settlement? It might be so; a few of Duncan’s men-at-arms possessed armor, but most wore hauberks made of thick leather—
“Now, Maire, we must go!”
Startled into motion, she took his outstretched hand, the rain blowing so fiercely through the door that it stung her face no matter her hood. Ronan wore a mailed hood, too, a good thing given his wild black mane; he appeared as much a Norman knight as any other except that the Irish sword he bore was slightly smaller and lighter than the heavier weapon Duncan wore at his belt.
Swallowing hard at the thought that such deadly swords might meet, Maire did her best to hurry as she and Ronan plunged out into the storm and his strength aided her, his grip on her hand powerful and sure. So grateful it had grown dark, she still kept her head down and did her best, too, to walk as steadily as she could, fearing at any moment someone might recognize her by the light of the scattered torches hissing and sputtering in the driving rain.
“Niall and the others await us in the field, with horses,” came Ronan’s low, urgent voice to spur her along. “We’ve only to clear that mill ahead.”
Niall was near, too? A sudden crack of thunder made Maire jump, her nerves raw as she followed Ronan’s gaze to the edge of the settlement, where he must have come upon the hapless knight. Guessing that he must have been hiding in that same field and seen everything when Duncan carried her into the tenant’s house, she couldn’t imagine how else Ronan could have found her.
That her brothers had been so close all along—saints help her. If that guard hadn’t spied Ronan and her clansmen riding to the south, Duncan would have been with her, aye, they’d have been sharing a meal… or sharing a bed when Ronan—
She couldn’t finish the thought, tears biting her eyes as much from unbearable heartache as panic that Ronan had suddenly seemed to tense beside her. She gasped when three men-at-arms came at them as if from nowhere and yet ran right past, mud and water splattering Maire in their haste. Her heart plummeted when one shouted into the night, his voice filled with alarm.
“Lord FitzWilliam, a man is down! By the mill!”
“Damn the spawn!”
At Ronan’s curse, Maire had never felt so stricken, fright making her limbs feel weak beneath her. As if sensing that she was close to collapse, Ronan swept her into his arms and began to run with her past a last dwelling-house, his sharp whistle cutting the night, a signal she recognized at once for Niall.
Already she could hear more shouts behind them, but it was nothing to the vehement command that rang out from a Norman who had suddenly stepped from the dwelling-house to block their way.
“Hold there—God’s blood!”
Maire cried out as she was set upon her feet so abruptly that she crumpled to her knees while Ronan pulled his sword from his belt to swing violently at his opponent. Horror filled her as she recognized Gerard de Barry, the knight dodging Ronan’s blow within an instant of losing his life and drawing his own sword, the dreaded ring of weapon striking weapon piercing straight into Maire’s heart.
Yet nothing could have startled her more completely than Adele’s bloodcurdling scream as the woman appeared at the open doorway, and Maire knew then that she and Ronan were lost. As if caught in a slow-moving nightmare, she glanced over her shoulder to see men running toward them brandishing torches and weapons while the frantic neighing of a horse suddenly drew her stricken gaze back to the life-and-death battle raging between Ronan and Gerard.
She could not believe her eyes to see that Niall had ridden wildly out of the darkness, and he steered his mount straight for Gerard and nearly ran him down. Only the knight’s throwing himself into the mud and rolling out of the way spared him from the thrashing hooves, while Adele’s frantic scream once more shattered the night.
“Maire, come on!”
She felt Ronan hauling her to her feet, but her eyes flew past him to where Gerard struggled to rise, his enraged roar striking her like a blow.
“Damn you, Black O’Byrne, you will die!”
And Maire knew he would, Duncan’s men almost upon them, so many Ronan and Niall together would not be able to fight them off. So many even the rest of the O’Byrnes hiding in the dark would not be enough. With all her strength, she wrenched herself free of Ronan’s arms and shoved him desperately toward Niall’s horse.
“Go, Ronan! There’s no time. Save yourself and Niall—please, Ronan, go!”
She’d never seen his face so ravaged, but as if he knew to do otherwise would bring certain death, he turned and vaulted onto the horse’s back behind Niall, who veered the wild-eyed animal around and kicked him into a hard gallop.
“That’s the man I saw riding from the meadow, I swear it!” Adele cried out, even as Gerard roared and cursed that they were getting away. Then he turned his eyes upon Maire, all of his rage directed straight at her as he came toward her, limping, and struck her so violently across the face that she was knocked to the ground.
“By the blood of God!”
Her ears ringing, as if from a great distance she’d heard Duncan’s voice, then Gerard’s once more as the knight shouted out fierce commands.
“Crossbowmen! Take position and cut them down—did you hear me? Cut the bastards down!”
“No … no, they’re my brothers … please, no.” Maire tried to raise herself from the mud but she could not. Dizziness overwhelming her, the side of her face had begun to throb. As distantly, she felt hands upon her and someone lifting her, but she could not see for the darkness swallowing her like a shroud.
Nor did she fight it, but surrendered with a broken sigh, an angry heartbeat pounding against her ear.
***
“Damn you, Gerard.” His vehement whisper heard by no one but himself, Duncan sat beside the bed and stared down at the woman he felt he no longer knew.
She still hadn’t stirred, not even when he’d stripped her out of her wet, muddy clothing and tugged the sleeping gown over her head, then covered her to her chin with warm blank
ets while Gerard and Adele waited impatiently for him in the adjoining room.
They awaited him still. Duncan was not ready yet to speak to Gerard, and especially not to Adele. They’d followed him to the dwelling-house like hounds after a scent, and only his shouting orders to his men to prepare themselves for any sign of battle forced them to keep silent.
He knew full well what they wished to say. His throat tight, he lightly touched the ugly purple bruise marring Rose’s cheek, and then drew his hand away.
Not Rose.
Maire. Or so Adele had claimed the rebel Black O’Byrne had called her. A great hollow ache twisting inside his gut, he didn’t want to believe it was true. God’s teeth, that it was not! But he had heard himself words as he’d knelt in the mud beside the woman he loved that cut him still.
No, they’re my brothers … please, no.
Damn him for a fool, how could he not have guessed? Dropping his head to his hands, Duncan thrust his fingers into his hair and stared blindly at the dirt floor as events from the last week ran over and over through his mind.
That she’d been so frightened of him—more than any daughter of a chieftain loyal to King John would have been, no matter her clansmen had been slain.
By the blood of God, she no doubt had remembered every terrible moment of the attack but had lied to him all along … lied to him about everything, her name, that she could summon no memory of her family, her home. Yet given the damning secret she bore, what else could the woman have done?
Duncan swore and thrust himself from the chair; restlessly, he began to pace a bedchamber that had grown too small to contain the emotion raging inside him. Not yet ready to face Gerard and Adele, he was grateful that the door was bolted against them.
Maire O’Byrne … the sister of one of the most hated rebels in Leinster. How many times had he said Black O’Byrne’s name in front of her? And all the while she had known, lying to him and carrying out her ruse so skillfully that he’d even taken her to Dublin in hopes of finding her clan.
That thought made Duncan stop to stare at her lying so pale and still in the bed, his heart thundering as hard as when he’d gathered her up from the mud.
So she had tried to escape that day in the woods, wanting him to think she had drowned in the bog, his suspicion aroused then though he hadn’t heeded it. And the night Adele had attempted to aid her in leaving Longford Castle—even his half sister had been played for a fool!
Yet what again, of that night in Dublin when Rose—God help him, Maire, had cried out she couldn’t marry him? Now he could see that much had been the truth … but everything else was lies, her agreement that she would stand by him if her clansmen came to claim her, her sworn promise tonight that she wouldn’t leave the dwelling-house, and he’d said he loved her—loved her!
Sickened, Duncan could almost not bear to look at her, for the realization that she must have been waiting for the chance to leave him all along. It was enough to make him storm from the bedchamber; he wasn’t surprised when he drew the bolt and threw open the door that Adele and Gerard were waiting just outside.
“Is she awake?”
Adele’s query more a demand, Duncan ignored her and brushed past both of them, but Gerard angrily caught him by the arm.
“Dammit, Duncan, we should tie the wench to a post this very night and threaten to cut her throat if Black O’Byrne doesn’t give himself up. That will draw the bastard—”
“And if it doesn’t?” Duncan bit off, angered and sickened as much that Gerard could have struck Maire although he knew two long years of frustrated hatred had incited him. Even now his knight’s eyes were fierce with loathing, his face twisted. Duncan decided then to post guards as much to prevent Maire from trying to escape again as to protect her from Gerard. “Ease yourself, man, as well you can. There’ll be nothing done this night except to watch for an attack.”
He wrenched his arm free, but Gerard followed him, still limping upon a twisted ankle, and close on his knight’s heels came Adele.
“Nothing done, Duncan?” she said so shrilly as to make him clench his teeth. “You’ve the sister of the man who murdered Robert de Barry in that room, one of your men-at-arms slain by his hand as well, and you say you’ll do nothing?”
“Not this night.” His voice grim, Duncan didn’t turn around until he came to the outer door, and then he gestured sharply that they both leave the dwelling-house. “There will be time enough to decide the best course—and I’ve the O’Melaghlins to release to their clansmen first—”
“At a rebel’s behest?” His expression incredulous, Gerard stared at him as if he’d gone mad. “The woman tricked you, Duncan, lied to you these past days, and still you would honor—”
“Yes, I will honor it because I want peace in West Meath and not slaughter! That much at least hasn’t ceased to make sense, no matter her clan. Now go, both of you. We will talk of this tomorrow.”
“So we will talk of it,” came Gerard’s terse reply as he brushed stiffly past Duncan, while Adele hurried after him out the door. Yet she stopped to pull the hood of her cloak over her hair even though the rain had dwindled to a light drizzle, her eyes sweeping Duncan with open disgust.
“See what your compassion and misguided sense of chivalry has brought you? That Irish bitch reasoned you for a fool from the very first—”
“Damn you, woman, go!”
His vehemence making Adele blanch, she spun on her heel and hurried away, half-running to catch up with Gerard while Duncan slammed the door shut with such fury that the wall shook. Yet he told himself fiercely as he strode to the hearth that he should have left the dwelling-house as well. God’s teeth, why did he linger? One glance into the bedchamber made it clear Maire still lay as if dead …
His gut clenching, Duncan went to her side, reasoning to himself that it was only her value to him now as a prisoner that made him want to check upon her, though he knew it was as broad a lie as any he’d been told. She breathed slowly and steadily, some sound color returning to her face, and he suspected then it wouldn’t be long before she opened her eyes.
He sensed, too, what she might say, her first concern no doubt for her brothers, which cut him deeply. Not that she had lied to him. Not that she had surrendered her body to him only as a means to gain some time until she could leave him—ah, God, so much deceit!
She must have known all along that the arrow which had struck the rogue Norman had come from her brother’s bow. It was no wonder she’d held such concern for the O’Melaghlins, convincing him so easily to release them … a way to free herself as well from Longford Castle so she might have a greater chance of escape—
“Duncan …”
His heart lurched, and he cursed under his breath that one ragged whisper could so affect him as Maire tossed her head upon the pillow.
“Duncan, please … I love you …”
He stared at her, frozen, feeling as if time itself had stopped around him while she fell still and silent once more.
Yet somehow a moment later, he made himself move, scarcely realizing he was outside the dwelling-house until cold drizzle stung him in the face. Only then did he tell himself fiercely that those words had been a lie like everything else.
By the blood of God, a lie! Pulling his mailed hood over his head, he went to join his men.
Chapter 30
Maire shivered at the many eyes boring into her back and clutched the reins as bravely as she could, no matter her fingers trembled. And it wasn’t so much the chill wind making them shake, the sky as dark and threatening that morning as the day before though it hadn’t yet rained.
Saints help her, it was the ill will directed at her; she’d become the enemy now. An O’Byrne. She didn’t have to look to, the left or right to know that the four guards flanking her would be as grim-faced and silent as any ordered to escort a prisoner. She didn’t have to see Gerard de Barry or Adele glance back at her to know that hatred filled their eyes.
Maire swallowed har
d against the tears threatening to fall, her clouded gaze fixed upon Duncan riding ahead at the front of his men.
Aye, that was the worst of all. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t looked at her once since she’d been brought forth from the dwelling-house by the same guards who accompanied her now. It was just as she’d feared if he ever learned the truth. He clearly hated her, too. Her anguish reached so deep and was so complete, that she could not imagine ever feeling otherwise again.
She’d awoken deep in the night to find herself alone in the bed, horror once more filling her as she wondered if Ronan and Niall had escaped with their lives. The last thing she remembered was Gerard shouting for crossbowmen to cut them down, and she’d risen shakily, her thoughts still so dazed she had imagined she might find Duncan in the next room so she might ask him about her brothers.
Instead, she had found two guards warming themselves around the central hearth and another two standing watch at the outer door, the men turning to stare at her just as she stared at them.
Cold realization had struck her then. Duncan was nowhere in sight. A harsh command by one of the guards that she shut the door and return to bed had told her, too, that everything had changed. He had allowed only that her brothers had escaped into the night, and she asked no more, the angry curses rumbling among the men enough alone to make her retreat back to the bed.
Maire turned her gaze to the distant countryside shrouded by deep mist, wondering if Ronan and Niall still were near. She sensed they were, but what could they do to help her now?
Everything had grown worse, so much worse that sleep had been an impossibility during those long tortuous hours before a guard had pounded upon the door and told her to dress. In clothing still wet from last night’s rain, she shivered again, almost relieved to see the stark outline of a walled fortress looming ahead for the shelter it would offer from the gusting wind.
Wild Roses Page 23